The Lost Book of the White (The Eldest Curses #2) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,6

“if I ask you about the nature of that project. Last time I saw you, Shinyun, my boyfriend was releasing you from imprisonment, in the hope that you’d learned an important lesson about working with Greater Demons, Princes of Hell, and the like. Specifically, we hoped that you’d learned not to work with them in future.” The category of Greater Demons was broad—it included many types of intelligent fiends. Princes of Hell were far more powerful—they were former angels who had fallen when they fought on the side of Lucifer in the rebellion.

“Obviously,” said Shinyun with a haughty air, “I no longer serve a Greater Demon.”

Magnus let out a slow breath of relief.

“I serve,” said Shinyun, “the Greatest Demon!”

There was a pause.

“Capitalism?” hazarded Magnus. “You and Ragnor have started a small business and you’re looking for investors.”

“I serve the greatest of the Nine now,” said Shinyun in a gloating, triumphant tone that Magnus remembered well and hadn’t liked the first time around either. “The Maker of the Way! The Eater of Worlds! The Reaper of Souls!”

“The Wonder from Down Under?” suggested Magnus. “And Ragnor? Old buddy? Where are you on world-eating?”

“I’ve come around to being in favor of it,” Ragnor said.

“I should have mentioned earlier,” said Shinyun. “Ragnor is entirely under the thrall of my master. And my master has given him the gift of the Svefnthorn.” From a scabbard at her side she drew a long, ugly iron spike, barbed along its blade and ending in a sharp point that was wickedly twisted like a corkscrew. It looked like a very goth fireplace poker.

Magnus’s self-control snapped.

“Give me the baby, Ragnor,” Magnus said. He got up and made for his friend.

“It’s very simple, Magnus,” said Ragnor, shielding Max from Magnus’s grasp. “Sammael, ruler of Greater Demons, the greatest of the Princes of Hell, is inevitably guaranteed to finish the job he started a thousand years ago, briefly interrupted by the nuisance of the Shadowhunters, and rule this realm, as he has ruled others. The inevitability of his victory,” he went on conversationally, “has—how should I put it—twisted my will with its nigh-infinite strength? Yes, that describes it quite well, I think.”

“So faking your own death was basically pointless,” said Magnus.

“Shinyun found me,” Ragnor admitted. “She was very highly motivated.”

Magnus had almost reached Ragnor, but Shinyun closed the distance shockingly quickly and held Magnus at Svefnthorn-point. Magnus stopped short and held up his hands in the classic pose of nonthreatening surrender. His heart was pounding. It was hard to concentrate while Ragnor had his hands on Max.

“You don’t understand,” Shinyun said. “We’re not stealing the Book of the White from you. We’re giving you something in exchange. Something even more valuable.”

And with a jolt she jabbed the Svefnthorn into Magnus’s chest.

It sank into his chest without any resistance from bone or muscle. Magnus felt no pain at all, nor any desire to move, even as the thorn pierced his heart. There was only a sort of terrible lassitude. He could sense his heart beating around the thorn. He didn’t want to look down, didn’t want to see it sticking out of his chest.

Part of him couldn’t believe Ragnor was here, watching this. Watching, and not doing anything about it.

Shinyun leaned forward and gave Magnus a kiss on the cheek. She twisted the thorn a half-turn, like the dial on a safe, then withdrew it. It exited as painlessly as it had entered, leaving a trail of cold red flames emerging from his chest in its wake. Magnus touched the flames, which passed through his fingers harmlessly. The wound didn’t hurt.

The lassitude was beginning to clear. “What have you done?” Magnus said.

“As I said,” Shinyun said, “I’ve given you a great gift. The first part of it, anyway. And in exchange… we’ll be taking the Book of the White.”

“I told you—” Magnus began.

“Yes, but I knew you were lying,” said Shinyun, “because I already have the Book. I retrieved it from your child’s bedroom before I made myself known to you. As one would. If one were not stupid.”

“Don’t take it to heart, Magnus,” Ragnor said sympathetically. “Sammael’s very will is bound up with the Book of the White, and his servants feel a constant pull toward its presence.”

Magnus had not known that, in fact, and would probably have left the Book of the White somewhere safer than among a pile of his son’s picture books if he had. “I could do things to stop you leaving with the Book,” he said,