The Red Scrolls of Magic

Magnus had been dodging death for centuries. He was not used to anyone worrying this much about his near misses.

“Can’t complain,” said Magnus, adjusting his cuffs. “If I did, I would only be doing so for attention from a handsome gentleman.”

Fortunately, Carmen was not being performed tonight, so there appeared to be no injuries. The two got to their feet and stared at the wreckage. They were thankfully invisible to the gathering crowd, who would soon be mystified at the balloon’s apparent lack of passengers. The air became quiet, and then the marquee dipped and squealed as the fire finished eating through the remaining supports and sent the entire thing crashing to the ground, sending a fresh plume of smoke and sparks into the air. Several in the crowd moved back cautiously, but continued to take photos.

“I admit,” said Magnus, tugging at a torn piece of shirt fluttering in the wind, “this evening isn’t going exactly to plan.”

Alec looked glum. “Sorry about ruining our night.”

“Nothing is ruined. The night is young, and reservations are available,” said Magnus. “The theater will receive a generous donation from an unknown patron to effect the repairs necessary after this freak accident. We are about to enjoy a nighttime stroll through the most romantic city on earth. Seems an excellent night to me. Evil has been defeated, which is nice too.”

Alec frowned. “Seeing that many Iblis demons gathered together is unusual.”

“We have to leave some evil for the Paris Institute to amuse themselves with. It would be gauche for us to hog all the evil to fight. Besides, we are on vacation. Carpe diem. Seize the day, not the demons.”

Alec conceded the issue with a shrug and a small smile.

“Also, you are just great with that bow, and it is very, very attractive,” Magnus added. In his opinion, Alec needed to be complimented more. Alec looked taken aback, but not displeased. “All right. Now. New clothes. If one of the Paris fey sees me looking like this, my reputation will be toast for a century.”

“I don’t know,” Alec said shyly. “I like how you look.”

Magnus beamed but remained determined. A hot-air balloon crash was not how he had pictured his clothing getting torn on this trip. To Rue Saint-Honoré, then, for a quick wardrobe refresh.

They breezed through several stores that were open late, or that could be persuaded to open for a longtime valued customer. Magnus selected a red velvet paisley blazer over a rust-red ruffled shirt, while Alec could not be talked into anything more elaborate than a dark striped hoodie under a loose-fitting leather jacket with a few too many zippers.

This accomplished, Magnus made a few calls and was pleased to tell Alec that they would be dining at the chef’s table in A Midsummer Night’s Dining, the hottest faerie restaurant in the city.

From outside, it looked ordinary, with a quaint brickwork-and-plaster facade. Inside, it resembled a faerie grotto. Luxuriant emerald-green moss carpeted the ground, and the walls and roof were irregular stone like that of a cavern. Vines emerged like snakes from the trees and drifted among the tables, and several of the customers were chasing their food, as their meals had levitated from their plates and were making a break for freedom.

“It always feels weird to order faerie restaurant food,” Alec mused once they ordered their salads. “I mean, I do in New York all the time, but I know those places. The Shadowhunter’s Codex says never to eat any faerie foods, under any circumstances.”

“This place is perfectly safe,” Magnus said, munching on one of the leaves as it tried to crawl out of his mouth. “Perfectly mostly safe. As long as we are paying for the meal, it is not considered an offering but a purchase. The financial transaction makes all the difference. It’s a fine line, but isn’t that always the case when it comes to the Fair Folk? Don’t let your salad get away!”

Alec laughed and stabbed at his faerie caprese. Those Shadowhunter reflexes yet again, Magnus noted.

Magnus had always been careful, with mundane lovers, to minimize their interaction with Downworld. For their safety and their peace of mind. He’d always assumed that Shadowhunters would want to minimize their interaction with Downworld too. They held themselves apart, declaring themselves not mundane but not of Downworld either—a third thing, rather, separate and maybe even a little bit better. But Alec seemed glad to be here, not taken aback by any of Paris or Magnus’s world. It was possible, maybe, that Alec might be as happy as Magnus was, just to be together.

He linked elbows with Alec as they left the restaurant, feeling the hard muscle of the Shadowhunter’s arm against his. Alec would be ready to fight again in an instant, but in this moment, he was simply relaxed. Magnus leaned in.

They turned onto the Quai de Valmy and encountered a strong headwind. Alec threw on his hood, zipped up his jacket, and pulled Magnus closer. Magnus led him along as they walked through the Canal Saint-Martin neighborhood, following the waterway as it bent around the corner. Couples strolled along the shore, and small clusters of people chatted on picnic blankets at the water’s edge. A merman in a fedora had joined one group of picnickers. Magnus and Alec walked underneath a blue iron footbridge. On the other side of the canal, violin music accompanied by percussion filled the air. The mundanes of Paris would be able to hear the mortal drummer, but only people like Magnus and Alec could see and hear the faerie violinist spinning around him, with flowers in her hair sparkling like gems.