The Lost Book of the White

She stared at him intensely. “Don’t do this,” she said.

“What?”

“Don’t do this self-loathing, ‘wah wah I’m a monster’ thing. It’s unbecoming.”

Magnus hesitated. “You didn’t see Shinyun. I got very close to becoming a monster. It’s a complete fluke that I was saved.”

Catarina looked at him skeptically. “I thought it was a very clever plan executed by your boyfriend.”

“Well, yes, but it was a guess on his part. He didn’t know it would work. I’m still not sure why it did work.”

“And so suddenly after hundreds of years you’ve decided that, what, you’re a danger to the people you love? Because you’re a warlock and warlocks have demon parents? You’ve gone through this before, you know, and come out the other side. You don’t need me to give you the speech about how we’re defined by what we do, not what we are. I’ve heard you give that speech yourself.” Catarina’s look was compassionate, but Magnus could feel her aggravation in the set of her shoulders. They really had known each other a very long time.

“It’s different now,” Magnus said. He paused. “Do you remember the Shanghai Club? In 1910?”

Catarina nodded slowly. “It was just after Ephraim passed away.”

“I asked you if raising him had been worth it,” Magnus said. “You gave so much, and he lived a good life… but then he died anyway.”

“Ah,” said Catarina with a small smile. “That’s why it’s different now.”

Magnus nodded sheepishly.

“Magnus, you are surrounded by people who love you. I didn’t let Ephraim go until I made sure he too was surrounded with love. His living to a ripe old age, dying in his bed surrounded by his family—I was so sad when he died, but it was also a victory. I had saved that boy. I had raised him into a man. He had lived, had loved others. He had exactly what I wanted him to have.”

“But Max,” began Magnus, and Catarina waved her hands.

“Magnus, I hate to sound like Ragnor, but you are an idiot sometimes. I am telling you that you are doing good, that you are doing the right things. Your loved ones, your family, will be there to save you when you need saving. And they will be there to help save Max, if he needs saving. You have to trust in that.” She gave him a wry smile. “You are literally the person who taught me that.”

Magnus shook his head, overwhelmed. “You’re right. It’s just hard to remember sometimes. It feels so different now, with Max. My responsibility to him is so huge, so much bigger than any responsibility I’ve felt before.”

“Yep!” said Catarina, folding her arms. “We call that ‘being a parent.’ ”

Magnus held up his hands in surrender. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. You win. And since you’re my oldest friend, or one of them…”

“You’re going to ask me for a favor, aren’t you?” said Catarina in a resigned tone.

Magnus reached into his torn and tattered jacket and drew out the Book of the White. “Bring this to the Spiral Labyrinth for me, will you?” he said. “I think I’m done looking after it for now.”

* * *

IT WAS ALWAYS STRANGE FOR Alec to leave the Institute, to say good-bye to his mother and Isabelle and Jace and… return home. The Institute had been his home for so many years, and while he’d settled into Magnus’s apartment being their apartment, there was still always a brief moment, as they departed, when Alec felt like something was off.

Back at home, Magnus called the Mansion Hotel in Shanghai and arranged to have all their things placed into storage, from which he planned to teleport them home when the hotel staff weren’t looking. Alec played with Max, who crawled happily around the living room, enjoying the quiet of being home. Presently, Magnus returned and scooped up Max, who protested briefly before giving up, breaking into a beaming smile, and immediately beginning to chew on one of Magnus’s buttons.

“They’re pretty, aren’t they?” Magnus said.

“You know,” said Alec, “I always got that our job was saving the world, but it’s way more terrifying now that Max is here.”

“Excuse me,” said Magnus, “maybe your job is saving the world. My job is harder to summarize, but a significant portion is just about looking good.”

“Oh,” said Alec, “so when the world needs saving, you’re not going to show up and save it? Sure, that sounds like the Magnus I know. Hey, Max!” he added, and Max briefly paused in his intent chewing to look over at Alec. “Is that your bapak? Can you say bapak?”

“He doesn’t say bapak yet,” Magnus said in a whisper. “Don’t pressure him.”

“It’s weird,” said Alec. “It’s a weird life. But it’s the life we’re made for, I guess. And the life we choose.”

“Bapa!” Max yelled loudly, waving an arm. Behind him, one of the curtains in the window burst into flame. Alec sighed, grabbed a couch cushion, and went to beat the fire out.

“Our other job,” said Magnus, “is to keep Max from burning down this whole building until he’s old enough to control his magic.”

Alec smiled. “After Sammael, that seems almost possible.”

“Bpppft,” said Max.

“Bapak?” Alec said again.

Max frowned in concentration, and then began chewing on the button again.

* * *

MUCH, MUCH LATER, WHEN ALL was dark and quiet in the apartment, and they were all back in their own beds, Magnus awoke from fitful dreams. Very carefully he freed himself from the grasp of Alec’s arm, crept out of bed, threw on a sweater over his silk pajamas, and made his way across the hall and into the other bedroom.

Almost immediately, he saw two very blue eyes peering at him over the edge of the crib. The lurking eyes reminded Magnus of a time he’d seen a hippo lying in wait with its eyes just above the waterline.

Magnus strolled toward the crib. “Hey there, you,” he whispered. “I see someone who shouldn’t be up.”

There was a growing twinkle in the blue eyes, as though Max had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar but was hoping to find a co-conspirator to cut in on his illicit cookie deals. When Magnus approached, Max lifted his arms, in silent demand to be scooped up.

“Who’s a wicked, rule-breaking warlock?” said Magnus, complying with the request. “Who’s my baby?”

Max squealed in delight.

Magnus lifted his son up high. Then he tossed Max into the air in a shower of iridescent blue sparks and watched him laugh, perfectly happy, perfectly trusting that when he came down, his father would catch him.

* * *

THE SOUND OF SONG RUFFLED the calm of Alec’s slumbers. He could’ve easily let himself roll over in their silk sheets and fall back into the luxurious warmth of sleep, but instead he pulled himself to the surface of awareness. He was still drowsy, but the song was sweet, and it made him want to see.

When he slid open the door and peered into Max’s room, he did. Magnus was dressed for comfort at home. In fact, he was wearing one of Alec’s sweaters, the thick worn fabric slipping to one side on his narrower shoulders. As with most things, Magnus made it look good.

“Nina bobo, ni ni bobo,” he was singing in his deep, beautiful voice, an Indonesian lullaby, much older than Magnus himself. He rocked their child in his arms. Max was waving his hands as though to conduct the song, or to catch the firefly-bright and cobalt-blue sparks of magic floating around the room. Magnus was smiling down at Max, a small, tender, and impossibly sweet smile, even as he sang.

Alec meant to let them be and return to bed, but Magnus paused in his song and tossed Alec a glance as though he knew he’d been watching.

Alec leaned in the doorway of the bedroom, resting his hand over his head against the doorframe. “Is that your bapak?” he said to Max.

After some consideration, Max said, “Bapak.”

The look Magnus gave Alec was golden as a coin, as Nephilim wedding cloth, as the morning light through the windows of home.

Epilogue

IN A PLACE BEYOND PLACE, the Princes of Hell gathered.

A request had come, making the veils of the worlds reverberate with the sound of their brother’s voice. That it was a request, and not a command, was itself surprising.

Some came out of loyalty. Some out of curiosity. Some came because if the others were coming, they were certainly coming as well.

“I know we don’t talk much,” Sammael began.

They settled down and gave him their attention. They were a motley sort of crew, he had to admit, from Belial—appearing, as he most often did, as a beautiful pale-haired man—to Leviathan, who was more of a dark green serpent, with sleek scales and arms that could be charitably described as tentacle-adjacent.

“I know we mostly go our own ways,” Sammael went on. “We only see one another to fight, over territory, over power. That’s how it’s been, since the beginning.”

That was how it was at present, as well. Belphegor and Belial had ignored each other completely since they arrived, each refusing to acknowledge the other’s existence. Leviathan and Mammon had decided to sit in the same chair, each arguing that it was the only cosmically large chair present and as the most sizable of the princes he deserved it more.

Sammael considered explaining to them that the chair was only a metaphysical construct and there could just as easily be two chairs as one, since they were in a place beyond place and all that. But he didn’t like to get involved.

Asmodeus, obviously the strongest of them by most measures, still maintained his loyalty to Sammael. Luckily for Sammael. When he bowed his head in acknowledgment of Sammael’s superiority, the others took note, and Sammael didn’t think he would have too much trouble with them.

“If that’s the way it’s always been, then that’s the way it’s supposed to be,” said Astaroth. There was nodding from the others.