The Red Scrolls of Magic

by Cassandra Clare

He reached over and ran his fingertips in a light, absentminded caress along Alec’s neck. Alec leaned into his touch. When Magnus’s hand dropped, Alec wanted to follow it.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Magnus added. “Many warlocks have tragic childhoods. We come into a world already made dark by demons. It’s hard not to give in to the anger.”

  “You don’t,” said Alec.

  Magnus’s voice was bleak. “I have.”

  “Shinyun didn’t have to join a cult,” said Alec.

  “I didn’t have to found a cult,” Magnus pointed out.

  Alec said, “That’s different.”

  “Sure. It’s much worse.” Magnus tossed a twig into the fire and watched as it withered and blackened, and then curled into ash. Alec watched him.

  Magnus Bane was always brightly burning, whimsical and effervescent, ethereal and carefree. He was the High Warlock of Brooklyn, who wore blazing colors and shiny glitter around his eyes. He was the sort of person who threw birthday parties for his cat and loved whomever he wanted loudly and proudly.

  Only there was dark waiting behind the brightness. Alec had to learn that side of Magnus too, or he would never really know him.

  “I think I understand about Shinyun,” Alec said slowly. “I wondered why you were insisting on bringing her with us. I even thought maybe you didn’t want to be alone with me.”

  “Alec, I—”

  Alec held out a hand. “But then I realized. You feel like she’s your responsibility, don’t you? If the Crimson Hand hurt her, then you feel like you have to help her. To make it right.”

  Magnus nodded slightly. “She is my dark mirror, Alexander,” he said. “She is in some ways what I could have been, had I not been lucky enough to have experienced love and caring—my mother’s, and then Ragnor and the Silent Brothers. I could have been so desperate I too would have joined something like the Crimson Hand.”

  “You don’t talk much about the past,” Alec said slowly. “You didn’t even tell me you were close to that warlock who died. Ragnor Fell. You were, weren’t you?”

  “I was,” said Magnus. “He was the first friend I ever had.”

  Alec looked down at his hands. Jace had been the first friend he’d ever had, but Magnus knew that. Magnus knew everything about him. He was an open book. He tried to crush down the feeling of hurt. “So—why not tell me?”

  The sparks from the campfire flew upward, brief stars flaring against the black night, then winked out.

  Alec wondered if loving a mortal was like that to Magnus, bright but brief. Maybe this was all just a short, insignificant episode in a long, long story. He wasn’t just an open book, he thought. He was a short one. A slim volume compared to the chronicles of Magnus’s long life.

  “Because nobody ever really wants to know,” said Magnus. “Usually I get no further than mentioning I killed my stepfather, and people decide that’s enough. You’ve already seen too much. Last night you saw the Red Scrolls of Magic, all the stupid, careless things I said, hidden behind a bloodstained altar. Can you blame me if I wonder, every time, whether this is the time I scare you away?”

  “Shadowhunters don’t scare easily,” Alec said. “I know you feel guilty about Shinyun being taken in by the cult, but you meant it for the best. That’s what I thought when I read the Red Scrolls. You didn’t say to recruit the kids, to use them. You said not to let them be alone. You were alone, and you didn’t want other warlock children to suffer like you did. I came on this trip to get to know you better, and I am.”

  “I’m sure you’ve learned more than you wanted to,” said Magnus quietly.

  “I learned you see snarling animals in cages, and you try to pet them. Your friend died, and you didn’t even tell me you knew him, but you tried to comfort a vampire about it. You’re always trying to help people. Me and my friends, so many times, and Raphael Santiago of all people, and now Shinyun and other warlock kids, and probably loads of people I don’t know about yet, but I know this much. I looked at the Red Scrolls of Magic and saw you trying to help children. That part sounded like you.”

  Magnus laughed, an uneven sound.

  “Was that what you meant? I thought you meant—something else.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t want this not to work because of me,” he confessed. “I don’t want to shatter what we have by telling you something that will drive you away. How much truth do you really want, Alexander?”

  “I want all of it,” said Alec.

  Magnus turned his eyes, brighter than firelight, on Alec, and held out his hand. Alec took his hand firmly, drew in his breath, and braced himself. His heart thundered in his chest and his stomach twisted. He waited.

  “Um,” he said. “Aren’t you going to do some magic that shows me your past?”

  “Oh, heavens no,” said Magnus. “That whole business was traumatic enough to live through once. I was just going to talk about it. I wanted to hold your hand.”

  “Oh,” said Alec. “Well . . . good.”

  Magnus slid in close. Alec could feel the heat radiating off his skin. The warlock bowed his head as he gathered his thoughts. He made a few false starts at speaking, and each time he gripped Alec’s hand tighter.

  “I’d like to think my mother loved me,” said Magnus. “All I remember is that she was so sad. I always felt as if I had to learn some trick to figure out how to do better. I thought I could prove myself, and she would be happy, and I’d be good enough. I never learned the trick. She hanged herself in the barn. My stepfather burned the barn to the ground and built a shrine to her in the ashes. He didn’t know exactly what I was. I didn’t know exactly what I was, but he knew I was not his. He knew I was not human. One day when the air was hot as soup, I was sleeping and woke to hear him calling me.”

  Magnus smiled as if his heart was broken. “He used my old name, the one my mother gave me. There is nobody left alive who knows that name now.”

  Alec held Magnus’s hand even tighter, as if he could rescue him, centuries too late.

  “You don’t have to say anything more,” he whispered. “Not if you don’t want to.”

  “I want to,” said Magnus, but his voice wavered as he continued. “My stepfather hit me a few times, then hauled me by the neck to the burnt ruins of the barn. There was still a blackened rope hanging from a rafter. I could hear the water of the creek running. My stepfather grabbed me by the nape of my neck and pushed my head into the water. Just before he did, he spoke to me, and he sounded gentler than I’d ever heard him sound before. He said, ‘This is to purify you. Trust me.’ ”

  Alec’s breath caught. He found he could not stop holding it, as if he could save it for the child Magnus had been.

  “I don’t remember what happened after that. One minute I was drowning.” There was a pause. Magnus held his hands up. His voice was devoid of emotion. “The next, I burned my stepfather alive.”

  The campfire erupted into a column of flame, roiling in a funnel that shot halfway up to heaven. Alec threw an arm in front of Magnus to shield him from the scorching blast.

  The pillar of flame died away almost at once. Magnus did not even seem to notice the giant column of fire he had created. Alec wondered if Shinyun had woken up, but if she had, there was no sign. Maybe she slept with earplugs in.

  “I ran away,” Magnus continued. “I was in hiding, until I crossed paths with the Silent Brothers. They taught me how to control my magic. I was always fonder of Shadowhunters than most warlocks, because your Silent Brothers saved me from myself. I still thought I was a demon’s child and could never be anything more. I’d never met another warlock, but Ragnor Fell had ties to a Shadowhunter family. The Silent Brothers arranged for him to come and teach me. I was the first pupil he ever had. Later he tried to teach Shadowhunter children about magic, and not to fear us. He said all his pupils were terrible, but I was the worst. He complained constantly. Nothing ever made him happy. I loved him very much.” Magnus’s mouth twisted as he stared intently into the flames. “A lit
tle while later I met my second friend, Catarina Loss. Some mundanes were trying to burn her at the stake. I intervened.”

  “I knew I was going to find out about you saving more people,” said Alec.

  Magnus gave a soft, surprised huff of laughter. Alec caught Magnus’s upraised hands in his own, warming them and holding them steady, drawing Magnus closer to him. Magnus did not resist, and Alec enveloped him in a tight embrace. He locked his arms around Magnus’s slim body, felt their chests rising and falling against each other, and held him fast. Magnus let his head drop onto Alec’s shoulder.

  “You saved yourself,” Alec said into Magnus’s ear. “You saved yourself, and then you saved so many people. You couldn’t have saved anyone if you hadn’t saved yourself. I would never have found you.”

  Alec had been right about the darkness waiting in Magnus, and the pain waiting with it. All that darkness, and all that pain, and Magnus was somehow still a blazing riot of life and color, a source of joy for everyone around him. He was the reason Alec looked into a mirror now and saw a complete person who did not have to hide.

  They stayed locked together, the fire beside them dying. All was quiet. Alec held on.

  “Don’t worry so much. It’s just a tiny little cult,” he said eventually. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

  He felt Magnus’s mouth curve, pressed against Alec’s cheek, as Magnus smiled.

  PART III

  City of War

  When Rome falls, the world shall fall.

  —Lord Byron

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  * * *

  The Treasures That Prevail

  THERE WAS NO OTHER CITY like Rome, Magnus thought as the domes of the basilicas first appeared on the horizon. Of course, he could say the same about many cities. That was one of the advantages of living forever. There were always new wonders of the world.

  There was nothing like Tokyo, with its duality of culture and technology. There was nothing like Bangkok, with its metropolis that spanned as far as the eye could see. There was nothing like Chicago jazz and deep-dish pizza.

  And there was nothing as uniquely spectacular as Rome, the golden Eternal City.

  Magnus and Alec had fallen asleep next to the fire under the open sky. They awoke to birds chirping and the predawn light heralding the new day. It was honestly one of the best mornings Magnus had ever had.

  His only regret was that they hadn’t gotten to use the pavilion he’d conjured. In fact, he didn’t think Alec had even set foot inside the tent. It was a pity. Magnus was very proud of his work. But there was always next time.

  He felt refreshed and his mission was clear: wrap up this cult business, return to romantic vacation. The Crimson Hand were in Rome; Magnus would find them and whomever was leading them, and he would have many stern words and painful spells for that cult-stealing, vacation-ruining, Greater Demon–summoning lunatic. He was fairly confident about his ability to face down almost any other warlock in the world. (Even Barnabas. Especially Barnabas.) Even if the cult was deranged enough to be in communication with Asmodeus, Magnus was pretty sure they hadn’t actually raised him yet. He just thought there was no way, if his father walked the earth, that he wouldn’t have already made himself known to Magnus.

  Maybe this could all be over soon.

  Magnus folded and banished all of the camping supplies to whence they had come, Shinyun did the same, and they climbed into the Maserati.

  “Don’t bother with the map,” he told Alec airily. “All roads lead to Rome.”

  Alec grinned at him. “The map definitely doesn’t agree.”

  It was only about two hours, and soon enough they were struggling their way through the streets of Rome, where the low wide lines of the Maserati were less of a stylish grace note and more of a target for the fleets of scooters and tiny Fiats swarming them from all sides. Rome had some of the worst traffic patterns Magnus knew, and Magnus had seen some bad traffic patterns in his day. They checked into a suite at the Palazzo Manfredi, a boutique hotel across the street from the Roman Colosseum, where without any actual discussion, they unanimously agreed to sleep in comfortable beds with fancy sheets in climate-controlled, beautiful hotel rooms until the evening. Even Shinyun seemed bone weary, heading for the room adjacent to theirs with hardly a word.

  Alec whistled when they walked into their suite. He dumped his luggage to the side, leaned his bow against the wall, and sprawled full length on the soft red velvet of the luxuriously wide sofa.

  Magnus cast a few protective spells to ward them as they slept, then joined Alec on the sofa, climbing over one arm and crawling on top of the Shadowhunter like Chairman Meow would have if they were home. He draped himself across Alec’s body, tucked his face into the curve of Alec’s neck, and inhaled the scent of him. Alec’s arm went around Magnus’s back, stroking a shoulder blade. Magnus dropped a kiss on the underside of Alec’s jaw and rubbed his cheek lightly against the rough scrape of Alec’s two-day stubble. He felt Alec draw in a shuddering breath.

  “You smell amazing,” Alec whispered. “Why—why do you always smell amazing?”

  “Um,” Magnus mumbled, delighted but fighting sleep. “It’s sandalwood, I think.”

  “It’s great,” Alec whispered. “Come and hold me. I want you next to me.”

  Magnus glanced up at him. Alec’s eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply.

  Come and hold me. I want you next to me. Maybe it was easier for Alec to say things like that when he was half asleep. It hadn’t occurred to Magnus that Alec might feel self-conscious, saying things like that. He’d thought Alec didn’t want to say them.

  Magnus did as requested and curled his body around Alec’s. Their legs tangled together. Magnus traced a forefinger across Alec’s cheek, down to his mouth. Alec’s lashes were long, thick, and dark, curving to touch the tops of his cheekbones. His lips were full and soft, his hair a tumble of rough black silk. He looked vulnerable in a way that was hard to square, sometimes, with the cold-eyed, arrow-slinging warrior he became in battle.

  He thought about waking Alec up and suggesting they go into the bedroom. He could kiss that full, soft mouth, mess up that silky hair even further. He brushed his lips over Alec’s cheek, closing his eyes . . .

  He opened them to late-afternoon sun shining through a floor-to-ceiling window and cursed his own exhaustion. Who knew how many hours had passed, and Alec was no longer on the couch with him.

  He found Alec on the balcony with a spread on the table of charcuterie, cheeses, breads, and fruits. Alec lifted a champagne flute toward him.

  “Alexander Lightwood,” said Magnus in admiration. “Well played.”

  Alec swirled the glass, his silly grin the only crack in his debonair attitude. “Prosecco?”

  The balcony was like a cup of warm sunlight. They sat there and Magnus sent messages to everyone he could think of, asking if anyone had seen Barnabas Hale around. He also ate maybe a pound and a half of cured meat. Taking an early light dinner with Alec, even though they had to hurry, felt almost domestic.

  He should move in with me, he thought. No, no, too soon, maybe when it’s been a year.

  Magnus was in the shower when he heard Alec’s raised voice in the living room. He hastily snatched a vast, cloudlike towel and swathed it around his hips, hurrying into the suite’s drawing room in case Alec was being attacked by another demon.

  Alec and Shinyun, seated on opposite ends of the couch, both froze. Shinyun quickly looked away; Alec stared. Magnus realized he had burst into the middle of the living room wearing only a towel, his wet hair dripping onto his bare torso.

  Awkward.

  Magnus waved, snapped his fingers, and was instantly wearing a burgundy T-shirt with a plunging V-neck, a jaunty silk scarf, and a pair of skinny jeans. He padded barefoot over to Alec’s side and pressed a light kiss against Alec’s burning cheek. Only then did he turn to acknowledge Shinyun. “Good afternoon. Prosecco?”

  “I’m leaving,” said Shinyun.r />
  “Like, forever?” said Alec hopefully.

  “Most people don’t find the sight of me half-nude that alarming,” said Magnus. “Several heads of state have deemed it ‘a privilege.’ ”

  Alec rolled his eyes. He seemed more than a little tense. Maybe he should book them some massages, Magnus thought.

  “I have some contacts in Rome who won’t want to talk to a Shadowhunter,” Shinyun said. “Also, I’ve been trapped in a car with you for the better part of two days. I need a break. No offense.”

  “None taken,” said Alec. “Off you go.”

  “Do you want coffee?” asked Magnus, feeling a little bad.

  “I can’t stay,” said Shinyun.

  “She can’t stay,” said Alec. “You heard her. She has to go.”

  Shinyun gave Magnus what he recognized as a sarcastic imitation of his own wave of greeting and left.

  Magnus turned his head toward Alec, and into a kiss.

  Alec had moved as only a Shadowhunter could move, swift and silent. He was in front of Magnus now, pulling off his own shirt, then sliding his hands up Magnus’s arms, kissing him, deep and desperate, and oh, he’d gotten really good at this in a short amount of time. He broke the kiss only to unknot Magnus’s scarf and pull Magnus’s T-shirt up and over his head. He threw the shirt in the direction of the window. Magnus dropped kisses on Alec’s face, on his hands, urging him along in every way he could. It was like being in the center of a wonderful whirlwind. Alec’s hands skimmed up the muscles of Magnus’s back, along his sides, over his shoulders, in restless, avid motion. Magnus staggered back, needing something to keep him upright. His back hit the wall.

  “Sorry!” Alec said, looking suddenly worried. “I—everything’s all right, Magnus?”

  Alec hovered, eyes wild, and Magnus reached out, lacing his fingers through Alec’s hair and tugging him back into the embrace.

  “It is all right, yes,” he murmured. “I love it. I love you. Come here.”