“Nice seeing you, Hypatia,” said Magnus, and left.

He felt in need of a drink. He wended his way through the crowd until he found a bar. He took a seat at it, and ordered a Dark and Stormy to match his mood. Catarina’s worry and Hypatia’s horror had left a dent in his usually hopeful heart.

The bar was set up against a window. Through the bottles, Magnus could see another dance party in full swing in the courtyard below, and hear faint music filtering out from the glowing green bubble that surrounded the dancers. He had pictured dancing with Alec, in beautiful places around Europe, but they weren’t. Because of something from Magnus’s past.

Magnus snapped his fingers and a crystal glass fell into his hand, filling with amber liquid as the bottle on the shelf began to drain.

“Hello there,” said Shinyun, wandering up to him with a glass of red wine in hand.

Magnus touched glasses with her. “Any luck?”

“No. I tried some detection spells, but they’ve been unclear.”

“I’ve had the same problem,” he said. Magnus sipped his drink and studied Shinyun’s immobile face. “The cult is personal to you,” he continued. It was not a question. “You talk about demon-hunting, but you won’t talk about the cult. They didn’t just kill people you loved. You feel guilty about something connected to the Crimson Hand. What is it?”

They both looked out into the courtyard full of dancers. Several moments passed.

“Can you keep a secret?” Shinyun asked.

“It depends on the secret,” said Magnus.

“I will trust you with this one. You can do with it whatever you please.” She turned to face him. “I—I used to be a part of it. The Crimson Hand is mostly a human cult, but they recruit warlock children.” Shinyun’s voice turned wry. “There was a time when I used to worship you, the Great Poison, holy founder and prophet of the Crimson Hand, the worshippers of Asmodeus.”

“Asmodeus?” Magnus repeated softly, as any hope he’d had that Johnny Rook had been wrong trickled away like blood from a wound.

He remembered, hundreds of years ago, wanting to find out who his father was. That was how he’d found out that you could use faerie blood to summon a Greater Demon.

Magnus hadn’t harmed a Downworlder to call his father to him. He’d found another way. He’d looked his father in the face, and spoken to him, then turned away, sick at heart.

“Nobody ever tried to summon Asmodeus, in those days, of course,” said Shinyun. “That’s a new wrinkle. But we talked about him all the time. Every orphaned warlock child was his child, the cult said. I thought of myself as his daughter. Everything I did was in his service.”

Warlock children. He remembered how he had felt as a warlock child, desperate and alone. Anyone could have taken advantage of his desperation.

He felt overwhelmed by horror. He had heard the name of the Crimson Hand over the years—they were a joke, as he had said to Tessa, and Tessa had agreed. Was it only their new leader who was a problem, or had they been a problem for much longer than anyone realized and somehow kept their true nature quiet?

“You worshipped me?” Magnus asked, and could not suppress the despairing edge to his voice. “I’m glad you’ve been cured of that nonsense. How long were you in this cult?”

“Many decades,” she said bitterly. “A lifetime’s worth. I used to—I used to kill for them. I thought I was killing for you, in your name.” She paused. “Please don’t tell the Shadowhunter—Alec—that I killed for them. You can tell him I was in the cult, if you must.”

“No,” Magnus whispered, but he didn’t know if he was saying it for Shinyun’s sake or for his own. Shinyun said she’d thought of herself as Asmodeus’s child. He could only imagine her horror if she knew Magnus actually was Asmodeus’s child. He thought of Hypatia, her warning that he must not reveal his father’s identity to Alec. Imagine the position you would be putting him in. History has shown that the Nephilim are capable of cruelty to their own as well as to Downworlders.

“It has been many more lifetimes since I broke free from their clutches. I’ve been trying to bring them down ever since, but I wasn’t strong enough to do it on my own, and then this mysterious new leader came. I didn’t have anyone to turn to. I felt so helpless.”

“How did you happen to join them?”

Shinyun bowed her head. “I’ve already told you more than I ever intended to.”

Magnus didn’t press further. He didn’t talk about his childhood either.

“You are brave to come back and face your past,” he said quietly. “I’d say ‘face your demons,’ but that seems too on the nose.”

Shinyun snorted.

“I don’t suppose you know where the Crimson Hand’s Chamber is?” Shinyun was already shaking her head as Magnus added, without much hope: “Or these Red Scrolls of Magic?”

“Mori would know,” Shinyun told him. “The members of the Crimson Hand trusted him more than me. We used to be close, but I had to leave him behind when I fled. It’s been years—but I would know him if I saw him, and he would trust me.”

“He’s here,” said Magnus, “supposedly.” Magnus clicked his fingers, and his glass disappeared in a crystal-bright wink. Then he reached for a bottle of champagne from a nearby chiller. This was an impressive party, but Magnus was having a terrible time. He had turned up no secret lairs, and found no sign of this annoying mystery man. He wanted to dance, and he wanted to forget that there was so much he didn’t remember.