Magnus stared absently at Alec. He watched his black curls bob slightly in the brief gust of wind as the restaurant's door opened, the bell pull jingling like Santa's sleigh. Jace, beside Alec, was attempting to engage Alec in conversation, though Alexander looked as if he'd rather be elsewhere, participating in more interesting things. Magnus wondered if he would rather be tracking dragon demons through the slushy tunnels that ran beneath the city like veins.

Magnus was so absorbed in watching his husband sulk that it took him a moment to realize Clary had been talking to him. He blinked at her.

"What was that, biscuit?" he said. "I was miles away, lounging on a beach sipping a Pina Colada."

Alec muttered a response under his breath, though Magnus didn't catch the words.

"I said," said Clary, a note of impatience in her voice, "if maybe you wanted to hold Chrissy?"

Magnus regarded the ball of flailing arms on her lap with distaste. The little boy had inherited his mother's deep green eyes and his father's dishevelled blonde hair, and, unfortunately, his father's careless attitude. Despite Clary having named him after her brother, there was nothing of Jonathan Morgenstern in him. He looked how one-year-olds were supposed to look; chubby cheeks and milk teeth and fragile limbs. Magnus wondered when he would reach the age when he started beheading his action figures.

But his being a child wasn't what made Magnus recoil. He'd held children before, James and Lucie, even Clary herself, bundled up in a woollen blanket. No, that wasn't it—it was the thick slimy gravy oozing down the little boy's chin, soaking his poor miniature tweed jacket with gloop. He pictured that gloop staining his white tuxedo—and shuddered inwardly.

"Oh," Magnus began smoothly, "I don't think that would be a good idea. That child when he first laid eyes on me screamed his throat dry. I think he thought I was going to kidnap him like the child snatcher off Chitty Chitty Bang Bang."

Across from him, Simon snorted. Magnus raised his eyebrows questioningly at the same time Isabelle shot her boyfriend a suspicious look. "Something funny?" she demanded.

Simon shook his head at her, as if to say Not now.

"Look," said Clary, pushing Simon and Isabelle out of the booth and rising to her feet. "I'll be five minutes." She dumped Christopher on his lap and walked quickly away. Seconds later Jace slid out of the booth and followed her.

"I see," said Magnus. "They're going for a quickie in the bathroom. How romantic."

"Magnus!" Alec burst out. His face was suddenly suffused with blood. "How can you say that? Jace isn't taking drugs! Nor Clary," he added upon catching Simon's look. "I mean, I wouldn't know. She could be using drugs—"

"Gah!" Magnus exclaimed. Chrissy had reached up and plucked off one of Magnus's glittery false lashes and was waving it, triumphantly, in his hand, as if it were a flag. "You insolent monster!" Magnus twisted round on the seat, turning to Alec; the other boy was regarding him with a concerned look, as if Magnus looked suddenly ill. "Alec—Alec, how do I look? Is it awful?"

Alec's eyes widened momentarily before he shoved his face in his hands. Meanwhile, Magnus felt as if the sky was falling, moving slowly and torturously, threatening to crush him. Bending his head forward, he tried to get Chrissy to remove the other lash. He would rather be seen with no glittery lashes than with one glittery lash, his eyes appearing uneven as if he had accidently shaved off its lashes. Magnus succeeded in only getting his hair caught in the boy's mouth; Christopher coughed and kicked out at him, wailing like a police siren.

Magnus knew customers in the café had turned to stare at him, but he didn't acknowledge them. There were bigger issues to deal with. Like, say, the threat of his eardrums exploding, the ear-splitting screech emanating from the child's gaping mouth as he thrashed in Magnus's arms, his little feet kicking him in his side—gravy, gravy, gravy. Paddy wasn't such trouble to deal with, though Magnus guessed that was because he hadn't inherited Jace Herondale's attitude.

Alec was shouting at him, demanding Magnus to do something, while Izzy and Simon conversed with each other and pretended they didn't know either Alec or Magnus.

"What on earth—" It was Clary, suddenly beside him. In her hands she held paper plates of steaming food. Jace appeared at her side just seconds later, carrying drinks. "What have you done to him?" She set the food on the table and took the police siren out of Magnus's arms. She held him tight against her chest, rubbing his back soothingly and whispering to him in a hushed voice.

The child quieted almost immediately.

Jace nudged Izzy and Simon aside; they scooted over. "You were right," he said as he took his seat. "Chrissy hates you." He seemed unconcerned by this, almost amused at the idea.

Magnus was about to answer when his phone buzzed. He realized then that Christopher hadn't been kicking him in his side at all. It had been his phone. Magnus stared helplessly at his gravy-covered fingers, shot a look at Alec. With an irritable sigh Alec reached over and slid his hand into his inside pocket. Magnus flinched as Alec's icy fingers grazed his skin, his gentle touch sending bolts of electricity through his body.

Alec met Magnus's eyes as he registered his flinch, and Magnus saw the faint spark in their ocean depths, and he realized Alec wanted to get out of here just as much as Magnus did. Reluctantly Alec drew back, holding the phone to his ear. His husband's face turned an array of colours: gray, blue, yellow, fuchsia. A moment later he snapped the phone shut.

"That was Catarina," Alec said. "It's Paddy. He's—"

He cut himself off, because at that precise moment the liquid inside the glasses on the table had started to ripple. The rippling became a wild ocean, the glasses themselves vibrating, the lights swaying overhead.

And then he heard it: the faint sound of a stampede.

The windows rattled in their frames as out on the street, a horde of dogs rushed by like one single gigantic wave. Passer-by ducked into nearby alleyways to avoid being crushed. People abandoned their vehicles on the street and ran in the direction the hounds were headed, away from them.

And there, saddled atop a black St. Bernard amid the roiling mass, was a small blue-skinned warlock child.

It was Paddy.