The Lost Book of the White (The Eldest Curses #2) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,130

want you to get mad.”

Clary let out a long, beleaguered breath. “Go ahead. I guess you’ve earned it.”

“Magnus,” Simon said with a smirk. “Nice of you to drop in.”

Clary sighed again.

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” said Magnus. “The good news is I’m here to Portal us back to Earth. The bad news is that I need Ragnor’s help, and he’s taking the stairs all the way down.”

Ragnor, indeed, was strolling down the staircase at a leisurely pace. As Magnus watched, Jace overtook him, which was impressive given that he was walking with a crutch.

The demon horde was beginning to flag, it seemed. New demons appeared from the Portals less and less frequently, and both Jace and Isabelle joined their friends to mop up what remained. Perhaps the demons had noticed Diyu’s imminent collapse and fled for their lives; perhaps once Sammael and Shinyun were gone they had no reason to obey their orders.

Eventually, Ragnor deigned to join them. He and Magnus quickly worked together to set up a Portal; it occurred to Magnus how very much he’d missed working with Ragnor.

And when the Portal opened, he was relieved to see it glow a familiar, cheering blue.

CHAPTER TWENTY The Soul of the Clave

IN 1910, CATARINA LOSS’S SON Ephraim died. By that time, he was an old man with children and grandchildren of his own. Catarina hadn’t seen him for decades; he believed that she’d died when he was only in his thirties, in a shipwreck.

Magnus had been living in New York at the time, in a smart apartment in Manhattan across the street from the old Metropolitan Opera House, the one they tore down in 1967. A telegram came: No. 2, the Bund, Shanghai, it said in Catarina’s hurried hand. So Magnus fetched his gloves and his hat and he went.

Number Two, the Bund, turned out to be the home of the Shanghai Club, a little bit of English elitism dropped right in the heart of China, in the form of a squat marble baroque revival building in which Shanghai’s British elite hobnobbed, drank, and for a short time, essentially ruled the mundane world. The building was new, though the club was not. It was a funny choice for Catarina. She knew as well as Magnus that it was open to white men only. This was Catarina being mischievous, in her way. She sometimes enjoyed glamouring herself into the private spaces of rich mundanes, delighting in her ability to stand totally outside their world, to have a drink with an old friend in the face of those who wouldn’t allow them entrance under normal circumstances.

The whole place was palatial in a way that was also a bit grotesque. Magnus walked through a cavernous columned Grand Hall, past taipans and diplomats, utterly pleased with themselves. And why not? They were living like royalty at the heart of one of the oldest kingdoms in the world. They had no reason to think it would ever end—and at the time, Magnus wondered himself how long it could last. Not much longer, it turned out.

But for now, here were expensive cigars and brandy, fresh newspapers, and a library rumored to be larger than the city of Shanghai’s. Magnus was unsurprised to find Catarina in it.

Though no one but Magnus could see her, she was elegantly put together as always: her dress was a slender column of white satin, with a black lace overlay and butterfly sleeves. A black velvet sash waistband completed the affair. Magnus thought he saw the hand of Paul Poiret, the famous designer, at work; Magnus wondered if Catarina had managed to outdress him.

She was seated in one of the club chairs, gazing at the shelves across from her as though she was studying their spines from a distance, though they were too far for Magnus to read. He sat down in the chair opposite Catarina and said, “So what’s the plan? Are we tearing this whole place down in the name of freedom and equality?”

Catarina looked up at him. There were dark circles beneath her eyes. “I had to watch a man die here once,” she said.

Magnus leaned forward sharply. “What?”

“It was a few years ago,” she said. “I was here, in the library, and a man fell to the ground, writhing in pain. A medic was called, the other club members gathered around their mate, but none of them had any medical training or knew what to do—they argued about whether to elevate his legs or elevate his