The Course of True Love (and First Dates), Page 2

  Magnus was reminded again of the extreme disadvantages to mundane visibility when a skinny freckled guy slipped by them. Magnus was just thinking that he might have felt a hand snaking into his pocket when the guy gave a combination howl and screech.

  While Magnus had idly wondered if he was being pickpocketed, Alec had reacted like a trained Shadowhunter: he grabbed the guy’s arm and threw him up in the air. The thief flew, outstretched arms limply wagging, like a cotton-stuffed doll. He landed with a crack on the platform, with Alec’s boot on his throat. Another train rattled by, all lights and noise; the Friday night commuters ignored it, forming a knot of bodies in tight shiny clothes and artful hair around Magnus and Alec.

  Alec’s eyes were a little wide. Magnus suspected that he had been acting on reflex and had not actually intended to use force meant for demon foes against a mundane.

  The redheaded guy squawked, revealing braces, and flapped his hands in what seemed to be either urgent surrender or a very good panicked duck impression.

  “Dude!” he said. “I’m sorry! Seriously! I didn’t know you were a ninja!”

  Alec removed his boot, and cast a hunted glance around at the fascinated stares of the bystanders.

  “I’m not a ninja,” he muttered.

  A pretty girl with butterfly clips in her dreadlocks put her hand on his arm. “You were amazing,” she told him, her voice fluting. “You have the reflexes of a striking snake. You should be a stuntman. Really, with your cheekbones, you should be an actor. A lot of people are looking for someone as pretty as you who’d do his own stunts.”

  Alec threw Magnus a terrified and beseeching look. Magnus took pity on him, putting a hand on the small of Alec’s back and leaning against him. His attitude and the glance he shot at the girl clearly communicated my date.

  “No offence,” said the girl, rapidly removing her hand so she could dig in her bag. “Let me give you my card. I work in a talent agency. You could be a star.”

  “He’s foreign,” Magnus told the girl. “He doesn’t have a social security number. You can’t hire him.”

  The girl regarded Alec’s bowed head wistfully. “That’s a shame. He could be huge. Those eyes!”

  “I realize he’s a knockout,” Magnus said. “But I am afraid I have to whisk him away. He is wanted by Interpol.”

  Alec shot him a strange look. “Interpol?”

  Magnus shrugged.

  “Knockout?” Alec said.

  Magnus raised an eyebrow at him. “You had to know I thought so. Why else would I agree to go on a date with you?”

  Apparently Alec had not known for sure, even though he’d said Isabelle and Jace had both commented on it. Maybe the vampires had all gone home and gossiped about the fact Magnus thought one of the Shadowhunters was a dreamboat. Magnus possibly needed to learn subtlety, and Alec possibly was not allowed access to mirrors at the Institute. He looked startled and pleased.

  “I thought maybe—you know you said you weren’t unsympathetic—”

  “I don’t do charity,” said Magnus. “In any area of my life.”

  “I’ll give the wallet back,” piped up a helpful voice.

  The red-haired mugger interrupted what might have become a nice moment by scrambling to his feet, digging out Magnus’s wallet, and then dropping Magnus’s wallet on the ground with a pained yelp.

  “That wallet bit me!”

  That’ll show you not to steal warlocks’ wallets, Magnus thought, bending down to retrieve the wallet from a forest of sparkling high heels on the concrete.

  Aloud he said, “This just isn’t your lucky night, is it?”

  “Your wallet bites people?” Alec asked.

  “This one bites people,” said Magnus, pocketing it. He was glad to have it back, not only because he liked money but because the wallet matched his red crocodile-skin pants. “The John Varvatos wallet bursts into flames.”

  “Who?” said Alec.

  Magnus gazed at Alec sadly.

  “Totally cool designer,” chipped in the girl with butterfly clips. “You know, they give you designer stuff free when you’re a movie star.”

  “I can always flog a Varvatos wallet,” agreed the red-haired mugger. “Not that I’d steal and sell anything belonging to anyone on this platform. Specially not you guys.” He shot Alec a look that bordered on hero worship. “I didn’t know gay dudes could fight like that. Like, no offence. It was badass.”

  “You have been taught two important lessons about tolerance and honesty,” Magnus informed him severely. “And you still have all your fingers after trying to mug me on a first date, so this was the best outcome you could expect.”

  There was a murmur of sympathy. Magnus stared around and saw Alec looking a little wild-eyed and everyone else looking concerned. Apparently the crowd they had gathered truly believed in their love.

  “Aw, man, I’m really sorry,” said the mugger. “I wouldn’t want to mess up anybody’s first date with a ninja.”

  “WE ARE LEAVING NOW,” said Magnus, in his best High Warlock voice. He was worried that Alexander was planning to fling himself into the path of an oncoming train.

  “Have fun on your date, boys,” said Butterfly Clips, stuffing her card into the pocket of Alec’s jeans. Alec jumped like a startled hare. “Call me if you change your mind about wanting fame and fortune!”

  “Sorry again!” said their former mugger, waving a cheerful good-bye.

  They left the platform amid a chorus of well-wishers. Alec looked as if he wished only for the sweet release of death.

  The restaurant was on East 13th and 3rd, near an American Apparel store and among a row of tired-looking redbrick buildings. It was an Ethiopian and Italian fusion restaurant run by Downworlders. It was on the shady, shabby side, so Shadowhunters did not frequent it. Magnus had strongly suspected that Alec would not want to risk any Nephilim seeing them together.

  He’d also brought many mundane dates there, as a way of easing them into his world. The restaurant wanted mundane custom but in the main the clientele were Downworlders, so glamours were used but fairly minimal.

  There was a large graffitied dinosaur obscuring the sign. Alec squinted at it, but he followed Magnus inside the restaurant readily enough.

  The moment Magnus stepped into the restaurant, he realized he’d made a terrible mistake.

  The second the door closed behind them a terrible silence fell around the big, low-lit room. There was a crash as one diner, an ifrit with flaming eyebrows, dove behind a table.

  Magnus looked at Alec and realized what they saw: even if he wasn’t wearing gear, his arms bore runes, and his clothes showed signs that he was wearing weapons. Nephilim. Magnus might as well have walked into a Prohibition-era speakeasy flanked by police officers holding tommy guns.

  God, dating sucked.

  “Magnus Bane!” hissed Luigi, the owner, as he scurried over. “You brought a Shadowhunter here! Is this a raid? Magnus, I thought we were friends! You could at least have given me a heads-up!”

  “We’re here socially,” said Magnus. He held his hands up, palms out. “I swear. Just to talk and eat.”

  Luigi shook his head. “For you, Magnus. But if he makes any moves toward my other customers . . .” He gestured at Alec.

  “I won’t,” Alec said, and cleared his throat. “I’m . . . off-duty.”

  “Shadowhunters are never off-duty,” said Luigi darkly, and dragged them to a table in the remotest part of the restaurant, the corner near the swinging doors that led to the kitchen.

  A werewolf waiter with a wooden expression that indicated either boredom or constipation wandered over.

  “Hello, my name is Erik and I will be your server this eve— Oh my God, you’re a Shadowhunter!”

  Magnus closed his eyes for a pained moment. “We can leave,” he told Alec. “This may have been a m
istake.”

  But a stubborn light had come into Alec’s blue eyes. Despite his porcelain looks, Magnus could see the steel underneath. “No, that’s fine, this seems . . . fine.”

  “You’re making me feel very threatened,” said Erik the waiter.

  “He’s not doing anything,” Magnus snapped.

  “It’s not about what he’s doing, it’s about how he’s making me feel,” sniffed Erik. He slammed down the menus as if they had personally offended him. “I get stress ulcers.”

  “The myth that ulcers are caused by stress was debunked years ago,” said Magnus. “It’s actually some kind of bacteria.”

  “Um, what are the specials?” Alec asked.

  “I can’t remember them while my emotions are under this kind of strain,” said Erik. “A Shadowhunter killed my uncle.”

  “I’ve never killed anyone’s uncle,” said Alec.

  “How would you know?” demanded Erik. “When you’re about to kill someone, do you stop and ask them if they have nephews?”

  “I kill demons,” Alec said. “Demons don’t have nephews.”

  Magnus knew this to be only technically true. He cleared his throat loudly. “Maybe I should just order for both of us, and we can share?”

  “Sure,” said Alec, throwing his menu down.

  “Do you want a drink?” the waiter asked Alec pointedly, adding sotto voce. “Or do you want to stab someone? If you absolutely have to, maybe you could stab the guy in the corner wearing the red shirt. He tips terribly.”

  Alec opened and shut his mouth, then opened it again. “Is this a trick question?”

  “Please go,” said Magnus.

  Alec was very quiet, even after Erik the annoying waiter was gone. Magnus was fairly sure he was having a horrifying time, and could not blame him. Several of the other customers had left, casting panicked glances over their shoulders as they paid hurriedly.

  When the food arrived, Alec’s eyes widened when he saw Magnus had ordered their kitfo raw. Luigi had put in an effort: there were also luscious tibs, doro wat, a spicy red onion stew dish, mashed lentils and collards, and all of it laid out atop the thick spongy Ethiopian bread known as injera. The Italian part of Luigi’s heritage was represented by a heap of penne. Alec did make short work of the food, and seemed to know he was supposed to eat with his fingers without being told. He was a New Yorker, Magnus thought, even if he was a Shadowhunter too.

  “This is the best Ethiopian I’ve ever had. Do you know a lot about food?” Alec asked. “I mean, obviously you do. Never mind. That was a dumb thing to say.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Magnus said, frowning.

  Alec reached for a bite of penne arrabiata. He immediately began to choke on it. Tears streamed from his eyes.

  “Alexander!” said Magnus.

  “I’m fine!” Alec gasped, looking horrified. He snatched at his piece of bread first and only realized that it was bread when he tried to dab his eyes with it. He dropped the bread hastily and grabbed his napkin up instead, hiding both streaming eyes and scarlet face.

  “You are obviously not fine!” Magnus told him, and tried a very tiny bite of the penne. It burned like fire: Alec was still wheezing into his napkin. Magnus made a peremptory gesture for the waiter that might have included a few blue sparks snapping and crackling onto other people’s tablecloths.

  The people eating near them were edging their tables subtly away.

  “This penne is much too arrabiata, and you did it on purpose,” said Magnus when the surly werewolf waiter hove into view.

  “Werewolf rights,” Erik grumped. “Crush the vile oppressors.”

  “Nobody has ever won a revolution with pasta, Erik,” said Magnus. “Now go get a fresh dish, or I’ll tell Luigi on you.”

  “I—” Erik began defiantly. Magnus narrowed his cat’s eyes. Erik met Magnus’s gaze and decided not to be a waiter hero. “Of course. My apologies.”

  “What a pill,” Magnus remarked loudly.

  “Yeah,” said Alec, tearing off a new strip of injera. “What have the Shadowhunters ever done to him?”

  Magnus lifted an eyebrow. “Well, he did mention a dead uncle.”

  “Oh,” said Alec. “Right.”

  He went back to gazing fixedly at the tablecloth.

  “He’s still a total pill, though,” Magnus offered. Alec mumbled something that Magnus could not make out.

  It was then that the door opened and a handsome human man with deep-set green eyes came in. His hands were in the pockets of his expensive suit, and he was surrounded by a group of gorgeous young faeries, male and female.

  Magnus slunk down in his chair. Richard. Richard was a mortal who the faeries had adopted in the way they did sometimes, especially when the mortals were musical. He was also something else.

  Magnus cleared his throat. “Quick warning. The guy who just walked in is an ex,” he said. “Well. Barely an ex. It was very casual. And we parted very amicably.”

  At that moment, Richard caught sight of him. Richard’s whole face spasmed; then he crossed the floor in two steps.

  “You are scum!” Richard hissed, and then picked up Magnus’s glass of wine and dashed it in his face. “Get out while you can,” he continued to Alec. “Never trust a warlock. They’ll enchant the years from your life and the love from your heart!”

  “Years?” Magnus spluttered. “It was barely twenty minutes!”

  “Time means different things to those who are of faerie,” said Richard, the pretentious idiot. “You wasted the best twenty minutes of my life!”

  Magnus grabbed hold of his napkin and began to clean off his face. He blinked through the red blurriness at Richard’s retreating back and Alec’s startled face.

  “All right,” he said. “It’s possible I was mistaken about the amicable parting.” He tried to smile suavely, which was difficult with wine in his hair. “Ah well. You know exes.”

  Alec studied the tablecloth. There was art in museums given less attention than this tablecloth.

  “Not really,” he said. “You’re my first ever date.”

  This wasn’t working. Magnus didn’t know why he had thought it might work. He had to get out of this date and not hurt Alec Lightwood’s pride too much. He wished he could feel satisfaction that he had a plan in place for this, but as he texted Catarina under the table what he felt was a sense of enveloping gloom.

  Magnus sat there silently, waited for Catarina to call, and tried to work out a way to say, “No hard feelings. I like you more than any Shadowhunter I’ve met in more than a century, and I hope you find a nice Shadowhunter boy . . . if there are any nice Shadowhunter boys besides you.”

  His phone rang while Magnus was still mentally composing, the sound harsh in the silence between them. Magnus hastily answered. His hands were not entirely steady, and he was afraid for a moment that he would drop the phone as Alec had dropped his glass, but he managed to answer it. Catarina’s voice filtered down the line, clear and unexpectedly urgent. Catarina was clearly a method actor.

  “Magnus, there’s an—”

  “An emergency, Catarina?” Magnus asked. “That’s terrible! What’s happened?”

  “An actual emergency happened, Magnus!”

  Magnus appreciated Catarina’s commitment to her role but wished that she would not shout so loudly right into his ear.

  “That’s so awful, Catarina. I mean, I’m really busy, but I suppose if there are lives at stake I can’t say n—”

  “There are lives at stake, you blithering idiot!” Catarina yelled. “Bring the Shadowhunter!”

  Magnus paused.

  “Catarina, I don’t think you fully understand the point of what you’re meant to do here.”

  “Are you drunk already, Magnus?” Catarina asked. “Are you off debauching and getting one of the Nephilim—one of the Nephi
lim who is under twenty-one—drunk?”

  “The only alcohol that has passed my lips is the wine that was thrown in my face,” said Magnus. “And I was totally blameless in that matter as well.”

  There was a pause. “Richard?” said Catarina.

  “Richard,” Magnus confirmed.

  “Look, never mind him. Listen carefully, Magnus, because I am working, and one of my hands is covered in fluid, and I’m only going to say this once.”

  “Fluid,” said Magnus. “What kind of fluid?”

  Alec goggled at him.

  “Only going to say this once, Magnus,” Catarina repeated firmly. “There is a young werewolf in the Beauty Bar downtown. She went out on the night of a full moon because she wanted to prove to herself that she could still have a normal life. A vampire called this in and the vampires are not going to be of any help because the vampires never are. The werewolf is changing, she is in an unfamiliar and crowded place, and she will probably lose control and kill somebody. I cannot leave the hospital. Lucian Graymark has his phone off, and the word from his pack is that he is in a hospital with a loved one. You are not in a hospital: you are out on a stupid date. If you went to the restaurant you told me that you were going to, then you are the closest person I know who can help. Will you help, or will you continue to waste my time?”

  “I’ll waste your time another time, darling,” said Magnus.

  Catarina said, and he could hear the wry smile in her voice, “I bet.”

  She hung up. Catarina was often too busy to say good-bye. Magnus realized he did not have all that much time himself, but he did waste a moment looking at Alec.

  Catarina had said to bring the Shadowhunter, but Catarina did not have a great deal to do with the Nephilim. Magnus did not want to see Alec cut off some poor girl’s head for breaking the Law: he did not want someone else to suffer if he made a mistake in judgment, and he didn’t want to find himself hating Alec as he had hated so many of the Nephilim.

  He also did not want mundanes to be killed.

  “I’m so sorry about this,” he said. “It’s an emergency.”