“I know. Those fools.”

“Belated congratulations,” said Magnus. “How’s it going? You’ve been working on something, and clearly it was not your tan.”

“Oh, I dabble in many things, party planning among them.” Malcolm waved a hand toward the spectacle of the grand ballroom. He pulled off his absentminded routine beautifully, but Magnus had known him a long time. “Glad you are enjoying my little soiree.”

Two people came up behind Malcolm, one a blue-skinned faerie with lavender hair and webbed hands, and one a familiar face. Johnny Rook’s sunglasses were pushed down his nose, which was reasonable if you thought wearing sunglasses indoors at night was reasonable in the first place. Over his sunglasses, Magnus saw his eyes widen in recognition, and he averted his gaze from Magnus’s.

“Oh, do you know each other? You must know each other,” said Malcolm dreamily. “This is Hyacinth, who is my indispensable party planner. And Johnny Rook. I’m sure he’s indispensable to somebody.”

Magnus gestured. “These are Alexander Lightwood, Shadowhunter, New York Institute, and Shinyun Jung, mysterious warrior with a mysterious past.”

“How mysterious,” began Malcolm, and then his attention was diverted by the arrival of several pallets of raw meat. He looked around helplessly. “Does anyone know what’s to be done with all this raw meat?”

“That’s for the werewolves.” Hyacinth waved the deliveryman over. “I’ll take care of it. However, your personal attention may be required in the drawing room.”

She put her hand to a glittering seashell fixed in her ear and whispered something to Malcolm. The blood drained from the High Warlock of Los Angeles’s already pale face.

“Oh dear. You’ll excuse me. Our sirens have taken up residence next to the champagne fountain and are trying to drown guests in it.” He hurried off.

“You were in the Shadow Market,” Alec said to Johnny Rook, recognition dawning.

“You’ve never seen me before,” said Johnny. “You’re not even seeing me right now.” He sprinted out of the ballroom.

Alec was watching the whole room with a closed-off, suspicious look on his face. Many people in the crowd were returning his look with interest.

Magnus had brought a cop to the party. He understood that. He couldn’t blame Alec for being wary. Almost all Downworlders had pasts stained red. Vampires did suck blood, faerie and warlock magic went wrong, werewolves lost control and other people lost limbs. At the same time, Magnus could not blame his fellow Downworlders for being guarded either. Not so long ago, Shadowhunters had decorated their walls with Downworlder heads.

“Hey, Magnus!” called out a warlock wearing a plain green dress and a white plague doctor’s mask, deep blue skin showing beneath.

Magnus was delighted by her appearance.

“Hello, darling,” he said, and swept her into a hug. After spinning her off her feet, he presented her proudly to his companions. “Alec, Shinyun, this is Catarina Loss. She’s one of my oldest friends.”

“Oh,” said Catarina. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Alexander Lightwood.”

Alec looked alarmed.

Magnus wanted them to like each other. He watched them watching each other. Well, these things took time.

“May I speak to you a moment, Magnus?” Catarina asked. “In private?”

“I’ll go search for our stone goat,” said Shinyun, heading off.

Catarina looked puzzled. “Just one of her more colorful figures of speech,” Magnus said. “She has a mysterious past, you see.”

“I should go too,” said Alec. He jogged to catch up with Shinyun and conferred with her—it looked to Magnus like they were deciding who would search where.

“I’ll see you back here in the foyer!” Magnus called. Alec gave a thumbs-up without turning around.

Catarina hooked her hand around Magnus’s elbow and hauled him away, like a schoolteacher with a misbehaving student. They entered a narrow alcove around the corner, where the music and noise of the party was muffled. She rounded on him.

“I recently treated Tessa for wounds she said were inflicted on her by members of a demon-worshipping cult,” Catarina said. “She told me you were, and I quote, ‘handling’ the cult. What’s going on? Explain.”

Magnus made a face. “I may have had a hand in founding it.”

“How much of a hand?”

“Well, both.”

Catarina bristled. “I specifically told you not to do that!”

“You did?” Magnus said. A bubble of hope grew within him. “You remember what happened?”

She gave him a look of distress. “You don’t?”

“Someone took all my memories around the subject of this cult,” said Magnus. “I don’t know who, or why.”

He sounded more desperate than he would’ve liked, more desperate than he wanted to be. His old friend’s face was full of sympathy.

“I don’t know anything about it,” she said. “I met up with you and Ragnor for a brief vacation. You seemed troubled, but you were trying to laugh it off, the way you always do. You and Ragnor said you had a brilliant idea to start a joke cult. I told you not to do it. That’s it.”