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  "Oh, yeah. Magnus is dating a Shadowhunter," Elyaas put in.

  "That's personal information I'd thank you not to repeat," Magnus said. "And we're not officially dating!"

  "My orders were to summon a demon," Ms. Connor said crisply. "But if you can solve the problem in a more efficient way, warlock, I am all for it. I'd prefer not to curse the mermaids; the customers like looking at them. Perhaps some monetary recompense can be arranged. Do we need to amend your contract, warlock, or are the same terms agreeable to you?"

  Magnus felt somewhat tempted to argue for a pay raise, but he was already charging them a satisfyingly outrageous sum of money, and he did want to avoid having a curse fall upon all the mermaids of New York. That seemed like it could get really complicated really fast.

  He agreed to sign the amended contract, he and Ms. Connor shook hands, and she departed. Magnus hoped that he would never have to see her again. Another day, another dollar. (Well, another huge pile of dollars. Magnus's special skills did not come cheap.)

  Elyaas was looking extremely sulky around the tentacles about being denied the opportunity to cause chaos in Magnus's city.

  "Thank you for being totally useless all day," said Magnus.

  "Good luck with one of the Angel's chosen, demon's son," said Elyaas, his voice sudden considerably sharper and less slimy. "You think he will ever do anything but despise you, in his heart of hearts? He knows where you belong. We all know it too. Your father will have you in the end. Someday your life here will seem like a dream, like a stupid child's game. Someday the Great Dark One will come and drag you down and down, with usssss . . ."

  His sibilant voice trailed off into a shriek as every candle flame streaked higher and higher, until they licked the ceiling. Then he vanished, with his last cry hanging on the air.

  "Should have bought a sssscented candle. . . ."

  Magnus proceeded to open every window in the loft. The lingering smell of sulfur and slime had barely begun to clear when the phone in his pocket rang. Magnus pulled it out, not without difficulty--his pants were tight because he felt a responsibility to the world to be gorgeous, but it meant there was not a lot of room in the pocket region--and his heart missed a beat when he saw who the call was from.

  "Hey," said Alec when Magnus answered, his voice deep and diffident.

  "Why are you calling?" Magnus asked, assailed by a sudden fear that his birthday present had been immediately discovered in some way and the Lightwoods were shipping Alec to Idris because of spells cast on whips by heedless warlocks, which Alec could not explain.

  "Um, I can call another time," said Alec, sounding worried. "I'm sure you have better things to do--"

  He didn't say it in the way some of Magnus's past lovers would have said it, accusing or demanding reassurance. He said it quite naturally, as if he accepted that was the way of the world, that he would not be anyone's top priority. It made Magnus want to reassure him ten times as much as he would have, had Alec seemed to even slightly expect it.

  "Of course I don't, Alexander," he said. "I was just surprised to hear from you. I imagined that you would be with your family on the big day."

  "Oh," said Alec, and he sounded shy and pleased. "I didn't expect you to remember."

  "It might have crossed my mind once or twice during the day," said Magnus. "So have you been having a wonderful Shadowhunting time? Did someone give you a giant axe in a cake? Where are you, off to celebrate?"

  "Er," said Alec. "I'm kind of . . . outside your apartment?"

  The buzzer rang. Magnus pressed the button to let him enter, speechless for a moment because he had wanted Alec there, so badly, and here he was. It felt more like magic than anything he could do.

  Then Alec was there, standing in the open doorway.

  "I wanted to see you," said Alec with devastating simplicity. "Is this okay? I can go away if you're busy or anything."

  It must have been raining a little outside. There were sparkling drops of water in Alec's messy black hair. He was wearing a hoodie that Magnus thought he might have found in a Dumpster, and sloppy jeans, and his whole face was lit up just because he was looking at Magnus.

  "I think," said Magnus, pulling Alec in by the strings on his awful gray hoodie, "that I could be persuaded to clear my schedule."

  Then Alec was kissing him, and Alec's kisses were uninhibited and utterly sincere, all of his lanky warrior's body focused on what it wanted, all of his open heart in it as well. For a long wild euphoric moment Magnus believed that Alec did not want anything more than to be with him, that they would not be parted. Not for a long, long time.

  "Happy birthday, Alexander," Magnus murmured.

  "Thanks for remembering," Alec whispered back.

  Cassandra Clare is the author of the New York Times, USA Today, Wall Street Journal, and Publishers Weekly bestselling Mortal Instruments series and Infernal Devices trilogy. Her books have more than twenty-two million copies in print worldwide and have been translated into more than thirty-five languages. Cassandra lives in western Massachusetts. Visit her at CassandraClare.com. Learn more about the world of the Shadowhunters at Shadowhunters.com.

  NY Times bestseller Sarah Rees Brennan is the author of the critically acclaimed Unspoken, a romantic Gothic mystery. The first book of her Demon's Lexicon series received three starred reviews and was an ALA Top Ten Best Book for Young Adults. Unspoken and Team Human, a novel cowritten with Justine Larbalestier, are both YALSA Best Fiction for Young Adults picks and TAYSHAS picks. She lives in Ireland. Visit her at SarahReesBrennan.com.

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  Also by Cassandra Clare

  THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS

  City of Bones

  City of Ashes

  City of Glass

  City of Fallen Angels

  City of Lost Souls

  THE INFERNAL DEVICES

  Clockwork Angel

  Clockwork Prince

  Clockwork Princess

  THE BANE CHRONICLES

  What Really Happened in Peru

  The Runaway Queen

  Vampires, Scones, and Edmund Herondale

  The Midnight Heir

  The Rise of the Hotel Dumort

  Saving Raphael Santiago

  The Fall of the Hotel Dumort

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  ISBN 978-1-4424-9564-7 (eBook)

  Contents

  What to Buy the Shadowhunter Who Has Everything

  About Cassandr
a Clare and Sarah Rees Brennan