The Red Scrolls of Magic

by Cassandra Clare

  “Sorry about the champagne,” said Alec. “I hope it wasn’t one of your most-prized bottles or anything.”

  Magnus laughed. Alec anticipating him, yet again.

  “I only bring the medium-prized bottles to drink on a dangling platform a thousand feet in the air.”

  He overcompensated for the wind a bit too much and the platform swung dangerously in the other direction like a pendulum, nearly putting a hole in a giant billboard. He righted the balloon hastily and checked on the situation below.

  The swarm of Iblis demons had split in two, encircling the Shadowhunters on the roof below. The unlucky pair were trapped, though they continued fighting valiantly. The fair-haired woman moved like cornered lightning. The first Iblis demon that leaped at them was cut down by a slice of her seraph blade, as were the second and third. But there were too many. As Magnus watched, a fourth demon launched itself toward the Shadowhunter woman, its glowing eyes streaking through the darkness.

  Magnus glanced at Alec, and Alec nodded at him. Magnus used a great deal of his magic to hold the hot-air balloon perfectly still, for just a moment. Alec let his first arrow fly.

  The Iblis demon never reached the woman. The glow from its eyes dimmed as its smoky body dissipated, leaving behind nothing but an arrow embedded into the ground. Three more demons suffered a similar fate.

  Alec’s hands were a blur, raining arrow after arrow at the swarm below. Any time a pair of glowing eyes moved toward the Shadowhunters, a streaking arrow would meet it before it could reach them.

  It was a pity Magnus had to devote his attention to controlling the elements rather than admiring his boyfriend.

  The rear guard of the Iblis demons turned toward the new threat in the sky. Three broke off their attack on the Shadowhunters and launched themselves toward the balloon. Two were dropped by arrows before they could make it onto the platform, but Alec was too late to draw on the third. The demon, gaping maw exposing a row of sharp black teeth, struck at Alec.

  But Alec had already dropped the bow and drawn a seraph blade. “Puriel,” said Alec, and the blade lit up with angelic power. The runes on his body shimmered as he thrust the blade through the Iblis demon and sliced, separating head from body. The demon crumbled away into black ash.

  Another group of demons reached the platform, and quickly met a similar fate. This was what Shadowhunters did, what Alec was born to do. His body was a weapon, graceful and swift, an instrument honed to slay demons and shield his loved ones. Alec was very good at both.

  Magnus’s skills were more in the areas of magic and fashion sense. He ensnared one demon in a web of electricity and held off another with an invisible barrier made of wind. Alec shot the demon Magnus was holding off, then shot the last demon lingering below. At this point, the fair-haired Shadowhunter woman and her male companion had nothing left to do. They were standing in a whirl of smoky ash and destruction and appeared somewhat at a loss.

  “You’re welcome!” Magnus called down to them, waving. “No charge!”

  “Magnus,” said Alec. “Magnus!”

  The note of real alarm in Alec’s voice was what made Magnus aware that the wind had slipped out of his grasp, even before he felt the lurch of the balloon platform beneath their feet. Magnus made a last frantic, futile gesture, and Alec rushed at him, curling his body around Magnus’s.

  “Brace for—” Alec shouted in his ear, as the balloon careened down toward earth and, more specifically, a theater marquee with CARMEN spelled across the front in brilliant yellow bulbs.

  Magnus Bane did his best, in life, to always be spectacular.

  This crash was.

  CHAPTER TWO

  * * *

  Stars Spell Your Name

  JUST AS THE PLATFORM WAS about to plow into the letter R, Alec clutched a fistful of Magnus’s sleeve, yanked him into a rough embrace, and launched them both over the side of the platform. The glittering sky and glittering city changed places as the world spun. He lost track of up and down, until down got his full attention by hitting hard. An instant of dark followed, then he found himself lying on the grass, cradled in Alec’s arms.

  Magnus blinked stars out of his eyes just in time to see the balloon smash into the marquee, causing an impressive explosion of sparks and splinters. The gas flame that had been keeping it aloft lurched, and the balloon rapidly deflated as it and the marquee caught fire.

  People were already massing across the street to gawk. The distinctive beep-boop of Parisian police sirens became audible and quickly grew louder. Some things couldn’t be glamoured away.

  Strong hands pulled Magnus to his feet. “Are you all right?”

  Surprisingly, he was. Falling safely from absurd heights was apparently one of the Shadowhunters’ many skills. Magnus was more shaken by Alec’s look of concern than he was by the crash. Magnus found himself wanting to glance over his shoulder to find who the look was really directed at, not altogether able to believe it was for him.

  Magnus had been dodging death for centuries. He was not used to anyone worrying this much about his near misses.

  “Can’t complain,” said Magnus, adjusting his cuffs. “If I did, I would only be doing so for attention from a handsome gentleman.”

  Fortunately, Carmen was not being performed tonight, so there appeared to be no injuries. The two got to their feet and stared at the wreckage. They were thankfully invisible to the gathering crowd, who would soon be mystified at the balloon’s apparent lack of passengers. The air became quiet, and then the marquee dipped and squealed as the fire finished eating through the remaining supports and sent the entire thing crashing to the ground, sending a fresh plume of smoke and sparks into the air. Several in the crowd moved back cautiously, but continued to take photos.

  “I admit,” said Magnus, tugging at a torn piece of shirt fluttering in the wind, “this evening isn’t going exactly to plan.”

  Alec looked glum. “Sorry about ruining our night.”

  “Nothing is ruined. The night is young, and reservations are available,” said Magnus. “The theater will receive a generous donation from an unknown patron to effect the repairs necessary after this freak accident. We are about to enjoy a nighttime stroll through the most romantic city on earth. Seems an excellent night to me. Evil has been defeated, which is nice too.”

  Alec frowned. “Seeing that many Iblis demons gathered together is unusual.”

  “We have to leave some evil for the Paris Institute to amuse themselves with. It would be gauche for us to hog all the evil to fight. Besides, we are on vacation. Carpe diem. Seize the day, not the demons.”

  Alec conceded the issue with a shrug and a small smile.

  “Also, you are just great with that bow, and it is very, very attractive,” Magnus added. In his opinion, Alec needed to be complimented more. Alec looked taken aback, but not displeased. “All right. Now. New clothes. If one of the Paris fey sees me looking like this, my reputation will be toast for a century.”

  “I don’t know,” Alec said shyly. “I like how you look.”

  Magnus beamed but remained determined. A hot-air balloon crash was not how he had pictured his clothing getting torn on this trip. To Rue Saint-Honoré, then, for a quick wardrobe refresh.

  They breezed through several stores that were open late, or that could be persuaded to open for a longtime valued customer. Magnus selected a red velvet paisley blazer over a rust-red ruffled shirt, while Alec could not be talked into anything more elaborate than a dark striped hoodie under a loose-fitting leather jacket with a few too many zippers.

  This accomplished, Magnus made a few calls and was pleased to tell Alec that they would be dining at the chef’s table in A Midsummer Night’s Dining, the hottest faerie restaurant in the city.

  From outside, it looked ordinary, with a quaint brickwork-and-plaster facade. Inside, it resembled a faerie grotto. Luxuriant emerald-green moss carpeted the ground, and the walls and roof were irregular stone like that of a cavern. Vines emerged like
snakes from the trees and drifted among the tables, and several of the customers were chasing their food, as their meals had levitated from their plates and were making a break for freedom.

  “It always feels weird to order faerie restaurant food,” Alec mused once they ordered their salads. “I mean, I do in New York all the time, but I know those places. The Shadowhunter’s Codex says never to eat any faerie foods, under any circumstances.”

  “This place is perfectly safe,” Magnus said, munching on one of the leaves as it tried to crawl out of his mouth. “Perfectly mostly safe. As long as we are paying for the meal, it is not considered an offering but a purchase. The financial transaction makes all the difference. It’s a fine line, but isn’t that always the case when it comes to the Fair Folk? Don’t let your salad get away!”

  Alec laughed and stabbed at his faerie caprese. Those Shadowhunter reflexes yet again, Magnus noted.

  Magnus had always been careful, with mundane lovers, to minimize their interaction with Downworld. For their safety and their peace of mind. He’d always assumed that Shadowhunters would want to minimize their interaction with Downworld too. They held themselves apart, declaring themselves not mundane but not of Downworld either—a third thing, rather, separate and maybe even a little bit better. But Alec seemed glad to be here, not taken aback by any of Paris or Magnus’s world. It was possible, maybe, that Alec might be as happy as Magnus was, just to be together.

  He linked elbows with Alec as they left the restaurant, feeling the hard muscle of the Shadowhunter’s arm against his. Alec would be ready to fight again in an instant, but in this moment, he was simply relaxed. Magnus leaned in.

  They turned onto the Quai de Valmy and encountered a strong headwind. Alec threw on his hood, zipped up his jacket, and pulled Magnus closer. Magnus led him along as they walked through the Canal Saint-Martin neighborhood, following the waterway as it bent around the corner. Couples strolled along the shore, and small clusters of people chatted on picnic blankets at the water’s edge. A merman in a fedora had joined one group of picnickers. Magnus and Alec walked underneath a blue iron footbridge. On the other side of the canal, violin music accompanied by percussion filled the air. The mundanes of Paris would be able to hear the mortal drummer, but only people like Magnus and Alec could see and hear the faerie violinist spinning around him, with flowers in her hair sparkling like gems.

  Magnus guided Alec away from the busy canal and down a quieter street. The moon painted a row of squat gray houses sandwiched side by side with a pale glow that split into a kaleidoscope of silver among the wavering trees. They turned at random intersections, letting chance be their guide. Magnus could feel his blood coursing through his veins. He felt alive, he felt awake. He hoped Alec was as electrified as he was.

  Cool wind stroked the back of Magnus’s neck, prickling his skin. For a moment, he felt something strange. An itch, a nagging sensation, a presence. He stopped in his tracks and looked back the way they’d come.

  Magnus watched the crowds move past. He still felt it: eyes watching, ears listening, or possibly thoughts focused on him floating in the air.

  “Something wrong?” asked Alec.

  Magnus realized he had pulled away from Alec, ready to face a threat alone. He shook off his unease.

  “What could be wrong?” he asked. “I’m with you.”

  He reached for Alec and laced their fingers together, Alec’s calloused palm pressed tight against his own. Alec held himself more at ease in the night than during the day. Possibly he felt more comfortable hidden from the view of even those with the Sight. Perhaps all Shadowhunters felt more at home in the shadows.

  They stopped just inside the entrance of the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont. The glow from the city lights gave the horizon a soft brown hue as it merged with the blackness of the night sky, punctuated only by the moon. Magnus pointed at a faint cluster of stars sparkling to his right. “There’s Boötes, the bear watcher, and Corona and Hercules next to it.”

  “Why is it supposed to be romantic to point out stars?” Alec said, but with a smile on his face. “Look, that one is . . . Dave . . . the Hunter . . . and that one is the . . . Frog, and . . . the Helicopter. I don’t know constellations, sorry.”

  “It’s romantic because it’s sharing knowledge about the world,” said Magnus. “The one who knows about stars teaches the one who doesn’t know. That’s romantic.”

  Alec said, “I don’t think there’s anything I can teach you.” He was still smiling, but Magnus felt a pang.

  “Sure there is,” said Magnus. “What’s that on the back of your hand?”

  Alec lifted his hand and examined it as if it were new to him. “It’s a rune. You’ve seen them before.”

  “I know the basic idea. You draw the runes on your skin, you get powers,” said Magnus. “I’m not all that clear on the details. Humor me. The Mark on your hand is the first one you get, right?”

  “Yes,” Alec said slowly. “Voyance. That’s the rune they usually put first on Shadowhunter children, the rune to verify that they can bear runes at all. And it lets you see through glamour. Which is always useful.”

  Magnus looked at the shadowy curve of an eye against Alec’s pale skin. Glamours protected Downworlders. Shadowhunters needed to see through glamours because Downworlders were potential threats.

  Did Alec not think the same thought when he looked at the Mark on his hand? Or was he simply kind enough not to speak it? To protect Magnus, as he had protected him in the fall from the balloon. Strange, thought Magnus. But sweet.

  “What about this one?” he said, and found himself trailing an index finger down the curve of Alec’s bicep, watching Alec shiver at the unexpected intimacy of the gesture.

  Alec looked Magnus in the eyes. “Accuracy,” he said.

  “So I have this one to thank for your skills with the bow?” He used his hold on Alec’s hand to draw him in, so they met in the middle of the path under the soft shine of the moon. He leaned over to plant a small kiss on Alec’s arm.

  “Thanks,” he whispered. “And this one?”

  Now he grazed his fingers along the side of Alec’s throat. Alec’s shuddering breath broke the soft stillness of the night. His arm snaked around Magnus’s waist, pressing their bodies tighter together, and Magnus felt Alec’s heart pounding through his shirt.

  “Equilibrium,” Alec said breathlessly. “Keeps me steady on my feet.”

  Magnus bowed his head and laid his lips gently on the rune, faded to silvery almost-invisibility against the smooth skin of Alec’s neck. Alec inhaled sharply.

  Magnus slid his mouth along warm skin until he reached Alec’s ear and purred, “I don’t think it’s working.”

  “I don’t want it to,” Alec murmured.

  He turned his face into Magnus’s and caught Magnus’s mouth with his own. Alec kissed as he did all things, so dedicated and wholehearted he swept Magnus away. Magnus curled his hand in the soft leather of Alec’s jacket and saw through his eyelashes new skin being bared to the moonlight. Another rune, filigreed like a musical note, was inscribed below the dip of Alec’s collarbone.

  Magnus said, in a low voice, “And what’s that one?”

  Alec answered, “Stamina.”

  Magnus stared. “Are you serious?”

  Alec began to grin. “Yeah.”

  “Really, though,” Magnus said. “I want to be clear on this. You’re not just saying that to be sexy?”

  “No,” Alec answered, his voice husky, and swallowed. “But I’m glad if it is.”

  Magnus laid his rings against the space beneath Alec’s collarbone and saw Alec shiver at the cool touch of metal. He traced up the back of Alec’s neck and palmed the back of his head to pull him close again.

  As he did, Magnus whispered, “God, I love Shadowhunters.”

  Alec said again, “I’m glad.”

  His mouth was soft and warm, a contradiction with his strong hands until it was not, until the kiss became both encircling comfort
and burning urgency. Magnus pulled back eventually, gasping for breath, because the other choice was pulling Alec down into the grass and the dark.

  He couldn’t do that. Alec had never done anything like this before. On their first night in Paris, Magnus had woken in the early hours to find Alec still awake and pacing the floor. He knew that Alec must worry sometimes about what he’d gotten himself into. The decision about whether to take things further had to be entirely Alec’s.

  Alec asked in a strained voice: “Do you think we could skip the cabaret?”

  “What cabaret?” said Magnus.

  They took off, out of the park and toward the general direction of Magnus’s apartment, stopping twice because they got turned around by the narrow streets of the city and twice more to make out in dimly lit alleys. They would have become a great deal more lost if not for Alec’s keen sense of direction. Shadowhunters were so useful when traveling. Magnus planned to never again leave home without one.

  He had been a revolutionary and a bad painter in this apartment, had been robbed of his life’s savings here in the eighteenth century. It was the first time he had been rich and had lost everything. Magnus had lost everything a few more times since then.

  These days he was based in Brooklyn, and the Paris apartment stood empty save for the memories. He kept it for sentimental reasons, and because trying to find a hotel during Paris Fashion Week was its own special bonus level of Hell.

  Not bothering with keys, Magnus flicked a finger at the front door and used what little magic reserves he had left to swing it open. He and Alec entered the building still kissing, fetching up against the walls and stumbling up four flights of stairs. His apartment door slammed open with a loud bang and they spilled inside.

  The velvet blazer didn’t even make it inside his apartment, since Alec tore it off and dropped it in the hallway just short of the front door. As they crossed the threshold, he was ripping Magnus’s shirt open. Cuff links and buttons chimed distantly against the floorboards. Magnus was savagely unzipping the leather jacket as he pressed Alec against the arm of the sofa and tipped him over onto the cushions. Alec fell with easy grace onto his back, pulling Magnus down on top of him.