The Red Scrolls of Magic

Below the partially covered moon, a flotilla of clouds drifted in front of Mount Corno, the tallest in the Apennine Range. A swarm of fireflies danced just above their heads, and nature had come alive all around them, with crickets chirping and owls hooting to a steady rhythm while the low, wary whistle of the wind floated up from the valley below. Somewhere in the distance, a pack of wolves joined the night symphony with a chorus of howls.

“They sound lonely,” said Shinyun.

“No,” said Alec. “They’re together. They’re hunting.”

“You’re the expert on that,” Shinyun observed. “I was alone once, and hunted.”

“You were also in a cult once,” Alec pointed out, then bit his lip.

An edge appeared in Shinyun’s voice. “Tell me, Shadowhunter, where are the Nephilim when Downworlders are in trouble?”

“Shielding us,” said Magnus. “You saw Alec in Venice.”

“He was there because he’s with you,” Shinyun snapped. “If he hadn’t been with you, he wouldn’t have been there. They stalk us, and hurt us, and leave us. When was it decided that a warlock child is worth less than the children of the Angel?”

Alec did not know what to say. She threw up her hands and stood up.

“I apologize,” she said. “I am on edge with our destination so close at hand. I will retire for the evening. I have to rest. We reach Rome tomorrow. Who knows what will await us there?”

Shinyun gave them a curt nod and then walked off to her giant tent, leaving Magnus and Alec alone by the fire.

“I suspect Shinyun may be a ‘no’ on the rousing fireside sing-along I was planning,” said Magnus.

He reached over and ran his fingertips in a light, absentminded caress along Alec’s neck. Alec leaned into his touch. When Magnus’s hand dropped, Alec wanted to follow it.

“Don’t worry about her,” Magnus added. “Many warlocks have tragic childhoods. We come into a world already made dark by demons. It’s hard not to give in to the anger.”

“You don’t,” said Alec.

Magnus’s voice was bleak. “I have.”

“Shinyun didn’t have to join a cult,” said Alec.

“I didn’t have to found a cult,” Magnus pointed out.

Alec said, “That’s different.”

“Sure. It’s much worse.” Magnus tossed a twig into the fire and watched as it withered and blackened, and then curled into ash. Alec watched him.

Magnus Bane was always brightly burning, whimsical and effervescent, ethereal and carefree. He was the High Warlock of Brooklyn, who wore blazing colors and shiny glitter around his eyes. He was the sort of person who threw birthday parties for his cat and loved whomever he wanted loudly and proudly.

Only there was dark waiting behind the brightness. Alec had to learn that side of Magnus too, or he would never really know him.

“I think I understand about Shinyun,” Alec said slowly. “I wondered why you were insisting on bringing her with us. I even thought maybe you didn’t want to be alone with me.”

“Alec, I—”

Alec held out a hand. “But then I realized. You feel like she’s your responsibility, don’t you? If the Crimson Hand hurt her, then you feel like you have to help her. To make it right.”

Magnus nodded slightly. “She is my dark mirror, Alexander,” he said. “She is in some ways what I could have been, had I not been lucky enough to have experienced love and caring—my mother’s, and then Ragnor and the Silent Brothers. I could have been so desperate I too would have joined something like the Crimson Hand.”

“You don’t talk much about the past,” Alec said slowly. “You didn’t even tell me you were close to that warlock who died. Ragnor Fell. You were, weren’t you?”

“I was,” said Magnus. “He was the first friend I ever had.”

Alec looked down at his hands. Jace had been the first friend he’d ever had, but Magnus knew that. Magnus knew everything about him. He was an open book. He tried to crush down the feeling of hurt. “So—why not tell me?”

The sparks from the campfire flew upward, brief stars flaring against the black night, then winked out.

Alec wondered if loving a mortal was like that to Magnus, bright but brief. Maybe this was all just a short, insignificant episode in a long, long story. He wasn’t just an open book, he thought. He was a short one. A slim volume compared to the chronicles of Magnus’s long life.

“Because nobody ever really wants to know,” said Magnus. “Usually I get no further than mentioning I killed my stepfather, and people decide that’s enough. You’ve already seen too much. Last night you saw the Red Scrolls of Magic, all the stupid, careless things I said, hidden behind a bloodstained altar. Can you blame me if I wonder, every time, whether this is the time I scare you away?”

“Shadowhunters don’t scare easily,” Alec said. “I know you feel guilty about Shinyun being taken in by the cult, but you meant it for the best. That’s what I thought when I read the Red Scrolls. You didn’t say to recruit the kids, to use them. You said not to let them be alone. You were alone, and you didn’t want other warlock children to suffer like you did. I came on this trip to get to know you better, and I am.”