The Red Scrolls of Magic (The Eldest Curses, #1)

by Cassandra Clare

Each time he finished a postcard, Alec wrote Wish you were here at the end. And each time, Magnus snatched the card and wrote, with a flourish, Except not really.

Magnus wondered if he would ever get used to being surprised by Alec Lightwood. He hoped not.

He had discovered a swimming pool next to the river. For some reason the people of Paris had built a place to swim next to a place they could swim. Mundanes were strange.

“Attacking is what demons usually do,” said Magnus. “If it was after me specifically, I assume it was jealous of my style and charm.”

“I don’t really like parties either,” Alec said sympathetically. “No hablo italiano,” the boy mumbled without looking up. “Er,” said Alec. “This conversation is happening in English.” “No hablo ingles,” he said without missing a beat. “Oh, come on. Really?” “Worth a shot,” said the boy.

“Good reflexes!” she said brightly. “Also great arms. Would you be interested in a night of tumultuous forbidden passion, with an option to extend to seven years?” “Um, I am gay,” Alec said.

Alec pointed to the left, puzzlement flashing on his face. “Why is there a fully stocked bar next to the sacrificial altar?” Magnus gave up. “This is definitely my cult, isn’t it?” He paused. “I hope the altar was a later addition.” “Maybe not,” said Alec. “There might be another warlock who would have wanted a wet bar next to their blood altar.” “Well, if there is, he should introduce himself,” said Magnus. “I think we would get along.”

Magnus crossed his arms and raised his voice and his eyebrows. “You can poison me and throw me in a dungeon. You can beat me and even sacrifice me to a Greater Demon. But I draw the line at wearing a white suit for an evening event.”