Magnus strode in, looking hectic, his black hair sticking up and his clothes rumpled.
Jace leaned away from Clary, but only slightly. His eyes were narrowed. “I would say ‘Don’t you knock?’ but it seems evident you don’t,” he said. “We are, however, busy.”
Magnus waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve walked in on your ancestors doing worse,” he said. “Besides, it’s an emergency.”
“Magnus,” said Clary, “this better not be about the flowers. Or the cake.”
Magnus scoffed. “I said an emergency. This is an engagement party, not the Battle of Normandy.”
“The battle of what?” said Jace, who was not up on his mundane history.
“The alarm connected to the map went off,” said Magnus. “The one that charts necromantic magic. There was a blast of it in Los Angeles just now.”
“But I was going to give a toast,” said Jace. “Can’t the apocalypse wait?”
Magnus gave him a dark look. “The map’s not that exact, but the blast was close to the Institute.”
Clary straightened up, alarmed. “Emma,” she said. “And Julian. The kids—”
“Remember, last time this happened, it was nothing,” said Magnus. “But there are a couple things that worry me.” He hesitated. “There’s a big convergence of ley lines not far from them. I checked it out, and it looked like something had happened there. The area was wrecked.”
“Have you tried to reach Malcolm Fade?” Jace asked.
Magnus nodded grimly. “No answer.”
Clary slid off the piano. “Have you told anyone?” she asked Magnus. “Besides us, I mean.”
“I didn’t want to ruin the party for a false alarm,” Magnus said. “So I only told—”
A tall shadow appeared in the doorway. Robert Lightwood, a bag looped over his shoulder; Clary could see the hilts of several seraph blades protruding from the top. He stopped short as he caught sight of Clary and Jace’s disheveled attire and flushed faces.
“—him,” Magnus finished.
“Excuse me,” said Robert.
Jace looked awkward. Robert looked awkward. Magnus looked impatient. Clary knew he wasn’t enormously fond of Robert, though their relationship had improved since Alec and Magnus had adopted Max. Robert was a good grandfather in the way he had never been a good father: willing to get down on the ground and roll around with Max, and now Rafe as well.
“Can we stop being weird about Jace and Clary’s sex life and get going?” Magnus asked.
“That’s kind of up to you,” Clary said. “I can’t make the Portal—I didn’t see the map. You’re the one who knows where we’re going.”
“I hate it when you’re right, biscuit,” Magnus said in a resigned tone, and spread his fingers wide. Blue sparks illuminated the room like targeted fireflies, a strangely beautiful effect that opened out into a wide rectangle, a shimmering Portal through which Clary could see the outline of the Los Angeles Institute, the long stretch of distant mountains, the surge and roll of the sea.
She could smell salt water and sage. Jace moved up beside her, taking her hand in his. She felt the light pressure of his fingers.
Marry me, Clary.
When they returned, she would have to give him her answer.
She dreaded it. But for now, they were Shadowhunters first. Back straight, head high, Clary stepped through the Portal.
A Long Conversation (The Shadowhunter Chronicles) Page 3
