The Red Scrolls of Magic (The Eldest Curses, #1)(65)

Magnus didn’t think he’d ever been more touched by a speech someone had made while zipping up their pants.

“I want to get this resolved,” Alec said, yanking on his shirt. “I should go.”

Magnus picked up his T-shirt from where it lay in a heap beside the window. He tugged the shirt on and stared out at the flowing curves and lines of the Colosseum, where men had fought long years before even he was born.

“I wish you could stay,” he said softly. “But you’re right. At least kiss me good-bye, though.”

Alec had an odd expression on his face, almost as if someone had hurt him, but not quite. The blue eyes Magnus so loved were almost black.

He crossed the floor in one bound and pressed Magnus up against the window, pushing up Magnus’s shirt so Magnus’s back was against the sun-warmed glass. He kissed him, slow and lesuirely this time, tasting of regret. Sounding drunk, Alec murmured, “Yes—yes—no! No, I need to go to the Rome Institute.”

He backed away from Magnus and picked up his bow, twisting it between his hands, as if he had to be holding something.

“If there are any unusual cult or demonic activities going on, the Institute will know. We have to use every means at our disposal. We can’t take the time. We’ve already slept all day—who knows how much further the cult could have gotten in those hours. . . . I have to go.”

Magnus wanted to be annoyed at Alec for his balking; the problem was that the urgency Alec was describing was a real, true fact. “Whatever you think is best,” he said.

“Right,” said Alec. “Right. I’m going. You stay. Be safe. Don’t let anyone else into the suite. Don’t go anywhere without me. Promise me.”

Magnus had walked infernal realms in hallucinations caused by demon poisons, been homeless and hungry in streets that were now ruins, been desperate enough to set water ablaze, been extremely drunk in the desert. He did not think doom was coming for him in an upscale hotel in Rome.

But he loved Alec for worrying.

“We can pick up where we left off,” Magnus said, leaning back against the windowsill. “You know, when you get back.”

He smiled a slow and wicked smile. Alec made a hopeless, senseless gesture, to himself, then toward Magnus. His hand eventually calmed to stillness. He started to speak, visibly reconsidered talking, shook his head, strode toward the door, and stalked out of the room.

One second later the door banged open and Alec came back inside.

“Or maybe I should stay.”

Magnus opened his mouth, but Alec had already shut his eyes, let his head fall against the back of the door with a thump, and answered himself.

“No. I’m going to go. I’m going. Bye.”

He waved at Magnus. Magnus snapped his fingers. Keys landed, glittering, in the hollow of his hand, and he threw them at Alec. Alec caught them reflexively. Magnus winked.

“Take the Maserati,” he said. “And hurry back.”





CHAPTER NINETEEN




* * *





Bound in Heaven


ALEC TOOK THE CORNERS OF the tangled streets of Rome too fast. He was going to miss the Maserati. He already missed Magnus.

He kept thinking of how Magnus had looked when he’d come out of the bathroom, skin warm from the shower, towel swathed around his narrow hips, strong muscles and flat stomach sparkling with water drops. His dark hair had been barely dry, sunlight falling on him, golden and soft. Alec often liked Magnus best this way, silky hair free of gel or spikes. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Magnus’s clothes, but Magnus wore them like armor, a layer of protection between him and a world that didn’t always meet someone like him with open arms.

He couldn’t think about anything else that had happened in that room. He’d already turned the car to go back to the hotel three times. The last time, he’d reversed in a narrow lane and scraped up one side of the Maserati.

He wished Magnus could’ve come with him to the Institute. Alec was surprised to find himself restless and uneasy without Magnus in his direct line of sight. They’d been together all the time since they left New York, and Alec had gotten used to it. He wasn’t worried about another demon attack, or at least not that worried. He knew the hotel room was warded with Magnus’s magic, and Magnus had promised to stay in the hotel room.

It was strange. He missed New York; he missed Jace and Isabelle, and Mom and Dad, and even Clary. But he missed Magnus most of all, and he had only been apart from Magnus for thirty minutes.

He wondered what Magnus would think, when they got home, about Alec moving in.

Like all Institutes, the Rome Institute was accessible only to Nephilim; like many of them, this one was glamoured to appear as an old church, fallen into disuse. Because Rome was one of the most densely populated cities in Europe, there was extra magic layered on the glamour so that not only would the Institute look to be in poor condition, most mundanes would neglect to notice it at all, and forget about it a moment later, if they did.

This was a pity, because the Rome Institute was one of the more beautiful in the world. It resembled many of the other basilicas in the city, with domed tops, tall arches, and marble columns, but as if viewed in one of those funny mirrors that elongated the reflection. The Institute had a narrow base sandwiched between two squat buildings. Once it rose past its neighbors, it blossomed and fanned out into several domes and towers, like a candelabra or a tree. The resulting profile was both distinctly Roman and pleasantly organic.