The Lost Book of the White by Cassandra Clare

CHAPTER EIGHTEENAvici

ALEC DIDN’T KNOW WHAT HADbecome of his friends. He had been awoken by a tremendous sound, like an earthquake, and by the time he had made it up the stairs, the roof had been torn off the cathedral. Above him, against the inky black curtain of Diyu’s sky, two figures cavorted. One of them was Shinyun, who in addition to her elongated limbs had now sprouted a pair of broad insectile wings, iridescent and veined, like a dragonfly’s. She looped around the floating pieces of the cathedral’s roof, clearly enjoying herself.

The other figure was Sammael. He was hard to miss, as he was now easily three times the size he’d been on the iron bridge, floating above Shinyun and looking perfectly at home suspended in the air. He peered into the cathedral from above, occasionally pushing away rocks that drifted into his vision.

Alec had thought it would be unwise to run across the entire length of the cathedral, directly in view of Sammael, to reach his friends. He had to hope that they were seeking some kind of safety. But where was Magnus? He had departed voluntarily: his clothes and shoes were gone. But why had he taken Alec’s sword as well as his own?

The wind, though it was not too strong for him to resist, seemed to be harming the church, which was beginning to come apart in pieces. Alec had known he had to get out of the building, skirting around to avoid being seen until he’d found a low enough opening in the rapidly decaying walls. He hurled himself through it in a forward roll, curled up to protect his head. He’d felt the hot, corrosive wind on him, and then he was clear.

The Alliance rune had burned on his arm, and he had felt Magnus’s presence, not far away. He could see Magnus’s glow in his mind, even through the dark and the wind. He ran toward that glow.

Now he had reached Magnus and, to his surprise, Ragnor, who looked subdued and embarrassed at the sight of Alec. For a moment Alec had worried that perhaps Magnus had been struck a third time by the thorn, that he was with Ragnor because, like Ragnor, he had been lost. But then, as he approached, Magnus and Ragnor began talking at the same time, and it was clear that Ragnor was out from under Sammael’s control, somehow.

Magnus explained quickly about the swords, that they had saved Ragnor, that they were now gone. When he finished, he hesitated and said, “Are you angry?”

“Of course I’m not angry that you used the swords to save Ragnor,” Alec said. “I’m a little angry that you didn’t tell me you were leaving and didn’t take me with you.”

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Magnus began, but Ragnor stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Domestic squabbles later,” he said sharply. “Look.” He tilted his chin toward the church.

Human figures, distant and small, were tumbling end over end upward in the wind of Sammael’s windstorm, becoming visible to Alec as they cleared the walls of the cathedral. Sammael was gathering the Shadowhunters to him, he realized, drawing them up to join him in the fire-tinged sky. Jace, Clary, Simon, Isabelle, Tian… all of them identifiable more by the silhouettes they made with their weapons than anything else.

“We have to get to them,” Alec said.

“We may not have a choice,” said Magnus. And indeed, Alec felt the unpleasant hot wind lick at his body as well, wrap itself around his legs, tugging at him like insistent hands. “Hang on,” said Magnus, “I’m going to—”

The wind carried Alec up into the air, the horizon whirling around him in a dizzying rush. He had always wanted to be able to fly, but this was not at all how he’d imagined it. The currents of air swirled around him, spinning him like a top. He tried to reach for his seraph blade—it was thrust through his belt—but he couldn’t get a grip on the hilt.

Then movement stopped, and while it took Alec a moment to reorient, he realized that he hung suspended in the air. The wind continued to whip around him, but he at least was no longer at its mercy.

He looked around and realized that Magnus and Ragnor were still with him, or at least nearby. They also floated in the air; Magnus’s hands were raised, his arms tensed, and crimson-white light poured from the centers of his palms. In the distance, the other Shadowhunters still tumbled around and around like clothes in a dryer; Alec could tell it was taking all Magnus’s strength to maintain his and Alec’s stability.

Shinyun hovered nearby, watching but not engaging. Alec wondered why. Surely they were helpless. Surely if Sammael wanted them eliminated, now would be the time.…

He turned again to look at Magnus. His worry must have shown, because Magnus made a series of head movements that Alec interpreted as conveying that he was doing his best but that he couldn’t reach the others with his magic from here.

Sammael was drifting over toward them, his hands folded in a mockery of prayer. He seemed totally unaffected by the wind, presumably because he was causing it.

Stupid,Alec was thinking. Our plan was so stupid. Baiting Sammael into fighting them would have been a terrible idea. He may have looked like a mild-mannered mundane, he may have talked like a game show host, but he was—of course—a supremely powerful demon. They were outmatched, Alec thought, and only Sammael’s lack of interest in killing them had kept them alive so far. It was a chilling thought.

“Hey!” Sammael said with a wave, as he got closer to them. “How’s everybody doing over here?”

Before anyone could answer—not that Alec had any idea how to answer—Sammael looked at Ragnor and jerked back in an exaggerated performance of surprise.

“Holy cats!” he exclaimed. “The thorn’s gone. How did you pull off that little trick?” he said to Magnus. “Ragnor,” he went on, “didn’t we have some good times? Weren’t you looking forward to ruling the world with me? At least a little? Come on, you wanted to a little bit.”

Ragnor looked unimpressed. “You kept me in a cage and stabbed me several times. I was hardly a willing recruit.”

“To be fair,” said Sammael, “Shinyun kept you in the cage.”

He turned back to Magnus. “I hope you aren’t planning to try to remove the thorn from Shinyun, too.”

“I don’t think she wants it removed,” said Magnus.

Sammael laughed. “You said it, buddy. I wasn’t even going to thorn her, you know that? Did she tell you that? I thought, no way she could take it. But she insisted. Demanded it. Demanded from me, the greatest of all demons!”

“Second-greatest,” said Ragnor quietly.

The Prince of Hell narrowed his eyes. “Well. We don’t talk about him.” He looked over at Shinyun, hovering near the still-struggling Shadowhunters a short distance away. “You know,” he confided, “if I let her, she’d just kill all of them.”

Alec cleared his throat. “So why won’t you let her?”

“Oh!” said Sammael. “Because I came up with a plan. Just on the way over here, can you believe it? Popped right into my head.”

He waved his arm, and far below them, the ground began to shake. For a moment, Alec wasn’t sure what he was looking at, but then he began to grasp it. All around the cathedral’s walls, fissures were opening in the ground. The cathedral itself tilted and shifted dangerously, and then, with a great crash, its front half and back half fell into one another with a tremendous crash. Dust and smoke began to rise into the burning wind.

The cathedral didn’t have time to fully collapse. While its walls were still lurching toward one another, the entire stretch of land around the cathedral fell, as though into a sinkhole. A slab of stone the size of a city block came loose from the streets around it, and the cathedral groaned and swayed and fell into the hole.

With a dazed horror, Alec watched it fall, tumbling through a voidlike darkness. At the bottom of that void was a lake, red and black, like molten rock.

The cathedral smashed into the lake of fire with a boom that went on and on. Jace, Isabelle, and the others had stopped spinning: Alec could barely see them through the smoke, but they all seemed to be watching in silence as the church settled into its new position, halfway submerged in lava, one broken tower still jutting up at an angle like the hand of a drowning man.

Alec looked over at Sammael, who caught his eye and waggled his eyebrows. Alec looked farther over at Magnus, who continued to keep his hands up, holding the three of them—Alec, Ragnor, and Magnus—steady in the air.

Now that the billow of dust was beginning to spread and drift, Alec could see that the lake below was not as featureless as he’d first thought. Around the sinking cathedral were tall columns of stone that rose high above the lake’s surface, and here and there stone platforms connected by bridges and staircases. The cathedral had smashed through some of this infrastructure, but a lot of it remained, now modified by the slabs of brick and marble that were all that remained of the church.

“Behold,” said Sammael. “The Hell of the Pit of Fire. An elaborate labyrinth of tortures, where condemned souls try to maintain their footing on an ever-shifting tangle of connected platforms as they dip in and out of burning flames. I moved it under the cathedral here, just for funsies.”

Alec looked at the lake below him. Nothing appeared to be moving around the lake, except the slowly dissipating dust cloud from the cathedral’s impact. He looked back at Sammael.

“Well,” Sammael said, “it’s not operational now, obviously. It’s been closed for repairs for a hundred and fifty years, give or take. That’s the problem with Diyu. That’s the problem, Ragnor,” he snarled. “It’s supposed to generate all this demonic energy from the torment of souls, but the machinery is broken and the souls are gone, so none of it works!”

With those last words he brought his hand down in a violent gesture, and the distant silhouettes that were Alec’s friends went tumbling down, down, through the sinkhole, through the air, and came to a landing on top of the cathedral tower. Alec held his breath, but he didn’t even need to search inside himself for his connection to Jace to know it was intact: the Shadowhunters were clearly still alive, brought there safely by Sammael. They clung to the tower and scuttled around it; they were much too far away for Alec to tell what was happening.

Sammael giggled and waved his other hand. Down by the lake, far below, three Portals opened, and tiny figures began to emerge from them. Demons, he thought, by the way they moved. He exchanged an alarmed look with Magnus.

“You see,” Sammael said, as though conveying a wonderful secret, “I figured it out. I can use their souls and make them fight some demons, and use that power. It won’t be a lot, nothing like what Diyu must have produced in its prime. But enough to make the Portal I want.”

“You still can’t pass through to Earth,” said Ragnor. “The Taxiarch’s wardings are intact—”

Sammael grinned merrily. “The Portal isn’t for me,” he said. “It’s for Diyu.”

“What?” said Alec. It was all he could come up with in the moment.

Sammael rubbed his hands together. “That’s right. I’ll need the energy of all your friends’ souls to open a Portal the size of all Shanghai.” He did a little dance in the air. “I’m a genius. I seriously am. There wasn’t enough energy in Diyu to break the Taxiarch’s wardings, right? So I started to think: Where can a guy get a big burst of evil energy like that? I was collecting all this information from Tian about enemy forces and where they’re headquartered and all of that business and then I realized, hey, I’m Sammael. I’m the Master of Portals! I can send anything through a Portal. So blam! Shanghai gone in an instant, and Diyu in its place. Or at least a chunk of Diyu the size of Shanghai.” He laughed. “Think about it! A whole human city swallowed up by a demon city. Absolutely guaranteed to provide me enough energy to break through the wards.”

“Can he do that?” Magnus said to Ragnor. “Swallow up the whole city?”

Ragnor looked ill. “He’s certainly going to try.”

“Please don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” sniffed Sammael. “It’s very impolite.”

“He’s also going to torture our friends. That’s part of ‘trying’!” Alec said to Magnus. “Magnus, send me down there—”

“No,” Sammael said sharply. “If I wanted any of you down there with them, I would have sent you down there with them. We have unfinished business,” he said to Magnus. “Thorny business. But,” he added with a wink, “is there any other kind?”

There was a loud noise, and Alec felt a rush of wind on his face. The lake of fire, the ruins of the cathedral, the rest of Shanghai’s shadow surrounding the sinkhole, all went black, and for the second time in Diyu, Alec fell through nothing, toward nothing, surrounded by nothing.

THIS TIME HE FELL FORonly a few seconds, and when he stopped, he didn’t land, really. He was floating in the air above the ruins of Xujiahui Cathedral, then he was falling, and then he was standing somewhere else.

He looked around. Magnus was here, and Ragnor, and—looking a little puzzled—Shinyun. And Sammael, of course, who had thankfully returned to human size.

As abandoned and broken-down as the rest of Diyu was, this place seemed to have been forgotten entirely. It had the silence of a tomb that had been sealed for thousands of years and was never intended to be opened again. In a realm of abandoned chasms, Alec knew, felt in his body, that this was the deepest and most lonesome.

Up close, Shinyun really was looking very spidery, Alec thought—her limbs elongated and multiply jointed, her face narrowed, sharpened. Her lack of expression was always uncanny, but now that her movements seemed less human, it gave her the look of an alien creature studying them, trying to decide whether to crush them. Her lambent eyes peered at them in the dark, her head tilting back and forth like a snake examining its prey.

Not that Magnus was looking much better. His eyes were larger than normal and seemed to glow of their own accord. The chains that bound him were starkly clear on his arms, and the spiked circles harsh on his palms. He seemed elongated too, in almost serpentine fashion, taller and skinnier than he’d been.

It was remarkable, Alec thought, that Ragnor was by far the most human-seeming person here other than himself, and he had actual horns on his head.

Alec had no further time for observations, because Shinyun starting yelling. “The Svefnthorn cried out!” she called into the echo of the vast empty space they found themselves in. “It told me—it has been insulted. Disrespected. Injured.” Her gaze found Ragnor, who gazed at her with loathing. “Ragnor. Why would you do this? Why would you reject the greatest of gifts?”

“If I recall,” Ragnor said, as if the effort to speak was almost too much for him, “I turned down your gift, and it was given to me anyway, without my consent. I think you’ll find that isn’t what most people mean when they say ‘gift.’ ”

“Now, now. Welcome!” interrupted Sammael. His constant ebullient tone was starting to fray Alec’s nerves. “Welcome to Avici.”

Alec looked at Magnus. Magnus nodded slightly, as though this was what he’d expected.

It wasn’t what Alec had expected at all. What he knew of Avici was that it was Diyu’s lowest hell, the one reserved for only the worst offenders. Given what he knew of hell dimensions, he’d expected fire, molten lava, the screams of sinners burning in the purifying flames. Or ice, perhaps, an endless expanse, with souls frozen, unmoving, for all time.

Avici was just… empty. They were standing on something, surely, but that something was black and featureless, indistinguishable as any particular material. It was nothing: not rough, not smooth, not level, not undulating. In all directions around them it stretched on and on, forever. At the horizon only the faintest of blurry haze marked the change from land to sky, the same empty sky that surrounded all of Diyu.

Perhaps the punishment of Avici was just to be here, alone, with no sounds, no sights, no wind blowing, only bare floor and bare sky. Just you and your mind, until your mind inevitably fizzed and burned and melted.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Sammael said. He threw out his arms and adopted a look of puzzlement. “Where’s all the stuff?”

Alec exchanged a glance with Magnus.

“When I got here, I thought that too,” Sammael went on. “I thought, ooh, very clever, very good, the worst punishment for the worst sinners isn’t”—he gestured upward, presumably indicating all the other hells—“having your tongue ripped out, or being run over with wagons or boiled in cauldrons. It’s just to be here with yourself and nothing else, right? But then,” he continued, “I got to talking to some of the locals, and I learned that that wasn’t it at all. This was Yanluo’s… workshop. This was his atelier. He made it empty so he could bring to it anything he wanted, because those who came here had earned customized tortures.”

He laughed, that grating, false laugh. “That’s right, for the VIP clients, Yanluo believed in getting in there and getting his hands dirty himself. Some of the demons say that he made it such a lightless black so that no matter what he did here, how much he dismantled human bodies, how much he maimed and lacerated and butchered, nothing would ever stain Avici.”

He threw his arms out again. “It’s all stain, you see,” he said with pleasure.

Alec said, “So it doesn’t… stay empty? You bring things in? Like… torture things.”

Sammael looked offended. “I don’t do anything,” he said. “Or at least I haven’t. I didn’t make this realm, you know. Blame Yanluo for how it works. Do I seem like I would make my deepest hell a big blank space? I’m really much more the waterfalls-of-blood, abstract-sculpture-of-viscera type. But to answer your question, yes, the excellent thing about Avici is that I can bring in whatever I want. For instance, I can stick this quisling in a cage, where he belongs.”

A theatrical wave of his hands, and spikes of wrought iron shot up around Ragnor. It was fast, but Alec was surprised that Ragnor didn’t even move as the cage closed around him.

“Ragnor!”Magnus said. “You’re still a warlock, come on. You don’t have to let him just… capture you.”

Ragnor tilted his eyes toward Magnus, and Alec was astonished by the depth of self-loathing he saw reflected there. “I can’t,” he said. “I deserve this, Magnus.”

“That’s not the way things work,” Magnus said, clearly frustrated. “You can make up for what you’ve done, but not like this. Not by letting yourself be trapped.”

“I told you,” said Ragnor. “I’ve betrayed myself too much now. Gone too far, done too many things that can’t be undone.”

Sammael looked back and forth between them, visibly entertained.

The iron bars closed over Ragnor’s head with a clanging sound. He barely seemed to even register their presence, looking purposelessly into the middle distance.

“All right,” said Sammael, as though he’d been waiting for the Ragnor situation to be dealt with. “The Book, if you please, Shinyun.”

Shinyun looked around as if unsure of herself. “Ragnor had it.”

Sammael rubbed his forehead with his hand. “In other words,” he said, “now Magnus has it.”

“Maybe not,” Magnus suggested. “Maybe it’s still back at Ragnor’s place.” Sammael gave him a withering look, and Magnus shrugged. “Worth a try.”

“Please,” Sammael said to Shinyun, “go get my Book back.”

Her dragonfly’s wings quivering on her back, Shinyun walked toward them. Magnus held up one hand, scarlet light blossoming from its center. “I’m not giving you the Book, Shinyun.”

Shinyun kept approaching. “Magnus, I know you. I know both of you,” she added, nodding to Alec. “You believe in mercy. You believe in forgiveness. You believe in not doing things that you can’t take back.”

Alec was watching Sammael, who stood a little apart from the rest of them, his arms folded, watching with keen interest. It was strange: Alec was sure Sammael could do any number of terrible things to them, or just turn Magnus upside down and shake him until the Book fell out. But he didn’t; he was happy to let Shinyun do the work, even though she was much less powerful than him.

It occurred to Alec that most of the powerful people he’d fought were at pains to demonstrate that power. Valentine, Sebastian, Shinyun herself, Lilith… They wanted respect. They wanted fear.

Sammael didn’t seem to care about any of that. As if his power was so great that he didn’t care if it was disrespected. As if in his mind, his victory was so inevitable, so assured, that the question of the Book of the White was only of minor interest.

“You won’t attack me,” said Shinyun, “unless I attack you first. So what will you do when I close the distance between us”—she was staring at Magnus—“and try to take the Book? Will you run? There’s nowhere to run. Or will you let me take it, like you let me pierce your heart with the thorn?”

Magnus looked at Shinyun unhappily. Then a bolt of crimson lightning burst from his palm, and Shinyun flew backward, struck by the force of his magic.

“Wow!” said Sammael. “Did you see that?”

SHINYUN WAS RIGHT: MAGNUS DIDN’Twant to attack her. He wanted her to understand that there were ways of making things happen other than violence and its threat. He had given her a chance. He had given her, he thought, probably too many chances. Shinyun didn’t want to learn. She didn’t want to change.

He was heartbroken at how lost she was, filled with compassion for this warlock who had learned too early that the world only pays attention to brute strength, that empathy was weakness.

But that didn’t mean he was going to let her get close enough to him to take the Book. Or stab him with the Svefnthorn again.

She wasn’t expecting the first burst from his hand, and fell back. Alec charged toward her, reaching for his seraph blade, but she quickly regained her footing and shot up into the air. She flung her magic at Alec, and a huge blast of it drove him to one knee. Shinyun came screaming down at Alec, the Svefnthorn drawn like a rapier, ready to strike.

Magnus knocked the thorn aside with his own wave of energy, and Alec rolled out of the way. Magnus reached out to summon something—anything—from elsewhere in Diyu. A sword from a fallen Baigujing warrior. The chair from Ragnor’s temple. A chunk of masonry from a crumbled hell court.

Nothing came. Apparently the power to summon things to Avici was Sammael’s alone—Magnus was sure that if Shinyun could, she would be summoning demons and lava and who could guess what else. Sammael had picked an excellent place to leave Magnus at a disadvantage. Most warlock magic wasn’t about channeling raw power into violent force, but about manipulating the world to your own advantage. But here there was no world to manipulate. And unlike him, Shinyun had a weapon.

Alec was on his feet now. His seraph blade was in his hand. He shot a look of contempt at Sammael.

“Michael,”he said, and as the sword blazed up with holy flame, Sammael visibly flinched at the sound of the archangel’s name.

Magnus felt a wave of pride. Not everyone could diss a Prince of Hell so artfully.

Blade in hand, Alec lunged at Shinyun from behind, and she took off into the air again, swooping around in a wide arc. At its height she drew an elaborate many-pointed star in the air with the Svefnthorn, and flames poured from it. Magnus rapidly threw up spells of protection, and the fire bounced harmlessly off Alec.

But Shinyun was still circling, and soon she would find a new opening. Magnus looked at Alec and then up at Shinyun.

“Go,” Alec said urgently. “I’ll be fine.”

The strength of the Alliance rune and Alec’s faith and the thorn humming through him, Magnus took to the air himself.

“The more you use your magic,” Shinyun said to him, “the closer you get to losing yourself completely. The changes will accelerate.”

In the void above Avici, Magnus fought Shinyun. She was determined to attack Alec, recognizing that he was the more vulnerable target, and also knowing that Magnus would protect him above all else. Magnus flew defensively, getting in Shinyun’s way, blocking her magic, distracting her. But with the full power of the thorn behind her, Shinyun was more than a match for him. And Alec couldn’t touch Shinyun unless she got close, which she was clearly not about to do.

Worse, as he fought, Magnus could feel the magic of the thorn flowing in and through him. It gave him power, but power that was alien to him, something separate from him. He could feel its hunger, its desire to fill him until, inevitably, it replaced him.

“If you just gave yourself to the thorn,” Shinyun yelled in frustration, “there’d be no need for any of this.”

“Yes,” Magnus said through gritted teeth, “that’s kind of the whole point.”

They grappled there in the empty sky, neither able to attain a real advantage over the other. “Shinyun!” Sammael called. “I noticed you haven’t gotten the Book back yet. Do you need some help?”

“No!” said Shinyun angrily. Magnus took the opportunity to knock her off balance.

“I don’t know,” said Sammael. “It sure looks like Magnus is keeping it away from you. Let me just give you a hand.”

“No!” screamed Shinyun again, but Sammael was already reaching out with his hand, and while he remained where he was, it grew and extended and grabbed hold of Magnus, plucking him from the sky and smashing him down into the rough plain of Avici. One moment Magnus was flying toward Shinyun, and the next he was on his knees on the ground, next to Sammael. Sammael was leaning his hand, now normal size again, on Magnus’s shoulder in a casual, avuncular fashion, but Magnus found he was unable to move from its grip.

“You’re cheating,” he said, looking up at Sammael.

Sammael frowned, seeming puzzled. “My dear curse, how could you still think we were playing a fair game here?”

Magnus spun around, Sammael’s hand biting hard into his shoulder. The breath left Magnus’s body in a single, hard exhale. No, he thought, and then: I should have known.

Shinyun had hold of Alec. She stood behind him, grasping him around the neck with her arm and holding the point of the Svefnthorn to his chest. His seraph blade lay in front of him, guttering like a spent match.

His face was impassive, his blue eyes steady. He could have been looking out over a beautiful landscape, or studying a subway map. Magnus had seen Alec frightened—had seen him in every phase of vulnerability, clear and open as a summer sky—but Alec would never show such a thing before Shinyun and Sammael.

“Oh, interesting,” said Sammael with delight.

“Magnus!” Shinyun’s voice was hoarse and cracked. “I demand that you take the third blow from the Svefnthorn. I demand it. Or I will kill the thing you love best.” Her eyes were wild, monstrous, more inhuman than ever.

She twisted the point of the Svefnthorn against Alec’s ribs, over his heart, and Magnus felt it like a stab to his own gut. The thorn was warlock magic—there was no way it could be anything but death for a Shadowhunter.

He had no options left. If he took the thorn, Shinyun won: he’d become a willing minion of Sammael, and maybe the whole world would be destroyed. If he refused the thorn, Alec would be murdered before his eyes, he himself would die, and Sammael would go on toward the war he wanted.

“Will you spare Alec?” he said quietly. “Promise you’ll let Alec go, and I’ll do it.”

She glanced at Sammael; he shrugged. “You have my permission. It’s not like this one Shadowhunter poses any real threat. I can’t guarantee his safety once the invasion of Earth starts, of course,” he added. “That’s a different story.”

Magnus nodded. Alec was looking at him, his gaze still steady, still unreadable. Magnus wondered what would become of his love for Alec after the thorning. Would it vanish like it had never been? Would he love only Sammael? Or would he still love Alec, but demand that he also turn to Sammael’s side?

But the choice between him and Alec both definitely dying, and only one of them dying, was no choice at all. Max was waiting at home. Better one parent than no parent. The calculus of it was self-evident, the conclusion inevitable.

Before Shinyun could act, though, Alec was moving. He was reaching out, and he was wrapping his hand around the blade of the Svefnthorn, and he was grimacing with effort and resolve, and he was thrusting the Svefnthorn into his own chest, piercing his own heart. From where he knelt, Magnus could see the thorn run all the way through him, emerge through his back, and remain there. Alec’s eyes were still open, still wide, still staring right at Magnus.

Magnus opened his mouth to scream, and crimson magic exploded from Alec’s chest, from his back, a blinding flash that turned the permanent night of Avici briefly to day. In the glare, beyond sight, still under the iron grip of Sammael’s hand, all Magnus could see of Alec were his eyes, clear and bright and filled with love.