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

“If the baby needs a bed,” George offered, “Simon and I could keep him in our sock drawer.”


Simon gave George an appalled glare. George looked distressed.

Alec Lightwood moved like a shadow through the crowds of students, head and shoulders above most of them but not shoving anyone aside. He moved quietly, persistently, until he was where he wanted to be: at Magnus’s side.

When Magnus saw Alec, his whole body relaxed. Simon had not even been aware of the tension running all through Magnus’s frame until he saw the moment when ease returned.

“This is the warlock child Simon was talking about,” Alec said in a low voice, and nodded toward the baby.

“As you see,” said Magnus. “The baby would not be able to pass for a mundane. His mother clearly does not want him. He is in a nest of the Nephilim, and I cannot think, among faeries or Shadowhunters or werewolves, where in the world he could possibly belong.”

Magnus’s calm and amusement had seemed infinite until a few minutes ago. Now Simon heard his voice fraying, a rope on which too much strain had been put, and which must soon snap.

Alec put a hand on Magnus’s upper arm, just above the elbow. He clasped Magnus’s arm firmly, almost absently providing silent support. He looked up at Magnus and then looked down, for a long, thoughtful moment, at the baby.

“Can I hold him?” Alec asked.

Surprise flew over Magnus’s face but did not linger. “Sure,” he said, and put the baby in Alec’s arms, held out to receive him.

Maybe it was that Alec had held a baby more recently than Magnus had, and certainly more often than George. Maybe it was that Alec was wearing what seemed to be an incredibly ancient sweater, worn soft with years and faded from dark green to gray, with only traces remaining of the original color.

Whatever the reason, as soon as Alec took the baby, the continuous soft whimpering noise ceased. There was still the buzzing of urgent whispers, up and down the hall, but the small group surrounding the child suddenly found themselves in a pocket of hushed silence.

The baby gazed up at Alec with grave eyes only a shade darker than Alec’s own. Alec gazed back at the baby. He looked as surprised as anyone else by the baby’s sudden hush.

“So,” said Delaney Scarsbury. “Should we contact the Clave and put this matter before them, or what?”

Magnus turned in a whirl of gold and fixed Scarsbury with a look that made him shrink back against the wall.

“I do not intend to leave a warlock child to the tender mercies of the Clave,” Magnus declared, his voice extremely cold. “We have this, don’t we, Alec?”

Alec was still looking down at the baby. He glanced up when Magnus addressed him, his face briefly dazed, as a man woken from a dream, but his expression set as with a sudden resolve.

“Yeah,” he answered. “We do.”

Magnus mirrored the move Alec had made before, clasping Alec’s upper arm in silent thanks, or a show of support. Alec returned to looking down at the baby.

It felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off Simon’s chest. It was not that he had been truly worried that he and George would have to raise the baby in their sock drawer—well, possibly a little worried—but the specter of a huge responsibility had loomed before him. This was a helpless, abandoned little child. Simon knew, all too well, how Downworlders were viewed by Shadowhunters. Simon had had no idea what to do. Magnus had taken the responsibility. He had taken the baby from them, both metaphorically and in actuality. He had not turned a hair as he did it. He had not acted as if it were a big deal at all.

Magnus was a really cool guy.

Simon knew Isabelle had slept over in Alicante, so she and Alec would both be with her father for one night. She was going down to the house where Ragnor Fell had once lived, where there was a working telephone. Catarina had set up another telephone in the Academy she said he could use this once. They had a telephone date. Simon was planning to tell her how cool Magnus and her brother had been.