Alec tried not to be thrown by this total about-face. “Magnus, I’m touched, but I have to wonder—are you avoiding catching up to Ragnor because you don’t know what to do when you find him? Is that what this is about?”
“This conversation is a real roller coaster,” said Isabelle, sticking her head out of the back window of the second taxi, “but my Mandarin is nonexistent, and Jace’s is really poor, and this taxi driver has started the meter.”
“No,” said Magnus. “It’s just—finding Ragnor is better than having no leads, but it’s absolutely backward from how I would want to do this. I don’t want to go through him to get the Book. I don’t even want to go through Shinyun.”
“They’re the only leads we have, my love,” Alec said, “so I think we’re getting in the cabs.”
“Okay,” said Magnus. He kissed Alec. “Let’s go.”
They both got into the back of the first cab, joining only Simon, who had the map open on his phone and gave a thumbs-up, though his expression was distant. Magnus turned to Alec. “Okay, so what direction?”
Alec gripped the scrap of cloth. “Still west.”
Magnus leaned forward and spoke to the driver in Mandarin, pointing in a direction. The driver seemed surprised but, after a brief negotiation, acquiesced. “Just tell me when we should turn,” Magnus said, and Alec nodded, and the taxis took off into the night.
* * *
THE LAST TIME MAGNUS HAD been in Shanghai was twenty years ago. It had been only months into the rebirth of the city, its sudden strange second life, in which it would become the biggest city in China, flooded with money and new growth. Even now there were new skyscrapers going up, new shining lights wherever Magnus looked. It was still itself, it was still Shanghai. But it had changed so much, in such a short time.
They made their way out of the center of the city, leaving the fancy lights of Nanjing Road behind. They made their way through the lively district of Jing’an, until they were in the vast residential blocks that rolled away forever into the distance, new high-rises and a few garden apartment complexes. Another few turns and they were entering an older neighborhood, a place left over from the Shanghai that the international luxury brands and skyscrapers were busily replacing with a bright sheen of modernity.
While they rode, Magnus tried to explain the unusual Downworlder situation in Shanghai. “Back in the nineteenth century,” he said, “Shanghai was divided into a bunch of international concessions—land that was leased to other countries, within the city. Britain had one, France, the United States. They were still officially part of China, but the other countries could kind of do whatever they wanted within the concession borders. When that happened, the Downworlders of Shanghai struck their own deal, and were given their own concession.”
“What?” said Alec, turning to look at Magnus. “There’s a permanent Downworlder-run neighborhood here?”
“There are a few Sighted mundanes living there as well, probably,” said Magnus. “But yes.”
“If they have a permanent neighborhood, does that mean there’s no Shadow Market in Shanghai?”
Magnus laughed. “Oh, there’s a Shadow Market all right.”
Quickly the streets became too narrow for the taxis, and Magnus and the others abandoned them to continue on foot. Simon looked oddly pale, although not in the vampire way he once had.
“Shadowhunters don’t get carsick,” Jace was saying.
“Did your dad teach you that?” Simon said, wobbling slightly from foot to foot. “Was he ever in a car in his life? Was he ever in a car in Shanghai in his life?”
Clary and Isabelle exchanged looks. “You all right, Simon?” said Clary.
“Hey, they who don’t do well in stop-and-go traffic also serve the Angel,” Alec called over. “Can we go?”
Sometimes Magnus wasn’t sure being a Shadowhunter was better for Simon than being a vampire had been. He was no longer undead; that was definitely good, of course. But there was a certain blood-and-thunder machismo that could creep in uncomfortably around the edges of Shadowhunter culture. Valentine had wielded that narrative of inborn strength, of supremacy, like a weapon. It was an attitude that always threatened to resurface among the Nephilim. Bending and twisting himself to fit inside it had nearly broken Jace. If it hadn’t been for Alec, Isabelle, and Clary…
The Tracking rune had led them into one of the remaining pockets of old Shanghai, from before the wide boulevards and the shining silver malls. They had to walk in single file to avoid blocking the way for pedestrians and cyclists. And it was still crowded here, too, everywhere a flow of people, bicycles, animals, like a rushing river, in a way that reminded Magnus of a dozen cities he’d been to that were always the same and yet always new. Shanghai, Singapore, Hong Kong, Bangkok, Jakarta, Tokyo, New York…
Magnus hadn’t told anyone yet, but he felt something within the glowing crack in his chest, a swelling node of magic. Not evil magic, he thought. Not even alien magic. His own magic, pooling within him. It was creating a kind of aura at the edges of his vision, bright blue and sparkling. The aura seemed to pull and bend in response to other auras that Magnus wasn’t otherwise aware of.
He wasn’t sure how to bring it up. He guessed they would find Ragnor, then through Ragnor find Shinyun, and hopefully she would explain the phenomenon to him. Or he hoped it could wait until they could do some research tomorrow.
Clary was examining a series of signs covered in felt-tip handwriting, tacked up to the windows of a closed storefront. Magnus gestured above them. “It’s a hair salon. That’s just their menu.”
“Isabelle,” Simon stage-whispered. “Can we take home one of the chickens?”
“Yes,” said Isabelle. “You can take home as many as you can catch.”
“Don’t encourage him,” said Clary. To Magnus she said, “Is this the kind of place Ragnor would be?”
Magnus looked around at the narrow lanes, the concrete walls tacked with notices and ads and stenciled graffiti; he could smell animals and food and garbage and people living too close together, everything unchanged for decades in a place that seemed to be transforming itself hourly. “This is not really where Ragnor would live,” he said slowly. “But it is exactly where Ragnor would hide.”
“Unless he knows we’re coming,” said Jace.
“If he knows we’re coming,” said Magnus, “why would he stay in Shanghai at all? He’s an expert in dimensional magic. He could Portal anywhere. He could go to the Spiral Labyrinth and hide, if he wanted to. They don’t know he’s being… controlled, or whatever it is.”
“But the Tracking rune makes it clear he is still in Shanghai,” said Alec. “So he doesn’t know we’re coming.”
“Or,” said Jace, “he wants to be found.”
Magnus hadn’t thought of that, but he agreed it was a possibility. Being in thrall to Sammael and being friendly toward Magnus were not necessarily incompatible, at least not in the mind of Shinyun, and maybe not in the mind of Ragnor, either.
On the other hand, did Ragnor expect him to arrive with five Shadowhunters? One, sure, but five?
He was getting jumpy. His wound tickled.
The Tracking rune led them to a shabby white apartment building. Spiky black graffiti was splashed across one side, over the peeling paint. Alec in the lead, they went in, following him up two flights of stairs to a dingy apartment door in a dingy carpeted hallway. Magnus was about to knock, but then hesitated.
Alec gave him a look and banged on the door for him. After a moment, it opened, revealing a bald, bearded, goat-legged faerie gentleman who gawked in openmouthed horror at discovering an entire squad of Shadowhunters at his door.
“You can’t come in!” he yelped in Shanghainese, much louder than Magnus would have expected.
“They don’t speak any Chinese,” said Magnus politely in Mandarin. “English, if you please. It’s not like it’s any effort for a faerie.”
The faerie didn’t take his wide eyes off the Shadowhunt
ers. “You can’t come in!” he said in English.
“Hi,” said Alec. “We actually don’t have any business with you at all, and we’re sorry to bother you. We—”
“You’ll never find anything!” the faerie shrieked. “My hands are clean, do you hear me? Clean!”
“I’m sure they are,” said Alec. “We’re looking for a warlock. He’s very easy to recognize. He’s green—”
“All right,” said the faerie. He leaned closer. “If I confess to some of what I’ve done, will you give me leniency? I can help you take down some big names. Big names.”
“Do tell,” said Jace.
Alec gave Jace a dark look. “You don’t need to do that,” he said. “If you could tell us whether you’ve seen our friend? We think he might have gone into your apartment.”
“We’re not interested in big names,” put in Magnus.
Jace piped up, “We’re a little interested, right?”
“I can give you Lenny the Squid,” said the faerie fervently. “I can give you Bobby Two-Legs. I can give you Socks MacPherson.”
Alec rubbed his face with his hands, and Magnus restrained a smile. Truly, his boyfriend’s patience and professionalism was a beautiful thing to behold.
“Let’s take a step back,” Alec said. “Have you ever heard of a warlock named Ragnor Fell?”
The faerie stopped and squinted suspiciously at Alec, as though trying to perceive a trick. “I don’t have to answer any of your questions.”
“Have we considered the ‘bad cop’ option?” Jace said, a light growl in his voice. “I’m feeling better and better about it.”
“Fine,” said the faerie. “I’ve never heard of anyone by that name.”
“Hang on a moment,” Alec said, turning to the group. “Can we give this guy some space, actually? He’s scared to death. If five faeries came unannounced to your door, you’d be pretty freaked-out too.”
“Sure,” said Jace, exchanging a look with him. “Come on, guys. Let’s give him some room.” They went down the hallway a bit; Magnus went with them. Alec leaned into the front door and spoke with the faerie. After a minute or so, he emerged back in the hallway, his expression neutral. “I’m going to go inside and speak with Mr. Rumnus for a minute. Magnus, could you come with me?”
Somehow Alec had calmed the faerie down enough to let him inside. Magnus had to remind himself that Alec knew something about talking to untrusting Downworlders. Some of those untrusting Downworlders had become Alec’s close friends.
Simon called, “Does he know his name is—”
“He knows,” said Alec.
Simon nodded, satisfied.
Magnus followed Alec inside. It was a shabbily kept little apartment, quite normal. Perhaps too normal for a goat-legged faerie to be living in, Magnus thought. He began extending his magic outward into the room, trying to keep his expression and his hand motions as neutral as possible.
“Mr. Rumnus says there’s been some bad warlock business in Shanghai of late,” Alec said.
“What kind of bad warlock business?” said Magnus. “Like turf wars?” He was distracted. He had expected some magical signature, some residue at least; the Tracking rune had led them here, so Ragnor had been here, the Tracking rune said he was here. But there was no place for him to be. The apartment was one room, the whole place visible at once; the bathroom door was open and revealed nobody. There was definitely no other magical being in the room other than himself and this faerie. How could this be a dead end?
“What are you doing with all these Shadowhunters?” said Mr. Rumnus abruptly to Magnus.
“He’s my boyfriend,” Alec said. “He’s also a High Warlock.”
“Punch above your weight a little, huh?” said the faerie to Alec, leering.
“Ugh,” said Magnus.
“This isn’t your apartment, is it, Rumnus?” Alec said sharply.
“What?” the faerie said.
“You don’t live here. Look at that.” He gestured at a large sculpture, more than six feet tall. It looked like a school of abstract fish colliding with a flock of abstract birds. It was marvelously hideous. “That’s wrought iron. You have a giant wrought-iron sculpture in your living room?”
“Also,” said Magnus, “that big plastic chair shaped like a hand is very non-faerie.” And then he doubled over in pain.
His head suddenly hurt as though he had been hit hard. A high-pitched scream, quiet but growing louder, began to throb in the back of his head.
He felt hands grasp him, and Alec’s voice yelled, “Magnus!” as though from a long way away. With an effort, he lifted his head, in time to see the ceiling tear open and the whirling clouds of a demon world appear behind a shining Portal.
* * *
AS SOON AS THE PORTAL opened and the wind began to whistle, Alec knew demons were coming. He drew his bow and yelled, “It’s a trap!” at the open front door.
Isabelle was first to arrive, her whip at the ready. “Of course it’s a trap,” she said.
“Of course we didn’t put on combat runes,” Jace said, joining her.
Demons began to fall into the room through the Portal. These were demons Alec hadn’t seen before, massive snakes with shiny black scales and silent screaming human faces. As soon as they appeared, he began to shoot. Simon entered, an arrow nocked in his bow, looking more alarmed than Alec would have expected. Clary came in laying about her with glowing seraph blades.
It was a strange fight. Rumnus had crawled under a table and was scrunched up with his eyes closed as though he wished it all would just go away. Magnus had one hand extended, and sparks were haphazardly flying from it, sometimes hitting demons and sometimes leaving little scorch marks on the walls and the furniture. His other hand was at his temple and his eyes were squinted closed; he looked like he was fighting through a migraine, though Magnus was not known to get migraines. Alec wanted to go to him, but the room had become an overcrowded mess of snake demons and sharp objects.
Whatever was causing the snakes to appear, it wasn’t pursuing any kind of battlefield strategy. They continued to fall into the room as if dropped haphazardly by a giant unseen hand. Some landed upright, but others sprawled into a tangled mess or came down on their own heads, leaving them open for easy kills. Clary went around the room delivering those kills gleefully.
Alec spun to avoid a demon’s bite and found Jace, arms pinned by two of the snakes. He quickly put arrows in both of them, and the second Jace was free, he leaped forward and buried a seraph blade in the face of the demon that Alec had spun away from, which had been coming up behind him.
They exchanged a quick look, each confirming the other was all right, and turned back to the battle.
It was over quickly, considering the number of demons and the Shadowhunters’ lack of preparation for a fight. From Alec’s perspective there were lots of snakes, and then there were no snakes, only his own heavy panting and that of his friends as they caught their breath, no longer in immediate danger.
Abruptly a gigantic version of the screaming human face of the snakes, this one easily ten feet across, appeared in the Portal. It opened its distended mouth and screeched, its eyes searching. It caught sight of Magnus, who was still clutching his head, his teeth gritted, his fingers sparking at the end of his outstretched hand, but not to any noticeable effect.
Simon fired an arrow into the Portal; it passed through the face and vanished into nothing. He looked at Alec with a panicked expression. Alec shrugged.
And just as suddenly as it had appeared, the demon face vanished. The Portal, too, quickly faded away, leaving only the bare, cracked ceiling of the apartment and the sound of Alec’s own heartbeat in his ears.
He went over to Magnus immediately and put his hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. He leaned in and said, “I’m here. Are you okay?”
Magnus took his hand off his forehead and blinked at Alec. “I’m okay,” he said. He looked oddly unstable, like a reed caught in a wind. “The headache is
going away. That was… that was something. I don’t think I’ve ever—”
He stopped himself and a steely look came over his face. “You,” he said past Alec, to the faerie, who was scuttling out from under the table.
“I think we can—” began Rumnus.
“You!” Magnus roared. Alec was surprised—not that Magnus was angry, but at the force in his voice. Magnus kept his cool, in almost all situations. It was one of the great consistencies in Alec’s life. Now, Magnus extended a hand and Rumnus went tumbling over, falling to the ground in a heap.
“This isn’t your apartment,” said Magnus dangerously. “This isn’t Ragnor’s apartment either. In fact,” he went on, “this isn’t anybody’s apartment.” He put his arms above his head, and a great electrical storm came from his hands, crackling as loudly as the demon face had screamed. The bolts of blue energy flew jagged and chaotic around the room, and when they cleared, Alec could see that Magnus had dispelled some powerful illusions, stronger than any glamour Alec had seen before. The apartment was, in fact, empty—abandoned, even. No furniture, no rugs, cracked white walls with unknown dark residue on them, a broken bare lightbulb dangling from the single socket in the ceiling. Magnus turned his gaze on Rumnus, who had gotten to his feet. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he bit out.
Rumnus considered his options, and then, making a decision, yelled, “You’ll never take me alive, narcs!” He ran to the window and threw himself out of it before anyone could stop him.
They watched him plummet toward the ground. Before he hit, huge brown bird’s wings sprang from his back, and he flapped them and flew off into the night.
“How about that,” said Alec mildly into the silence.
The Lost Book of the White Page 7