The Red Scrolls of Magic (The Eldest Curses, #1)(41)
“I’ll ask around about him,” said Shinyun.
“You do that,” Magnus said, rising from the bar. “I have someone to attend to.”
He loved Alec, and he wanted to lay his past and his truths in front of Alec, like bolts of shining silk at his feet. He wanted to tell Alec who his father was, and hope it would not matter. But how could he confess to Alec what he didn’t remember? And how could he tell Alec secrets that had the potential to make him a target of the Clave, like Hypatia had said?
He trusted Alec. He trusted him implicitly. But trust did not guarantee Alec’s safety. Besides, Magnus had trusted and been wrong before. As he headed out in search of Alec, he could not silence the echo of his old friend’s voice in his ears.
But does he love you?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
* * *
Dance Me to Your Beauty
ALEC WATCHED AS MAGNUS’S FRIEND Catarina Loss led him away. A moment later Shinyun exited through the large double doors, presumably to check the estate grounds, leaving Alec standing alone in the midst of a ball.
Alec was very glad he was wearing a mask. He felt abandoned in hostile territory. Actually, he would much rather have been abandoned in hostile territory than left to stand around at a party.
Magnus had said some of these people were his friends.
During their adventures in New York, Magnus had always seemed so independent and self-sufficient. Alec was the one with the ties: to his fellow Shadowhunters, and above all to his sister and his parabatai. It had never occurred to Alec that Magnus had multiple loyalties as well. Magnus was not getting invited to parties, was being cut out of his own world, because he was with Alec.
If Alec wanted to be with Magnus, he had to be able to get along with Magnus’s friends. Magnus always made the effort to help out Alec’s friends. Alec had to find some way to do this, though he could not imagine how.
He remembered with deep relief that he had a mission.
He twisted his way through the crowded hallways into what must be the servants’ quarters, which were only slightly less crowded than the main rooms. Here, a small army of staff—mostly djinns, kelpies, and sprites—flitted about, making sure the music and lights stayed on, the alcohol remained flowing, and the mansion was kept clean. There was a sitting room for a dozen or so warlocks, who were constantly rotating shifts to maintain the magic. An entire pack of werewolves handled security.
He made one quick pass down the servants’ hall behind the dining room and entered the kitchen, only to get thrown out by the head chef, a very angry goblin.
He left the kitchen hastily. The goblin, waving a cleaver and a spatula, could not keep up.
There was no sign anywhere of a stone goat. Alec tried to find his way back to the party, where he could ask if anyone had seen this Mori Shu guy, though the idea of interrupting strangers to interrogate them wasn’t the most attractive.
He heard faint music coming from behind one door. He opened the door and walked into a room painted with murals of forest scenes, feathery vines, and deep pools. Against the mural, two women were making out. One woman was tiny and wearing bright purple that shone in the romantic gloom. The taller one, a woman with long, silvery-blond hair pulled back from the curve of her faerie ears, raised her eyebrow at Alec over her companion’s shoulder. Her companion giggled and slid her hand up the blond faerie woman’s black-clad thigh.
Alec walked backward out of the room.
He closed the door.
He wondered where Magnus was.
He wandered through the mansion. The next room he passed contained a group of Downworlders playing cards. He poked his head in and realized what sort of game it was when someone said something about fish, and then a brownie wearing a bird mask, who had apparently lost the hand, stood up and began to unbutton his shirt.
“Oh, wow, excuse me,” said Alec, fleeing.
A pixie grabbed his hand. “You can stay, Shadowhunter. Show us some of your runes.”
“Let go, please,” said Alec.
Her eyes sparkled mischievously at him.
“I asked politely,” said Alec. “I won’t again.”
She let go. Alec continued his weary quest for Mori Shu, any signs of cult activity, or at the very least someone who wouldn’t make a pass at him.
In one hallway, the floor gleaming parquet and the ceiling festooned with golden cherubs, there was a boy in a grumpy cat mask and biker boots, not involved in any sexual activity, legs crossed and leaning against the wall. As a bevy of faeries passed the boy, giggling and groping, the boy scooted away.
Alec remembered being younger, and how overwhelming large groups of people had seemed. He came over and leaned against the wall beside the boy. He saw the boy texting, PARTIES WERE INVENTED TO ANNOY ME. THEY FEATURE MY LEAST FAVORITE THING: PEOPLE, ALL INTENT ON MY LEAST FAVORITE ACTIVITY: SOCIAL INTERACTION.
“I don’t really like parties either,” Alec said sympathetically.
“No hablo italiano,” the boy mumbled without looking up.
“Er,” said Alec. “This conversation is happening in English.”
“No hablo ingles,” he said without missing a beat.
“Oh, come on. Really?”
“Worth a shot,” said the boy.
Alec considered going away. The boy wrote another text to a contact he had saved as RF. Alec could not help but notice that the conversation was entirely one-sided, the boy sending text after text with no response. The last text read VENICE SMELLS LIKE A TOILET. AS A NEW YORKER, I DO NOT SAY THIS LIGHTLY.