The Red Scrolls of Magic

by Cassandra Clare

  “That isn’t your idea of a good time?” Alec asked.

  “I’ve heard of you,” said Helen. “You were in the war. You were the one with Magnus Bane.”

  “He’s my boyfriend,” Alec said flatly.

  He deliberately did not look at the face of the Shadowhunter man, who had hung back silently. Given what Alec had seen earlier, Helen might be okay with same-sex relationships, but Shadowhunters often were not.

  She didn’t look shocked, though. She looked worried. “Malcolm Fade told me there’s a rumor Magnus Bane is the warlock leading the Crimson Hand,” said Helen.

  So now Shadowhunters had heard the rumor. Alec told himself to be calm. Malcolm was the High Warlock of Los Angeles. Helen lived in the Los Angeles Institute. They knew each other. That didn’t mean the story had spread to the rest of the Clave.

  “It’s not true,” said Alec, with all the conviction he could muster.

  “Malcolm did say he didn’t believe it,” Helen admitted.

  “Right,” Alec said. “I can see you’ve got the situation handled. I’ll just head back upstairs to the party.”

  Helen casually walked past him to look up the steps to see if anyone else was there. It wasn’t lost on Alec that she still held the seraph blade in her hand, nor that she had just cut off his escape route. She turned to him and said, “I think you should come with us to the Rome Institute to answer some questions.”

  Alec kept his face neutral, but a chill swept through his body. If it came to it, the Clave could put the Mortal Sword in his hands and he would be forced to tell the truth. He’d have to say that Magnus thought he had founded the cult.

  “I think we’re blowing this way out of proportion,” he said.

  “I agree,” said the Shadowhunter man unexpectedly, and caught Alec’s attention for the first time. He was short and good-looking, with a dramatic sweep of dark red hair and a French accent. “Excuse me, Monsieur Lightwood, have you been to Paris lately?”

  “Yes, right before I arrived in Venice.”

  “And were you by chance on a hot-air balloon?”

  He almost said no, but realized he was caught. “Yeah, I was.”

  “I knew it!” The Shadowhunter rushed forward and grabbed his hand, pumping it enthusiastically. “I want to thank you, Monsieur Lightwood. Can I call you Alec? I am Leon Verlac, of the Paris Institute. The ravissante Helen and I were the Shadowhunters you aided on the rooftop. We cannot thank you enough.”

  Helen’s expression suggested that she could probably thank Alec enough. Or possibly not thank him at all. Alec withdrew his hand from Leon’s with difficulty. Leon seemed inclined to hang on to it.

  “So you were in Paris as well?” Helen said casually. “What an astonishing coincidence.”

  “Visiting Paris on a European vacation is a coincidence?” said Alec.

  “It would be a crime not to visit Paris!” Leon agreed. “You should have stopped by the Paris Institute while you were there, Alec. I would have shown you the sights as I did for our charming Helen, whom I would follow anywhere. Even to this terrible party.”

  Alec glanced between Helen and Leon, trying to work out if they were together. Helen had been kissing that vampire woman, so he assumed not, but he was naive about these things. Perhaps they would have a couple’s squabble and let him go.

  “Go fetch the car, Leon,” said Helen. “You can ask Alec anything you like on the ride down to Rome.”

  “Now hold on,” said Leon. “Alec saved our lives on the rooftop. He wouldn’t do that if he had a hand in this. I, for one, believe him. He was just investigating suspicious activity in the basement, specifically us, like any Shadowhunter would. Even though he is on vacation.”

  He gave Alec an appreciative nod.

  “It was no problem,” said Alec carefully.

  “Besides, look at him!” said Leon. “He is clearly here to party. He looks fantastic. I told you we should have masks. Let the poor man get back to his vacation, Helen, while we find some real leads.”

  Helen regarded Alec for another long moment, then slowly lowered her seraph blade.

  “All right,” she said grudgingly.

  Alec did not ask them about Mori Shu, or anything else. He headed for the stairs without delay.

  “Wait!” said Helen.

  Alec turned around, trying to conceal his dread. “What?”

  “Thanks,” said Helen. “For the rescue in Paris.”

  That surprised a smile from Alec. “You’re welcome.”

  Helen smiled back. She was pretty when she smiled.

  Still, Alec felt shaken as he reached the upper floors, wading upstream against the throng of partygoers heading to the dance floor.

  He wondered if the cold apprehension he’d felt talking to Helen was how Downworlders always felt when they were being questioned by Shadowhunters. Not that he blamed Helen for being suspicious. Alec would be too, in her shoes. Alec knew too well that anyone could be a traitor—like his tutor, Hodge Starkweather, who had betrayed them to Valentine during the Mortal War. Helen’s suspicions were warranted—after all, he had lied, or at least omitted important information. Lying to fellow Shadowhunters, who should have been on his side, felt awful. He felt like a traitor.

  But he’d feel worse if he failed to protect Magnus. The Clave should be set up to protect people like Magnus, not pose another threat to him. Alec had always believed in the Law, but if the Law didn’t shield Magnus, the Law should be changed.

  Alec trusted maybe six people in the world without question, but one of them was Magnus. He just hadn’t expected trusting someone to be so complicated.

  If only he could find Magnus. He wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but the mansion was busier now than when they had arrived just a short time ago.

  Alec kept heading upstairs, until he came to a long stone balcony running along the walls of the grand ballroom. It was a useful vantage point from which to oversee the whole party. He only had to walk the perimeter once before he caught sight of Magnus dancing in the crowd of Downworlders and mundanes below. The sight of him made Alec’s whole body relax. Before he met Magnus, Alec was not sure he’d ever really believed he could be entirely himself, and entirely happy. Then there was Magnus, and what had seemed impossible became possible. Seeing him was always a small shock, his face a glimpse of hope that everything might be all right.

  Two of the ballroom walls were lined with enormous arches open to the night, making the room a golden orb rising between black waters and black sky. The ballroom floor was a wide expanse of blue, the blue of a lake in summertime. The ceiling was crowded with an orchestra of stars, the chandelier a cascade of falling stars that faeries were using as a swing. As Alec watched, one faerie pushed another off the chandelier. Alec tensed, but then gauzy turquoise wings unfolded from the faerie’s back and he landed safely among the dancers.

  There were winged faeries flying, werewolves tumbling like acrobats through the crowd, vampires’ fangs glittering as they laughed, and warlocks wrapped in light. Masks were lifted and dropped, torches trailed fire like burning ribbons, and the silver shadows of moonlit water danced on the walls. Alec had seen beauty before in the shining towers of Alicante, in the fluid fighting of his sister and his parabatai, in many familiar beloved things. He had not seen beauty in Downworld, until Magnus. Yet here it was, simply waiting to be found.

  Alec began to feel bad about his indignation that Downworlders were claiming the victory against Valentine as their own. He knew what had happened. He had been there, fighting side by side with Downworlders, and the war had made this golden freedom possible. This was their victory as much as his.

  Alec remembered he and Magnus lending each other strength through the Alliance rune, magic only reinforcing the connection between them, and thought, This victory is ours.

  He and Magnus would work through this puzzle too. They would find someone to help them in this maze of gold columns and dark rivers. They had overcome worse. Alec’s hear
t lifted at the thought, and at that moment, he saw his warlock in the crowd.

  Magnus’s head was tipped back, his shimmering white suit rumpled like bedsheets in the morning, his white cloak swaying after him like a moonbeam. His mirrorlike mask was askew, his black hair wild, his slim body arching with the dance, and wrapped around his fingers like ten shimmering rings was the light of his magic, casting a spotlight on one dancer, then another.

  The faerie Hyacinth caught one radiant stream of magic and whirled, holding on to it as if the light were a ribbon on a maypole. The vampire woman in the violet cheongsam, Lily, was dancing with another vampire who Alec presumed was Elliott, given the blue and green stains around his mouth and all down his shirtfront. Malcolm Fade joined in the dance with Hyacinth, though he appeared to be doing a jig and she seemed very puzzled. The blue warlock who Magnus had called Catarina was waltzing with a tall horned faerie. The dark-skinned faerie whom Magnus had addressed as a prince was surrounded by others whom Alec presumed were courtiers, dancing in a circle around him.

  Magnus laughed as he saw Hyacinth using his magic like a ribbon, and sent shimmering streamers of blue light in several directions. Catarina batted away Magnus’s magic, her own hand glowing faintly white. The two vampires Lily and Elliott both let a magic ribbon wrap around one of their wrists. They did not seem like trusting types, but they instantly leaned into Magnus with perfect faith, Lily pretending to be a captive and Elliott shimmying enthusiastically as Magnus laughed and pulled them toward him in the dance. Music and starshine filled the room, and Magnus shone brightest in all that bright company.

  As Alec made for the stairs, he brushed past Raphael Santiago, who was leaning against the balcony rail and looking down at the dancing crowd, his dark eyes lingering on Lily and Elliott and Magnus. There was a tiny smile on the vampire’s face. When Raphael noticed Alec, the scowl snapped immediately back on.

  “I find such wanton expressions of joy disgusting,” he declaimed.

  “If you say so,” said Alec. “I like it myself.”

  He reached the foot of the stairs and was crossing the gleaming ballroom floor when a voice boomed out from above.

  “This is DJ Bat, greatest werewolf DJ in the world, or at least in the top five, coming to you live from Venice because warlocks make irresponsible financial decisions, and this one is for the lovers! Or people with friends who will dance with them. Some of us are lonely jerks, and we’ll be doing shots at the bar.”

  A slow, sweet song with a shivery beat began. Alec would not have thought the dance floor could become more crowded, but it happened. Dozens of masked Downworlders in formal wear who had been standing near the walls converged on the floor. Alec found himself standing awkwardly alone in the center of the room as couples twirled around him. Crowns of thorns and towering multicolored feathers blocked his vision. He looked around in alarm for an escape route.

  “May I have this dance, sir?”

  Instead he saw Magnus, all in white and silver.

  “I was coming to find you,” said Alec.

  “I saw you coming.” Magnus pushed his mask halfway up his face. “We found each other.”

  He moved in close to Alec, one hand settling on his lower back, laced their fingers together with the other, and kissed him. The glancing touch of his mouth was like a ray of light on water, illuminating and transforming. Alec moved instinctively closer, longing to be illuminated and transformed again, then remembered, reluctantly, than they should remain on task.

  “I met a Shadowhunter here called Helen Blackthorn,” he murmured against Magnus’s mouth. “She said—”

  Magnus kissed him again.

  “Something fascinating, I’m sure,” he said. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “What question?”

  “May I have this dance?”

  “Of course,” said Alec. “I mean—I would love this dance. It’s only . . . we should work this out.”

  Magnus drew in a breath and nodded. “We will. Tell me.”

  He had been smiling before, but the smile had faded. Instead there was a certain burdened set to his shoulders. Magnus felt guilty, Alec realized for the first time, for spoiling their vacation. Alec thought that was silly—he’d have had no vacation at all without Magnus, no shine of magic and no shocks of joy, no lights and no music.

  Alec reached up and touched Magnus’s mask. He could see his own face reflected in it like a mirror, his eyes wide and blue against the glittering carnival around them. He almost did not recognize himself, he looked so happy.

  Then he pushed the mask up and he could see Magnus’s face clearly. That was better.

  “Let’s dance first,” he said.

  He wrapped his arm around Magnus’s back, felt unsure about that, fumbled, and tried repositioning his hands on Magnus’s shoulders.

  Magnus was smiling again. “Allow me.”

  Alec had never given much thought to dancing before, aside from a few awkward childhood attempts with his sister or their friend Aline. Magnus slid his arm around Alec’s waist and began to dance. Alec was no dancer, but he was a fighter, and he found he intuitively understood how to respond to Magnus’s movements and how to move with them. They were suddenly synchronized, gliding across the floor as gracefully as any other couple in the room, and all at once Alec knew how it was to really dance with someone—a thing Alec had never even known to want. He’d always assumed that storybook moments like these were meant for Jace, Isabelle, anyone but him. Yet here he was.

  The chandelier seemed to shine directly on them. A faerie on the balcony tossed down a handful of glittering stars. Tiny shimmering points of light settled in Magnus’s black hair and floated in the tiny space between their faces. Alec leaned forward, so their foreheads touched, and their lips met again. Magnus’s mouth was curved against Alec’s. Their smiles fitted against each other perfectly. Alec closed his eyes, but he could still see light.

  Maybe his life could be amazing. Maybe it always could have, and he’d needed Magnus to open the door and let him see all the wonders he held inside himself. All the capacity for joy.

  Magnus’s mouth slid against his. He looped his arms around Alec’s neck, drawing him in tighter and closer. Magnus’s body moved sinuously against his, and light became heat. Magnus drew a hand down the lapel of Alec’s jacket, slipping it inside and resting his palm against Alec’s shirt, over his frantically beating heart. Alec lifted his hand from the lean line of Magnus’s waist, catching on the metal scales of Magnus’s elaborate belt before he took Magnus’s hand again, and interlaced their fingers together, there against his chest. Alec could feel a flush creeping up the back of his neck and flooding his face, leaving him light-headed and embarrassed and wishing for more. Every feeling was new—he kept being caught off guard by the combination of the sharp, cutting ache of desire and the tenderness, incongruous and yet impossible to untangle. He had never expected anything like this, but now that he had it, he did not know how he would ever do without it. He hoped he never had to find out.

  “Alexander, do you—” Magnus began, his murmur faint under the song and the shrieks of laughter. His voice was low and warm and the only important sound in the world.

  “Yes,” Alec whispered before Magnus could finish. All he wanted was to say yes to anything Magnus asked. His mouth clashed against Magnus’s, hungry and hot, their bodies locking together. They were kissing wildly, as if starved for it, and Alec didn’t care about any of the people looking. He had kissed Magnus in the Accords Hall partly to show the world what he felt. In this moment, he didn’t care about the world. He cared about what he and Magnus were making between them: the heat and the friction that made him want to die, to drop to his knees and pull Magnus down with him.

  Then there was a crash of sound and a blaze of fire, as if a meteor was landing in the center of the ballroom, and both Alec and Magnus froze, tense and uncertain. A new warlock had appeared at the foot of the stairs, his eyes locked with Malcolm Fade’s, and
though Alec didn’t recognize him, he certainly recognized the frisson of alarm and distress that rippled across the crowd.

  Alec used his hold on Magnus’s hand to swing Magnus behind him, keeping their fingers locked. With his free hand, he drew a seraph blade and murmured an angel’s name. Across the room, Bat the DJ and Raphael put their shot glasses down on the bar. Raphael began to elbow his way through the crowd toward his vampires. Lily and Elliott were heading toward Raphael as well. Alec lifted his voice so it rang through the marble room, in the same way the light of his seraph blade blazed.

  “Anyone who wants a Shadowhunter’s protection,” Alec shouted, “come to me!”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  * * *

  High Water

  ALEC HAD ONE HAND IN Magnus’s, and his other hand on the hilt of his seraph blade. Several of the party guests were cautiously creeping toward him and his offered protection. Magnus scanned the room, waiting to see who made the first move.

  The werewolf head of security was storming down the stairs. The warlock at the foot of the stairs made a small gesture and the head of security flew over the crowd on the dance floor, hit the marble floor, and skidded all the way into the wall. Catarina ran to his side immediately, helping him up as he hunched over and clutched his ribs.

  The warlock did not look to see what had happened to the werewolf. He was a short man with a beard, snakelike eyes, and white-scaled skin. He scanned the crowd as he made his way onto the floor.

  “Malcolm Fade.” The look on the warlock’s face was thunderous as he pointed a finger at the High Warlock of Los Angeles. A light vapor seemed to drift from the tip of his finger. “You stole my party and my mansion.”

  “Hello, Barnabas,” said Malcolm. “Did you lose a mansion? That’s so sad. I hope you find it.”

  “I bought this mansion last week! The moment it went up for sale!” Barnabas bellowed. “We are standing right now in the mansion you stole from me!”