Born to Endless Night (Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy, #9)

There was a coin on it, a circle of copper turned dark with age, and two yellowed pieces of paper, turning up at the edges.

“I was going through the papers in Ragnor’s desk when I found this letter,” Catarina said. “It was the only really personal thing in the room. I thought you might like to read it.”

“I would,” said Magnus, and she put it into his hands.

Magnus unfolded the letter and looked at the spiky black writing set deep into the yellow surface, as if the writer had been annoyed by the page itself. He felt as if he were listening to a voice he had thought silenced forever.

To Ragnor Fell, preeminent educator at Shadowhunter Academy, and former High Warlock of London:

I am sorry but not surprised to hear the latest crop of Shadowhunter brats are just as unpromising as the last lot. The Nephilim, lacking imagination and intellectual curiosity? You astonish me.

I enclose a coin etched with a wreath, a symbol of education in the ancient world. I was told a faerie placed good luck on it, and you are certainly going to need luck reforming the Shadowhunters.

I am as ever impressed by your patience and dedication to your job, and your continuing optimism that your students can be taught. I wish I could have your bright outlook on life, but unfortunately I cannot help looking around at the world and noticing that we are surrounded by idiots. If I were teaching Nephilim children I imagine I would sometimes feel forced to speak to them sharply and occasionally feel forced to drain them entirely of blood.

(Note to any Nephilim illegally reading Mr. Fell’s letters and invading his privacy: I am, naturally, joking. I have a very droll personality.)

You ask how life in New York is and I can only report the usual: smelly, crowded, and populated almost entirely by maniacs. I was almost knocked over by a party of warlocks and werewolves on Bowery Street. One particular warlock was in the front, waving a glittering purple ladies’ feather boa over his head like a flag. I am so embarrassed to know him. Sometimes I pretend to other Downworlders that I do not. I hope they believe me.

The main reason I am writing to you is, of course, so that we may continue your Spanish lessons. I enclose a fresh list of vocabulary words, and assure you that you are coming along very well. If you should ever make the terrible decision to accompany a certain badly dressed warlock of our acquaintance to Peru again, this time you will be prepared.

Yours most sincerely,

Raphael Santiago

“Ragnor would not have known the Academy was going to be shut down after Valentine’s Circle attacked the Clave,” Catarina said. “He kept the letter so he could learn the Spanish, and then he was never able to come back for it. From the letter, though, it seems like they wrote to each other quite frequently. Ragnor must have burned the others, since they contained comments that would have gotten Raphael Santiago into trouble. I know Ragnor was fond of that sharp-tongued little vampire.” She leaned her cheek against Magnus’s shoulder. “I know you were, as well.”

Magnus shut his eyes for a moment and remembered Raphael, who he had once done a favor; Raphael, who had died for him in return. He had known him when he was first turned, a snippy child with a will of iron, and known him through the years as Raphael led a vampire clan in all but name.

Magnus had never known Ragnor when Ragnor was young. Ragnor had been older than Magnus and, by the time Magnus met him, had become perpetually cranky. Ragnor had been yelling at kids to get off his lawn before lawns were invented. He had always been kind to Magnus, willing to fall in with any of Magnus’s schemes as long as he could complain throughout while they did it.