So he explained. And she listened. Catarina was a nurse, and a good listener.
“Memory spells,” she said, shaking her head. “Not really my thing. I’m a healer. You’re the one who handles all this kind of stuff. If I do it wrong . . .”
“You won’t.”
“I might.”
“I trust you. Here.”
He handed Catarina the folded piece of paper. On it was a list of every time he’d seen Camille in New York. Every time in the entire twentieth century. These were the things that had to go.
“You know, there’s a reason we can remember,” she said more softly.
“That’s much easier when your life has an expiration date.”
“It may be more important for us.”
“I loved her,” he said. “I can’t take what I saw.”
“Magnus . . .”
“Either you do this or I attempt to do it on myself.”
Catarina sighed and nodded. She examined the paper for several moments, then took hold of Magnus’s temples very gently.
“You remember you’re lucky to have me, right?” she said.
“Always.”
Five minutes later Magnus was puzzled to find Catarina sitting beside him on the sofa.
“Catarina? What—”
“You were sleeping,” she said. “You left the door open. I let myself in. You have to lock your door. This city is nuts. You may be a warlock, but that doesn’t mean you won’t get your stereo stolen.”
“I usually lock it,” Magnus said, rubbing his eyes. “I didn’t even realize I fell asleep. How did you know I was—”
“You called me and said you were home and wanted to go out for pizza.”
“I did? What time is it?”
“Time for pizza,” she replied.
“I called you?”
“Uh-huh.” She stood and put out a hand to help him up. “And you’ve been back for two weeks and just called me tonight, so you’re in trouble. You sounded sorry on the phone but not sorry enough. More groveling will be needed.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I was . . .”
Magnus struggled for the words. What had he been doing the last couple of weeks? Working. Calling clients. Dancing with handsome strangers. Something else too, but he couldn’t quite think of it. It didn’t matter.
“Pizza,” she said again, pulling him to his feet.
“Pizza. Sure. Sounds good.”
“Hey,” she said as he was locking the door. “Have you heard anything about Camille recently?”
“Camille? I haven’t seen her in at least . . . eighty years? Something like that? Why are you asking about Camille?”
“No reason,” she said. “Her name just popped into my mind. By the way, you’re buying.”
What to Buy the Shadowhunter Who Has Everything
(And Who You’re Not Officially Dating Anyway)
By Cassandra Clare and Sarah Rees Brennan
“Is Alec your lover?” asked Elyaas the tentacle demon.
Magnus stared. He was not ready for anyone to say “lover” to him with an oozing note of slime beneath the word. He felt he would never be ready.
–What to Buy the Shadowhunter Who Has Everything (And Who You’re Not Officially Dating Anyway)
Magnus woke up with the slow golden light of midday filtering through his window, and his cat sleeping on his head.
Chairman Meow sometimes expressed his affection in this unfortunate way. Magnus gently but very firmly disentangled the cat from his hair, tiny claws doing even more damage as the Chairman was dislodged with a long sad cry of feline discomfort.
Then the cat jumped onto the pillow, apparently fully recovered from his ordeal, and leaped from the bed. He hit the floor with a soft thump and dashed with a rallying cry to the food bowl.
Magnus rolled over in bed so that he was lying across the mattress sideways. The window overlooking his bed was stained glass. Diamonds of gold and green drifted over his sheets, resting warmly against his bare skin. He lifted his head from the pillow he was clutching and then realized what he was doing: searching the air for a trace of the smell of coffee.