“What could I possibly know about them?” asked Peng Fang. “Let me assure you, Shadowhunter, I do not do business with cults. I am strictly aboveboard. A simple blood merchant, selling the finest legal and licensed blood to law-abiding Downworlders. If you are interested in purchasing blood, High Warlock, I will gladly advise you in your selection. Otherwise, I am afraid I can’t help you.”

“We hear they have a new leader,” asked Alec.

“Don’t know anything about him,” said Peng Fang firmly.

“Him?” said Magnus. “Well, that’s something.” Peng Fang scowled. “You seemed willing to help a few moments ago.”

The three stood at an impasse for several moments before Peng Fang sat back down at his desk and began shuffling papers.

“Yes, well, I can’t have people saying I leaked information to Shadowhunters.”

“We’ve known each other a long time,” Magnus said. “If you trust me, you can trust him.”

Peng Fang glanced up from his papers.

“I trust you. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to trust Shadowhunters. Nobody trusts Shadowhunters.”

After a moment, Alec said in a tight voice, “Come on, Magnus. Let’s go.”

Magnus tried to catch Peng Fang’s eye as they exited. Peng Fang industriously studied his papers and ignored them. They regrouped back outside. Alec’s arms were folded tightly over his chest and he restlessly watched the crowd pass. It looked like he was Peng Fang’s bouncer.

“I apologize for that,” Magnus said.

Magnus could not blame any Downworlder for being suspicious of a Shadowhunter. Nor could he blame Alec for feeling insulted.

“Look,” Alec said. “This isn’t going to work. Why don’t you go on ahead. I’ll keep out of sight and we can meet up once you’ve gotten some information.”

Magnus nodded. “If you want to head back to the apartment—”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant, you go ahead, and I’ll keep out of sight and shadow you while you go through the Market. I won’t step in unless you’re in danger.” Alec hesitated. “Or if you want me to go . . .”

“No,” said Magnus. “I want you nearby.”

Alec glanced around a little self-consciously, then pulled Magnus to him. The clatter and bustle of the Shadow Market faded to a faint, low-key mumble. The tight knot of frustration in Magnus’s chest eased somewhat. His eyes shut. Everything was quiet, and still, and sweet.

“Get away from my stall!” yelled Peng Fang suddenly, and Magnus and Alec leaped away from one another. Magnus turned to see Peng Fang glaring through the flap of the tent. “Stop hugging Shadowhunters in front of my place of business! No one is going to buy blood from someone who has a Shadowhunter hugging booth in front of his stall! Go away!”

Alec began to melt into the crowd passing by. He extended his hand and trailed it along Magnus’s arm as he disappeared. “I’ll be close,” he said, just loud enough for Magnus to hear. “I have your back.”

He let go, and the outside world returned to Magnus in a rush. Alec was abruptly gone, blended into the background.

Magnus rolled up his bottle-green silk sleeves.

He tried to banish the uneasy feeling that had crept over him when Alec said, This isn’t going to work.

For the next half hour, Magnus wandered among the warlocks and faeries of the Shadow Market, trying to buy information. Now that Alec wasn’t around, he was able to blend in seamlessly. He tried to seem normal and carefree, and not under a cloud of suspicion or on a clock. He dropped by Les Changelings en Cage (a stall with anti-faerie charms run by a disgruntled warlock) and Le Tombeau des Loups (the Tomb of the Wolves, a stall selling anti-werewolf magics, obviously run by vampires). He petted various illicit and strange-looking creatures who he suspected would soon be potion ingredients.

He stopped several times to watch various magical demonstrations given by warlocks from faraway places, out of professional curiosity. He purchased rare spell ingredients that were available only in the Shadow Markets of Europe. He was going to be able to make a pack of werewolves in Mexico very happy by providing them with a potion that would restore their leader’s lost sense of smell.

He even acquired some new business, for when this pesky cult matter was wrapped up, of course. A fishing fleet in Amsterdam was having trouble with a school of mermaids luring their sailors overboard. He would be in touch.

He did not, however, learn anything about the Crimson Hand.

Magnus occasionally glanced behind him, searching for Alec. He never spotted him.

It was during one of these occasional glances back that the feeling crept over Magnus, as it had on the walk after their balloon crash, that he was being watched by unfriendly eyes. There was a cold sense of threat, like bad weather coming.

He murmured a spell to alert him if undue attention was being paid to him and brushed his ears with his hands. He immediately felt a tickling sensation in his left lobe, light, as if brushed with a feather. Passing glances, nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe it was only Alec watching.

Magnus was passing a stall full of cloaks when he felt a stronger touch on his ear, two distinct flicks that nearly made him jump.

“Real selkie fur,” said the stall owner hopefully. “Ethically sourced. Or how about this one? Fur from werewolves who wanted to be shaved for that sleek aerodynamic feeling.”