“This includes killing mundanes and leaving their bodies out on the sidewalk?”
Camille was no longer listening. She had dropped the dresses onto the bed and was picking though a pile of earrings. Meanwhile Sarah was attempting to crawl in Camille’s direction. Without even looking at her, Camille set a mirror full of white powder down on the floor. Sarah went right for it and began sniffing it up.
And then Magnus understood.
While human drugs didn’t quite work on Downworlders, there was no telling what would happen when that drug was run through a human circulatory system and then ingested through the human blood.
It all made sense. The disarray. The confused behavior. The frenzied feeding in the clubs. The fact that they all looked so ill, that their personalities seemed to have changed. He’d seen this a thousand times in mundanes.
Camille was looking at him now, her gaze unwavering.
“Come out with us tonight, Magnus,” she cooed. “You are a man who knows a good time. I am a woman who provides a good time. Come out with us.”
“Camille, you have to stop. You have to know how dangerous this is.”
“It’s not going to kill me, Magnus. That’s quite impossible. And you don’t understand how it feels.”
“The drug can’t kill you, but other things can. If you continue like this, you know there are people out there who can’t let you go on murdering mundanes. Someone will act.”
“Let them try,” she said. “I could take on ten Shadowhunters once I’ve had some of this.”
“It may not be—”
Camille dropped to the floor before he could finish and buried her face into Sarah’s neck. Sarah flailed once and groaned, then became silent and motionless. He heard the sickening sound of the drinking, the sucking. Camille lifted her head, blood all around her mouth, running down her chin.
“Are you coming or not?” she said. “I would simply love to take you to Studio 54. You’ve never had a night out like one of our nights out.”
Magnus had to force himself to keep looking at her like this.
“Let me help you. A few hours, a few days—I could get this out of your system.”
Camille dragged the back of her hand across her mouth, smearing the blood onto her cheek.
“If you’re not coming along, then stay out of our way. Consider this a polite warning, Magnus. Dolly!”
Dolly was already at the door. “Think you’re done here,” she said.
Magnus watched Camille sink her teeth into Sarah again.
“Yes,” he said. “I think I am.”
Outside, a downpour was in progress. The doorman held an umbrella over Magnus’s head and hailed him a cab. The incongruity of the civility downstairs and what he’d seen upstairs was . . .
It wasn’t to be thought about. Magnus got into the cab, gave his destination, and closed his eyes. The rain drummed onto the cab. It felt like the rain was beating directly onto his brain.
Magnus wasn’t surprised to find Lincoln sitting on the steps by his door. Wearily he waved him inside.
“Well?” Lincoln said.
“It’s not good,” Magnus replied, pulling off his wet jacket. “It’s the drugs. They’re feeding on the blood of people who are taking drugs. It must be escalating their need and lowering their impulse control.”
“You’re right,” Lincoln said. “That isn’t good. I thought it might have something to do with the drugs, but I thought they were immune to things like addiction.”
Magnus poured them each a glass of wine, and they sat and listened to the rain for a moment.
“Can you help her?” Lincoln asked.
“If she lets me. But you can’t cure an addict who doesn’t want to be cured.”
“No,” Lincoln said. “I’ve seen that myself with our own. But you understand . . . we can’t let this behavior continue.”
“I know you can’t.”
Lincoln finished his wine and set the glass down gently.
“I’m sorry, Magnus. I really am. But if it happens again, you need to leave it to us.”
Magnus nodded. Lincoln gave him a squeeze on the shoulder, then let himself out.
For the next several days Magnus kept to himself. The weather was brutal, flicking between heat and storm. He tried to forget about the scene in Camille’s apartment, and the best way to forget was to keep busy. He hadn’t really kept up with his work for the last two years. There were clients to call. There were spells to study and translations to do. Books to read. The apartment needed redecorating. There were new restaurants and new bars and new people. . . .