The Lost Book of the White (The Eldest Curses #2) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,60

of Hell. The Prince of Hell.”

“Not—” began Magnus.

“No,” said Fang immediately. “Not him. But close. Sammael.”

Alec did his best not to react at all. “Sammael?” he said, chuckling. “Everyone knows Sammael is gone. Has been for—well, basically forever.”

“So he’s dead,” said Fang, though that hadn’t been exactly what Alec had said. “So am I, but that hasn’t stopped me running a successful international business concern, has it now? You know as well as I do that you can’t keep a Prince of Hell down forever. For a while, sure. For longer than I or even you,” he added, gesturing at Magnus, “have been around, definitely. But not forever. And Sammael is, after all, the Maker of the Way.”

“The what?” said Alec.

Fang looked impatient. “The Finder of Paths? The World-Burrower? The Render of Veils? Any of this ringing a bell?”

“Not at all,” Alec said.

Fang made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat and drained the rest of his drink. “What do they teach these Shadowhunters? Sammael, he’s the guy who opened the paths from the demon realms into this world in the first place. He weakened the wards of the world, or that’s what they say.” He reached down for the decanter and refilled his goblet. “So,” he went on, “when things go wrong with Portals, naturally people start talking about how Sammael is the source of it.”

“Do you believe that?” Magnus said.

Peng Fang smiled. “I don’t believe anything unless I get paid for it, Magnus Bane. I’ve found that to be a good way to keep my head on my shoulders and stakes out of my chest.”

“We’re also looking for a couple of warlocks,” Magnus said. “A Korean woman and a green fellow with horns.”

“Oh,” said Fang with a distinct change of mood. “Them.”

“You’ve seen them?” Alec said, trying not to sound too eager.

“Everyone’s seen them,” Fang said. He sounded grumpy. “They’ve been all over the Market for months. The woman for longer. Nobody likes them much, but they spend like sailors on leave, and they look like they’d kill you just as soon as look at you.”

“What have they been buying?” Magnus said.

“Now normally,” Fang said, running his finger around the rim of his goblet, “that kind of information would cost you.”

“I—”

“But the answer is so simple I can’t in good conscience charge you. What haven’t they been buying? Spell components, plain and fancy. Random antique spell books no one’s used in hundreds of years. Cheap blood in bulk.”

“Have they bought anything from you?” Magnus said.

“Well now,” Peng Fang said, a gleam in his eye, “that would cost you. But it doesn’t really matter. None of the really serious blood magic is accessible to them without some pretty powerful spells. As long as they don’t have the Book of the White or anything, we should all be fine.”

Alec wasn’t able to stop himself from looking over at Magnus. Realizing his mistake, he quickly schooled his features into a bland expression, but Peng Fang noticed immediately. “They don’t have it, do they? Right?” He sounded, for the first time, a little less self-assured.

“How should I know?” Magnus said with an impenetrable smile.

“Well, let’s hope for all our sakes they don’t,” Peng Fang said. He drained his cup again and began to fuss with pouring another. “I haven’t seen it myself, but people are saying that these warlocks have been bringing demons into the concession. That’s strictly prohibited, of course,” he added to Alec.

“Has it been reported to the Shadowhunters?” said Alec, already knowing the answer. “Since the relationship between the two is so good here and all.”

Peng Fang shrugged. “Nobody’s been hurt yet. And nobody wants a repeat of ’37.” Alec had no idea what this meant, but Magnus frowned. “Gentlemen, it’s glorious to see you as always, but I’m afraid that I must tend to my Russians.”

Alec was surprised by the abruptness, but Magnus got up immediately and nodded. “Thanks for your time, Peng Fang. We must be off too; we’ve got an appointment with Mogan.”

“The smiths?” Peng Fang sounded surprised. “Don’t take this one,” he advised Magnus, with a gesture in Alec’s direction. “Most fey don’t care for Shadowhunters these days.”

Magnus was rustling around in his pocket and produced a wad of bills from it. “Some yuan for your trouble.”

Peng Fang made a pronounced show of refusing the money. “Magnus, Magnus, we’ve been friends for so long. I haven’t told you anything worth a payment today. That’s how much good faith you can have in me.