The Red Scrolls of Magic

He, Catarina, and Ragnor had taken many trips together, over the centuries. One memorable trip had gotten Magnus banished from Peru. He had always enjoyed those adventures more than any others. Being with his friends almost felt like having a home.

He did not know if there would ever be another trip. Ragnor was dead, and Magnus might have done something terrible.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” he asked. “You usually stop me!”

“I had to take an orphan child across an ocean to save his life.”

“Right,” said Magnus. “That’s a good reason.”

Catarina shook her head. “I took my eyes off you for one second.”

She had worked in mundane hospitals in New York for decades. She saved orphans. She healed the sick. She’d always been the voice of reason in the trio that was Ragnor, Catarina, and Magnus.

“So I planned with Ragnor to start a joke cult, and I guess I did it. Now the joke cult is a real cult, and they have a new leader. It sounds like they’re mixed up with a Greater Demon.”

Even to Catarina, he wouldn’t say the name of his father.

“Sounds like the joke has gotten a little out of hand,” Catarina said dryly.

“Sounds like I’m the punch line. There are all these rumors the new leader is me. I have to find these guys. Do you know a man called Mori Shu?”

Catarina shook her head. “You know I don’t know anyone.”

A group of drunken faeries stumbled past. The celebration was noticeably ratcheting up in decibels and wildness. Catarina waited until they were alone again to continue.

“You’re in this mess and you still have a Shadowhunter with you?” she demanded. “Magnus, I knew you were seeing him, but this is a long way past having fun. It’s his duty to tell the Clave about you founding this cult. They’ll hear the rumor you’re leading it eventually, whether your Lightwood tells them or not. The Nephilim won’t look any further for a culprit. The Nephilim do not admit weakness. There is no room in their hearts for pity or mercy. I have seen the children of the Angel murder their own for breaking their precious Law. Magnus, we’re talking about your life.”

“Catarina,” said Magnus, “I love him.”

She stared at him. Her eyes were the color of the ocean, swept by storms and with treasure sunk below the waves. She had worn a plague mask during real plagues. She had seen so many tragedies, and they both knew the worst tragedies were born of love.

“Are you sure?” she said quietly. “You always hope for the best, but this time hope is too dangerous. This one could hurt you worse than the others. This one could get you killed.”

“I’m sure,” said Magnus. “Am I sure it will work out?” He thought of the small coldness between him and Alec before they had entered the party. He thought of all the secrets he was still keeping. “No. But I’m sure I love him.”

Catarina’s eyes were sad. “But does he love you?”

“For now,” Magnus said. “And if you’ll excuse me, I need to go search out the stone goat, if you understand my meaning.”

“I don’t,” said Catarina, “but good luck, I guess.”

For the next hour, Magnus dedicated himself to his task of finding the stupid goat. He decided to cover the main floor, since Shinyun and Alec had both gone elsewhere, and commenced a careful study of the rooms one by one, first the sitting and then the music and then the game room, subtly using his magic to detect hidden latches or levers or buttons that opened up to secret passageways. Unfortunately, the entire mansion was so steeped in magic from the celebration that all his discovery spells came back distorted and inconclusive.

Magnus kept at it, taking his time to feel through the rooms as he navigated around the crowds, brushing his hand along all the usual suspects: twisting candelabras, pulling books, pushing against statues. He tugged a bellpull that turned out to be seaweed, revealing a mostly underwater room where a group of mermaids were frolicking with a lone vampire.

The vampire, a lunatic of Magnus’s acquaintance named Elliott, waved at him until the water foamed.

“Don’t mind me,” Magnus called. “Carry on splashing.”

Nothing was out of the ordinary.

He reached the smoking room at the end of the west wing. A large mantel on the side wall served as the centerpiece of this richly furnished room, filled with curved and heavily plush Victorian furniture. Each of the pieces was monstrously out of proportion. A gigantic button-tucked red settee the size of a car was arranged next to a pair of blue high-backed chairs that looked as if they were meant for children. Along each wall were moving wallpapers and brass sconces alternating with gramophones piping jazz.

A dryad, not the one he’d met earlier, was sitting on a swing dangling from a chandelier in the center of the room. A taupe daybed hung vertically against the far wall and was currently being enjoyed by a vampire lounging as if she were right side up. Magnus hadn’t known that Malcolm dabbled in antigravity magic, but he appreciated the High Warlock of the City of Angels’ flair.

“You look like you could use a smoke, Magnus Bane,” said a woman from somewhere off to the side.

He followed the sound of the voice and saw a mahogany-skinned woman wearing a chic metal dress that matched her bronze hair perfectly. Her mask was a cascade of golden stars that ran from the top of her head down past her chin. They matched her pupils, which were star-shaped too.