The Lost Book of the White

by Cassandra Clare

  “Is that a church?” he said to Tian as they walked.

  Tian nodded. “Xujiahui Cathedral,” he said. “Also called Saint Ignatius. It’s got the largest cache of Nephilim arms in the city, if we need them. But it’s also swarming with tourists most of the time, so we don’t use it much.”

  He was right; the place was abuzz with activity. Tourists lined up outside to go in. Some of it seemed to be under renovation, also: scaffolding was wrapped around most of the stained-glass windows along one side.

  “Maybe we should stop by and pick up a few more weapons,” Simon muttered. “I feel a little naked going into this Market with only one seraph blade and nothing else.”

  “Just like that dream you have sometimes,” Clary said brightly, and Isabelle snorted with a hastily suppressed laugh.

  Jace gave Simon a quick sympathetic look. “Maybe Simon is right,” he said. “The bad guys seem to be able to find us when they want to, but we can’t find them. We should have gone in gear.”

  “No,” Tian said. “This is better. The Institute and the concession are on fairly good terms, as these things go, but the Cold Peace has made everybody more tense. We need to be seen to come in a spirit of friendship.”

  “We’ll see how much they like our spirit of friendship when demons swarm the place,” Jace said, and Simon looked over at him nervously.

  Alec, meanwhile, looked at Magnus, who seemed relieved that they wouldn’t be going into the church. Magnus, like most warlocks, didn’t love spending time in mundane religious buildings. Mundane religions didn’t usually have much kindness for warlocks, and that was putting it mildly.

  After some twists and turns, Tian led them through an elaborate red gate into a pedestrianized, cobblestoned street. The gate was guarded by two bronze statues: one a rather intimidating wolf on its hind legs, its claws up in either threat or welcome, Alec couldn’t be sure; the other a large bat, its wings folded over its body in a way that made it look strangely coquettish.

  “Welcome to the Downworlder Concession,” Tian said, gesturing proudly.

  There was, at least at first, nothing particularly Downworld about the place, although it wasn’t like Downworlders had their own styles of architecture. It looked like Shanghai in miniature, really, an eclectic pile of the city’s history all built on top of itself. Traditional Chinese curved roofs jostled against Western-style buildings, some looking like they had been teleported directly from the English or French countryside, some all classical columns and marble. And all the people were Downworlders.

  The streets weren’t crowded this time of morning, but Alec was amazed to see faeries, werewolves, even the occasional warlock walking around, no glamours or illusions at all. He saw Magnus taking it in as well: a place where Downworlders lived freely, without having to constantly hide themselves from the mundane world. It was strange. It was nice.

  Tian caught his look. “The whole concession is warded from mundanes,” he said. “The arch looks like the entrance to a ruined building, destroyed in the 1940s and never rebuilt.”

  “Why doesn’t this exist anywhere else?” Clary said. “Why aren’t there glamoured Downworlder neighborhoods all over?”

  Magnus, Tian, and Jace all spoke at the same time.

  Tian said, “Shanghai has a very specific and unusual history that allowed this to happen.”

  Magnus said, “The Shadowhunters would never allow it.”

  Jace said, “The Downworlders in most places fight each other too much.”

  They all looked at one another.

  “I think it’s probably all those things,” Alec said diplomatically. Magnus nodded but looked around, distracted.

  “Any chance we could grab some food?” he said.

  Alec gave him a funny look. “We just had breakfast.”

  “Research demands calories,” Magnus said.

  “I could eat,” put in Clary. “Tian, is there dim sum?”

  “There is a lot of dim sum,” Tian confirmed. “Follow me.”

  Though it was in better shape than the neighborhood of old Shanghai that they’d been to a couple of days before, the Downworlder Concession was the same kind of confusing warren of narrow streets. What Alec took to be an alley turned out to be the entrance to a house; what he took to be a storefront turned out to be a road.

  Alec trusted Tian—he was a fellow Shadowhunter, he was a Ke, he had been vouched for by Jem—but he couldn’t help thinking that there was no way they would be able to find their way out again without Tian’s help. He exchanged a glance with Jace, who was clearly thinking the same thing, then reached around to put a reassuring hand on his bow before remembering he didn’t have it.

  After a few turns, the street opened up onto a larger courtyard, with restaurants on all sides and clusters of plane trees in the center. Tian gestured around him. “Welcome to the dim sum district, so to speak. I don’t know how often you eat at Downworlder establishments—”

  “Maybe more frequently than you’d think,” said Clary.

  “Well,” said Tian, “there’s vampire dim sum, faerie dim sum, and werewolf dim sum.”

  “Which do we want?”

  “We definitely want werewolf dim sum,” Tian said.

  Werewolf dim sum turned out to be not all that different from New York mundane dim sum, except that the tough gray-haired women pushing the carts around were all werewolves. They also spoke no English, but this was, for one thing, also not very different from New York, and for another, easily solved by simply pointing to the stacked steamer baskets and metal bowls as needed. Alec was not the biggest congee fan and had eaten only a small bowl so as not to insult Mother Yun, so he dug into shrimp dumplings, turnip cakes, steamed buns, clams in black bean sauce, stir-fried gai lan—and carefully watched Tian’s face and the subtle shake of his head when things came by that were too werewolfish for them: tiny blood sausage, slices of raw red meat, what appeared to be some kind of deep-fried small rodent in sweet-and-sour sauce. Tian tried to stop Magnus from grabbing chicken feet, but once Magnus was contentedly nibbling on one of them, he gave in and ordered some chicken feet of his own. Oddly, so did Jace.

  “You like chicken feet?” Tian said, surprised.

  “I like everything,” Jace said, mouth full of food.

  Simon shook his head. “My ancestors fled their home country so they wouldn’t have to eat chicken feet anymore. I’m not about to start now. Does anything on the table not have meat in it?”

  Tian grabbed some vegetable dumplings and mushrooms wrapped in bean curd from the next cart, and the werewolf lady gave Simon a disapproving look.

  “Sorry,” Tian said. “Even the ones without meat often use dry shrimp or pork fat.”

  “I’m used to it,” Simon said with resignation.

  “Also,” pointed out Clary, chewing on a steamed bun, “they’re werewolves.”

  Satiated, the team headed out again. As they walked behind Tian, Alec came over to Magnus and bumped into him affectionately. “Hey, are you all right? You were quiet all through the meal.”

  “Fat and sassy,” Magnus said, rubbing his stomach and smiling at Alec. Alec smiled back but felt an uncertain twist in his gut. The chains, the shining wound—and Magnus had awoken in the night screaming. He had claimed it was only a random nightmare, but Alec wasn’t sure.

  He also hadn’t told the rest of them about the chains on Magnus’s body. He wasn’t sure how exactly to bring such a thing up.

  Where a moment ago Alec had been in good spirits, all of a sudden he felt far away from home, unsettled and on edge. He found himself very aware that he couldn’t read any of the street signs or storefronts, that he was half a world away from his child, that there were people here who might hate him for being a Shadowhunter in a Downworlder neighborhood, no matter how friendly relations were. The weight of the Cold Peace and Magnus’s wound and the unknowns stacked on top of unknowns came down upon him.

  “I wish Max were here,” he whispered to Magnus, and that
was when the thing with wings swooped down and collided violently with Tian.

  * * *

  MAGNUS WAS DISTRACTED BY THE feeling in his chest; ever since they’d passed through the gate into the concession, he’d felt it. Each time his heart beat, it sent a small throb of magic through his body, and he could feel that throb burst behind his chest wound and extend in spirals along the links of the chains on his arms. It didn’t feel bad, but he didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t like that. He wanted to head straight for the Celestial Palace and bury himself in research; privately he thought talking to Peng Fang was a waste of time. In the past, he probably would have voiced this feeling. In the past, he probably would have convinced them to skip Peng’s entirely and go straight to the bookstore.

  He was so lost in thought that he didn’t see the shadow pass over them, and he was taken aback when the bird-woman smashed into Tian.

  He saw Alec and the other New York Shadowhunters drop back and reach for the few weapons they had on them—except for Simon, who put up his hands as though blocking a punch and looked around as if wondering what to do. Quickly, however, they all realized that Tian didn’t seem worried—indeed, he was smiling and laughing.

  “Jinfeng!” he was saying, and Magnus realized that the bird-woman had given Tian a quick hug and, while she had moved away, was smiling at him.

  She was a faerie, he realized a little belatedly, and a striking one at that: a feng huang, a phoenix. The Chinese phoenix was an entirely different faerie from the Western phoenix, and much more beautiful. She was almost as tall as Tian, and her gleaming black hair fell to her feet. Wings of red, yellow, and green spread from her back, rippling in the air; her skin was traced with delicate designs in luminous gold. Her dark eyes, ringed with long lashes, shimmered as she regarded the group.

  Jace, Clary, and Isabelle were slowly lowering their weapons in confusion. Simon continued to stare wide-eyed, and Alec, of course, was watching Magnus, giving him a questioning look.

  Tian was speaking quietly to the faerie girl. “Oh,” she said in Mandarin, “I’m so sorry. Are these… who…” She trailed off, smiling shyly.

  “Would you like to introduce us, Tian?” said Magnus mildly.

  “Yes,” said Tian. “This is Jinfeng, everybody. Jinfeng,” and he continued in Mandarin, “these are the Shadowhunters of New York. And also Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn.”

  The phoenix pulled back, suddenly wary. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I know I—the Cold Peace—”

  “It’s okay,” Magnus said. “We don’t like the Cold Peace much ourselves.”

  “Jinfeng is the daughter of the weaponsmiths I was talking about yesterday,” Tian said. “And also”—he sighed—“my girlfriend.”

  “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh,” said Jace. Clary whacked him on the shoulder. Jinfeng nervously moved back over to Tian and put an arm around him. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, and he smiled.

  “As you can imagine,” Tian continued, “we’ve had to keep our relationship secret when others are around. My family has no problem with our being together, but there are plenty in the Shanghai Conclave who would love to use it against us.”

  “How do your parents feel about Tian?” Magnus said to Jinfeng. “Or their court?”

  Jinfeng turned to Magnus, pleased to have someone other than Tian who could converse with her in Mandarin. “They like him,” she said, her feathers rustling a little, “and they trust him. But they don’t trust his people.” She took in Alec, who had his arm draped casually around Magnus. “How do your people feel about him?”

  “I don’t really have people,” Magnus said, “but they seem to mostly like him. And these are all his closest friends and family, right here, and I would trust them with my life.” At this, Tian raised his eyebrows. Magnus caught his look and went on, “It’s taken a few years, though. I’m vouching for you guys, by the way,” he added to the rest of them, this last sentence in English.

  “Tell her about the Alliance,” Alec said, nudging Magnus.

  “My boyfriend wants me to tell you that he founded the Downworlder-Shadowhunter Alliance,” Magnus said, and batted his eyelashes at Alec. “If you know what that is.”

  Jinfeng gave a wry smile. “In Shanghai, Tian and I are the Downworlder-Shadowhunter Alliance.”

  “I thought you said your family approved,” Magnus said to Tian.

  Tian looked sheepish. “They do,” he said, “but that’s not the same as allowing us to be public. Much less get married. You must know that I—and they—could get in serious trouble. The Cold Peace forbids even business relationships between the fey and the Nephilim, much less—”

  “Sexy business,” Magnus agreed.

  The rest of their party were standing around politely but beginning to look a little uncomfortable. Simon was checking his phone.

  Tian took note and said to Jinfeng, “Qin’ai de, I was hoping to talk to your parents. These Nephilim have run into a strange weapon recently and we thought they might know about it. Maybe I could talk to them?”

  “You can go on,” Magnus said to Tian, in English for the benefit of the others. “I’ve been to the Sunlit Market enough times that I’m sure I can get the rest of us there.”

  Tian nodded; he was already scribbling an address down on a scrap of paper from his pocket. “I’m going to go with Jinfeng. Meet us here in two hours, and hopefully Mogan will be willing to talk.”

  “Who’s Mogan?” said Magnus.

  Tian smiled. “The smiths. Mo and Gan. Mogan.”

  “Faeries,” Magnus said with a sigh.

  He took the paper, and Jinfeng and Tian disappeared down a side street, fairly quickly.

  “He seemed pretty happy to get away from us,” Isabelle observed as they left.

  “Young love,” said Magnus. “I’m sure you’d have no idea.” He grinned at Isabelle, and she grinned back. “We’ll catch up with them later. For now, let’s head to the Market.”

  “We have a very annoying blood sommelier to meet with,” Alec agreed.

  “And a bookstore,” Clary put in eagerly. “Do not forget the bookstore.”

  * * *

  NOW THAT TIAN WAS GONE, they were dependent on Magnus to navigate, which was fine as far as Alec was concerned. Tian was friendly, and knowing he was also dealing with the complexities of a Shadowhunter-Downworlder relationship made him more sympathetic, but he had felt a little babysat. He knew Shadow Markets; he knew Downworlders. He knew Peng Fang. It was a matter of pride, a bit, that they could handle this errand on their own.

  As a guide, of course, Magnus was a bit more hesitant than Tian had been. “You’re sure you know where you’re going?” said Alec a few times, as Magnus considered two possible paths.

  “This way seems familiar,” Magnus would say, and stride off in that direction. The others put their confidence totally in the warlock, which made Alec feel like it would be disloyal to raise doubts.

  They found themselves, after a few twists and turns, in a dark and narrow alley. Unlike the rest of the concession, which was well-kept, clean, and bright in the sunny late morning, this place felt decrepit, like it was rotting away around them, and it was cast in shadow from the surrounding buildings. The pleasant smells of food and autumn flowers were gone, replaced by a humid, fetid odor, not like the crush of people in a city but like a place long abandoned by anything living.

  All of them could sense that something was off. Jace and Clary each drew the one seraph blade apiece they had brought, and Simon stood at the back of the alley, vigilantly scanning all around him. Isabelle stood by him, looking less worried but no less alert.

  Alec had his hand on his own seraph blade, though he hadn’t yet drawn it. “I think maybe we took a wrong turn,” he began to say, but choked on the words as he looked over at Magnus.

  Magnus was glowing, an angry scarlet flare around him in the gloom of the alley. His upper lip was curled back from his teeth, and his head was in the air, like an animal sniff
ing the air for predators. Or prey. His eyes, too, shone in the dark, yellow-green and alien in a way Alec had never thought of them. They were glassy and unfocused—he looked like he was listening to something far away, something none of the rest of them could hear. And it must have been the illusion of the strange light filtered down through the buildings, but he seemed taller, sharper.

  “Magnus?” Alec said quietly, but Magnus didn’t seem to hear him. There was a skittering noise from behind and above him, but when he whirled around, there was nothing there.

  The Shadowhunters made their way down the alley carefully. Jace and Isabelle reached the far end first and waited as Clary led Simon, who looked like a cat with its hackles raised, slowly down the lane, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. Alec waited for Magnus to follow, but he seemed to be stuck in place. His hair was wild and his breathing strenuous, as if he’d been running. Alec gently took him by the hand, and Magnus let him, though when his eyes rolled toward Alec, there was no recognition in them.

  Alec felt a jolt of fear through him. Magnus was never distracted, never confused. It was one of the things he loved best about his boyfriend: he knew that if Magnus was forced to walk into Hell itself, he would do so with his hair perfect, his clothes pressed, his eye game on point.

  And he had to admit that even now, Magnus looked good. His expression may have been hungry and hollow, but it brought out his cheekbones, and Alec for just a moment wondered what it would be like to kiss him while looking into eyes lambent with green and gold. It was a strange combination, this feeling of fear and desire.

  He forced himself to walk forward, leading Magnus by the hand. Magnus allowed himself to be led; he seemed to barely notice. Alec held his breath, sure they would be attacked at any moment, but at the end of the alley was another archway, and once all six of them were through it, the sun again shone down and the air was fine and calm. Between one moment and the next, all the peculiarity went out of Magnus and he was again himself. He looked surprised as Alec threw his arms around him, hugging him tight.