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

by Cassandra Clare

Alec stopped and pushed a wayward lock of hair off Magnus’s brow. His touch was light, tender but casual, as if he did not even really realize he was doing it.

If Alec’s feelings did not last, Magnus at least wanted this trip to be a good memory. He hoped this would be a foundation for something more, but if this was all they ever had, Magnus would make it count.

Romance was a lot of work.

Alec was congenitally incapable of turning away from a good cause. It was one of his most appealing qualities.

“I only bring the medium-prized bottles to drink on a dangling platform a thousand feet in the air.”

“If I did, I would only be doing so for attention from a handsome gentleman.”

Carpe diem. Seize the day, not the demons.”

The thought of Magnus, such a bright presence, being put away in the dark made Alec physically flinch.

“Hey, honey,” said Magnus. “What’s new?”

“It’s so weird that there’s an angel Muriel,” Magnus commented. “Muriel sounds like a disapproving piano teacher.”

Magnus gave her a ferociously bright smile. “Unasked-for advice is criticism, my dear.” “Well, your funeral,” said Hypatia. “Wait. Do the Nephilim give you a funeral, after they execute you?”

“We just fought a war together. I was with you in the graveyard when Simon came back as a vampire. You’ve seen me multiple times since I was twelve.” “The thought of you at twelve haunts me,” Raphael said darkly.

The faerie thought for a moment, then ventured, “I can also assume the appearance of a tree!” “I didn’t say, ‘not interested unless you’re a tree.’ ”

Next to it was a theater that he could only describe as a Roman toga orgy room.

and all at once Alec knew how it was to really dance with someone—a thing Alec had never even known to want. He’d always assumed that storybook moments like these were meant for Jace, Isabelle, anyone but him. Yet here he was.

“Oh my God, my cult is so low-rent,” moaned Magnus. “I am deeply shamed. I am disowning my followers for being evil and having no panache.”

“Leon, are you making a pass?” demanded Helen Blackthorn. “Why do you always do this? Stop hitting on people, Leon!” “But life is short, and I am handsome and French,” Leon muttered.

“Wow, there are a lot of cultists,” Aline muttered. “They must have carpooled.”

“Stop telling me to let you go,” said Alec. “I will never listen. I want to be with you. I never wanted anything more in my life. If you fall, I want to fall with you.”

Sunlight flooded across the floorboards and the colorful rugs knotted with scarlet and yellow and blue, gleaming on calfskin-and-gilt spell books and the new coffeemaker Magnus had bought because Alec disapproved of him stealing coffee by summoning it from local bodegas.

The afternoon sun was streaming through the open windows, making the dust in the apartment twinkle and casting a warm glow on their linked hands.

I’ve never loved anybody like this before.