That poor child. Magnus had hardly been able to look at him, he was so small and so entirely helpless. He could not do anything but think of how vulnerable the child was, and how deep the misery and pain of his mother must have been. He knew what kind of darkness warlocks were conceived under and born into. Catarina had been brought up by a loving family who had known what she was, and raised her to be who she was. Magnus had been able to pass for human, until he was not.
Magnus knew what happened to warlock children who were born visibly not human, who their mothers and the whole world could not bring themselves to accept. He could not calculate how many children there might have been down all the dark ages of the world, who could have been magical, who could have been immortal, but had never gotten the chance to live at all. Children abandoned as this one had been, or drowned as Magnus himself had almost been, children who never left a bright magical mark in history, who never received or gave love, who were never anything but a whisper fading on the wind, a memory of pain and despair fading into the dark. Nothing else was left of those lost children, not a spell, not a laugh, not a kiss.
Without luck, Magnus would have been among the lost. Without love, Catarina and Ragnor would have been among the lost.
Magnus had no idea what to do with this latest lost child.
He thanked, not for the first time, whatever strange, beautiful fortune had sent him Alec. Alec had been the one who carried the warlock baby up the stairs to the attic, and when Magnus had conjured up a crib, Alec had been the one to place the baby tenderly in it.
Then when the baby had started to scream his little blue head off, Alec had taken the baby out of the crib and walked the floor with him, patting his back and murmuring to him. Magnus called up supplies and tried to make formula milk. He’d read somewhere that you tested how hot the milk was on yourself, and ended up burning his own wrist.
The baby had cried for hours and hours and hours. Magnus supposed he could not blame the small lost soul.
The baby was finally sleeping now that the sun had set through the tiny attic windows, and the whole day was gone. Alec was half sleeping, leaning against the baby’s crib, and Magnus had felt he had to get out. Alec had simply nodded when Magnus said he was stepping out for a breath of air. Possibly Alec had been too exhausted to care what Magnus did.
The moon shone, round as a pearl, turning the stained-glass angel’s hair to silver and the bare winter fields into expanses of light. Magnus was tempted to howl at the moon like a werewolf.
He could not think of anywhere he could take the child, anyone he could entrust the child to who would want it, who might love it. He could scarcely think of anywhere in this hostile world where the child might be safe.
He heard the sound of raised voices and rushing footsteps, this late, out in front of the Academy. Another emergency, Magnus thought. It’s been one day, and at this rate the Academy is going to kill me. He went running from the practice grounds to the front of the door, where he saw the very last person he had ever expected to see here in Idris: Lily Chen, the head of the New York vampire clan, with blue streaks in her hair that matched her blue waistcoat and her high heels leaving deep indentations in the dirt.
“Bane,” she said. “I need help. Where is he?”
Magnus was too tired to argue with her.
“Follow me,” said Magnus, and led the way back up the stairs. Even as he went, he thought to himself that all the noise he had heard outside the Academy could not possibly have been Lily alone.
He thought that, but he did not suspect what was to come.
Magnus had left behind a sleeping child and his worn-out love, and he opened the door on a scene of absolute chaos. For a moment it seemed as if there were a thousand people in his rooms, and then Magnus realized the real situation was far worse.
Every single one of the Lightwood family was there, each one causing enough noise for ten. Robert Lightwood was there, saying something in his booming voice. Maryse Lightwood was holding a bottle and appeared to be waving it around, giving a speech. Isabelle Lightwood was standing on top of a stool for no reason in the world Magnus could see. Jace Herondale was, even more mysteriously, lying flat out on the stone floor, and apparently he’d brought Clary, who looked at Magnus as if she were puzzled by her presence here as well.
Alec was standing in the middle of the room, in the middle of the human storm that was his family, holding the baby protectively to his chest. Magnus could not believe it was possible for his heart to sink further, but it somehow struck him as the greatest disaster in the world that the baby was awake.
Magnus stopped on the threshold, staring at the chaos, feeling entirely uncertain about what to do next.
Lily had no such hesitation.
“LIGHTWOOD!” Lily bellowed, charging in.
“Ah yes, Lily Chen, I believe?” said Robert Lightwood, turning to her with the dignity of the Inquisitor and no sign of surprise. “I remember you were interim representative for the vampires on the Council for a time. Glad to see you again. What can I do for you?”
Robert was obviously doing his best to show every courtesy to an important vampire leader. Magnus appreciated that, a little.
Lily did not care. “Not you!” she snapped. “Who even are you?”
Thick black brows shot up to the sky.
“I’m the Inquisitor?” said Robert. “I was the head of the New York Institute for over a decade?”
Lily rolled her dark eyes. “Oh, congratulations, do you want a medal? I need Alexander Lightwood, obviously,” said Lily, and swanned past a staring Robert and Maryse to their son. “Alec! You know that faerie dealer, Mordecai? He’s been selling fruit to mundanes at the edge of Central Park. Again! He’s at it again! And then Elliott bit a mundane who had partaken.”
“Did he reveal his vampire nature to anyone while intoxicated?” Robert asked sharply.
Lily gave him a withering look, as if wondering why he was still here, then returned her attention to Alec. “Elliott performed a dance called the Dance of the Twenty-Eight Veils in Times Square. It is on YouTube. Many commenters described it as the most boring erotic dance ever performed in the history of the world. I have never been so embarrassed in my unlife. I’m thinking of quitting being leader of the clan and becoming a vampire nun.”
Magnus noticed Maryse and Robert, who did not have the best relationship and hardly ever spoke to each other, having a brief whispered consultation about what YouTube might be.
“As the current head of the New York Institute,” Maryse said, with an attempt at firmness, “if there is illegal Downworlder activity happening, it should be reported to me.”
“I do not talk to Nephilim about Downworlder business,” Lily said severely.