Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Charles hadn’t heard from Edwin in a few days. After Crystal’s obtained memories—or at least the few they were able to recover—showcased that David was not dead, as the Shadow World had previously believed—but was, in fact, alive and wanting to use the Mortal Cup to raise his own army of Shadowhunters, the High Warlock promptly muttered something about gathering information and stepped through a portal he conjured.

He reckoned that Edwin was probably fine—he has frequently reminded Charles that he was a High Warlock after all—but the Shadowhunter had an itching feeling in the back of his head regardless; one that needed to see the Warlock with his own two eyes to confirm his wellbeing. Charles didn’t quite know why he felt this urge, but he was never one to question his gut.

So, there he was, back at that brick building with the wrought iron gate. Nothing looked particularly amiss as he quickly climbed the stairs to the lair. But as he entered the landing that led to Edwin’s office, he could hear the sounds of paper rustling frantically; Furniture being pushed across wood floors; Muffled noises of talking and even the sound of ceramic crashing to the ground.

He hated when his gut was right about stuff like this. Grabbing his stele with his left hand, Charles drew a Soundless rune against his opposing forearm. He wanted to have the element of surprise on whatever was mucking about Edwin’s home.

A few steps further into the hall and his suspicions were only further confirmed. The High Warlock’s front door was left ajar. Getting closer revealed a flash of a black webbed wing.

A demon.

“Bollocks,” Charles murmured to himself as activated a Strength rune. Holstering his stele, he then brought out his seraph blade. He proceeded to stalk towards the door, mentally preparing for the types of demons that may be running amok within the lair. The Shadowhunter could only hope that Edwin was also not inside along with it.

If so… combined with the lack of any sounds of battle magic…

Charles didn’t want to think about the implications.

The racket inside had not abetted even as he had his hand against the wood of the door. Taking a deep breath to center himself, Charles threw it open.

He rushed at the mass of wings, blade aglow and ready to strike. At least there only seemed to be one creature inside, Charles thought to himself, so it shouldn’t be too hard to dispatch of the demon, large as it may be.

The Shadowhunter swung his blade down with a yell, aiming to get a clean cut at its back before it was able to fully turn around.

He braced for some sort of contact but, instead of the satisfying give of flesh, he felt his sword clash against a solid structure of… magic? The recoil jolted Charles back, but he swiftly shook himself off and prepared to strike again.

But then he caught a glimpse at the demon who was now facing him head on.

“E-Edwin?”

Charles’ seraph blade dropped unceremoniously to the ground. He felt his heart drop alongside it.

Edwin, wide-eyed and disheveled, stared at the Shadowhunter, the warlock’s arms up in a defensive stance.

“Fuck,” Charles breathed out as his quick lived battle high immediately drained out of his body, “Edwin, I am so sorry, mate…” He attempted to walk forward to the warlock. Edwin’s flinch stopped him in his tracks. “I-I thought…”

Edwin’s expression went from one of bewildered fear to one of painful stoicism. “I know what you thought,” he said evenly, bringing his arms down to his sides, fists clenched. He stood back to his full height and the wings on his back —Edwin’s wings—drooped to the floor.  

“I would never hurt you. You know that, right?” Charles pleaded, keeping his distance from Edwin despite his want to comfort his friend, “I swear to you. Edwin—”

“Leave,” the warlock choked out.

“What?” Charles sputtered, “Come on, Edwin. Please.”

“Leave,” he repeated, his blank expression cracking at the seams. “Now.”

With that last command, Charles was pushed out of Edwin’s lair with a flick of the High Warlock’s wrist. The normally blue glow of Edwin’s magic a sharp red as it propelled him backwards. As the Shadowhunter’s body crossed the threshold of the office, the front door slammed shut instantly. A series of small metallic noises reinforcing the notion that Charles was well and truly unwelcomed.

Nevertheless, he ran back to the door after the spell’s force released him.

Charles banged his fist desperately against the sturdy door. “Edwin!” Charles shouted, tone equally incensed, “Please! You have to believe me!”

He heard no response but continued his plea, punctuated by knocking that was sure to leave a bruise on his hand later.

Edwin never opened the door.

It took several hours until Charles gave up and walked back to the Institute.

Chapter Text

Charles didn’t see Edwin again until several days later, when his father called upon that “Soddin’ Tosh of a Warlock” to reinforce the Institute’s wards. Charles bit back any retort on his father’s disparaging comments; he really didn’t want to get into it why he seemed to suddenly care about a warlock, let alone this specific warlock. If he was lucky, any backtalk would result in ichor duty for two weeks and, if not… well let’s just say he knew the lengths Institute heads were allowed to go in terms of corporal punishment. He was intimately familiar with how far.

Either way, Charles knew that this would be the one shot would have to clear the air between them—Edwin unwilling to open his doors to Charles after the incident.

The fire message his father received back informed them that the High Warlock would come by in the afternoon. So there Charles was… waiting anxiously by the Institute’s front doors, volunteering to escort Payne around while he examined the magic protecting their home. His arms crossed in front of his chest while one foot tapped out an unheard beat.

“What’s got you all jittery?” Niko inquired, her voice making Charles nearly jump out of his skin.

“’m not jittery,” he mumbled out, puffing out his chest and aiming for some semblance of cool, aloof Shadowhunter. She stared at his profile intently; he pointedly tried not to meet it.

Niko swiveled her body to be in his sightline. Her eyes narrowed for a tick, further examining him, until a sly smile crept up on her face, “It wouldn’t happen to be due to a certain High Warlock arriving soon, would it?”

It wasn’t a rhetorical question.

Charles darted his gaze away guiltily. “That obvious, huh?”

Niko placed a comforting hand on his arm. Her tone and expression turned gentle, “I’m sure whatever happened with you two wasn’t that bad?”

“I attacked him, Niko,” Charles sighed, thumping his head against the wall behind him, “Could’ve kill him. Just rushed in there like the brash, meathead Nephilim he probably thinks I am.”

“Everyone makes mistakes?” She offered weakly. “I’m sure Edwin—”

“—You are sure Edwin, what?” A new voice chimed in. Speak of the Devil… or Warlock in this case...

“Edwin!” Niko cheerfully albeit nervously greeted the stoic High Warlock standing before them, “I was just saying—I’m sure Edwin would be here really soon.” She let out a sad attempt of a fake laugh. “And here you are!”

Payne looked at Niko dubiously, but did not seem to call her out on the glaring misdirection. “I pride myself on my punctuality,” he offered instead, a slight grin on his face as he bent forward as if he was sharing a secret to Niko, “Amongst other things.”

Finally chancing a glance at Edwin, Charles noticed the absence of those imposing bat wings. He idlily thought that if anyone else were observing them, they probably couldn’t tell that anything was off between with the Warlock. But Charles knew. Edwin was closed off; he was hold himself stiffer than usual (and he normally had the posture of a bloody lamp post). Edwin’s eyes met Charles’ and a pang of hurt fluttered in his chest. There was wariness in them when only days ago there was an amused playfulness. He frowned at the change. Edwin frowned in response; his gaze cast down in something akin to shame before hardening further.

Wait… shame?

Edwin resumed his statuesque bearing. “Shall we commence with my work?” the Warlock inquired, any pleasantry that Niko provoked gone cold. “I do have other appointments I need to attend to and as stated previously, I value being timely for every type of client.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, Ed—I mean, High Warlock Payne,” Charles corrected himself at the sharp look he was given. He motioned in front of him, allowing Edwin to pass him by and venture further into the Institute. Charles trailed along in his wake, quietly contemplating how to get through to the warlock in front of him.

Edwin remained silent throughout his circuit, knowing exactly where to go to access the necessary nodes of magic acting as the cornerstones of the Institute’s wards. The High Warlock knew where everything was—really had no need for an escort, aside from being some sort of thinly veiled intimidation tactic from the Clave. It uneased Charles, which seemed to just be par for the course at this point.

Going through the residential wing, the High Warlock and Shadowhunter ran into Crystal. “Hey, Edwin!” She jogged towards them, receiving the warlock in a side hug. He stiffened at the contact, merely huffing out, “A handshake would suffice.” He rolled his eyes, but Charles could tell there was no real heat to his chiding; unlike the stone façade that Charles had been with all afternoon.

With a dismissive noise, Crystal released Edwin. She scanned the hallway around them for any potential interloper before asking, “Did you find anything out about the whereabouts of the Mortal Cup? I hadn’t heard from you since you jetted out after my memories came back.”

“Ah, yes, that,” Edwin responded, seeming to just entirely ignore Charles in favor of answering Crystal, “I… inquired about potential leads through a colleague of mine, but unfortunately he was… less than helpful.” The High Warlock seemed diplomatic about his word choice; like a Seelie trying to skirt around their genetic mandate to speak only in truths. Edwin was hiding something. If Charles didn’t know better, he would think that Edwin was hiding valuable information about the Mortal Cup. But he did know better. He saw with his own two eyes what Edwin was hiding.

Whoever this other Warlock was caused those wings to appear against his will; wings that Edwin seemed desperately upset by.

Charles clenched his jaw over the realization and let himself stew in the rage it ignited.

“—I promised I would help with your case, Crystal, so I will continue the search within my network of contacts,” Charles heard Edwin promise, his attention brought back to the duo in front of him. “You have my word,” the Warlock concluded, with a surprising sincerity.

He sighed, “After all, this predicament affects the entire Downworld far more than it would Shadowhunters. I hesitate to think what someone like David would do if he was able to get his hands on it…”

“Hey,” Crystal interjected, trying to steer Edwin away from the morose thought, “I’m not gonna let that son of a bitch get the cup or sword or any other mortal instrument. Those memories were locked away for a reason and I gotta believe…” she exhaled, trying not to get choked up on how quickly her life had spiraled, “I have to believe I did what I did to help the Downworld. I don’t give a shit about what the Head thinks, what the Clave thinks—hell, even what Raziel himself thinks—Downworlders don’t deserve to be treated like second class citizens and certainly don't deserve to be slaughtered like they are nothing. Especially by someone like David.”

Her breathing became near panting in the aftermath of her heated declaration. Charles stood in stunned silence at his past parabatai; what had he missed in those months before her disappearance? How could he let himself be so blind as to what was happening to someone who had part of his soul… let alone blind to the goings on of the Shadow World at large.

“Thank you, Crystal.” Edwin opted for a short but firm pat on her arm in appreciation. “I will try to be more forthcoming about any progress I obtain so we may better end this menace... together.”

She smirked, “You better…”—her lighthearted tone pivoting to something more serious—"but I understand why that trust might be hard. I certainly wouldn’t fault you for not trusting me, of all people. After what I did...”

“It's not what you did,” the High Warlock refuted, “It's what you do that matters.”

Perhaps that could mean something for Charles as well.

Chapter Text

Edwin cleared his throat, attempting to refocus the two Shadowhunters before him. “As much as I appreciate this moment of camaraderie, I do still have matters to attend to.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Crystal meekly replied. “I shouldn’t be holding you up with all of your important High Warlock-y duties.” Edwin smirked at the jest.

“Until next time, Crystal,” the Warlock remarked by way of saying farewell. He gracefully pivoted to the opposite direction, walking towards the next node. Crystal shared a look with Charles, a question silently posed as she glanced between him and where Payne just was. It made him miss their parabatai bond something fierce; the pure absence of it aching in a physical way.

He didn’t have time to dwell. Shrugging in response to Crystal before hurrying to catch up with Edwin, who seemed fit to simply ignore the other’s presence.

They were nearing the last ward node when Charles finally gathered the nerve to just confront the Warlock. “That bloke was why you had wings, yeah?” His voice gathering strength as he continued to talk, “Whoever you saw about the cup did… something to make them sprout from your back like that.”   

For a moment, it didn’t seem as if Edwin had heard Charles, merely continuing the elaborate hand movements to correctly collaborate the magic… or whatever it is that Warlocks did to strengthen wards (honestly, they could be doing nothing, and Charles would be none the wiser).

He was about to ask Edwin again, but the High Warlock stilled abruptly. Staring at the glowing node, he answered, “You are aware of the concept of Warlock marks, are you not?”

The question took Charles aback slightly, “I uh… yeah. It’s some sort of…”—he gestured around his face vaguely—“physical feature that identifies your…”

“—Parentage” Edwin thankfully finished for Charles, who was unwilling to call out the very real fact of Edwin’s demon blood. A fact that Charles’s father, along with many of his fellow Shadowhunters, used as the basis of discrimination and Nephilim superiority. By the Angel, it was a fact that Charles himself clung to until a several months ago; believing the tosh he had been fed his whole life about Downworlders and how they were beholden to their supposed demonic urges.

And then he met Niko. Crystal. Edwin.

How utterly bollocks that whole notion was. How bloody stupid Charles had been.

No wonder he lost his parabatai.

“So what’s this about warlock marks then, mate?”

Edwin turned his gaze to Charles finally, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Despite what your crude gesticulations seem to indicate, marks are very diverse in their manifestations. Horns are fairly common, along with unique skin, eye, and hair pigmentation… but there are near limitless possibilities… some more… grotesque than others…”

He was skirting around the blatant bat wing of it all. “And those… the other night… they were yours, weren’t they?” Charles alluded to gently which, even still, caused Edwin to twitch and uneasily look around to see if anyone else had heard. Not spotting anyone, Edwin sighed and threw a guilty look to Charles. A quiet confirmation.

“The Clave doesn’t have your mark in their files…” he realized out loud, thinking back to when he initially did research on the High Warlock of London (and the startling lack of information there was).

“A fact that I assume you will very well remedy soon,” Edwin huffed, forcing himself to go and work back on the ward’s node. Charles frowned, reaching out to still Edwin’s wrist.

Blue wisps of magic harmlessly cascaded down the back of the Shadowhunter’s hand. “Didn’t say that now, did I?”

“You, Charles Rowland…” Edwin spat out incredulously, “Heir to the London Institute and Clave darling… intentionally withholding valuable information on a dirty warlock?”

“Who is making judgements on who this time?” Charles countered, trying not to match Edwin’s pain with more pain.

The Warlock exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment to compose himself.

“Look,” Charles continued, taking note of the sheen on Edwin’s eyes when they reopened, “I’m not perfect, alright? I’m trying. And you have no idea—No idea—How much I regret how I acted that night. I swear I was only trying to protect you, mate.”

“Protect… me?” Edwin responded in disbelief, more vulnerable than his earlier comment.

“Yeah, you may be all powerful with your magic and immortality and all. But… I was… worried, okay?” Charles, now overcome with a feeling of embarrassment, quickly released Edwin’s wrist to scratch at the back of his neck, “Crystal dropped a bomb on us. You rushed out of there, and… and I hadn’t heard back from you… and then your door was all ajar and I just… acted, y’know?”

A sad smile appeared on the Warlock’s face. “You do have a tendency to act impetuously, even more so than the typical Shadowhunter,” Edwin chided lightly, “We really must have a discussion on that behavior of yours.”

Charles huffed out a laugh, “As long as that means we get to keep talking, you can lecture me all you want, mate.”

“How could I possibly deprive myself of such an open-hearted protector and conversationalist?” Edwin remarked as he continued to work once again.

With the wards’ updates completed, Charles “escorted” the High Warlock to receive proper payment. The duo stopped short of the door to the Institute’s Head, Edwin lightly touching the other’s shoulder to pause him before they parted. “You continue to surprise me, Charles Rowland,” Edwin noted to the Shadowhunter, sincerity now replacing the hostility he arrived with. Without waiting for a response, he nodded in a goodbye and entered Charles’s father’s office.

“In good ways, I hope,” the Shadowhunter muttered to himself as the door shut.