The Lost Book of the White

by Cassandra Clare

  “No! Well, kind of, yes,” said Magnus. “He likes it. Why not your mother?”

  “This kid floats up to the ceiling sometimes,” said Alec. “He sets a blanket on fire in his sleep every three weeks or so.”

  “Another advantage of the magical hamster ball,” said Magnus. “Magic shield. I didn’t want Max knocking out the neighbors’ cable again.”

  “Well, my mother doesn’t have a magical hamster ball,” said Alec.

  Magnus rolled Max out into the hallway, to squeals of delight, and called back, “She’s a Shadowhunter! She’s supposed to be able to handle warlocks. She raised you!” He ducked his head back into the bedroom and raised his eyebrows. “She raised Jace.”

  “All right!” said Alec, laughing. “You win. I’ll call her.”

  * * *

  IT TOOK THEM TWENTY MINUTES to pack their things, and then two hours to assemble Max’s gear, which was strewn all over the apartment. It hadn’t seemed like a lot of stuff, but when it was all in one place, it made quite a haul: his stroller, his Pack ’n Play, a huge stack of clothes, a cardboard box of baby food, and a black satchel into which Magnus stuffed a few of Max’s favorite picture books and toys, and also some components for the more useful wards to handle Max’s accidental magic.

  Eventually, after fishing a recalcitrant Chairman Meow out of the satchel, where he’d gone to sleep, they departed and made their way to the Institute.

  The New York Institute was a solemn stone castle amid towers of metal and glass. Magnus liked the churches of New York, the way they carved a hushed and sacred space into the bustle of the city. Maybe that was why he had always found the self-seriousness of the Shadowhunters oddly charming. They tended to be flippant about it if you asked—even Alec—but the Institute was a reminder, even when it would be easy to forget, that theirs was a divine assignment.

  It could be both good and bad that warlocks were so much more idiosyncratic and disorganized. Even the idea of High Warlocks had started as a joke, an affectation among the rare warlocks of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries who were able to achieve some prestige in the mundane society that mostly rejected them as monsters. Magnus would estimate that a good half of the “High Warlocks” in the world today had appointed themselves to the position. Even cities with a long history of High Warlocks, like London, still mostly named them as a result of dares at parties.

  Magnus was, in fact, one of those self-appointed warlocks; the whole joke about his being the High Warlock of Brooklyn was that no other New York borough had a High Warlock at all. He’d hoped to popularize the idea, but so far nobody had stepped up, except for a young woman with a unicorn horn sticking out of her forehead who had declared herself the “Medium Warlock,” also of Brooklyn. But over the years, he’d come to feel it as a kind of real responsibility. And the Shadowhunters, he’d learned fast, were thrilled to have a warlock they could reliably call upon—even the Lightwoods, who, when they came to run the Institute in New York, Magnus had known only as members of a famous Shadowhunter hate group. And Magnus, for his part, was thrilled to have a steady, recurring revenue stream.

  When he’d heard they were coming, Magnus took a deep breath, added a 15 percent “Nuisance Fee” to his already monstrous rates, and, when it was absolutely necessary, breezed into the Institute and tried to keep things light. How have you been; lovely non-apocalyptic weather we’re having; enjoy this beautiful spell you don’t deserve; please pay my absurdly high bill promptly; am I providing regular protection spells for fugitives in hiding from the Nephilim? Why, no!

  It was strange to walk into that same Institute, with a Lightwood next to him, holding their child. To have Maryse Lightwood as something more like family and less like a business partner he could never fully trust. He was glad that Robert, at least, was busy with Inquisitor business in Idris. Inquisiting some folks, he assumed.

  The entrance hall of the Institute stretched high above them, silent and dim and imposing. It always seemed to Magnus that the small group of Shadowhunters who lived here really rattled around the place. He knew it well, but in the manner that he might know a hotel lobby he’d passed through many times. It was not his place, and despite the efforts of the Lightwoods and Jace to make him feel comfortable here, he remained almost unconsciously on guard. Three years of close collaboration and friendship with the local Shadowhunters did not erase decades of more tense times spent here.

  For one thing, it meant that he whispered to Alec, even though there was no reason at all to whisper. It just felt true to the aesthetics of the place. “Where is everyone?”

  Alec shrugged, striding across the hall as if he owned the place, which Magnus supposed he sort of did. “I expect everyone’s off gathering gear and weapons. We should just go find my mother.”

  “How do you propose to find her?” Magnus said.

  “Ah,” said Alec, “the Institute has a very old magic woven into its walls. I shall now use it to commune with my mother, wherever she might be found.” He put his hands around his mouth and bellowed at the top of his lungs. “MOOOOOOOOOOM!”

  Alec’s voice reverberated impressively against the stone walls. Max giggled and yelled, “Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” alongside Alec. The sound faded away and Magnus waited.

  “Well?” he said, and Alec held up a finger. After a moment, there was a flare, and a fire-message appeared in front of him. He plucked it from the air and opened it, giving Magnus a superior look. “ ‘She’s in the library,’ ” he read.

  A second fire-message appeared, in the same spot as the first. Alec opened it. “ ‘Did you know you can send fire-messages within the Institute?’ ” he read. “ ‘I just found out.’ ” He looked at Magnus in bewilderment. “Of course I knew that.”

  “To the library, then?” said Magnus.

  A third fire-message appeared. Max lunged to try to grab it, but it was too far above his head. Magnus grabbed that one and read, “ ‘I love fire-messages, have a great day, your friend, Simon Lovelace, Shadowhunter.’ Can we go?”

  They heard a fourth one burst behind them as they left by the hall door, but neither of them looked back at it.

  * * *

  “I PROMISE YOU,” SAID MARYSE, “I can completely handle Max for a few days.”

  Alec’s mother was standing in the center of the library, near the desk where their old tutor had once sat. She was tall in the same way Isabelle was tall, unapologetically taking up space in the world, standing so straight she seemed even taller than she was. She folded her arms as though daring Alec and Magnus to disagree.

  “Mom,” Alec said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I just don’t want you to have to deal with any… emergencies. He’s a warlock.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Maryse. “I thought he had a terrible accident with a fountain pen.”

  Max lay on his stomach on the rug between them, doodling with Maryse’s stele on an old, beaten-up shield she had found in the cellar the last time Max was over. The stele left sparking bright lines across the steel surface that faded slowly to black. Max was extremely into it.

  “You know, you’ve gotten sassier recently,” said Magnus, eyes twinkling. He had opened the satchel and was unloading toys and books onto Maryse’s desk. She didn’t seem to mind.

  “I’m just saying,” Alec pressed on, “he was floating on the ceiling this morning. He doesn’t really have any control yet over the magical stuff he does.”

  “Alec, I raised you, Jace, Max, and Isabelle and you were plenty of trouble. I will be fine. Also, most of the time Kadir will be here.”

  As though he’d been waiting for his cue, Kadir Safar swept into the room. He was a tall, dark-skinned man with elegant features and a sharply defined goatee. Alec was not exactly clear on Kadir’s official title at the Institute, but in recent months he had evidently become Maryse’s second-in-command. He had helped train Alec, Isabelle, and Jace growing up, and was a man of few words and fewer expressions. Alec had always felt they understoo
d each other. “Did you need me?” Kadir said to Maryse, hands behind his back. His eyes scanned the desk and its new pile of colorful objects. “Your grandchild’s belongings, I assume. What do you have there, Magnus?”

  Magnus held a stack of picture books in his hands that he’d just withdrawn from the bag. He waved them at Kadir. “I hope you’re prepared for all the reading this kid will demand.” He began placing books on the desk one at a time. “Goodnight Moon. The Poky Little Puppy. Where the Wild Things Are. Huge right now in our house. Main character is also named Max.”

  “I am familiar,” said Kadir, drawing himself up with dignity, “with Where the Wild Things Are.”

  “There’s this one, which I guess is called Truck? It has a different kind of truck on each page with its name,” Magnus went on. “Max is very enthusiastic about it, but I warn you, it has no narrative propulsion.”

  “Truck,” confirmed Max. Warlocks tended to talk early, and Max was no exception. He’d said his first word, “newt,” when he was only nine months old, causing Magnus to hide his spell components.

  “And of course,” said Magnus, “there is The Very Small Mouse Who Went a Very Long Way. By Courtney Gray Wiese.”

  Alec let out a long groan.

  “Not a favorite?” said Maryse. “I don’t know that one, but it doesn’t sound bad.”

  “Lily brought it to us,” Alec said. “I have no idea where she found it. It must have been in the Hotel Dumort.”

  “For decades,” agreed Magnus. “The very small mouse does indeed go a very long way, but she does so in order to learn very outdated moral lessons about personal hygiene.”

  “Hmm,” said Maryse and Kadir.

  “It is his favorite,” Magnus said, shaking his head. “Unfortunately.”

  Alec took a dramatic breath and proclaimed, “ ‘Now wash your feet, O little mouse / Or you will never find a spouse.’ ”

  “Mouse?” Max said, perking up.

  Kadir held up his hand. “I look forward to discovering it for myself. Now, if there’s nothing else, Maryse—”

  “Stay a moment,” Maryse insisted. “I wanted to tell Alec the news. Alec, I’ve asked Jace if he would take over soon as the head of the Institute. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Alec tried to hide the surprise on his face. Not that his mother would ask Jace to run things, but that she would stop running the Institute herself at all. She’d given no hint of it. He wanted to ask why but held himself back, uncertain.

  Magnus had no such qualms. “But why would you step down?”

  Maryse shook her head. “Running an Institute is a young person’s job. It needs someone with the energy to be a full-time Shadowhunter and also keep up relationships with the Downworlders, manage the members of the Conclave, stay in touch with the Council… it’s a lot.”

  “But it’s gotten easier,” said Alec. “Not that you don’t deserve a rest. The Alliance has really changed how closely in communication Downworld and the Conclave are.” He felt himself flush a little. He always felt like he was bragging when he mentioned the Downworlder-Shadowhunter Alliance that he had put together with Maia Roberts, who led New York’s largest werewolf pack, and Lily Chen, who was the head of New York’s vampires. But he was proud of the work they’d done.

  “It has,” said Maryse, “and Alec, I appreciate all the effort you put in there—that’s why I didn’t ask you to run the Institute. You’ve got plenty going on already. Not to mention the little bluebell here.”

  Max looked up, sensing that someone wished to admire him. He grinned winningly at Alec, and his head burst into blue flames.

  “Oh dear,” said Maryse, blinking and jerking back. Kadir’s expression did not change at all as he took a glass of water from Maryse’s desk and poured it over Max, putting out the flames. Max blinked in surprise, then began to cry.

  Kadir raised an eyebrow at Alec. “Sorry about that.” Maryse scooped up Max, who quickly forgot that his head was wet in favor of grabbing for Maryse’s earrings.

  “It’s as good a solution as any,” Magnus said. “Better a crying kid than a house on fire.”

  “An apt aphorism,” said Kadir. For Kadir, this was close to a declaration of undying love.

  “What did Jace say?” said Alec. “Is he going to do it?”

  “He said he needed time to think,” said Maryse. She looked uncertain. “I’m sure he’ll accept,” she said. “I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned it to you, actually. I half thought you’d already know my news.”

  “He hasn’t brought it up at all,” said Alec. He was troubled. Why hadn’t Jace mentioned it? Even if he had doubts, who else would be better to talk about them with than his parabatai? And what would Jace have to worry about, anyway? Alec knew he would kill it as head of the Institute.

  “I can’t imagine he wants to be the guy who has to uphold the Cold Peace,” said Magnus mildly.

  “Has he talked to you about it?” said Alec. Magnus had a good point, though. The Cold Peace was the name for the terrible relationship between faeries and Shadowhunters at the moment. After a good number of the fey had sided with the enemies of the Nephilim a few years back, the Shadowhunters had sanctioned them harshly and strong-armed them into signing a treaty that left them unprotected and badly weakened. Things had been somewhat more than tense ever since. Many Shadowhunters—and especially the Shadowhunters of the New York Institute—hated the Cold Peace and would have happily seen the restoration of normal relations. But it was the job of the Institute to uphold the Law, which was hard, but it was the Law, and so on.

  “He hasn’t said a word to me,” said Magnus. “It’s just a guess.”

  Maryse shrugged. “I’ve been juggling the Clave’s expectations about the Cold Peace and the realities of New York’s Downworld for three years. It can be done. Jace can be good at politics if he decides to be. And I won’t be dead. I’ll still be living here and have plenty of advice on the subject of the Cold Peace.” She sighed. “I admit I’d hoped that you would have some insight into Jace’s thinking.”

  “I don’t, yet,” said Alec, though he wasn’t sure when in their big group outing he would be able to get a few minutes with Jace to ask him in private.

  “Much of my advice,” put in Kadir, “about working around the Cold Peace would involve going through you and your Alliance.”

  “Uh, speaking of which, should you tell them you’re going to China today?” said Magnus.

  Alec hadn’t thought of that. “I really should,” he said. He dug out his phone, and one text later, he got a quick response from Maia: I’M IN THE SANCTUARY.

  Alec got up. “Maia says she’s… in the Sanctuary? Did any of you know she was here? Or even that she was coming?” He exchanged a glance with Magnus that he’d developed over the past months: the wordless question, Is it okay to leave Max with you while I do a thing? And the wordless nod back. It was strange to have created a new language between himself and Magnus, one that was just for their family.

  “Maybe she’s here to tell you she can see the future,” said Magnus. “Ask her how Shanghai’s going to go.”

  Alec excused himself and headed out into the hall, then down the stairs to the Sanctuary. There he found Maia waiting, looking very proud of herself.

  “Alec!” she said. “Good to see you.” She stuck out her hand for him to shake. Alec took her hand in some confusion; they were not big hand-shakers, the two of them.

  He realized what was going on as his hand passed through Maia’s and she yelled a delighted “Ha!”

  Alec recovered his balance and gave her a disapproving look. “You’re a Projection.”

  “I’m a Projection!” said Maia, throwing her hands over her head. “So exciting.”

  “So that means—”

  “We finally have Projections working in the Den.”

  “The ‘Den’?” said Alec, raising an eyebrow.

  “New name for headquarters,” said Maia. The werewolves of Manhattan were based in an aba
ndoned police station in Chinatown. “I’m trying it out.”

  Alec nodded thoughtfully. “I’m cautiously in favor of it.”

  “Good to know. So, apparently, there’s a faerie ring directly under the station, and that’s why things weren’t working. I guess it’s been there since, like, the founding of New York.”

  “A faerie ring? Uh—” Alec wasn’t sure how to ask the next question, which was: How do we deal with that problem, given that the Alliance isn’t technically supposed to be in communication with faeries?

  “Look, I never talked to a faerie about the situation,” Maia said. “I talked to a warlock, she talked to someone at the Shadow Market, then one day Projections work and someone leaves a wicker basket of acorns on the front stoop.”

  “That’s very autumnal,” said Alec.

  “One thing about faeries, they are committed to the aesthetic,” Maia agreed. “Anyway. What’s this about Shanghai?”

  “Missing magic book, Magnus feels responsible, we’ve both got to go. It shouldn’t be more than a few days. And it might be a dead end and we’ll be back in an hour,” Alec added, although he didn’t think that was likely.

  “So is there Alliance stuff you need to tell me?”

  “God no,” said Alec. “You and Lily can certainly handle Alliance business for a few days. I might miss game night, though.”

  Maia sighed. “Without you there, Lily’s going to make us play charades. Or whist or something. She’s such an old lady sometimes. A drunk old lady.”

  “Maia,” Alec said disapprovingly.

  “Oh, you know I love her,” Maia said. “Did you consider bringing her along? She speaks Mandarin, for one thing.”

  “Just last week I heard Lily say, in my presence, the full sentence, ‘I want to never again in my life set foot within the borders of China,’ so, you know.… Magnus also speaks Mandarin.”

  “Of course he does,” said Maia.

  “There is one thing,” said Alec. “My mom is watching Max while we’re away. She’s never watched him for more than, like, a few hours. Can you… keep an eye on them?”