The Red Scrolls of Magic

by Cassandra Clare

  “Wow, there are a lot of cultists,” Aline muttered. “They must have carpooled.”

  Helen’s quick smile dimmed when two cultists grabbed her arm. Aline elbowed one in the throat and Helen head-butted the other in the chest. A fool charged at Alec and was summarily punched in the face. He lost sight of Magnus, faced with a wall of clawing hands and kicking feet.

  The only way to Magnus was through them.

  “Ladies,” said Alec. “Shall we?”

  “Gladly,” Helen murmured sweetly, and kicked a man in the kneecap.

  Alec dodged a badly thrown punch and returned it with a well-thrown one. In the pauses between brawling, Alec shot his bow at demonic shapes wheeling in the sky.

  He could keep this up all day. He only knew how to move in one direction. Toward the stage. Toward Magnus. Nothing mattered until he reached Magnus.

  He could see Magnus in gaps between the crowd: he was standing onstage as though he’d been addressing the assembly. Shinyun was next to him, shouting and waving her arms, thankfully not participating yet in the battle. Magnus turned halfway; there was blood on Magnus’s throat and his shirt, and a dark bruise on his face.

  Alec’s heart wrenched. Then Magnus caught his eye: there was one of those brief moments of battle stillness, like the eye of a hurricane, where time felt stretched thin. Magnus seemed so close, as if Alec could reach out and touch him, gentle his bruises, stand between him and the crowd.

  He remembered running to Magnus’s Brooklyn brownstone one day. They had just started dating. There had been so much going on then, in the world and inside Alec. The war was beginning, and Alec could not work out the mess of rage and confusion and longing in his own heart.

  He’d known Magnus only a couple of weeks. It did not make any sense that he was seizing this chance to see him, when his family thought he was training, when his lies could be discovered at any moment. He was so afraid, all the time, and he felt so alone in his fear.

  Alec already had a key—Magnus had explained it was easier for him, and he had enough wards on the apartment to know if anyone other than Alec entered with that key. Alec had run in, heart beating too fast. He’d seen Magnus in the center of his loft, absorbed and intent on his work. He was wearing an orange silk shirt and flipping through three spell books at once, turning pages with two ringed hands and a flurry of blue sparks. There was a pit of dread in Alec’s stomach, at the thought of what his father would think if he knew Alec was here.

  Then Magnus had looked up from his spell books, seen him, and smiled. And Alec’s heart had stopped its frantic pounding, like a prisoner desperate to escape. Alec thought he could be all right just standing in that doorway, watching Magnus smiling to see him, for the rest of his life.

  Magnus smiled the same way now, despite the horror unfolding around them, the corners of his golden eyes crinkling. It was such a sweet, surprised smile, as if Magnus was startled enough—and happy enough—to see Alec that he had forgotten everything else.

  Alec almost felt like he could smile back.

  Then Helen shouted, “Shinigami demons!”

  The Crimson Hand was not messing around. Of all flying demons, Shinigami were among the worst. With their leering, sharklike jaws and vast, untidy black wings, Shinigami demons took pleasure in ripping people’s faces off and crunching their bones into powder.

  A shadow fell on Alec. He looked up into a grinning maw, crowded with teeth, and loosed an arrow.

  The first Shinigami narrowly avoided the arrow and dove straight for the Shadowhunters. Several more of the large creatures followed close behind. A second arrow knocked the closest Shinigami out of the air, sending it careening into the seats. And then the rest of the demons were upon them.

  The closest one landed on the steps with a heavy thud. Aline darted in and slashed it with her seraph blades, carving deep gouges into its chest. It roared and swept her away with its wing, knocking her off her feet.

  The Shinigami reared up, towering above her. Its wings repelled starlight, outlining a jagged black hole against the night. Another of the Shinigami demons crash-landed among the cultists, sending them scurrying for cover.

  “Eremiel!” Helen’s yell rose above the din as she danced among the large figures, the white slashes of her seraph blade lighting up the night.

  Alec jumped to the side and avoided a swooping demon, its talons nearly raking his shoulder. He skidded on his back and pierced its wing with another arrow, sending it crashing to the ground. He checked the others. “Aline, look out!”

  Aline was back up, darting between two Shinigami, cutting them up with her seraph blades. Another demon was diving toward her.

  Helen tackled Aline to safety at the very last second. The demon missed them and went past, then turned for a second charge. It bared its fangs, each as long as a human hand. Helen rose to her feet, clutching her hurt shoulder. She dropped to her knees as the monster leaped, jamming her seraph blade upward, slicing the demon from its navel to its neck.

  “By the Angel!” Aline shouted. “That was amazing.”

  Helen beamed, but not for long. No sooner had she finished the kill than another demon landed in front of her and swung a taloned wing at her face. This time Aline was there and sliced the wing at the joint, completely severing it. Helen followed with a spinning slash that lopped off its head.

  Alec turned his attention to another diving Shinigami and managed to avoid getting cut in half by a sharp wing. He tracked its trajectory as it passed and shot it in the back. The demon crashed at the base of the amphitheater.

  “Alec!” Aline shouted. “The stage!”

  Alec whirled just as a massive column of light descended from the whirling vortex and struck a massive glowing pentagram of flowers that surrounded the stage. The entire amphitheater was illuminated.

  Magnus was a silhouette, bathed in scorching brilliant light. Alec could only just make out his eyes. They were fixed on Alec. Magnus’s mouth moved, as if he wanted to say something.

  Then Magnus and Shinyun disappeared. The scorching dazzle of the light filled the moonflower pentagram, erasing everything inside.

  Alec’s heart lurched. He ran for the stage, only to be cut off by a cultist looming up in his path. He cut him down with a blow and looked into the startled face of the next man. He spoke quietly, but loud enough for all of them to hear.

  “If you value your life,” Alec said, “run now.”

  The nearest cultists scattered. It cleared a space for Alec to cut a path to the pentagram. His head buzzing with panic, he flung himself toward it—and slammed into an invisible barrier as hard as a granite wall.

  There was a skinny man with a tuft of a beard standing in front of the cultists beside the pentagram, as if he was their leader. Alec had never seen him before.

  “Where is Magnus?” Alec demanded.

  “Who are you?” asked the bearded man.

  “We are Shadowhunters,” said Helen, striding to flank Alec. Aline slid into position at his other side. “And you are all in a lot of trouble. What’s going on here? Who are you?”

  “I am Bernard, the leader of this cult.”

  Someone behind the cult leader said, “We agreed to betraying the Great Poison and the Cursed Daughter. Nobody agreed to you leading us, Bernard.”

  Bernard went purple above his white robes.

  “Who’s the Great Poison?” Aline inquired.

  “Our founder, Magnus Bane,” answered Bernard.

  Helen sucked in her breath.

  “However, we broke away from his teachings of caring for the children and pranking the rich many years ago,” Bernard asserted. “Since his departure we have had a much more wickedness-based agenda. A few of us do murders. Lately, a lot of murders. Mostly we’re evil but laid-back about it.”

  “So Magnus is innocent! Kind of,” Aline said. Helen looked disconcerted.

  Alec didn’t care about any of it. He shoved past Bernard, took a deep ragged breath, and drew a seraph blade from hi
s belt.

  “Raguel.” It burst into angelic light.

  Using a seraph blade on a mundane was a horrible thing. His father had told him no true Shadowhunter would dream of doing it.

  Before anyone could move to stop him, Alec swung the tip of the glowing seraph blade so close to Bernard’s throat that the collar of his white shirt began to blacken and smoke.

  “Where is Magnus?” Alec demanded. “I will not ask again.”

  Bernard’s eyes went white. His lips parted, and a voice that was clearly not his issued from his throat. It rumbled and crackled like a bonfire.

  A demon’s voice. The voice of a Prince of Hell.

  “The Great Poison? Why, he’s right here.”

  Bernard waved jerkily to the pentagram awash in awful light. In its fiery heart, the palest of shadows began to resolve. Alec was able, more and more clearly every moment, to make out shapes.

  “Find him,” said the demon within Bernard. “If you can.”

  The scene inside the pentagram clarified. Alec’s mouth went dry with horror.

  He could see Magnus. He could see more than one Magnus.

  “One of these pairs of fighters is the real Magnus Bane and the real Shinyun Jung. Consider it a test, little Shadowhunter. If you recognize him, you can save him.”

  Alec had his bow and blade in his hands, every muscle straining. He was ready to fight, frantic to rescue Magnus, and he was locked in place with terror.

  A hundred Magnus Banes were fighting for their lives against a hundred Shinyun Jungs. All were identical. A hundred Magnus Banes in white robes stabbed another hundred Shinyuns, and any one of them could have been the real Magnus. The one on the ground, awaiting the killing blow, might have been the real Magnus, desperately needing Alec’s help. Or the one winning the fight could be the true Magnus, only for Alec to kill him by trying to help him.

  “An ingenious bit of magic, if I do say so,” the demon said, through Bernard. “Clever, but at the same time, very cruel, for it does offer you hope. All you need to do is recognize the true Magnus Bane. Isn’t that always the way it is in fairy tales? The prince can tell his true love even when she is transformed, a swan among other swans, a pebble on a beach of sand.” Bernard chuckled. “If only the world were a fairy tale, Nephilim.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  * * *

  The Prince of Fools

  THERE WAS QUIET TERROR INSIDE the pentagram, and chaos without. Then there was light. The light seemed to switch off the rest of the world. Everything outside the pentagram, including Alec, was gone. There was only his father.

  A man in a white suit floated in the darkness of the funnel, looking down at Magnus and Shinyun. He wore a crown of barbed wire on his head and matching dull-silver cuff links. He descended to the ground gracefully, like water sliding downstream over a bed of pebbles.

  Asmodeus wore just a hint of a smirk, showing off his jagged, hungry teeth. He looked at Shinyun, and then at Magnus. “You’ve brought me a gift.”

  “Father?” said Shinyun. She sounded almost like a child.

  Magnus swallowed down terror and hate and carelessly flicked a lock of hair off his forehead. “Hi, Dad.”

  Asmodeus’s eyes, and his hungry half-smile, were fixed on Magnus.

  Magnus saw the exact moment the truth hit Shinyun. One second she was completely still; the next, her body shook as if she had just been electrocuted.

  She turned slowly to look at Magnus. “No,” she moaned, her voice barely a whisper. “You can’t be his son. Not his real son. No.”

  Magnus grimaced. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “I did tell you, my dear, that this was going to be a family gathering.” Asmodeus’s smile grew as he soaked in her pain. He licked his lips as if relishing the taste. “It’s just not yours.”

  Asmodeus had been playing with her, fooling her as easily as Magnus had tricked the cultists of the Crimson Hand long ago.

  Shinyun kept looking at one of them, then the other, and looking away as if the sight burned her eyes. Magnus wondered if she could see the resemblance. She was breathing hard, and erratically. At last her eyes fixed on Magnus.

  “You get everything,” Shinyun whispered. “You’ve taken everything from me.”

  “What a good idea,” said Asmodeus. “Why don’t you do that, son? Take back the cult you made. Take the place she dreamed of. At my right hand.”

  Shinyun screamed, “No!”

  Her burning eyes filled. Her tears fell, even as she pounced. Magnus dodged the swing of her sword, stumbling under her onslaught. She swung again and Magnus hit the ground, rolling to avoid the blow. There was dust in his eyes. He could see no way he could escape steel and death for long.

  No third blow came. Magnus looked up, then scrambled cautiously to his feet.

  Shinyun was frozen mid-lunge, as if she were about to fall over. Magnus looked into her eyes. They were frantic, darting side to side. Her body was as frozen now as her face had always been. Only her eyes were alive.

  Magnus looked at Asmodeus, who spread out his hands with a flourish Magnus recognized. He had made the same gesture many times himself, when performing a feat of magic.

  “Now, this I don’t understand,” Magnus said. “You’ve had your fun. You performed your signature move, made your offer, caused as much pain and fury as you possibly could. Why stop her? Why not let this play out? Not that I’m keen to be turned into a shish kebab by an enraged cultist, but I don’t get your angle.”

  “I want to talk to my son,” said Asmodeus. “It has been almost two centuries since we last spoke, Magnus. You don’t write, you don’t call, you don’t make sacrifices on my altar. It wounds your fond parent.”

  He moved, grinning like a skull, to give Magnus a fatherly pat on the shoulder. Magnus threw up an arm to shove him back.

  His arm went straight through Asmodeus. “You’re not actually here.”

  Asmodeus’s grotesque grin grew impossibly wider. “Not yet. Not until I take away someone’s immortality and use it as my anchor to this world.”

  “My immortality,” said Magnus.

  Asmodeus waved a hand at Shinyun. “Oh, no. Hers will do.”

  His hand was smooth and pale, the fingers ending in claws. Magnus saw Shinyun’s eyes, the only moving part of her, fill with fresh, humiliated tears.

  “So I am to be spared,” said Magnus. “How splendid for me. May I ask why? I presume it is not overflowing paternal affection. You can’t feel that.”

  A plush high-backed chair appeared and Asmodeus sat down in it. He looked Magnus over.

  “The angels have children,” Asmodeus told Magnus, his voice a horrific parody of a father telling a child a bedtime story. “They are said to be the greatest blessings this world has—the Nephilim, destroyers of demons. And we Princes of Hell have our children too. Many of our children burn into ash and void, unable to bear what they are, but there are those who survive. They are meant for thrones of iron. The tales say they are made to be the greatest curses of the world.”

  Magnus could scarcely breathe. It felt as if the air was burning away.

  “I have had many children in this world,” Asmodeus said. “Almost all have disappointed me. A few have proved useful, for a little while, but they were hardly worth the trouble. Their powers were extinguished, or their minds broke after a century. Two at the most. The children of Greater Demons can be very powerful, but they are seldom stable. I waited a long time for a true child to be a curse upon this world, and eventually I gave up. My children have been unable to thrive in this world or any other, weak lights begging to be put out, not worthy of me. But you. You’re strong. You fight. You sought me out with a scream that could have torn a world apart. You speak, and the blood of angels listens. You have cut doorways through the worlds. You have performed feats you did not realize were impossible, and continued merrymaking on your way. I’ve been watching you a long time now. Demons can feel pride. We are rather good at it. My son, I am proud of yo
u.”

  A hollow space in the center of Magnus’s chest hurt. Long ago, it would have meant something to him to hear that.

  “How touching,” he said at last. “What do you want? I really don’t think it’s a hug.”

  “I want you,” said Asmodeus. “You are my most powerful child, and therefore my favorite. I want your power in my service. After all I’ve done for you, I want your loyalty.”

  Magnus started to laugh. Asmodeus opened his mouth to speak again, but Magnus held up a hand to silence him.

  “That’s a good one,” he said, wiping away tears. “When have you ever done anything for me?”

  In one breath, Asmodeus moved from sitting in the chair to standing next to Magnus. His whisper in Magnus’s ear was like the hissing of a furnace.

  “What did I say?” Asmodeus asked his son. “Time to remember everything.”

  He pressed his clawed hand to Magnus’s face.

  Magnus’s eyes blurred, and his mind recoiled at the intrusion as the world changed in a blink. One moment he was standing on the stage in the center of the pentagram, the next he could feel the sting of the burning sun prickling his skin. Sweat began to bead at his brow. He took a step backward and felt sand crunch under his shoes. He smelled the scent of the ocean and heard the sounds of waves crashing against the shore.

  Magnus knew exactly where and when he was now, and it filled him with dread. He was on the sandy beach at the edge of a jungle. It was lifetimes ago. From the very start of his first lifetime, in the first and last place he had ever called home.

  Magnus became suddenly, keenly aware of how small he was. His shirt hung loosely from his narrow shoulders, his thin limbs lost beneath the material. His body had been adult and unchanging for centuries. He had forgotten how it felt to be weak and frail, to be so terrifyingly vulnerable.

  Clear in the hot air, he heard a man’s low, gravelly voice. “Come here, my boy.”