The Lost Book of the White (The Eldest Curses #2) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,136

flame. Alec sighed, grabbed a couch cushion, and went to beat the fire out.

“Our other job,” said Magnus, “is to keep Max from burning down this whole building until he’s old enough to control his magic.”

Alec smiled. “After Sammael, that seems almost possible.”

“Bpppft,” said Max.

“Bapak?” Alec said again.

Max frowned in concentration, and then began chewing on the button again.

* * *

MUCH, MUCH LATER, WHEN ALL was dark and quiet in the apartment, and they were all back in their own beds, Magnus awoke from fitful dreams. Very carefully he freed himself from the grasp of Alec’s arm, crept out of bed, threw on a sweater over his silk pajamas, and made his way across the hall and into the other bedroom.

Almost immediately, he saw two very blue eyes peering at him over the edge of the crib. The lurking eyes reminded Magnus of a time he’d seen a hippo lying in wait with its eyes just above the waterline.

Magnus strolled toward the crib. “Hey there, you,” he whispered. “I see someone who shouldn’t be up.”

There was a growing twinkle in the blue eyes, as though Max had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar but was hoping to find a co-conspirator to cut in on his illicit cookie deals. When Magnus approached, Max lifted his arms, in silent demand to be scooped up.

“Who’s a wicked, rule-breaking warlock?” said Magnus, complying with the request. “Who’s my baby?”

Max squealed in delight.

Magnus lifted his son up high. Then he tossed Max into the air in a shower of iridescent blue sparks and watched him laugh, perfectly happy, perfectly trusting that when he came down, his father would catch him.

* * *

THE SOUND OF SONG RUFFLED the calm of Alec’s slumbers. He could’ve easily let himself roll over in their silk sheets and fall back into the luxurious warmth of sleep, but instead he pulled himself to the surface of awareness. He was still drowsy, but the song was sweet, and it made him want to see.

When he slid open the door and peered into Max’s room, he did. Magnus was dressed for comfort at home. In fact, he was wearing one of Alec’s sweaters, the thick worn fabric slipping to one side on his narrower shoulders. As with most things, Magnus made it look good.

“Nina bobo, ni ni bobo,” he was singing in his deep, beautiful voice, an Indonesian lullaby, much older than Magnus himself. He rocked their child in his arms. Max was waving his hands as though to conduct the song, or to catch the firefly-bright and cobalt-blue sparks of magic floating around the room. Magnus was smiling down at Max, a small, tender, and impossibly sweet smile, even as he sang.

Alec meant to let them be and return to bed, but Magnus paused in his song and tossed Alec a glance as though he knew he’d been watching.

Alec leaned in the doorway of the bedroom, resting his hand over his head against the doorframe. “Is that your bapak?” he said to Max.

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.

Epilogue

IN A PLACE BEYOND PLACE, the Princes of Hell gathered.

A request had come, making the veils of the worlds reverberate with the sound of their brother’s voice. That it was a request, and not a command, was itself surprising.

Some came out of loyalty. Some out of curiosity. Some came because if the others were coming, they were certainly coming as well.

“I know we don’t talk much,” Sammael began.

They settled down and gave him their attention. They were a motley sort of crew, he had to admit, from Belial—appearing, as he most often did, as a beautiful pale-haired man—to Leviathan, who was more of a dark green serpent, with sleek scales and arms that could be charitably described as tentacle-adjacent.

“I know we mostly go our own ways,” Sammael went on. “We only see one another to fight, over territory, over power. That’s how it’s been, since the beginning.”

That was how it was at present, as well. Belphegor and Belial had ignored each other completely since they arrived, each refusing to acknowledge the other’s existence. Leviathan and Mammon had decided to sit in the same chair, each arguing that it was the only cosmically large chair present and as the most sizable of the princes he deserved it more.

Sammael considered explaining to them that the chair was only a metaphysical construct and