The Lost Book of the White (The Eldest Curses, #2)

by Cassandra Clare

Strange, to touch someone’s life and for them not to remember it.

Magnus sighed. “Every warlock’s life starts as a tragedy. There are no love stories in any warlock’s origins. But you get to choose. You choose what kind of world you live in.”

Someone, long ago, had told Magnus that human beings could never love the way immortals loved; their souls didn’t have the strength for it. That person had never met Alec Lightwood, nor anyone like him, Magnus thought, and their lives must have been the poorer for it.

Simon yawned. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I could use some sleep. It’s been a long day for me—dim sum, the Market, being hung from chains and lacerated with magic flying knives. I know that’s a normal weeknight for most of you, but I’m pretty worn-out.”

Jace shook his head, smiling. “We all know the main thing I have going for me is my sumptuous, lithe physicality. Without that,” he added, “who am I?”

“All the stories are true,” Alec murmured to himself, and Magnus heard and quirked his mouth in a small smile.

His beautiful eyes looked directly into Magnus’s. “Just keep it in mind. You’re my heart, Magnus Bane. Stay unbroken, for me.”

After some consideration, Max said, “Bapak.” The look Magnus gave Alec was golden as a coin, as Nephilim wedding cloth, as the morning light through the windows of home.