The demon shrugged, a peculiarly human gesture. “You forced me to tell the truth. I told it.”
“Wel , then, have you ever heard of a demon like the one I was describing?” Wil broke in, a tinge of desperation in his voice. “Dark blue, with a raspy sort of voice, like sandpaper—and he had a long, barbed tail.”
The demon regarded him with a bored expression. “Do you have any idea how many kinds of demons there are in the Void, Nephilim?
Hundreds upon hundreds of millions. The great demon city of Pandemonium makes your London look like a village. Demons of all shapes and sizes and colors. Some can change their appearance at will—”
“Oh, be quiet, then, if you’re not going to be of any use,” Magnus said, and slammed the book shut. Instantly the candles went out, the demon vanishing with a startled cry, leaving behind only a wisp of foul-smel ing smoke.
The warlock turned to Wil . “I was so sure I had the right one this time.”
“It’s not your fault.” Wil flung himself onto one of the divans shoved up against the wal . He felt hot and cold at the same time, his nerves prickling with a disappointment he was trying to force back without much success. He pul ed his gloves off restlessly and shoved them into the pockets of his stil buttoned coat. “You’re trying. Thammuz was right. I haven’t given you very much to go on.”
“I assume,” Magnus said quietly, “that you have told me al you remember. You opened a Pyxis and released a demon. It cursed you. You want me to find that demon and see if it wil remove the curse. And that is al you can tel me?”
“It is al I can tel you,” said Wil . “It would hardly benefit me to hold anything back unnecessarily, when I know what I’m asking. For you to find a needle in—God, not even a haystack. A needle in a tower ful of other needles.”
“Plunge your hand into a tower of needles,” said Magnus, “and you are likely to cut yourself badly. Are you real y sure this is what you want?”
“I am sure that the alternative is worse,” said Wil , staring at the blackened place on the floor where the demon had crouched. He was exhausted.
The energy rune he’d given himself that morning before leaving for the Council meeting had worn off by noon, and his head throbbed. “I have had five years to live with it. The idea of living with it for even one more frightens me more than the idea of death.”
“You are a Shadowhunter; you are not afraid of death.”
“Of course I am,” said Wil . “Everyone is afraid of death. We may be born of angels, but we have no more knowledge of what comes after death than you do.”
Magnus moved closer to him and sat down on the opposite side of the divan. His green-gold eyes shone like a cat’s in the dimness. “You don’t know that there is only oblivion after death.”
“You don’t know that there isn’t, do you? Jem believes we are al reborn, that life is a wheel. We die, we turn, we are reborn as we deserve to be reborn, based on our doings in this world.” Wil looked down at his bitten nails. “I wil probably be reborn as a slug that someone salts.”
“The Wheel of Transmigration,” said Magnus. His lips twitched into a smile. “Wel , think of it this way. You must have done something right in your last life, to be reborn as you were. Nephilim.”
“Oh, yes,” said Wil in a dead tone. “I’ve been very lucky.” He leaned his head back against the divan, exhausted. “I take it you’l be needing more .
. . ingredients? I think Old Mol over at Cross Bones is getting sick of the sight of me.”
“I have other connections,” said Magnus, clearly taking pity on him, “and I need to do more research first. If you could tel me the nature of the curse—”
“No.” Wil sat up. “I can’t. I told you before, I took a great risk even in tel ing you of its existence. If I told you any more—”
“Then what? Let me guess. You don’t know, but you’re sure it would be bad.”
“Don’t start making me think coming to you was a mistake—”
“This has something to do with Tessa, doesn’t it?”
Over the past five years Wil had trained himself wel not to show emotion—surprise, affection, hopefulness, joy. He was fairly sure his expression didn’t change, but he heard the strain in his voice when he said, “Tessa?”
“It’s been five years,” said Magnus. “Yet somehow you have managed al this time, tel ing no one. What desperation drove you to me, in the middle of the night, in a rainstorm? What has changed at the Institute? I can think of only one thing—and quite a pretty one, with big gray eyes—”
Wil got to his feet so abruptly, he nearly tipped the divan over. “There are other things,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. “Jem is dying.”
Magnus looked at him, a cool, even stare. “He has been dying for years,” he said. “No curse laid on you could cause or repair his condition.”