The Lost Book of the White (The Eldest Curses #2) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,25
good, of course. But there was a certain blood-and-thunder machismo that could creep in uncomfortably around the edges of Shadowhunter culture. Valentine had wielded that narrative of inborn strength, of supremacy, like a weapon. It was an attitude that always threatened to resurface among the Nephilim. Bending and twisting himself to fit inside it had nearly broken Jace. If it hadn’t been for Alec, Isabelle, and Clary…
The Tracking rune had led them into one of the remaining pockets of old Shanghai, from before the wide boulevards and the shining silver malls. They had to walk in single file to avoid blocking the way for pedestrians and cyclists. And it was still crowded here, too, everywhere a flow of people, bicycles, animals, like a rushing river, in a way that reminded Magnus of a dozen cities he’d been to that were always the same and yet always new. Shanghai, Singapore, Hong Kong, Bangkok, Jakarta, Tokyo, New York…
Magnus hadn’t told anyone yet, but he felt something within the glowing crack in his chest, a swelling node of magic. Not evil magic, he thought. Not even alien magic. His own magic, pooling within him. It was creating a kind of aura at the edges of his vision, bright blue and sparkling. The aura seemed to pull and bend in response to other auras that Magnus wasn’t otherwise aware of.
He wasn’t sure how to bring it up. He guessed they would find Ragnor, then through Ragnor find Shinyun, and hopefully she would explain the phenomenon to him. Or he hoped it could wait until they could do some research tomorrow.
Clary was examining a series of signs covered in felt-tip handwriting, tacked up to the windows of a closed storefront. Magnus gestured above them. “It’s a hair salon. That’s just their menu.”
“Isabelle,” Simon stage-whispered. “Can we take home one of the chickens?”
“Yes,” said Isabelle. “You can take home as many as you can catch.”
“Don’t encourage him,” said Clary. To Magnus she said, “Is this the kind of place Ragnor would be?”
Magnus looked around at the narrow lanes, the concrete walls tacked with notices and ads and stenciled graffiti; he could smell animals and food and garbage and people living too close together, everything unchanged for decades in a place that seemed to be transforming itself hourly. “This is not really where Ragnor would live,” he said slowly. “But it is exactly where Ragnor would hide.”
“Unless he knows we’re coming,” said Jace.
“If he knows we’re coming,” said Magnus, “why would he stay in Shanghai at all? He’s an expert in dimensional magic. He could Portal anywhere. He could go to the Spiral Labyrinth and hide, if he wanted to. They don’t know he’s being… controlled, or whatever it is.”
“But the Tracking rune makes it clear he is still in Shanghai,” said Alec. “So he doesn’t know we’re coming.”
“Or,” said Jace, “he wants to be found.”
Magnus hadn’t thought of that, but he agreed it was a possibility. Being in thrall to Sammael and being friendly toward Magnus were not necessarily incompatible, at least not in the mind of Shinyun, and maybe not in the mind of Ragnor, either.
On the other hand, did Ragnor expect him to arrive with five Shadowhunters? One, sure, but five?
He was getting jumpy. His wound tickled.
The Tracking rune led them to a shabby white apartment building. Spiky black graffiti was splashed across one side, over the peeling paint. Alec in the lead, they went in, following him up two flights of stairs to a dingy apartment door in a dingy carpeted hallway. Magnus was about to knock, but then hesitated.
Alec gave him a look and banged on the door for him. After a moment, it opened, revealing a bald, bearded, goat-legged faerie gentleman who gawked in openmouthed horror at discovering an entire squad of Shadowhunters at his door.
“You can’t come in!” he yelped in Shanghainese, much louder than Magnus would have expected.
“They don’t speak any Chinese,” said Magnus politely in Mandarin. “English, if you please. It’s not like it’s any effort for a faerie.”
The faerie didn’t take his wide eyes off the Shadowhunters. “You can’t come in!” he said in English.
“Hi,” said Alec. “We actually don’t have any business with you at all, and we’re sorry to bother you. We—”
“You’ll never find anything!” the faerie shrieked. “My hands are clean, do you hear me? Clean!”
“I’m sure they are,” said Alec. “We’re looking for a warlock. He’s very easy to recognize. He’s green—”
“All right,” said the faerie. He leaned closer. “If I confess to