The Red Scrolls of Magic

“Well,” Alec said, “she’s gone.”

Aline closed her mouth. She looked like she had bitten into a lemon.

“She’s gone?” Helen repeated. “What are we going to tell the other Shadowhunters? ‘We had a dangerous fugitive in custody and we let her slip through our fingers, guys, sorry!’?”

When she put it like that, it didn’t sound great.

There was shouting nearby already. Alec could see the shapes of figures in gear, marching cultists away. Magnus joined their small knot around the sliced ropes. Alec’s heart gave a sharp little twist at the sight of his face, half joy and half painful concern. Magnus’s white robe was smeared in ash and blood. He was hurt, and he looked so tired.

“Shinyun’s gone?” he asked, and shut his eyes for a moment. “I’m almost glad.”

Magnus being almost glad made Alec’s rash decision seem worthwhile.

“Listen, everyone,” said Magnus carefully. “You three deserve a lot of praise and gratitude for the work you did today. You triple-handedly tore through a mundane demon-worshipping cult and leveled a villa in the Italian countryside and prevented a Prince of Hell from encroaching on this world. I am sure there will be accolades and pats on the back for each of you at the Institute.”

Dread rose in Alec, a shadow of the same cold fear he had felt when he saw Magnus in the arena, at the prospect that Magnus might throw his life away before Alec could get to him.

“And?” Alec asked warily.

“And the Clave will not have the same reaction to me. I was the one in the pentagram tonight, and I was the focus of this little soiree. I am the one the Shadowhunters will be questioning. I don’t want any of you to get into any trouble because you came for me. I think you should all use the glory of a big mission, successfully accomplished, to cover any awkwardness this situation might create for you. You stumbled upon this mysterious scenario. You don’t know anything more. Tell them to ask me.”

Alec exchanged a look with Aline, then another with Helen.

“We stopped the Crimson Hand,” Alec said. “That’s what’s important, right?”

Aline nodded. “An evil cult tried to summon Asmodeus. The three of us tracked them down and put an end to their ritual before they could summon him.”

“We also shut down their headquarters,” added Helen. “And we saved the man they were planning to sacrifice in their ritual. That’s the truth. That’s all that needs to be in the report.”

“That’s not lying to the Clave,” Aline said hastily. “Which I would never do, because Mom would strip my Marks and worse, tell me how disappointed she was in me. Really, we are just trying to clarify the issue to the Clave, and not bother them with irrelevant details. You don’t have anything to do with the Crimson Hand, Magnus, other than being their victim. Who cares about ancient history?”

“I’ll explain that I should have come to the Paris Institute when a warlock approached me for help, instead of trying to do this all on my own,” Helen continued.

“If my name isn’t getting dragged through the mud,” said Magnus, “certainly yours shouldn’t be. You had a lead, and you followed the lead with praiseworthy dedication. Who cares why a warlock approached you, whether it was because of your faerie heritage or any other reason? As the result shows, he chose well.”

“He could not have made a better choice,” said Aline. “You brought down the Crimson Hand. You did everything you could. No other Shadowhunter could have done better.”

Helen looked at Aline. Faint pink stole into her cheeks. Alec was startled to see a feeling he recognized on Helen’s face, something he often felt around Magnus: uncertain delight at Magnus’s high opinion of him, twined with the creeping doubt that Magnus would realize he did not deserve it.

Alec suspected he had missed some crucial details about his companions while he was worrying about Magnus.

“The problem, of course,” said Magnus, “is that with Shinyun gone, the Clave will be looking for someone to pin the leadership of the Crimson Hand on.”

Alec felt a lurch of panic. “Not you,” he said. “It can’t be you.”

Magnus gave him a look of surprising sweetness. “Not me, love,” he said. “We’ll think of something.”

He fell silent as a group of Italian Shadowhunters who were scouting the grounds approached. Helen exchanged a few words with their leader as the rest of the Shadowhunters rushed past.

The four began making their way back to the villa’s entrance. Alec caught Helen’s eye.

“I’m sorry if I almost messed anything up.”

“What did I say to you, Alec Lightwood?” said Helen. “Disasters follow wherever you go. Buildings collapse. Fugitives escape. I’m getting used to it.” She stole a glance at Aline, who blushed fiery red. “I think I’m getting to like it.”

Aline cleared her throat. “I know this place. It’s nothing special. Just a little café on the Tiber. Maybe we can hang out there sometime. I mean, whenever you have time. If you like.” She glanced around. “That invitation was for Helen, by the way. Not you and Magnus.”

“I get it,” said Alec, who finally did.

“I’m on my travel year,” Helen said slowly. “I’m supposed to be at the Prague Institute next week.”