The Lost Book of the White (The Eldest Curses #2) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,47

I think our next step is research,” Tian said. “Tomorrow we go to the Sunlit Market. I have contacts there. We can start with Peng Fang—”

Magnus let out a loud groan.

“He’s not so bad,” Alec said.

“I guess I’d take him over Sammael,” Magnus allowed.

“There are a few others,” Tian said, “and the Celestial Palace, for research materials.”

“Not the Institute library?” Alec said in surprise.

Tian shrugged. “The Institute library has been carefully curated and contains useful books known to be true. The Celestial Palace contains dark corners with books full of rumors and innuendos. I suspect we’ll have a better time there.”

“I do love rumors and innuendos,” said Magnus.

“You should go to see Mo Ye and Gan Jiang,” put in Yun. Tian furrowed his brow.

“What?” said Alec.

“Faerie weaponsmiths,” Tian said. “They work by… appointment only. Grandmother, I don’t know if weapons are what is—”

“If the horde of Diyu is returning,” said Yun severely, “then you will need more than seraph blades. Mo Ye and Gan Jiang knew the fight against Yanluo and his brood for hundreds of years before any of us were born. Even you,” she added with a nod to Magnus.

“They may know about the Svefnthorn, also, if they’re weaponsmiths. So here’s the list of things we need to look into, if I have this correct,” said Alec, ticking them off on his fingers. “Shinyun, Ragnor, Diyu, Yanluo, Sammael, the Portal to Diyu, the Svefnthorn, the Book of the White, some other magic book maybe.”

“Well,” said Magnus pleasantly, “that sounds like a very busy day, and I will need a good night’s rest for it. Alec and I must call home now to check on how our son is doing, so I take my leave of you for the night. Alec?”

They thanked Yun for her hospitality again, and Magnus, still not uncrossing his arms, led the way across the courtyard to his bedroom. Alec followed, an uncertain foreboding in his chest.

* * *

AS SOON AS THE BEDROOM door was closed, Magnus turned and pushed Alec against it, hard. He kissed him fiercely, drowning himself in the taste of Alec, the feel of Alec’s stubble against his mouth (Alec thought it was messy, but Magnus was kind of a fan), the strength of Alec’s arms as they reached up to hold the back of Magnus’s head and help deepen the kiss.

When he pulled away, Alec’s bright blue eyes were surprised and glinting, his mouth an adorable curl. “That was unexpected.”

“I missed you,” said Magnus, out of breath, and Alec, bless him, didn’t ask him what that meant, didn’t say that they had been together this whole time, but only kissed him back. Without breaking the kiss, Magnus reached for the base of Alec’s throat and started unzipping his gear jacket. Alec, laughing, reached for the buttons of Magnus’s shirt and began undoing them. Magnus kissed Alec’s throat, and Alec let out a small pleased moan, but continued to carefully and fastidiously undo the buttons, his hands trembling slightly. That was Alec all over. Magnus thought with amusement of the first time Alec had torn his shirt open, early in their relationship. He always remembered Alec’s adorable look of surprise, as if he hadn’t been able to believe he’d ripped someone’s shirt off.

Alec began to kiss his way down Magnus’s neck, gentle but urgent. Magnus wondered, distantly, what he would do when he reached the wound the thorn had made, which continued to roil with scarlet magic. He pushed the thought down and bent his head to ruffle his hands through Alec’s beautiful black hair and plant a kiss on the sensitive spot behind his ear. Alec murmured wordlessly and pulled back to take his jacket fully off and drop it to the floor. He grinned at Magnus and helped him shrug off his shirt as well.

Alec stopped and stared. But not, Magnus realized, at the wound. Instead he looked back and forth with sudden alarm at Magnus’s arms. The warm, tugging insistence that had been spreading through Magnus’s body as he kissed Alec was replaced abruptly by a cold feeling, like an ice cube slowly sliding down his throat and into his stomach.

“What?” he said. And extended his arms to look, and saw.

In the middle of each of his palms was the outline of a star, like the spiked end of—well, a flail. Extending from each star, interlocking loops ran down the insides of both his arms, angry and red and blistered.

Alec reached out, unsettled and breathing hard, and with