Alec flung himself back into the embrace, kissing and sucking at Magnus’s lower lip, the intoxication of bare skin against bare skin making them both dizzy. Magnus slid his palm down Alec’s stomach, the ridges of muscle hard and clear under his hand. Alec made a low, desperate sound against Magnus’s mouth as Magnus started to undo his jeans. “Magnus, yes,” he whispered. “Please, yes.”
Magnus realized his hand was shaking even as the zipper came down and Alec’s head went back. His eyes were closed as they had been the night before, his beautiful lashes fluttering, this time in pleasure. His lips parted.
He whispered, “Wait.”
Magnus pulled back instantly, his heart pounding. He held up both hands and then put them behind his back.
“Of course,” he said. “We can wait as long as you want.”
Alec reached to have Magnus back, as if by instinct. Then his hands fell by his side, and he clenched them into fists. His eyes traveled over Magnus, before he wrenched his gaze away. Magnus looked at the severe lines of his face and thought of the relentlessness of angels.
“I want this,” said Alec, his voice despairing. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. But—we’re in this together. You’re worried about the cult, and I don’t want to just be grabbing some time when Shinyun isn’t around, when you’re unhappy.”
Magnus didn’t think he’d ever been more touched by a speech someone had made while zipping up their pants.
“I want to get this resolved,” Alec said, yanking on his shirt. “I should go.”
Magnus picked up his T-shirt from where it lay in a heap beside the window. He tugged the shirt on and stared out at the flowing curves and lines of the Colosseum, where men had fought long years before even he was born.
“I wish you could stay,” he said softly. “But you’re right. At least kiss me good-bye, though.”
Alec had an odd expression on his face, almost as if someone had hurt him, but not quite. The blue eyes Magnus so loved were almost black.
He crossed the floor in one bound and pressed Magnus up against the window, pushing up Magnus’s shirt so Magnus’s back was against the sun-warmed glass. He kissed him, slow and lesuirely this time, tasting of regret. Sounding drunk, Alec murmured, “Yes—yes—no! No, I need to go to the Rome Institute.”
He backed away from Magnus and picked up his bow, twisting it between his hands, as if he had to be holding something.
“If there are any unusual cult or demonic activities going on, the Institute will know. We have to use every means at our disposal. We can’t take the time. We’ve already slept all day—who knows how much further the cult could have gotten in those hours. . . . I have to go.”
Magnus wanted to be annoyed at Alec for his balking; the problem was that the urgency Alec was describing was a real, true fact. “Whatever you think is best,” he said.
“Right,” said Alec. “Right. I’m going. You stay. Be safe. Don’t let anyone else into the suite. Don’t go anywhere without me. Promise me.”
Magnus had walked infernal realms in hallucinations caused by demon poisons, been homeless and hungry in streets that were now ruins, been desperate enough to set water ablaze, been extremely drunk in the desert. He did not think doom was coming for him in an upscale hotel in Rome.
But he loved Alec for worrying.
“We can pick up where we left off,” Magnus said, leaning back against the windowsill. “You know, when you get back.”
He smiled a slow and wicked smile. Alec made a hopeless, senseless gesture, to himself, then toward Magnus. His hand eventually calmed to stillness. He started to speak, visibly reconsidered talking, shook his head, strode toward the door, and stalked out of the room.
One second later the door banged open and Alec came back inside.
“Or maybe I should stay.”
Magnus opened his mouth, but Alec had already shut his eyes, let his head fall against the back of the door with a thump, and answered himself.
“No. I’m going to go. I’m going. Bye.”
He waved at Magnus. Magnus snapped his fingers. Keys landed, glittering, in the hollow of his hand, and he threw them at Alec. Alec caught them reflexively. Magnus winked.
“Take the Maserati,” he said. “And hurry back.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
* * *
Bound in Heaven
ALEC TOOK THE CORNERS OF the tangled streets of Rome too fast. He was going to miss the Maserati. He already missed Magnus.
He kept thinking of how Magnus had looked when he’d come out of the bathroom, skin warm from the shower, towel swathed around his narrow hips, strong muscles and flat stomach sparkling with water drops. His dark hair had been barely dry, sunlight falling on him, golden and soft. Alec often liked Magnus best this way, silky hair free of gel or spikes. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Magnus’s clothes, but Magnus wore them like armor, a layer of protection between him and a world that didn’t always meet someone like him with open arms.
He couldn’t think about anything else that had happened in that room. He’d already turned the car to go back to the hotel three times. The last time, he’d reversed in a narrow lane and scraped up one side of the Maserati.
He wished Magnus could’ve come with him to the Institute. Alec was surprised to find himself restless and uneasy without Magnus in his direct line of sight. They’d been together all the time since they left New York, and Alec had gotten used to it. He wasn’t worried about another demon attack, or at least not that worried. He knew the hotel room was warded with Magnus’s magic, and Magnus had promised to stay in the hotel room.
It was strange. He missed New York; he missed Jace and Isabelle, and Mom and Dad, and even Clary. But he missed Magnus most of all, and he had only been apart from Magnus for thirty minutes.
He wondered what Magnus would think, when they got home, about Alec moving in.
Like all Institutes, the Rome Institute was accessible only to Nephilim; like many of them, this one was glamoured to appear as an old church, fallen into disuse. Because Rome was one of the most densely populated cities in Europe, there was extra magic layered on the glamour so that not only would the Institute look to be in poor condition, most mundanes would neglect to notice it at all, and forget about it a moment later, if they did.
This was a pity, because the Rome Institute was one of the more beautiful in the world. It resembled many of the other basilicas in the city, with domed tops, tall arches, and marble columns, but as if viewed in one of those funny mirrors that elongated the reflection. The Institute had a narrow base sandwiched between two squat buildings. Once it rose past its neighbors, it blossomed and fanned out into several domes and towers, like a candelabra or a tree. The resulting profile was both distinctly Roman and pleasantly organic.
Alec found a parking spot nearby, but he felt a strong temptation to stay in the car and read the Red Scrolls of Magic for a while longer. He’d already noticed a few differences between the copy they’d found in Venice and the pages Isabelle had sent. Instead he made his way to the Institute door. Looking up at the imposing edifice, he dreaded all the strangers inside it, even though they were fellow Shadowhunters. He wanted his parabatai. He would have given a lot for a familiar face.
“Hey, Alec!” a voice behind him called. “Alec Lightwood!”
Alec turned and scanned the line of stores on the other side of the street. He found his familiar face at a small round table in front of a café.
“Aline!” he called in surprised recognition. “What are you doing here?”
Aline Penhallow was looking at him over her coffee cup. Her black hair fluttered at her jawline, she was wearing her aviator sunglasses, and she was beaming. She looked a lot better than the last time Alec had seen her. He and his family had been staying at the Penhallows’ manor the night the wards fell in Alicante. The night Max had died.
“Had to get away from things for a bit. They’re rebuilding in Idris, but it’s still a me
ss. My mom’s in the thick of it.”
“That’s right, she’s the new Consul. Congratulations!”
Alec couldn’t even imagine how Jia Penhallow must feel, being chosen by all the Nephilim to be closest to the Angel and charged with carrying out their mandate. He’d always liked Aline’s mother, a calm, clever warrior from Beijing. She could do so much good now. Being the leader of the Shadowhunters meant being able to make changes, and Alec was becoming more and more aware the world needed changing. He crossed the street and jumped the rope encircling the café tables.
“Thanks. How about you?” Aline asked. “What are you doing here? And where did you get your incredibly sweet ride?”
“Long story,” said Alec.
“How’s everyone back in New York?” asked Aline. “Doing all right?”
The last time they’d seen each other had been not long after Max’s funeral.
“Yeah,” Alec said quietly. “We’re all right. How about you?”
“Can’t complain,” said Aline. “Is Jace with you?”
“Uh, no,” said Alec.
He wondered if Aline was asking for a specific reason. Aline and Jace had kissed in Alicante, before the war. Alec tried to think of what Isabelle usually said to girls about Jace.
“The thing is,” he added, “Jace is a beautiful antelope, who has to be free to run across the plains.”
“What?” said Aline.
Maybe Alec had gotten that wrong. “Jace is home with his, uh, his new girlfriend. You remember Clary.” Alec hoped Aline was not too heartbroken.
“Oh right, the short redhead,” she said. Aline was tiny herself, but refused to ever admit it. “You know, Jace was so sad before the war, I thought he must have a forbidden love. I just didn’t think it was Clary, for obvious reasons. I thought it was that vampire.”
Alec coughed. Aline offered him a sip of her latte.
“No,” he said when he got his voice back. “Jace is not dating Simon. Jace is straight. Simon is straight.”
“I totally saw scars on Jace’s neck,” Aline said. “He let that vampire bite him. He brought him to Alicante. I thought: classic Jace. Never makes a mess when a total catastrophe will do. Wait, did you think I wanted a ride on that disaster train?”
“Yes?” said Alec.
As a loyal parabatai, he was starting to find Aline’s tone a little insulting.
“I mean, Jace is empirically very cute, and I have always liked blonds, and I do like Jace,” she said. “He’s been great to me. Very understanding, but I hope he’s very happy with his—whatever. Or that vampire. Or whomever.”
“He’s called Simon,” said Alec.
“Right. Of course,” said Aline. She fiddled with her cup for a moment, not looking at Alec, then added, “I saw you and your Downworlder. You know. In the Accords Hall.”
There was silence, awkwardness hanging like the haze in the air. Alec remembered kissing Magnus, under the eyes of the Angel and everyone he loved, and also hundreds of complete strangers. His hands had been shaking. He’d been so scared to do it, but more scared that he would lose Magnus, that one of them might die without Magnus ever knowing how Alec felt about him.
He couldn’t read Aline’s face. He’d always gotten along with Aline, who was quieter than Isabelle and Jace. He’d always felt they understood each other. Perhaps Aline could not understand him now.
“That must have been terrifying,” she said at last.
“It was,” Alec said reluctantly.
“Now that you’ve done it, are you happy?” Aline asked tentatively.
Alec did not know if she was simply curious, or if, like his dad, she thought that Alec’s life would be better if he kept hiding.
“It’s hard sometimes,” said Alec. “But I’m very happy.”
A tiny, uncertain smile flickered across Aline’s face.
“I’m glad you’re happy,” she said eventually. “Are you still together? Or is it all, oh, now he knows you like him back, he doesn’t like you as much? Maybe it was all about the lure of what he couldn’t have? Do you ever worry about that?”
“Not before right this moment,” Alec snapped.
Aline shrugged. “Sorry. I think maybe I’m just not very romantic. I’ve never understood why people get so worked up about relationships.”
Alec used to feel the same. He remembered the first time Magnus kissed him, and every cell of his body thrilled to a new song. He remembered the sensation of the pieces of the world finally fitting together in a way that made sense.
“Well,” said Alec, “we’re still together. We’re on vacation. It’s great.” He shot Aline a challenging glare, then thought of Magnus and added, more softly, “He’s great.”
“So why are you at the Rome Institute when you’re meant to be on vacation?” Aline asked.
Alec hesitated. “Can I trust you?” he asked. “Can I really trust you? I mean it. I trust you with my life, but can I trust you with more than my life?”
“That got serious fast,” said Aline with a grin, which faded as she took in Alec’s grim expression. She bit her lip. “Your fight is my fight,” she said. “You can trust me.”
Alec gazed at her for a long moment. Then he explained as much as he could: that there was a cult called the Crimson Hand, that he’d gone to a warlock’s party in search of information, that the faerie girl he’d seen making out with a vampire girl there had turned out to be a Shadowhunter called Helen Blackthorn, that the Shadowhunters at the Rome Institute might have been alerted to be suspicious of Alec.
“I need to find out if there’s been any sign of cult activity in Rome,” he said, “but I can’t tell anyone else in the Institute what I’m looking for.”
Aline absorbed this. He could see the questions in her eyes, but she pressed her lips together.
“Okay,” she said at last. “Let’s go check out the logged demonic activity in the last few weeks. I’ll just say that my friend, a hero of the war, has dropped by to visit me. I think some more visitors are due. With any luck, everyone will be too busy to ask any questions.”
Alec gave her a grateful look. Aline was kind.
“If your warlock is doing something evil, we’re going to have to cut off his head,” Aline added.
Aline was kind, but perhaps not very tactful.
“He’s not,” said Alec. “If I’m a hero of the war, so is he.”
He saw Aline process this. She nodded, finished her coffee, and paid her bill. Alec took her hand as they stepped over the ropes of the café together.
They passed through the giant golden double entry doors of the Rome Institute and proceeded into the atrium. Alec whistled. This was one of the larger Institutes in the world. Alec had heard it described as “ornate,” but this turned out to be a significant understatement. It was an assault on the eyes, far too much to take in at once. There were beautiful and intricate designs and artworks everywhere he looked: the half-dozen statues on the left wall, the lifelike carvings on the right, the mesmerizing gold-and-silver-tiled dome several stories above them. Words were inscribed across the ceiling in Latin: I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven; whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.
“They modeled it after St. Peter’s Basilica,” noted Aline as she led them through the vestibule and down the side arcade.
Aline already knew her way around. She led him around the side passages, avoiding the more heavily trafficked main corridors. They went up a gilded spiral staircase, past at least ten more statues and a few dozen frescoes, before reaching a glass door.
“We have to go through the training room to get to the records room,” said Aline. “I hope there won’t be anyone inside, but if there is, we’ll brazen it out.”
“Okay,” said Alec.
Aline hit the glass door with her fist and cheerfully called out, “Hero of the war, coming through!”
“Who?” yelled a dozen voices at once.
<
br /> Someone else shouted, “Is it Jace Herondale?”
“By the Angel, please let it be Jace Herondale!” said another voice.
Alec and Aline walked into a room as bright as a greenhouse, marble gleaming on the floor between practice mats, and more than a dozen Shadowhunters all in their gear. There were targets set up on the wall farthest from them, with arrows in the outer rings. Clearly, the Italian Shadowhunters needed to practice more, but Alec did not see why it had to be right then.
A girl at the front of the group sagged in disappointment. “Oh, it’s not Jace Herondale. It’s just some guy.”
Alec gave it two minutes before they processed their disappointment and started asking questions. There were too many of these people. He could not give them any answers.
He took a deep breath and drew his bow. He told himself not to worry about all the people, or about the cult, or about Magnus. He’d taught himself focus over many long nights practicing his archery, once he understood that Jace and Isabelle were always going to fling themselves into danger, and he would have to cover them. He could not do that with voices in his head warning him that he would fail, that his father would never be proud of him the way the Clave was of Jace, that he wasn’t good enough.
He fired five arrows into the five targets. Each one was a bull’s-eye. He put his bow away.
“I’m not Jace Herondale,” he said. “But I’ve learned to keep up.”
There was a hush. Alec took the opportunity to walk to the other end of the room and recover his arrows. While he was at it, he took every arrow he found in the targets. He had a feeling he might need them.
“Practice more, guys,” Aline suggested. “We’re going to the records room now.”
“Great,” said a voice from the back of the group. “Because I’d like to talk to Alexander Lightwood in private.”
Helen Blackthorn stepped away from the crowd and stood, her arms crossed, staring Alec down.
Aline froze. Alec’s first impulse was to run and jump out the window. Then he remembered how high above the ground they were.
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