Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy

by Cassandra Clare

  As soon as they were gone, Alec stumbled over to the bed and lay flat on his face, instantly asleep. Magnus was left with the baby.

  It was possible the baby was stunned by the Lightwoods too. He lay in his crib staring up at the world with wide eyes. The crib was under a window, and he was in a small pool of light, moonshine shimmering on his crumpled blanket and his little fat legs. Magnus crouched down by the crib and watched him, waiting for the next eruption of screaming that meant he needed to be changed and fed. Instead he fell asleep too, his mouth open, a tiny blue rosebud.

  Who could ever love it? the baby’s mother had written, but the baby did not know that yet. He slept, innocent and serene as any child secure of love. Magnus’s mother might have thought the same despairing words.

  Alec thought they were keeping him.

  Keeping him had not even occurred to Magnus. He had thought he lived life believing a thousand possibilities were open to him, but he had not thought of this possibility as being open to him: family life like mundanes and Nephilim had, love so secure that it could be shared with someone brand-new to the world and helpless.

  He tried out the thought now.

  Keeping him. Keeping the baby. Having a baby, with Alec.

  Hours passed. Magnus hardly noticed, time went by so quietly, as if someone had laid out the carpet of the night to muffle time’s footsteps. He did not register anything but that small face, until he felt a soft touch on his shoulder.

  Magnus did not get up, but he turned to see Alec looking down at him. The moonlight turned Alec’s skin silver and his eyes a darker, deeper blue, infinitely tender.

  “If you thought I was asking you to keep the baby,” Magnus said, “I wasn’t.”

  Alec’s eyes widened. He absorbed this in silence.

  “You’re . . . still really young,” Magnus said. “I’m sorry if sometimes it seems as if I do not remember that. It’s strange to me—being immortal means both being young and being old are strange to me. I know I must seem strange to you sometimes.”

  Alec nodded, thoughtful and not hurt. “You do,” he said, and leaned down with one hand gripping the side of the crib, touched Magnus’s hair, and gave him a moonlight-soft kiss. “And I never want anything but this. I never want a less strange love.”

  “But you don’t have to be scared I would ever leave you,” said Magnus. “You don’t have to be scared of what will happen to the baby or that I will be hurt because the baby—is a warlock, and was not wanted. You do not have to feel trapped. You do not have to be scared, and you do not have to do this.”

  Alec knelt down in the shadows and on the bare, dusty boards of the attic, next to the crib and facing Magnus.

  “What if I want to?” he asked. “I’m a Shadowhunter. We marry young, and we have children young, because we might die young, because we want to do our duty to the world and have all the love in the world we can. I used to . . . I used to think I could never do that, never have that. I used to feel trapped. I don’t feel trapped now. I could never ask you to live in an Institute, and I don’t want to. I want to stay in New York, with you, and with Lily and Maia. I want to keep doing what we’re doing. I want Jace to run the Institute after my mother, and I want to work with him. I want to be part of the connection between the Institute and Downworlders. For so long I thought I could never have any of the things I wanted, except that I could maybe keep Jace and Isabelle safe. I thought I could have their backs in a fight. Now I have more and more people I care about, and . . . I want everyone I care about—I want people I don’t even know, I want all of us—to know we have each other’s backs so we do not have to fight alone. I am not trapped. I’m happy. I am exactly where I want to be. I know what I want, and I have the life I want. I’m not scared of any of the things you said.”

  Magnus took a deep breath. It was better to ask Alec than to keep imagining the wrong thing. “What are you scared of, then?”

  “Do you remember Mom suggesting calling the baby Max?”

  Magnus nodded, carefully quiet.

  He had never even met Alec’s little brother, Max. Robert and Maryse Lightwood had always tried to keep their children away from Downworlders, and Max had been too young to disobey.

  Alec’s voice was soft, both for the baby and with memory. “I was never the cool brother. I remember when Mom used to leave Max with me, when he was really little, just learning how to walk, and I was always scared he would fall down and it would be my fault. I’d constantly try to get him to obey the rules and do what Mom said. Isabelle was so great with him, always making him laugh, and by the Angel, Max wanted to be just like Jace. He thought Jace was the coolest, the best Shadowhunter who ever lived, that the sun rose and set on him. Jace gave him a little toy soldier and Max used to take it to bed with him. I was jealous of how much Max loved that toy. I used to give him other things, toys that I thought were better, but he always loved that soldier best. He died holding that toy for comfort. I’m so glad he had it, that he had something he loved to comfort him. It was stupid and petty to be jealous.”

  Magnus shook his head. Alec gave him a rueful smile, and then bowed his black head, looking at the floor.

  “I always thought there would be more time,” said Alec. “I thought Max would get older, and he’d train with us more, and I’d help him train. I thought he would come on missions with us, and I’d have his back, the way I always try to have Jace’s and Isabelle’s backs. He’d know his boring big brother was good for something then. He’d know he could count on me, no matter what. He should have been able to count on me.”

  “He was able to count on you,” Magnus said. “I know that. He knew that. Nobody who has ever met you could doubt it.”

  “He never even knew that I’m gay,” said Alec. “Or that I love you. I wish he could have met you.”

  “I wish I could have met him,” said Magnus. “But he knew you. He loved you. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I do know that,” said Alec. “I just . . . I always wished I could be more for him.”

  “You always try to be more, for everyone you love,” Magnus said. “You don’t see how your whole family turns to you, how they rely on you. I rely on you. Even Lily relies on you, for God’s sake. You love the people you love so much that you want to be an impossible ideal for them. You don’t realize that you are more than enough.”

  Alec shrugged, a little helplessly.

  “You asked me what I was scared of. I’m scared he won’t like me,” Alec said. “I’m scared I’ll let him down. But I want to try to be there for him. I want him. Do you?”

  “I didn’t expect him,” said Magnus. “I didn’t expect anything like this to come, for me. Even if I thought sometimes about what it might be like if you and I did have a family, I thought it would not be for years. But yes. Yes, I want to try as well.”

  Alec smiled, his smile so brilliant that Magnus realized how relieved he was, and realized belatedly how worried Alec had been that Magnus would say no.

  “It is quick,” Alec admitted. “I thought about having a family, but I guess I always thought . . . Well, I guess I never expected anything like this to happen before we got married.”

  “What?” said Magnus.

  Alec just stared up at him. One long, strong archer’s hand was dangling into the baby’s crib, but Alec was intent on Magnus, his dark blue eyes darker than ever in the shadows, one look from Alec more important than a kiss from anyone else. Magnus saw he meant it.

  “Alec,” he said. “My Alec. You have to know that’s impossible.”

  Alec looked stunned and horror-struck. Magnus began to speak, the words tumbling out of his mouth faster and faster, trying to get Alec to see.

  “Shadowhunters can marry Downworlders, in Downworlder or mundane ceremonies. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve seen other Shadowhunters dismiss those marriages as meaning nothing, and I’ve seen some Shadowhunters bow under pressure and break the vows they made. I know you would never bow or break. I know that typ
e of marriage would mean just as much to you. I know that any promises you made me, you would keep. But I was alive before the Accords. I sat and ate and talked with Shadowhunters about peace between our people, and then those same Shadowhunters threw away the plates I ate off because they thought I irredeemably tainted whatever I touched. I will not have a ceremony that anyone looks down on as lesser. I do not want you to have any less than the ceremony you could have had, to honor your vows to a Shadowhunter. I have had enough of making compromises in the name of trying to make peace. I want the Law to change. I do not want to get married until we can get married in gold.”

  Alec was quiet, his head bowed.

  “Do you understand?” Magnus demanded, feeling almost desperate. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s not that I don’t love you.”

  “I understand,” said Alec. He took a deep breath and looked up. “Changing the Law might take a while,” he said simply.

  “It might,” said Magnus.

  They were both quiet for a little while.

  “Can I tell you something?” Magnus asked. “Nobody ever wanted me to marry them before.”

  He’d had other loves, but none of them had ever asked, and he had known—had sensed with a cold, sinking feeling that it would be useless—not to ask them. Whether it was because they did not feel they could promise until death did them part when Magnus would not die, because they took Magnus lightly or thought, being immortal, that he took them lightly. He had never known the reasons they did not want to marry him, but there it was: There had been lovers willing to die with him, but nobody had ever been willing to swear to live with him every day for as long as they both had to live.

  Nobody until this Shadowhunter.

  “I never asked anyone to marry me before,” said Alec. “So that’s a no, then?”

  He laughed as he asked, a soft laugh, worn but happy. Alec always tried to give those he loved a path or an open door; he tried to give those he loved anything they wanted. They sat there, leaning against their baby’s crib together.

  Magnus lifted his hand, and Alec caught it in midair, their fingers linking. Magnus’s rings flashed and Alec’s scars glowed in the moonlight. Both of them held on.

  “It’s yes, one day,” Magnus said. “For you, Alec, it’s always yes.”

  After classes the next day Simon sat in his dank dungeon room, resisted the almost irresistible temptation to go find Isabelle, and mustered up his courage.

  He marched up the many flights of stairs and knocked on the door of Alec and Magnus’s rooms.

  Magnus answered the door. He was wearing jeans and a loose, frayed T-shirt, holding the baby, and he looked very tired.

  “How did you know he’d just woken up from a nap?” Magnus asked as he opened the door.

  “Uh, I didn’t,” said Simon.

  Magnus blinked at him, in the slow way that tired people did, as if they had to think deeply about blinking. “Oh, my apologies,” he said. “I thought you were Maryse.”

  “Isabelle’s mother is here?” Simon exclaimed.

  “Shhhh!” said Magnus. “She might hear you.”

  The baby was grizzling, not quite crying but making a sound like a small, unhappy tractor. He wiped his damp face against Magnus’s shoulder.

  “I’m really sorry to interrupt,” said Simon. “I was wondering if I could have a word alone with Alec.”

  “Alec’s sleeping,” Magnus said flatly, and began to close the door.

  Alec’s voice rang out before the door was quite closed. He sounded as if he was midyawn. “No, I’m not. I’m awake. I can talk to Simon.” He appeared in the doorway, pulling the door back open. “Go out and take a long walk. Get some fresh air. It’ll wake you up.”

  “I’m great,” said Magnus. “I don’t need sleeping. Or waking. I feel great.”

  The baby waved his fat hands in Alec’s direction, the gestures loose and uncoordinated but unmistakable. Alec looked startled but smiled, a sudden, unexpectedly nice smile, and reached out to take the baby in his arms. As soon as he did, the baby stopped grizzling.

  Magnus waved his finger in the baby’s face. “I find your attitude insulting,” he informed him. He kissed Alec briefly. “I won’t be gone long.”

  “Take as long as you need,” said Alec. “I have this feeling my parents might be coming to help very shortly.”

  Magnus left, and Alec stepped away from the door, going to stand at the window with the baby.

  “So,” said Alec. His shirt was rumpled, clearly slept in, and he was bouncing a baby. Simon felt bad even bothering him. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “I’m really sorry again about yesterday,” Simon told him.

  Then he wondered if it was terrible that he had referenced sex in front of Alec’s baby. Maybe Simon was just doomed to mortally offend Alec, over and over again. Forever.

  “It’s okay,” said Alec. “I once walked in on you and Isabelle. I guess turnabout’s fair play.” He frowned. “Although you two were in my room at the time, so actually I think you still owe me.”

  Simon was alarmed. “You walked in on me and Isabelle? But we haven’t . . . I mean, we didn’t . . . Did we?”

  It would be typical of Simon’s life, he thought. Of all things in the world, he would forget that.

  Alec looked upset to be having this discussion, but Simon fixed him with a pleading stare and Alec apparently took pity on Simon’s great patheticness.

  “I don’t know,” Alec said at last. “You were in the process of taking your clothes off, as I remember. And I try not to remember. And you seemed to be engaging in some sort of role-play.”

  “Oh. Whoa. Like advanced role-play? Were there costumes? Were there props? What is Isabelle going to be expecting here, exactly?”

  “I won’t discuss this,” said Alec.

  “But if you could just give me a tiny hint . . .”

  “Get out of here, Simon,” said Alec.

  Simon yanked himself back from the edge of role-playing panic, and pulled himself together.

  This was more words than he had spoken to Alec in years.

  Though Alec had just ordered him out of the room, so Simon had to admit things were not exactly going well.

  “I’m sorry,” said Simon. “I mean, I’m sorry for the inappropriate questions. And I’m sorry for walking in on you, er, yesterday morning. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for whatever it is that went wrong between us. Whatever you’re angry about. I honestly don’t remember, but I do remember how you are when you’re angry, and I don’t want things to be like that between us. I remember you don’t like Clary.”

  Alec looked at Simon as if he was crazy.

  “I like Clary. Clary’s one of my best friends.”

  “Oh,” said Simon. “I’m sorry. I thought I remembered . . . I must have gotten it wrong.”

  Alec took a deep breath and admitted: “No, you didn’t get it wrong. I didn’t like Clary at first. I got—rough with her once. I slammed her up against a wall. She hit her head. I was a trained warrior and she didn’t have any training at all, back then. I’m twice her size.”

  Simon had come here to conciliate Alec, so he was unprepared for the strong urge to take a swing at him. He couldn’t do it. Alec was holding a baby.

  All he could do was stare at him in furious silence, at the very idea someone would touch his best friend.

  “It’s no excuse,” Alec continued. “But I was afraid. She knew about me being gay, and she told me that she knew. She wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know, but I was scared of her because I didn’t know her. She wasn’t my friend then. She was just some mundane invading my family, and I knew Shadowhunters, I was friends with Shadowhunters, who if they’d ever guessed—they would have gone running to tell my parents, so my parents could talk sense into me. They would have told everybody. They would have thought they were doing the right thing.”

  “It wouldn’t have been the right thing,” said Simon, sti
ll furious but shaken. “Clary would never do that. She never even told me.”

  “I didn’t know her then,” said Alec. “You’re right. She never told anyone, about any of it. She had every right to say that I’d gotten rough with her. Jace would have punched me in the face if he’d known. I was terrified she would tell Jace that I was gay, because I wasn’t ready for Jace to know about me. But you’re right. She would never, and she didn’t.” He looked out of the window, patting the baby on the back. “I like Clary,” he said simply. “She always tries to do what’s right, and she never lets anyone else tell her what right is. She reminds my parabatai that he wants to live. Occasionally I wish she’d take fewer mad risks, but if I hated reckless crazy-brave people, I’d hate . . .”

  “Let me guess,” said Simon. “His name rhymes with Face Herringfail.”

  Alec laughed and Simon mentally congratulated himself.

  “So you like Clary,” said Simon. “I’m the only one you don’t like. What did I do? I know you have a lot on your plate, but if you could just tell me what I did so I can apologize for it and so we can maybe be okay, I’d really appreciate it.”

  Alec stared at him, then turned and walked toward one of the chairs in the attic. There were two rickety wooden chairs, both of which held cushions with peacocks embroidered on them, and there was a sofa. The sofa was a little slanted. Alec took one of the chairs, and Simon decided not to risk the sofa and took the other.

  Alec put the baby on his knee, one arm carefully around his small, round body. With his free hand he played with the baby’s tiny hands, tapping them with his fingertips, as if he were teaching the baby how to play patty-cake. He was clearly getting ready for a confession.

  Simon drew in a deep breath, preparing for whatever it was. He knew it might be really bad. He had to be ready.

  “What did you do?” Alec asked. “You saved Magnus’s life.”