The Red Scrolls of Magic

by Cassandra Clare

  Magnus kissed the Equilibrium rune, then the Stamina rune. Alec’s body arched beneath him, and his hands tightened on Magnus’s shoulders.

  Alec’s voice was insistent as he said something something “Magnus” something something.

  “Alexander,” Magnus murmured back, and felt Alec’s body surge underneath his in response. Alec’s hands locked on his shoulders. Magnus studied him with sudden concern.

  Alec, wide-eyed, was staring off to the side. “Magnus. Over there.”

  Magnus followed Alec’s gaze and realized they had company. There was a figure sitting on the purple love seat opposite them. In the shimmer of city lights through the window, Magnus saw a woman with a cloud of brown hair, startled gray eyes, and the beginnings of a familiar wry smile.

  Magnus said, “Tessa?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  * * *

  The Crimson Hand

  THE THREE OF THEM SAT in the living room in uncomfortable silence. Alec was sitting on the other end of the sofa, far from Magnus. Nothing was going according to plan tonight.

  “Tessa!” Magnus said again, marveling. “Aren’t you unexpected. And uninvited.”

  Tessa sat and sipped her tea, looking perfectly composed. Since she was one of Magnus’s dearest and oldest friends, he felt it would be nice if she looked even slightly apologetic. She did not.

  “You told me once that you would not forgive me if I didn’t drop by whenever I found myself in the same city as you.”

  “I would have forgiven you,” Magnus said with conviction. “I would have thanked you.”

  Tessa glanced Alec’s way. Alec was blushing. The ends of Tessa’s lips curled up, but she was kind and hid her smile behind her teacup.

  “Call it even,” said Tessa. “You once walked in on me in an embarrassing situation with a gentleman in a mountain fortress, after all.”

  Her half-concealed smile flickered. She looked again at Alec, who had inherited his coloring from Shadowhunters long gone. Shadowhunters Tessa had loved.

  “You should let that go,” Magnus advised.

  Tessa was a warlock like Magnus, and like Magnus, she was used to overcoming the memory of what had been loved and lost. They were in the longtime habit of comforting each other. She took another sip of tea, her smile restored as if it had never been gone.

  “I certainly have let it go,” she replied. “Now.”

  Alec, who was watching this back-and-forth as if sitting center court in a tennis match, raised a hand. “I’m sorry, but did you two used to date?”

  That stopped the conversation dead in its tracks. Both Tessa and Magnus turned to him with identical looks of shock.

  “You seem more horrified than I do,” Magnus told Tessa, “and somehow I am deeply wounded.”

  Tessa gave Magnus a tiny smile, then turned to Alec. “Magnus and I have been friends for more than a hundred years.”

  “Okay,” said Alec. “So this is a friendly visit?”

  There was an edge to his voice that made Magnus raise an eyebrow. Alec was sometimes uncomfortable around new people. Magnus supposed that explained his tone. Magnus was so obviously, embarrassingly infatuated. There was no way Alec could possibly be jealous.

  Tessa sighed. The light of amusement in her gray eyes died away. “I wish this was a friendly visit,” she said softly. “It’s not.”

  She shifted in her seat, moving a little stiffly. Magnus’s eyes narrowed.

  “Tessa,” he said. “Are you hurt?”

  “Nothing that won’t heal,” she said.

  “Are you in trouble?”

  She gave him a long, unreadable look.

  “No,” said Tessa. “You are.”

  “What do you mean?” Alec asked, his voice suddenly urgent.

  Tessa bit her lip. “Magnus,” she said, “can I talk to you alone?”

  “You can talk to us both,” said Magnus. “I trust Alec.”

  Very quietly, Tessa asked, “Do you trust him with your life?”

  With someone else, Magnus would have thought they were being overdramatic. Tessa wasn’t like that. What she said, she usually meant.

  “Yes,” Magnus said. “With my life.”

  Many Downworlders would never have told secrets to a Shadowhunter, no matter what Magnus said, but Tessa was different. She grabbed a worn leather satchel by her feet, brought out a wax-sealed scroll, and unrolled it. “The Spiral Council have issued a formal demand that you, Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, neutralize the human cult of demon worshippers known as the Crimson Hand. Immediately.”

  “I understand that the Spiral Council want the best,” Magnus said modestly. “I can’t say I care for their tone. I’ve heard of the Crimson Hand. They’re a joke. They’re a bunch of humans who like to party wearing demon masks. They’re more interested in doing body shots than demon worship. I’m on vacation, and I won’t be bothered with this nonsense. Tell the Spiral Council I will be giving my cat, Chairman Meow, a bath.”

  The Spiral Council was the closest thing warlocks had to a governing body, but it was secretive and not entirely official. In general, warlocks had issues with authority. Magnus had more than most.

  A shadow touched Tessa’s face. “Magnus, I had to beg the Council to let me come to you. Yes, the Crimson Hand has always been a joke. But it appears they have a new leader, someone who has whipped them into shape. They’ve gotten powerful, have deep pockets, and have been recruiting heavily. There have been several deaths and far more disappearances. A dead faerie was found in Venice, next to a pentagram painted with her blood.”

  Magnus started, and forced himself to be still. Tessa didn’t have to spell it out for him: they both knew faerie blood could be used to summon Greater Demons, who had once been among the highest of angels, and who had fallen so far.

  Unspoken between Tessa and Magnus was their knowledge that they were each the child of a different Greater Demon. Magnus felt a certain kinship with Tessa as a result. There were very few children of Greater Demons around.

  Magnus hadn’t told Alec that his father was a Prince of Hell. It seemed bound to put a crimp in any new relationship.

  “Is that so?” Magnus asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. “If this cult is mixed up with trying to raise a Greater Demon, that is very bad news. For the cult, and potentially for many other innocents.”

  Tessa nodded, leaning forward. “The Crimson Hand is clearly poised to cause chaos in the Shadow World, so the Spiral Council sent me to deal with them. I was impersonating one of their acolytes at their headquarters in Venice, trying to find out what they were up to and who their leader might be. But then, during one of their rituals, I was exposed to a potion that made me lose control of my shape-shifting abilities. I barely escaped with my life. When I returned a few days later, the cult had abandoned the place. You need to find them.”

  “As I so often say,” Magnus remarked, “why me?”

  Tessa was not smiling now. “I don’t give it a lot of credence, but the rumor in Downworld is that the Crimson Hand’s new leader isn’t actually new. People are saying their original founder has returned.”

  “And who, may I ask, is their founder?”

  Tessa took out a photo and slapped it down on the table. The photo was of a painting drawn on a wall. The painting was crude, amateurishly drawn, almost as if by a child. It depicted several images of a man with dark hair lounging on a throne. Next to him were two people fanning him with palm leaves, while a third knelt in front of him. No, not bowing, but giving him what appeared to be a foot rub.

  Even roughly painted, they could all recognize the cult founder’s jet-black hair, etched cheekbones, and yellow catlike eyes.

  “They call their founder ‘the Great Poison,’ ” Tessa said. “Look familiar? Magnus, people are saying that you are the original founder and the new leader of the Crimson Hand.”

  A chill passed through Magnus. Then indignation took over.

  “Tessa, I most certainly did not found a c
ult!” he protested. “I don’t even like demon worshippers. They’re boring idiots who worship boring demons.” He paused. “It’s the kind of thing I would joke about, really.” He paused again. “Not that I would. Even as a prank. I would never . . .” He trailed off.

  “You would joke about starting a cult that worshipped demons?” Alec asked.

  Magnus gestured helplessly. “I would joke about anything.”

  Mundanes had a phrase for when they didn’t remember something: “doesn’t ring a bell.” This was the opposite of that. A cult called the Crimson Hand . . . a joke long ago. It rang through him, almost exactly like a bell.

  He remembered telling a joke, centuries ago. Ragnor Fell had been there, he was almost sure. He remembered a hot day and a very long night. He remembered nothing else.

  Magnus drew in a deep breath and forced himself to remain calm. His old friend Ragnor was dead now, a casualty of the recent war. Magnus had been trying not to think about that too much. Now there was a gap in his own memories. Keeping centuries of life clear in your mind was difficult, but Magnus could tell the difference between memory that was clouded and memory that had been scythed away. He had cast spells to cloud and remove memories before. Warlocks did it for each other sometimes, to help their friends get through the trials presented by immortality.

  Why would he have had memories of a demon-worshipping cult that were removed? Who would have removed them? He did not dare look in Alec’s direction.

  “Tessa,” he said carefully, “are you sure you haven’t become confused by the Great Poison’s handsome face and dashing demeanor?”

  “There’s a painting on the wall,” said Alec, his voice calm and factual. “You’re wearing the same jacket in both pictures.”

  Rather than look at Alec, Magnus looked at the painting, which was of himself and his fellow warlocks Ragnor Fell and Catarina Loss. A werewolf acquaintance of an artistic persuasion had painted the picture, so none of their warlock marks were masked with glamour. Catarina was in a low-cut dress, showing a good deal of beautiful blue skin, and Ragnor’s horns curved in a forest of pomaded curls, his green face a contrast with his white cravat like spring leaves against snow. The corners of Magnus’s glowing cat eyes were crinkled as he smiled. Magnus had always treasured this painting.

  And he was wearing the same jacket in both pictures.

  He considered but rejected the possibility that the Great Poison had coincidentally owned the same jacket. It had been custom-made for him, as a thank-you, by the Russian tsar’s personal tailor. It seemed unlikely Dmitri would have made a second one for some random cult leader.

  “I can’t remember anything about the Crimson Hand,” Magnus said. “But memories can be tampered with. I think mine might have been.”

  “Magnus,” said Tessa, “I know you are not the leader of a demon-worshipping cult, but not everyone in the Spiral Labyrinth knows you like I do. They think you might be the one doing this. They wanted to go to the Shadowhunters. I persuaded the Spiral Labyrinth to give you the chance to stop the cult and prove your innocence, before they get any of the Institutes involved. I wish I could do more, but I can’t.”

  “That’s all right,” Magnus said. He didn’t want to worry Tessa, so he forced his voice into breeziness, though he felt more like a storm. “I can handle this on my own.”

  He hadn’t looked at Alec in some time. He wondered if he would ever have the courage to look at Alec again. According to all the laws of the Accords, the Shadowhunters should have been told about the demonic cult, and the murders, and the warlock suspect immediately.

  Tessa was the one who looked at Alec.

  “Magnus didn’t do it,” she assured him.

  Alec said, “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

  Tension eased out of Tessa’s shoulders. She placed her cup on the side table and stood up. Her gaze lingered on Alec and her smile spread, warm and sweet, and Magnus understood that she was seeing within him not just Will but Cecily and Anna and Christopher, generations of beloved faces now gone. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Alexander.”

  “Alec,” said Alec. He was studying Tessa closely in return.

  “Alec,” said Tessa. “I wish I could stay and help, but I must return to the Labyrinth as quickly as possible. They’re opening a Portal for me. Please take care of Magnus.”

  “Excuse me?” asked Magnus, startled.

  “Of course I will,” said Alec. “Tessa, before you go. You look . . . familiar. Have we met before?”

  Tessa stood looking down at him. Her face was serious and kind.

  “No,” she said. “But I hope we meet again.”

  She turned toward the back wall, where a Portal was opening, illuminating the furniture and the lamps and the windows with an uncanny light. Through the curving doorway of light cut out of the air, Magnus could see the infamously uncomfortable chairs of the Spiral Labyrinth’s receiving room.

  “Whoever the cult’s new leader is,” Tessa said, pausing before the Portal, “be careful. I think it must be a warlock. I did not learn much, but even as an acolyte of the cult I encountered powerful wards and saw spells turned aside as if they were nothing. They have a sacred book they spoke of, called the Red Scrolls of Magic. I was not able to get a copy.”

  “I’ll ask around at the Paris Shadow Market,” said Magnus.

  “They are watching for magic, so avoid traveling by Portal whenever possible,” Tessa said.

  “You’re using a Portal right now,” said Magnus, amused. “Always ‘do as I say and not as I do,’ I see. Will you be safe?”

  Tessa was more than a century old, but she was so much younger than Magnus, and he had known her almost her whole life. He had never stopped feeling protective of her.

  “I’m headed for the Spiral Labyrinth and staying there. It’s always safe there. You, on the other hand, will probably be headed to more dangerous places. Good luck. Also—sorry about your vacation.”

  “You shouldn’t apologize,” said Magnus. Tessa blew him a kiss as she stepped through the Portal, and both she and its bright glow vanished from Magnus’s living room.

  Magnus and Alec didn’t move for several beats. Magnus still could not bring himself to look directly at Alec. He was too afraid of what he would see on Alec’s face. He stood in the middle of his Paris apartment with the man he loved, and felt very alone.

  Magnus had harbored such high hopes for this getaway. It was only the start of their vacation, and now Magnus had an awful secret he was conspiring with a Downworlder friend to keep from Shadowhunters. Worse than that, he could not swear to Alec that he was entirely innocent. He could not remember.

  Magnus couldn’t blame Alec if he was reconsidering the entire relationship. Date me, Alec Lightwood. Your parents hate me, I don’t fit into your world and you won’t like mine, and we won’t be able to go on a romantic vacation without my dark past casting a shadow over our whole future.

  Magnus wanted them to get to know each other better. Magnus had a hard-won high opinion of himself, and he had an even higher opinion of Alec. He had thought he had unearthed every dark secret, wrestled every demon, accepted every personal flaw. The possibility that there might be secrets about himself even he did not know was a troubling one.

  “Tessa didn’t have to apologize,” he said eventually. “I should. I’m sorry for ruining our vacation.”

  “Nothing’s ruined,” said Alec.

  It was the echo of what Magnus had said earlier that made him look at Alec at last. When he did, he found Alec smiling at him faintly.

  Truth came tumbling helplessly from Magnus’s lips, as it sometimes did around Alec. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

  Alec said, “We’ll figure it out.”

  Magnus knew there had been times in his long life when he was furious and lost. He might not recall the Crimson Hand, but he remembered the first man he had ever killed, when he was a child with another name in a land that would become Indonesia. Magnus had be
en a person he now regretted being, but he could not wipe away the red stains of his past.

  He didn’t want Alec to see those stains, or be touched by them. He did not want Alec to think of him the way he knew other Shadowhunters thought of him.

  There had been other loves in Magnus’s life who would have run screaming long before now, and Alec was a Shadowhunter. He had his high duty, more sacred to the Nephilim than love.

  “If you felt you had to tell the Clave,” Magnus said slowly, “I would understand.”

  “Are you joking?” Alec demanded. “I’m not going to repeat any of these stupid lies to the Clave. I’m not going to tell anyone. Magnus, I promise I won’t.”

  Alec’s expression was appalled. Magnus was shaken by the intensity of his own relief, by how much it mattered that Alec had not believed the worst.

  “I swear, I truly don’t remember anything.”

  “I believe you. We can handle this. We just need to find and stop whoever’s actually in charge of the Crimson Hand.” Alec shrugged. “Okay. Let’s do that then.”

  Magnus wondered if he would ever get used to being surprised by Alec Lightwood. He hoped not.

  “Also, we’ll find out why you can’t remember this. We’ll figure out who did it, and why. I’m not worried.”

  Magnus was worried. Tessa believed in him, because she was kind. Astonishingly, Alec believed in him. Even dazzled and dizzy with relief over Alec, Magnus could not entirely banish his own creeping unease. He couldn’t remember, and so it was possible—not likely, but possible—he might have done something then that he would be ashamed of now. Magnus wished he could be sure he deserved Alec’s faith. He wished he could swear to Alec that he had never committed any unforgivable sins.

  But he could not.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  * * *