The Red Scrolls of Magic

“Okay,” said Alec. “So this is a friendly visit?”

There was an edge to his voice that made Magnus raise an eyebrow. Alec was sometimes uncomfortable around new people. Magnus supposed that explained his tone. Magnus was so obviously, embarrassingly infatuated. There was no way Alec could possibly be jealous.

Tessa sighed. The light of amusement in her gray eyes died away. “I wish this was a friendly visit,” she said softly. “It’s not.”

She shifted in her seat, moving a little stiffly. Magnus’s eyes narrowed.

“Tessa,” he said. “Are you hurt?”

“Nothing that won’t heal,” she said.

“Are you in trouble?”

She gave him a long, unreadable look.

“No,” said Tessa. “You are.”

“What do you mean?” Alec asked, his voice suddenly urgent.

Tessa bit her lip. “Magnus,” she said, “can I talk to you alone?”

“You can talk to us both,” said Magnus. “I trust Alec.”

Very quietly, Tessa asked, “Do you trust him with your life?”

With someone else, Magnus would have thought they were being overdramatic. Tessa wasn’t like that. What she said, she usually meant.

“Yes,” Magnus said. “With my life.”

Many Downworlders would never have told secrets to a Shadowhunter, no matter what Magnus said, but Tessa was different. She grabbed a worn leather satchel by her feet, brought out a wax-sealed scroll, and unrolled it. “The Spiral Council have issued a formal demand that you, Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, neutralize the human cult of demon worshippers known as the Crimson Hand. Immediately.”

“I understand that the Spiral Council want the best,” Magnus said modestly. “I can’t say I care for their tone. I’ve heard of the Crimson Hand. They’re a joke. They’re a bunch of humans who like to party wearing demon masks. They’re more interested in doing body shots than demon worship. I’m on vacation, and I won’t be bothered with this nonsense. Tell the Spiral Council I will be giving my cat, Chairman Meow, a bath.”

The Spiral Council was the closest thing warlocks had to a governing body, but it was secretive and not entirely official. In general, warlocks had issues with authority. Magnus had more than most.

A shadow touched Tessa’s face. “Magnus, I had to beg the Council to let me come to you. Yes, the Crimson Hand has always been a joke. But it appears they have a new leader, someone who has whipped them into shape. They’ve gotten powerful, have deep pockets, and have been recruiting heavily. There have been several deaths and far more disappearances. A dead faerie was found in Venice, next to a pentagram painted with her blood.”

Magnus started, and forced himself to be still. Tessa didn’t have to spell it out for him: they both knew faerie blood could be used to summon Greater Demons, who had once been among the highest of angels, and who had fallen so far.

Unspoken between Tessa and Magnus was their knowledge that they were each the child of a different Greater Demon. Magnus felt a certain kinship with Tessa as a result. There were very few children of Greater Demons around.

Magnus hadn’t told Alec that his father was a Prince of Hell. It seemed bound to put a crimp in any new relationship.

“Is that so?” Magnus asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. “If this cult is mixed up with trying to raise a Greater Demon, that is very bad news. For the cult, and potentially for many other innocents.”

Tessa nodded, leaning forward. “The Crimson Hand is clearly poised to cause chaos in the Shadow World, so the Spiral Council sent me to deal with them. I was impersonating one of their acolytes at their headquarters in Venice, trying to find out what they were up to and who their leader might be. But then, during one of their rituals, I was exposed to a potion that made me lose control of my shape-shifting abilities. I barely escaped with my life. When I returned a few days later, the cult had abandoned the place. You need to find them.”

“As I so often say,” Magnus remarked, “why me?”

Tessa was not smiling now. “I don’t give it a lot of credence, but the rumor in Downworld is that the Crimson Hand’s new leader isn’t actually new. People are saying their original founder has returned.”

“And who, may I ask, is their founder?”

Tessa took out a photo and slapped it down on the table. The photo was of a painting drawn on a wall. The painting was crude, amateurishly drawn, almost as if by a child. It depicted several images of a man with dark hair lounging on a throne. Next to him were two people fanning him with palm leaves, while a third knelt in front of him. No, not bowing, but giving him what appeared to be a foot rub.

Even roughly painted, they could all recognize the cult founder’s jet-black hair, etched cheekbones, and yellow catlike eyes.

“They call their founder ‘the Great Poison,’?” Tessa said. “Look familiar? Magnus, people are saying that you are the original founder and the new leader of the Crimson Hand.”

A chill passed through Magnus. Then indignation took over.

“Tessa, I most certainly did not found a cult!” he protested. “I don’t even like demon worshippers. They’re boring idiots who worship boring demons.” He paused. “It’s the kind of thing I would joke about, really.” He paused again. “Not that I would. Even as a prank. I would never . . .” He trailed off.