The Red Scrolls of Magic (The Eldest Curses, #1)(87)

Bernard was standing just outside the pentagram, watching them with a certain anticipation.

Shinyun hissed at him, “What is the meaning of this?”

Bernard gave her a small, mocking bow. “My sincerest apologies, Cursed Daughter. The thing is, though we realize you belong to our more militant and murderous fringe, this cult has always been about hedonistic pleasure rather than strict dedication to evil. The Crimson Hand have agreed that we do not want to obey your joyless rules or live under your rather too-stern leadership.”

“My, my,” said Magnus mildly.

“Do you disagree, Great Poison?” asked Bernard.

“By no means,” Magnus said. “Let the good times roll.”

Shinyun was staring at Bernard, and then at the faces of the cultists sitting in rows around her. These people were not here to watch their prophet, Magnus realized. They were gathered here for a spectacle of blood and betrayal.

“But I am one of you,” Shinyun said forcefully. “I belong with you. I am your leader.”

Bernard glanced at Magnus. “With all due respect to the Great Poison, we know how easily a leader can be replaced.”

“What have you done?” Shinyun asked.

Bernard said, “You are not the only one who can communicate with Asmodeus. You are not the only one who can summon demons to serve you.”

“Oh,” said Magnus. “Oh no.”

Bernard continued, with gathering triumph, “He comes when we call!”

Magnus closed his eyes. “Evil always does.”

Outside the pentagram there were cultists screaming, demons roaring, and black shapes against the sky. Inside the pentagram, the loudest sound was Shinyun’s ragged breathing.

“We don’t want any warlock to rule us,” said Bernard. “We want ultimate power, and to host the ultimate parties. So you are both imprisoned in this pentagram and we intend to sacrifice you both to Asmodeus. No offense, Great Poison. This isn’t personal. In fact, you’re something of a style icon of mine.”

“Whatever Asmodeus has promised you, he’s lying,” said Magnus, but Bernard sneered.

Once a Greater Demon was summoned, he would corrupt whomever was in reach. Asmodeus offered temptation none could resist and played games crueler than mortals could dream. No wonder Bernard had looked startled when Magnus had joked about sacrificing Shinyun.

Shinyun had never been the enemy. Shinyun had never been the true leader of the Crimson Hand. From the moment Magnus had lost control, all those years ago, it had been Asmodeus. It had always only been Asmodeus.

Bernard turned away, trusting the pentagram to keep his quarry trapped. Shinyun raced around the pentagram as if she were on fire. She tried to cast spells to break free, but it was useless. She screamed at the cultists to break the barrier, but they all watched her with the same perfect impassiveness.

At last she wheeled on Magnus and screamed, “Do something!”

“Don’t worry, Shinyun. I know a spell that can break out of all but the most powerful pentagrams.” Magnus waved his hands around for a second, then stopped and shrugged. “Oh yes, I forgot. I could have broken us out, but I lost my powers because someone poisoned me.”

“I hate you,” Shinyun whispered.

“I might add, Cursed Daughter is a terrible nickname,” said Magnus.

“Are you really one to talk?” Shinyun demanded. “Great Poison?”

“That’s fair,” said Magnus. “It was a pun on my name. Magnus Bane? I admit to a weakness for puns—”

Shinyun gasped. A flying demon crashed to earth, landing with a horrible scream among the panicking cultists. The crowds parted and Alec Lightwood emerged, already halfway down the amphitheater steps.

Magnus felt stricken. Unexpected pain could hit in the same way, catching you off guard and rattling your whole universe, but what Magnus felt was not pain.

It was a great explosion of overwhelming emotion: fear for Alec, and love and relief, and a painful desperate joy. Alec, my Alexander. You came for me.

Cultists threw themselves at Alec, and he tossed them aside. For every one he knocked away, three took their place. They were hampering Alec’s progress, but they could not stop him, and neither could any demons of the earth or the air. He was not alone, either: there was a pale-haired girl at his left, and a black-haired girl at his right. Both wielded blades, keeping the throng away from Alec as he fired arrows at another demon, then swept a cultist off his feet with the base of the bow.

Magnus drank in the sight of him: the strong shoulders, wild black hair, and blue eyes. Magnus had always loved this particular shade of blue, the shade of the last instant when the evening was still full of light.

Magnus walked to the shimmering edge of the pentagram. There was something bright rising in him, along with love and hope. He could feel his power coming back, just out of reach.

He stretched out a hand toward Alec, and his fingers were able to breach the shimmering lines of magic, passing through the magic haze as if the magic were water. When he tried to step through to Alec, though, he slammed to a stop as if the magic were a stone wall.

Being able to put his fingertips outside the edge of the pentagram was not going to be very useful.

“None of this matters!” Shinyun’s voice behind Magnus was a roar. “My father is coming! He will strike you down, the faithless who should have been most faithful, the false prophet, the disgusting Nephilim. All of you! He will place me at his side, where I belong.”