Born to Endless Night (Tales from Shadowhunter Academy 9)

"Believe me," said Alec. "You can."

"There is an abandoned baby on the front steps of the Academy and I think it's a warlock!" Simon blurted out.

"Why do you think the baby is a warlock?" Magnus asked. He was the only one in the room who was composed.

"Um, because the baby is navy blue."

"That is fairly compelling evidence," Magnus admitted. "Could you give us a moment to get dressed?"

"Yes! Of course!" said Simon. "Again, I'm very sorry."

"Go now," Alec suggested.

Simon went.

After a short while Magnus emerged from the attic suite dressed in skintight black clothes and a shimmering gold robe. His hair was still wrecked, going every which way as if Magnus had been caught in a small personal tempest, but Simon was not going to quibble about the hair of his potential savior.

"Really sorry again," said Simon.

Magnus made a lazy gesture. "Seeing your face was not the best moment of my day, Simon, but these things happen. Admittedly, they have never happened to Alec before, and he needs a few more minutes. Show me where the child is."

"Follow me," said Simon.

He ran down the stairs as fast as he had run up them, taking two at a time. He found the tableau at the threshold just as he had left it, Beatriz and Julie the horrified audience to George's terrified and inexpert baby-holding. The bundle was now making a low, plaintive sound.

"What took you so long?" Beatriz hissed.

Julie still looked very shaken, but she managed to say: "Hello, Magnus."

"Hello again, Julie," said Magnus, once again the only calm person in a room. "Let me hold the baby."

"Oh, thank you," George breathed. "Not that I don't like the baby. But I have no idea what to do with it."

George appeared to have bonded in the time it took Simon to run up and down a flight of stairs. He looked mushily down at the baby, clutching the bundle for a moment, and then as he handed the baby over to Magnus, he fumbled and almost dropped the baby on the stone floor.

"By the Angel!" Julie exclaimed, hand pressed to her breast.

Magnus arrested the fumble and caught the child, holding the blanket-wrapped bundle close against his gold-embroidered chest. Magnus held the baby with more expertise than George did, which meant that Magnus supported the baby's head and it appeared as if he might have held a baby once or twice in his life. George had not looked like he was going to win any baby-holding championships.

With a hand glimmering with rings, Magnus drew the blanket back a little, and Simon held his breath. Magnus's eyes traveled over the baby, his impossibly small hands and feet, the wide eyes in his small face, the curls on his head so dark a blue they were almost black. The baby's low constant sound of complaint rose a little, complaining harder, and Magnus smoothed the blanket back into place.

"He's a boy," said Magnus.

"Aw, a boy," said George.

"He's about eight months old, I would say," Magnus continued. "Someone raised him until they could not bear it anymore, and I suppose through the recruitment of mundanes to the Academy, someone thought they knew the place to bring a child they did not want."

"But someone wouldn't leave their child . . . ," George began, and fell silent under Magnus's gaze.

"People would. People do. And the choices people make are different, with warlock children," Magnus said. His voice was quiet.

"So there's no chance anyone is coming back for him," said Beatriz.

Simon took the note he had found folded on the child's blanket and gave it to Magnus. He did not feel, looking into Magnus's face, that he could give it to anyone else. Magnus looked at the note, nodded. Who could ever love it? flashed between his fingers, and then he tucked it away into his robe.

There were other students gathering around them, and a rising hubbub of noise and confusion. If Simon had been in New York, he figured people would have been taking pictures of the baby with their phones. He felt a little like an exhibition in a zoo, and he was so grateful Magnus was there.

"What is happening?" asked a voice from the top of the stairs.

Dean Penhallow was standing there, with her strawberry-blond hair loose over her shoulders, clutching around her a black silk robe etched with dragons. Catarina stood at her side, fully dressed in jeans and a white blouse.

"Seems like someone left a baby instead of the milk bottles," she said. "That was careless. Welcome, Magnus."

Magnus gave her a little wave with his free hand and a wry smile.

"What? Why? Why would anyone do such a thing? What are we supposed to do with it?" the dean asked.

Sometimes Simon forgot that Dean Penhallow was really young, young for a teacher, let alone a dean. Other times he was forcefully reminded of that fact. She looked as panicked as Beatriz and Julie had.

"He's much too young to be taught," said Scarsbury, peering down from the crowded staircase. "Perhaps we should contact the Clave."

"If the baby needs a bed," George offered, "Simon and I could keep him in our sock drawer."

Simon gave George an appalled glare. George looked distressed.

Alec Lightwood moved like a shadow through the crowds of students, head and shoulders above most of them but not shoving anyone aside. He moved quietly, persistently, until he was where he wanted to be: at Magnus's side.

When Magnus saw Alec, his whole body relaxed. Simon had not even been aware of the tension running all through Magnus's frame until he saw the moment when ease returned.

"This is the warlock child Simon was talking about," Alec said in a low voice, and nodded toward the baby.

"As you see," said Magnus. "The baby would not be able to pass for a mundane. His mother clearly does not want him. He is in a nest of the Nephilim, and I cannot think, among faeries or Shadowhunters or werewolves, where in the world he could possibly belong."

Magnus's calm and amusement had seemed infinite until a few minutes ago. Now Simon heard his voice fraying, a rope on which too much strain had been put, and which must soon snap.

Alec put a hand on Magnus's upper arm, just above the elbow. He clasped Magnus's arm firmly, almost absently providing silent support. He looked up at Magnus and then looked down, for a long, thoughtful moment, at the baby.

"Can I hold him?" Alec asked.

Surprise flew over Magnus's face but did not linger. "Sure," he said, and put the baby in Alec's arms, held out to receive him.

Maybe it was that Alec had held a baby more recently than Magnus had, and certainly more often than George. Maybe it was that Alec was wearing what seemed to be an incredibly ancient sweater, worn soft with years and faded from dark green to gray, with only traces remaining of the original color.

Whatever the reason, as soon as Alec took the baby, the continuous soft whimpering noise ceased. There was still the buzzing of urgent whispers, up and down the hall, but the small group surrounding the child suddenly found themselves in a pocket of hushed silence.

The baby gazed up at Alec with grave eyes only a shade darker than Alec's own. Alec gazed back at the baby. He looked as surprised as anyone else by the baby's sudden hush.

"So," said Delaney Scarsbury. "Should we contact the Clave and put this matter before them, or what?"

Magnus turned in a whirl of gold and fixed Scarsbury with a look that made him shrink back against the wall.

"I do not intend to leave a warlock child to the tender mercies of the Clave," Magnus declared, his voice extremely cold. "We have this, don't we, Alec?"

Alec was still looking down at the baby. He glanced up when Magnus addressed him, his face briefly dazed, as a man woken from a dream, but his expression set as with a sudden resolve.

"Yeah," he answered. "We do."