The Red Scrolls of Magic

“Visiting Paris on a European vacation is a coincidence?” said Alec.

“It would be a crime not to visit Paris!” Leon agreed. “You should have stopped by the Paris Institute while you were there, Alec. I would have shown you the sights as I did for our charming Helen, whom I would follow anywhere. Even to this terrible party.”

Alec glanced between Helen and Leon, trying to work out if they were together. Helen had been kissing that vampire woman, so he assumed not, but he was naive about these things. Perhaps they would have a couple’s squabble and let him go.

“Go fetch the car, Leon,” said Helen. “You can ask Alec anything you like on the ride down to Rome.”

“Now hold on,” said Leon. “Alec saved our lives on the rooftop. He wouldn’t do that if he had a hand in this. I, for one, believe him. He was just investigating suspicious activity in the basement, specifically us, like any Shadowhunter would. Even though he is on vacation.”

He gave Alec an appreciative nod.

“It was no problem,” said Alec carefully.

“Besides, look at him!” said Leon. “He is clearly here to party. He looks fantastic. I told you we should have masks. Let the poor man get back to his vacation, Helen, while we find some real leads.”

Helen regarded Alec for another long moment, then slowly lowered her seraph blade.

“All right,” she said grudgingly.

Alec did not ask them about Mori Shu, or anything else. He headed for the stairs without delay.

“Wait!” said Helen.

Alec turned around, trying to conceal his dread. “What?”

“Thanks,” said Helen. “For the rescue in Paris.”

That surprised a smile from Alec. “You’re welcome.”

Helen smiled back. She was pretty when she smiled.

Still, Alec felt shaken as he reached the upper floors, wading upstream against the throng of partygoers heading to the dance floor.

He wondered if the cold apprehension he’d felt talking to Helen was how Downworlders always felt when they were being questioned by Shadowhunters. Not that he blamed Helen for being suspicious. Alec would be too, in her shoes. Alec knew too well that anyone could be a traitor—like his tutor, Hodge Starkweather, who had betrayed them to Valentine during the Mortal War. Helen’s suspicions were warranted—after all, he had lied, or at least omitted important information. Lying to fellow Shadowhunters, who should have been on his side, felt awful. He felt like a traitor.

But he’d feel worse if he failed to protect Magnus. The Clave should be set up to protect people like Magnus, not pose another threat to him. Alec had always believed in the Law, but if the Law didn’t shield Magnus, the Law should be changed.

Alec trusted maybe six people in the world without question, but one of them was Magnus. He just hadn’t expected trusting someone to be so complicated.

If only he could find Magnus. He wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but the mansion was busier now than when they had arrived just a short time ago.

Alec kept heading upstairs, until he came to a long stone balcony running along the walls of the grand ballroom. It was a useful vantage point from which to oversee the whole party. He only had to walk the perimeter once before he caught sight of Magnus dancing in the crowd of Downworlders and mundanes below. The sight of him made Alec’s whole body relax. Before he met Magnus, Alec was not sure he’d ever really believed he could be entirely himself, and entirely happy. Then there was Magnus, and what had seemed impossible became possible. Seeing him was always a small shock, his face a glimpse of hope that everything might be all right.

Two of the ballroom walls were lined with enormous arches open to the night, making the room a golden orb rising between black waters and black sky. The ballroom floor was a wide expanse of blue, the blue of a lake in summertime. The ceiling was crowded with an orchestra of stars, the chandelier a cascade of falling stars that faeries were using as a swing. As Alec watched, one faerie pushed another off the chandelier. Alec tensed, but then gauzy turquoise wings unfolded from the faerie’s back and he landed safely among the dancers.

There were winged faeries flying, werewolves tumbling like acrobats through the crowd, vampires’ fangs glittering as they laughed, and warlocks wrapped in light. Masks were lifted and dropped, torches trailed fire like burning ribbons, and the silver shadows of moonlit water danced on the walls. Alec had seen beauty before in the shining towers of Alicante, in the fluid fighting of his sister and his parabatai, in many familiar beloved things. He had not seen beauty in Downworld, until Magnus. Yet here it was, simply waiting to be found.

Alec began to feel bad about his indignation that Downworlders were claiming the victory against Valentine as their own. He knew what had happened. He had been there, fighting side by side with Downworlders, and the war had made this golden freedom possible. This was their victory as much as his.

Alec remembered he and Magnus lending each other strength through the Alliance rune, magic only reinforcing the connection between them, and thought, This victory is ours.

He and Magnus would work through this puzzle too. They would find someone to help them in this maze of gold columns and dark rivers. They had overcome worse. Alec’s heart lifted at the thought, and at that moment, he saw his warlock in the crowd.

Magnus’s head was tipped back, his shimmering white suit rumpled like bedsheets in the morning, his white cloak swaying after him like a moonbeam. His mirrorlike mask was askew, his black hair wild, his slim body arching with the dance, and wrapped around his fingers like ten shimmering rings was the light of his magic, casting a spotlight on one dancer, then another.