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strange and disturbing gesture, and then made the sound whoosh, whoosh —“magic, sometimes there’s a blue light.”
    Magnus stared at him. “I’m failing to see your point.”
    “If you made the baby for yourself and Alec, you can tell me,” said Robert. “I’m a very broad-minded man. Or—I’m trying to be. I’d like to be. I would understand.”
    “If I made . . . the . . . baby . . . ?” Magnus repeated.
    He was not certain where to start. He had imagined Robert Lightwood knew how babies were made.
    “Magically,” Robert whispered.
    “I am going to pretend you never said that to me,” said Magnus. “I am going to pretend we never had this conversation.”
    Robert winked, as if they understood each other. Magnus was speechless.
    The Lightwoods continued on their quest to childproof the suite, feed the baby, and all hold the baby at once. Witchlight on every side, filling the whole small space of the attic, blazed and burned in Magnus’s vision.
    Alec thought they were keeping the baby. He wanted to name him Max.
    *    *    *
    “I saw Magnus Bane and a sexy vampire lady in the hall,” Marisol announced as she passed Simon’s table.
    Jon Cartwright was carrying her tray, and he almost dropped it. “A vampire,” he repeated. “In the Academy ?”
    Marisol looked up into his scandalized face and nodded. “A sexy one.”
    “They’re the worst kind,” Jon breathed.
    “So you weren’t too bad, then, Simon,” Julie remarked as Marisol walked on, spinning her tale of an alluring vampiress.
    “You know,” Simon said, “sometimes I think Marisol goes too far. I know she likes jerking Jon’s chain, but nobody is dumb enough to believe in a warlock baby and a vampire on the same day. It’s too much. It makes no sense. Jon is going to catch on.”
    He poked a mysterious lump in his stew. Dinner was very late tonight, and very congealed. Marisol fibbing about vampires must have put the idea in his head: Simon looked back on drinking blood and thought that it could not have been as bad as this.
    “You would think she’d had enough excitement for one day,” George agreed. “I wonder how the poor little baby is doing. I was thinking, do you think he might change colors like a chameleon? How cool would that be?”
    Simon brightened. “So cool.”
    “Nerds,” said Julie.
    Simon took that as praise. He did feel that George had really come along under his tutelage. He had even voluntarily bought graphic novels when he was in Scotland over Christmas. Maybe someday the student would become the master.
    “This is hard luck for you, Simon,” said George. “I know you wanted to talk to Alec.”
    Simon’s brief moment of cheer faded, and he collapsed with his face on the table. “Forget about talking to Alec. When I went to tell them about the baby, I walked in on Alec and Magnus. If Alec didn’t like me before, he definitely hates me now.”
    Another old memory flashed in Simon’s mind, absolutely unwelcome: Alec’s pale, furious face as he looked down at Clary. Maybe Alec hated Clary, too. Maybe once someone crossed him, he never forgot and never forgave, and would always hate them both.
    His hideous imaginings were interrupted by a sensation around their dinner table.
    “What? Where? When? How? Did Magnus seem like an athletic yet tender lover?” Julie demanded.
    “Julie!” said Beatriz.
    “Thank you, Beatriz,” said Simon.
    “Don’t say a word, Simon,” said Beatriz. “Not until I have acquired a pen and paper so I can write down everything you say. I’m sorry, Simon, but they are famous, and celebrities have to bear with this interest in their love lives. They’re like Brangelina.”
    Beatriz rummaged through her bag until she found a notebook, and then opened it and gazed at Simon with an expectant air.
    Julie, Idris born and bred, made a face. “What is Brangelina? It sounds like a demon.”
    “It does not!” George protested. “I believe in their