“What if the Crimson Hand is still operating here?” Alec asked.
Shinyun’s voice was eager. “Then that makes our job easier.”
“These are obviously not cultists,” said Magnus. “Look how bored they are.”
Indeed, the men and women going in and out of the palazzo seemed like they were just going about their jobs. They carried piles of cloth, or cardboard boxes, or stacks of chairs. Someone in chef’s whites came through with a stack of chafing dishes covered in aluminum foil. No robes, no masks, no vials of blood, no live animals for sacrifice. Some of them were Downworlders, Magnus could see.
He headed for the most Downworldly he could find, a green-skinned dryad standing just next to the front doors, talking intensely to a satyr who was holding a clipboard.
As he approached, the dryad started. “Wow—are you Magnus Bane?”
“Do I know you?” said Magnus.
“No, but you definitely could,” the dryad said, blowing Magnus a kiss.
Alec coughed loudly from behind Magnus.
“I’m flattered, but as you can hear, I’m spoken for. Well, coughed for.”
“Pity,” said the dryad. He tapped the satyr on the chest. “This is Magnus Bane!”
Without looking up from the clipboard, the satyr said, “Magnus Bane isn’t invited to the party. Because he’s dating a Shadowhunter, I heard.”
The dryad gave them an apologetic look. “Ix-nay on the Adowhunter-shay,” he stage-whispered to the satyr. “The Adowhunter-shay is right there and he can ear-hay ou-yay!”
“Yeah, I’ve also cracked your secret code language,” Alec said dryly.
Magnus looked hurt and turned to his companions. “I can’t believe I’m not invited to the party. I’m Magnus Bane! Even these guys know it.”
“What party?” said Shinyun.
“I’m sorry,” Magnus went on, “let me get a hold of myself. A party where Alec isn’t welcome isn’t a party I’d want to attend.”
“Magnus, what party?” said Shinyun.
“I think Shinyun finds it unusual,” said Alec very slowly to Magnus, “that there’s a party, with Downworlders, being thrown in the Crimson Hand’s former headquarters.”
“You,” said Shinyun to the dryad, in a commanding tone. “What did he say about a party?”
The dryad looked puzzled, but he answered readily enough. “The masked ball tonight, to celebrate Valentine Morgenstern’s defeat in the Mortal War. This huge place just turned up on the market, and a warlock rented it out for a big bash. People from all over the Shadow World are attending. A whole bunch of us came down by train from Paris.” He puffed his chest out, cheeks emerald with pride. “You know, if the Downworlders hadn’t banded together to defeat him, the whole world would have been endangered.”
“The Shadowhunters were involved,” said Alec.
The dryad flapped a hand, leaves fluttering at his wrist. “I heard they helped.”
“So a lot of people are coming to this fete?” Magnus asked. “I was hoping to meet up with a warlock friend of mine. His name is Mori Shu. Is he on the list?”
Behind him, Magnus heard Shinyun draw in a quick breath.
The satyr flipped through his papers. “Yes, here he is. Someone told me he might not make it, though, something about him laying low recently. Some demon thing.”
“You are, of course, completely invited,” said the dryad to Magnus. “You and your companions. It was an oversight that you weren’t on the guest list already.”
The satyr took this in and dutifully flipped to the end of his list to write in Magnus’s name.
“I am very offended to have been excluded from the invitations, and therefore I, and my companions, will definitely be attending,” said Magnus loftily.
The dryad took a moment to comprehend, then nodded. “Doors will open at eight.”
“We’ll be there much, much later than that,” said Magnus, “because of our already very packed social calendar.”
“Of course,” said the dryad.
They headed down the steps and reconnoitered there.
“This is perfect,” said Alec. “We go to the party, we sneak away, we find the Chamber. Easy enough.”
Shinyun nodded agreement.
“You two think you’re going to a party?” Magnus asked. “Dressed like that?”
Alec and Shinyun looked at each other. Shinyun was wearing her power suit, which was expensive, but the opposite of party wear. Her samgakdo was at her belt. Alec was wearing a faded T-shirt and jeans that somehow had paint on them. Magnus had already added to Alec’s wardrobe in Paris, but they definitely didn’t have carnival masks or elaborate costumes, which as far as Magnus was concerned made for an excellent opportunity for one of his favorite things.
“Come, demon hunters,” he said grandly. “We’re going shopping.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
* * *
Masks
“I DON’T SAY THIS LIGHTLY,” said Magnus. “But—ta-da!”
Magnus had taken them to Le Mercerie for what he promised would be a shopping extravaganza. Alec had gone shopping with Magnus before, so he was pretty familiar with the process. He waited at each store with half a dozen bags as the warlock tried on nearly everything, from traditional suits to matador traje de luces to something that looked suspiciously like a mariachi costume. Every style and color seemed to work with his dark hair and green-gold cat eyes, so Alec wasn’t sure what Magnus was searching for. Whatever he chose, Alec was sure it would look good.
This outfit was no exception. Magnus was wearing black leather trousers, the material sleeking along his long legs as if the lean muscle had been dipped in ink. His belt was a metal snake, the links scales and the buckle a cobra’s head with sapphire eyes. His cowl-neck shirt was a waterfall of midnight-blue and indigo sequins, dipping low in front to show not only collarbones but a long stretch of skin.
Magnus spun, then regarded himself consideringly in the mirror, his back to Alec. The view made Alec’s mouth go dry.
Alec said, “I think you look—nice.”
“Any concerns?”
“Well,” Alec said. “Those pants would make it difficult to maneuver in a fight, but you won’t need to fight. I can fight for you, if it comes up.”
Magnus looked taken aback, and Alec was not sure if he’d said something wrong, until Magnus’s expression softened. “I appreciate your offer. Now,” he added, “I’m just going to try on one more thing.” He disappeared back into the dressing room.
Next he appeared in a collarless suit with a matching uneven short-cloak hanging carelessly from his shoulders. Shinyun appeared in what seemed to be a combination of armor and a wedding dress.
Five minutes into their first store, Alec had picked out what Magnus described as a frock coat, long and black with medium-length tails. It was flexible enough to move and fight in, and loose enough in the right places to store his stele and seraph blades. Magnus had wanted him to try on something with a little more color, but Alec had said no and Magnus had not pushed the issue. The shirt beneath it was silk and deep blue, the color of Alec’s eyes.
After trying on a few rather quiet dresses, Shinyun had seen Magnus parade out of the changing room wearing a gold suit based loosely on an Egyptian pharaoh’s burial chamber, and came out next in an elaborate peach-colored hanbok. Magnus offered several compliments, and the race was on.
Shinyun was competitive with Magnus. Maybe all warlocks were competitive with each other. Alec hadn’t met many, and wouldn’t know.
He was trying not to worry too much about Shinyun. Magnus clearly liked her, but Alec was awkward with strangers, and he desperately didn’t want to be any more awkward on their romantic trip. How were he and Magnus meant to get to know each other better with a third wheel always around?
Maybe not worrying was a lost cause. Alec was trying not to show he was worried, at least.
Alec nudged the wide-eyed sales attendant next to him. “Where did you get the
se costumes?”
The young woman shook her head, speaking in careful English. “I have no idea. I have never seen any of these clothes before.”
“Huh,” Alec said. “Weird.”
In the end, Magnus was sporting a shimmering white suit decorated with what looked like iridescent dragon scales, wreathing him in opalescent light. He wore an ivory cloak that hung to his knees, and the collar of his shirt was undone, pearly material curling against the brown of his skin.
Shinyun had decided to go big with an ornate black dress with massive ribbons looping around her hips. Intricate silver vines hung from her neck to the floor, and a fountain of flowers rose from behind her head.
They asked Alec to help them with their final mask choices. For Magnus, it was between a gold mask with a plume of orange feathers fanning out in a half circle, and a reflective silver domino mask that was almost too bright to look at. Shinyun’s two choices were either a plain full-face marble mask or a thin, naked wired mask that hardly covered anything, both ironic choices. Alec went with the silver one for Magnus and the wired one for Shinyun. She fixed it over her impassive face with a faint air of satisfaction.
“You look good,” Magnus told her. His eyes slid to Alec, and he handed Alec a silk half-mask, the deep blue color of twilight. Alec accepted it, and Magnus smiled. “And you look perfect. Let’s go.”
DUSK CURTAINED THE CITY. THE palazzo was decorated with torches that dotted the tops of the walls. A white fog had settled over the streets around the palazzo, curling around pillars and blanketing canals, lending the scene an eerie glow. Alec could not tell if it was magic or naturally occurring.
Over the marble facade of the building were faerie lights that sparkled and shifted, moving every other minute to spell out the words ANY DAY BUT VALENTINE’S DAY.
Alec was not a fan of parties, but he could at least appreciate the reason behind this one.
He had fought to stop Valentine Morgenstern. He would have given his life to do it. He hadn’t given much thought to how Downworlders overall regarded Valentine, who thought they were unclean and planned to wipe the stain of their existence from the earth. Now he saw how scared they must have been.
The Shadowhunters had many celebrated warriors. Alec hadn’t realized how it would be for Downworlders to have a Downworlder victory and war heroes of their own—not just of one clan or one family or one pack, but that belonged to all of Downworld together.
He would have been even more sympathetic if the werewolf security team had not insisted on patting him down. Twice. The security didn’t seem all that strict, until they spotted Alec’s runes.
“This is ridiculous,” he snapped. “I fought in the war whose victory you’re celebrating. On the winning side,” he added quickly.
The head of security, the largest of the werewolves—Alec figured that made sense—had been summoned. He said to Alec in a low voice, “We just don’t want any trouble.”
“I wasn’t planning to be any trouble. I am only,” Alec said clearly, “here to party.”
“And I thought there were going to be two of you,” the werewolf muttered.
“What?” said Alec. “Two Shadowhunters?”
The werewolf shrugged his burly shoulders. “Lord, I hope not.”
Magnus said, “Are you finished with my dance partner yet? I understand it’s difficult to keep your hands off him, but I really must insist.”
The security head shrugged and waved a hand. “Fine, go.”
“Thanks,” said Alec in a low voice, and reached for Magnus’s hand. The security guards had confiscated his bow and arrow, but he wasn’t too bothered since they’d missed the six seraph blades and four daggers he also had concealed about his person. “These people are impossible.”
Magnus moved back a fraction, so Alec missed catching his hand.
“Some of these people are my friends,” said Magnus. But then he shrugged and smiled. “Some of my friends are impossible.”
Alec was not entirely convinced. He was unsettled by the space between their hands. They went into the glittering mansion with that small, cold distance between them.
CHAPTER TWELVE
* * *
Tread Softly
JOHANN STRAUSS’S “EMPEROR WALTZ” WAS playing in the grand ballroom. Magnus saw hundreds of masked people in elaborate costumes dancing in unison, and around them was music that could be seen as well as heard. As if ripped from a black-and-white sheet of paper and turned into bright, living shapes, the notes floated in the air, drifting along currents of musical lines and wrapping around the glittering masks and elaborate hair of the dancers.
Along the ceiling, the constellations were moving; no, they were the orchestra. Stars moved to suggest the shapes of people and instruments. Libra was first chair, playing the violin, Ursa Major next to him his second. Aquila played the viola while Scorpio was on the bass. Orion played the cello, Hercules was on percussion. The stars played, while the masked couples danced, and the musical notes floated in between.
Magnus moved down the Carrara marble stairs from the foyer into the ballroom with Alec and Shinyun shadowing him like bodyguards.
“Prince Adaon,” he called, recognizing a friend.
Prince Adaon, his swan mask a gorgeous contrast to his dark skin, sent Magnus a grin over the heads of his courtiers.
“You’re on speaking terms with a prince?” Alec asked.
“I wouldn’t speak to most of the Unseelie Court princes,” said Magnus. “You wouldn’t believe the kind of things they get up to. They should only be thankful there are no faerie tabloids. Adaon’s the best of the bunch.”
As they came to the foot of the staircase, they met a man in a lavender tuxedo and a full-face mask of El Muerto, his white hair slicked back. Magnus grinned.
“Our host, I believe.”
“What makes you think that?” asked the man in a low English accent.
“Who else could have thrown this party? I commend you on going all out. No sense in going half out.” Magnus reached over and shook his hand. “Malcolm Fade. It’s been a long time.”
“Just before the millennium turned. I remember you were going through a particularly grungy period last I saw you.”
“Yes. It was called grunge. I was surprised to hear you moved to Los Angeles, and they made you High Warlock.”
Malcolm raised his mask, and Magnus saw him smile, the expression always sweet and more than a little sad.
“I know. Those fools.”
“Belated congratulations,” said Magnus. “How’s it going? You’ve been working on something, and clearly it was not your tan.”
“Oh, I dabble in many things, party planning among them.” Malcolm waved a hand toward the spectacle of the grand ballroom. He pulled off his absentminded routine beautifully, but Magnus had known him a long time. “Glad you are enjoying my little soiree.”
Two people came up behind Malcolm, one a blue-skinned faerie with lavender hair and webbed hands, and one a familiar face. Johnny Rook’s sunglasses were pushed down his nose, which was reasonable if you thought wearing sunglasses indoors at night was reasonable in the first place. Over his sunglasses, Magnus saw his eyes widen in recognition, and he averted his gaze from Magnus’s.
“Oh, do you know each other? You must know each other,” said Malcolm dreamily. “This is Hyacinth, who is my indispensable party planner. And Johnny Rook. I’m sure he’s indispensable to somebody.”
Magnus gestured. “These are Alexander Lightwood, Shadowhunter, New York Institute, and Shinyun Jung, mysterious warrior with a mysterious past.”
“How mysterious,” began Malcolm, and then his attention was diverted by the arrival of several pallets of raw meat. He looked around helplessly. “Does anyone know what’s to be done with all this raw meat?”
“That’s for the werewolves.” Hyacinth waved the deliveryman over. “I’ll take care of it. However, your personal attention may be required in the drawing room.”
She put
her hand to a glittering seashell fixed in her ear and whispered something to Malcolm. The blood drained from the High Warlock of Los Angeles’s already pale face.
“Oh dear. You’ll excuse me. Our sirens have taken up residence next to the champagne fountain and are trying to drown guests in it.” He hurried off.
“You were in the Shadow Market,” Alec said to Johnny Rook, recognition dawning.
“You’ve never seen me before,” said Johnny. “You’re not even seeing me right now.” He sprinted out of the ballroom.
Alec was watching the whole room with a closed-off, suspicious look on his face. Many people in the crowd were returning his look with interest.
Magnus had brought a cop to the party. He understood that. He couldn’t blame Alec for being wary. Almost all Downworlders had pasts stained red. Vampires did suck blood, faerie and warlock magic went wrong, werewolves lost control and other people lost limbs. At the same time, Magnus could not blame his fellow Downworlders for being guarded either. Not so long ago, Shadowhunters had decorated their walls with Downworlder heads.
“Hey, Magnus!” called out a warlock wearing a plain green dress and a white plague doctor’s mask, deep blue skin showing beneath.
Magnus was delighted by her appearance.
“Hello, darling,” he said, and swept her into a hug. After spinning her off her feet, he presented her proudly to his companions. “Alec, Shinyun, this is Catarina Loss. She’s one of my oldest friends.”
“Oh,” said Catarina. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Alexander Lightwood.”
Alec looked alarmed.
Magnus wanted them to like each other. He watched them watching each other. Well, these things took time.
“May I speak to you a moment, Magnus?” Catarina asked. “In private?”
“I’ll go search for our stone goat,” said Shinyun, heading off.
Catarina looked puzzled. “Just one of her more colorful figures of speech,” Magnus said. “She has a mysterious past, you see.”
The Red Scrolls of Magic Page 11