The Red Scrolls of Magic (The Eldest Curses, #1)(30)

It was strange to say. Immortality was a difficult thing to talk about. Magnus barely remembered being young, but he had never been old, either. He had been with mortals of varying ages, and he had never been able to comprehend how time felt for them. Nor had they ever been able to understand him.

Yet cutting himself off from mortals would mean severing his ties with the world. Life would become a long wait, without warmth or connection, until his heart died. After a century of loneliness, anyone would go mad.

Alec risking himself for Magnus’s sake—that felt like madness as well.

Alec’s eyes were narrowed. “What are you saying?”

Magnus linked his fingers with Alec’s. Their hands lay on the bedsheet, Alec’s pale and rune-marked, Magnus’s brown and gleaming with rings.

“You should keep yourself safe—first. Your safety, it’s more important, it means more than mine.”

Alec said, “I would say the same thing to you.”

“But you’d be wrong.”

“That’s a matter of opinion. What was that demon?” Magnus had to admire the brazenness with which Alec changed the subject. “Why did it attack you?”

Magnus had been wondering that himself.

“Attacking is what demons usually do,” said Magnus. “If it was after me specifically, I assume it was jealous of my style and charm.”

Alec wasn’t distracted. Magnus hadn’t really believed he would be.

“Have you ever seen anything like it? We need to figure out the best way to fight another one if it comes. If I could get to the New York library, check the bestiaries . . . Maybe I could get Isabelle to do it. . . .”

“Oh, you relentless Nephilim,” said Magnus, letting Alec’s hand go before Alec could let him go first. “Can’t you get your bursts of energy from caffeine like everybody else?”

“The demon was a Raum brood mother,” said a woman’s voice from behind them. “It takes powerful magic to coax one out of its lair.”

Alec snatched the blanket up with one hand to cover himself, while grabbing his seraph blade with the other.

“Also,” said Magnus without raising his voice, “may I introduce our new friend, Shinyun Jung? She dissolved the demon attacking us into vapor. It made an excellent first impression.”

Alec and Shinyun both regarded Magnus with disbelief.

“My first impression of her,” Alec pointed out with some sharpness, “was her attacking me at the Shadow Market.”

“My first impression of you,” Shinyun returned, “was you attacking me. All I wanted to do was talk to Magnus, but you drew a weapon on me.”

“We should probably have a little chat to clear things up,” Magnus agreed.

He’d been too worried about Alec to think it through before. Shinyun had dropped to her knees and started helping him heal Alec’s wounds. At the time, that was all he had needed to know.

“Yes,” Shinyun agreed. “Why don’t we continue this conversation outside, with all of us dressed?”

“I’d appreciate that,” said Alec.

“I suggest the bar car.”

Magnus brightened. “I’d appreciate that.”



THEY REGROUPED IN THE DOWNWORLDER bar. The room was still packed, but the crowd was noticeably more subdued after the demon attack. Three spots in a row at the main bar were suddenly vacant, and as they sat down on the stools, a free bottle of champagne and three glasses appeared without them having ordered it. When Alec looked suspiciously around, a vampire shot him a wink and finger guns.

Magnus might not have to worry so much about all Downworlders hating Alec. Not on this train, anyway.

“I didn’t think Shadowhunters were this popular among Downworlders,” said Shinyun.

“Only my Shadowhunter,” Magnus said, pouring.

The bar was lit from above with hanging brass pendants. Their warm light fell full on Shinyun’s countenance. Her lips and eyes moved when she spoke, but the rest of her round face, unblinking eyelids, and smooth cheeks did not. Her voice was dry and seemed to float from her mouth without cadence.

That was her warlock mark, the affectless face. All warlocks were uniquely marked, the markings usually appearing in early childhood, often resulting in tragedy. Magnus’s mark was his golden cat eyes. Magnus’s stepfather had called them windows into Hell.

Magnus could not stop remembering kneeling on top of the train car, frantic with fear, Alec losing consciousness in his arms. Magnus had seen the demon dissipate into smoke around Shinyun as she threw her hood back and looked down at him. He’d recognized her immediately—not who she was, but that she was like him. A warlock.

It had been quite an entrance.

“Let’s chat,” said Alec. “Why were you following us? Specifically, why were you following Magnus through the Shadow Market in Paris?”

“I’m after the Crimson Hand,” Shinyun answered. “I heard Magnus Bane was their leader.”

“I’m not.”

“He’s not,” Alec said sharply.

“I know,” Shinyun said. Magnus saw a tiny relaxation of tension in Alec’s shoulders. Her dark eyes returned to Magnus and held his gaze. “I’d already heard of you, of course. Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn. Everyone has something to say about you.”