The Red Scrolls of Magic

When he looked at Alec again, Alec was frowning.

“I did have fun,” he said. “But I didn’t need any of that. They were just places. You don’t have to set any scene to convince me. I don’t need Paris, or Venice, or Rome. I just want you.”

There was a pause. The afternoon sun was streaming through the open windows, making the dust in the apartment twinkle and casting a warm glow on their linked hands. Magnus could hear the sound of Brooklyn traffic, yellow cabs honking and jostling.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” said Magnus. “When Shinyun and I were fighting in the pentagram in Rome, you shot her. You told me that you could see dozens of illusions of me fighting dozens of her. How did you know which one was really her?”

“I didn’t,” said Alec. “I knew which one was you.”

“Oh. Was one version of me more handsome than the others?” Magnus said, charmed. “More debonair? Possessed of a certain je ne sais quoi?”

“I don’t know about that,” said Alec. “You reached for a knife. You had it in your grasp, and then you let it go.”

Magnus deflated.

“You knew it was me because I’m worse at fighting than she is?” Magnus asked. “Well, that’s terrible news. I imagine ‘pathetic in combat’ is on the top ten list of Shadowhunter turnoffs.”

“No,” said Alec.

“Number eleven, just below ‘doesn’t actually look good in black’?”

Alec shook his head again. “Before we were together,” he said, “I was angry a lot, and I hurt people because I was in pain. Being kind when you’re in pain—it’s hard. Most people struggle to do it at the best of times. The demon who cast that spell couldn’t imagine it. But among all those identical figures, there was one person who hesitated to hurt somebody, even at the moment of utmost horror. That had to be you.”

“Oh,” said Magnus.

He took Alec’s face in his hand and kissed him again. He had kissed Alec so many times before, and he could never get used to the way Alec responded to him, the way he responded to Alec. Every time, it felt new. Magnus never wanted to get used to it.

“We’re alone,” Alec murmured against his mouth. “The loft is warded. No demons can interrupt us.”

“The doors are locked,” Magnus said. “And I have the best locks money and magic can buy. Not even an Open rune works on my doors.”

“Great news,” said Alec.

Magnus barely understood him. The movement of Alec’s lips against his own sent all reasonable thoughts flying out of his head.

Magnus flicked his fingers at the bed behind his back and sent the gold-and-scarlet duvet flying to the other side of the room, fluttering like a rogue sail. “Can we . . . ?”

Alec’s eyes lit with desire. “Yes.”

They tumbled onto the mattress, twining together against the silk sheets. Magnus slid his hands under Alec’s T-shirt, feeling hot smooth skin under worn cotton and the flutter of muscles in Alec’s bare stomach. His own desire was a flame low down in his belly, spreading through his chest, constricting his throat. Alexander. My beautiful Alexander. Do you know how much I want you?

But a shadow voice whispered in the back of Magnus’s head, murmuring that he could not tell Alec the truth about his father, his life. Magnus wanted to lay every truth of his existence at his beloved’s feet, but this one would only endanger Alec. It would have to be held back.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Magnus gasped.

“Why?” Alec asked, mouth kiss-swollen and eyes dazed with desire.

Why indeed. Good question. Magnus shut his eyes and found light still brimming behind them, the lines of Alec’s body fitting warm and sweet and perfect against his. He was drowning in light.

Magnus pushed Alec back, though he could not bear to push him away far. Alec ended up a handspan away from him, across an expanse of crimson silk.

“I just don’t want you to do anything you might regret,” said Magnus. “We can wait for as long as you want. If you need to wait until—until you’re sure how you feel—”

“What?” Alec sounded bewildered, and a little irritated.

When Magnus pictured beautiful and sensual moments with his beloved Alec, or moments in which he himself was self-sacrificing and noble, he had not envisioned his beloved Alec looking so annoyed.

“I kissed you in the Hall of Accords, in front of the Angel and everyone I know,” said Alec. “Couldn’t you tell what that meant?”

Magnus remembered facing Alec at the start of a war, thinking he had lost him forever and realizing he had not. He had known certainty for only a single glorious moment, ringing through the Great Hall and his whole body like a bell. But such moments could not be kept. Magnus had let shadows of doubt about himself, about his past, about Alec’s future, insinuate themselves and dislodge that certainty from his grasp.

Alec was watching him intently. “You started a demonic cult centuries ago, and I didn’t ask any questions. I followed you all around Europe. I slaughtered a whole pack of demons on the Orient Express for you. I went to a palazzo full of murderers and people who wanted to make small talk and dance, for you. I lied to the Rome Institute for you, and I would have lied to the Clave.”

Put together, it was a lot. “I’m sorry you had to do all of that,” Magnus murmured.