“Hypatia,” said Magnus. “Thanks, but I quit a hundred years ago. I was going through a rebellious phase.”

Hypatia Vex was a London-based warlock with an affinity for business and property ownership. Their paths had crossed a few times over the years, and they had been rather close at one point, but that was long ago. Over a century.

He took a seat opposite Hypatia, in the slightly too-small high-backed chairs. Hypatia crossed her legs and leaned forward, taking a long drag. “I heard a rather nasty rumor about you.”

Magnus also crossed his legs but leaned back. “Do tell. I love a good nasty rumor.”

“Leading a cult called the Crimson Hand to glory and destruction?” Hypatia asked. “You naughty boy.”

Magnus supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that Hypatia knew about the cult. Unlike small-time Johnny Rook, Hypatia was the big leagues. She’d run a Downworld salon in the early 1900s, the center for every scandal in London. Magnus remembered all the secrets she’d known then, and she was a collector: he could only imagine she had a great many more by now.

“I cannot deny being a naughty boy in the more general sense,” Magnus admitted. “Glory and destruction, however, is not my style. The rumor’s totally unfounded.”

Hypatia gave a graceful shrug. “It did seem far-fetched, but it appears to be spreading like wildfire these last few days. You might want to consider how it looks—running a whole cult and carrying on with a Shadowhunter? Not just a Shadowhunter, but the son of two members of Valentine’s Circle?”

“That’s not a rumor.”

“Glad to hear it,” Hypatia said. “He sounds like a disaster.”

“It’s a fact,” said Magnus. “And he is a delight.”

The expression on Hypatia’s face was a picture. In all the years he’d known her, Magnus had never actually seen her look shocked before.

“You would do well to remember that you are one of the most prominent warlocks in the world,” said Hypatia when she’d recovered herself. “There are Downworlders who look to you as an example. There are eyes on you.”

“Usually,” said Magnus. “It’s my dashing good looks.”

“Don’t be dismissive,” Hypatia said sharply.

“Hypatia,” said Magnus. “Have you ever known me to care how things look?”

Gold earrings swung against her dark brown skin as she shook her head. “No. But you do care about others, and I am sure you care about this Alec Lightwood. I know who your father is, if you recall, Magnus. You and I used to be quite close.”

Magnus did recall. “I don’t see what that has to do with Alec.”

“Have you told him about your father?” she demanded.

After a long pause, Magnus said, “No.”

Hypatia relaxed slightly. “Good. I hope you’re not thinking of doing so.”

“I don’t see that it’s any of your business what I tell my boyfriend.”

“I’m sure you regard Alec Lightwood as being of the highest moral caliber, Magnus,” Hypatia said, choosing her words with care. “And you might not be wrong. But imagine the position you would be putting him in if he knew that the Council’s warlock representative is also the son of the demon worshipped by the Crimson Hand, a cult that is wreaking havoc right now. If he truly cares for you, he’d conceal that knowledge, and if it ever got out, both of you would be implicated by your shared secrecy. History has shown that the Nephilim are capable of cruelty to their own as well as to Downworlders. Especially those among them who do not fall into the status quo.”

“We all have demon parents, Hypatia. It isn’t like that’s a surprise,” Magnus said.

“You know as well as I do that not all demons are created equal. Not all of them would be regarded with the same hate and fear your father is. But since you bring it up, this does impact all of us. Warlocks have walked a fine line with the Nephilim for centuries. We are tolerated because our talents are useful. Many of us have professional relationships with the Clave. You’re one of the most famous warlocks in the world, and like it or not, the way you are perceived reflects upon all of us. Please don’t do anything that could jeopardize the safety we’ve fought for. You know it has been hard-won.”

Magnus wanted to be angry. He wanted to tell Hypatia to stay out of his business, his love life.

But he could tell she was speaking earnestly. The edge to her voice was real. She was afraid.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll take it under advisement. Hypatia, since you seem to be so well-informed, do you know someone called Mori Shu?”

“I do,” said Hypatia, sitting back in her chair. She seemed a bit embarrassed by the passion of her outburst. “Isn’t he part of your cult?”

“It’s not my cult,” Magnus said doggedly.

“He’s here tonight,” Hypatia said. “I saw him earlier. Maybe you two should have a chat, get all this cult business cleared up.”

“Well, maybe we will.”

“If you’ll take my advice,” said Hypatia, “I’d get the Shadowhunter business cleared up too.”

Magnus gave her a ferociously bright smile. “Unasked-for advice is criticism, my dear.”

“Well, your funeral,” said Hypatia. “Wait. Do the Nephilim give you a funeral, after they execute you?”