Even in his head, the travel agent hung up on him.
No, Magnus had been forced to plan out an elaborately romantic European getaway by himself. But he was Magnus Bane, glamorous and enigmatic. He could accomplish a trip of this kind in style. A warrior chosen by angels and a well-dressed demon’s child, in love and intent on adventure through Europe. What could go wrong?
Considering the issue of style, Magnus adjusted his crimson beret to a rakish angle. Alec looked up at the movement, then kept looking.
“Do you want to wear a beret after all?” Magnus asked. “Say the word. I happen to have several berets concealed on my person. In a variety of colors. I’m a beret cornucopia.”
“I’m going to pass on the beret,” said Alec. “Again. But thanks.” The corners of his mouth curved upward, the smile uncertain but real.
Magnus propped his chin on his hand. He wanted to savor this moment of Alec, starlight, and possibility in Paris, and keep it to look at, years in the future. He hoped the memory would not hurt later.
“What are you thinking about?” Alec asked. “Seriously.”
“Seriously,” said Magnus. “You.”
Alec looked startled at the idea that Magnus might be thinking of him. He was both very easy and very difficult to surprise—Shadowhunter vision and reflexes were no joke. Whether it was coming around a corner or in the bed they shared—only to sleep, for now, until or if Alec wanted anything else—Alec always anticipated him. Yet he could be caught off guard by something as small as knowing that he was in Magnus’s thoughts.
Right now, Magnus thought it was well past time for Alec to have a proper surprise. He just so happened to have one ready.
Paris was the first stop on their trip. Perhaps it was a cliché to begin a romantic European vacation in the City of Love, but Magnus believed classics were classics for a reason. They had been here almost a week, and Magnus felt it was time to put his own particular spin on things.
Alec finished his last postcard, and Magnus reached for it, then let his hand drop. He read what Alec had written and smiled, charmed and surprised.
On the postcard to his sister, Alec had added, Wish you were here. Except not really himself. He shot Magnus a tiny grin.
“Ready for the next adventure?” Magnus asked.
Alec looked intrigued, but he said, “You mean the cabaret? Our tickets are for nine o’clock. We should check how long it’ll take us to get there from here.”
It was very clear Alec had not been on a proper vacation before. He kept trying to plan the holiday as if they were going into battle.
Magnus waved his hand lazily, as if shooing a fly. “There’s always time for the late show at the Moulin Rouge. Turn around.”
He pointed over the Shadowhunter’s shoulder. Alec turned.
Drifting toward the Eiffel Tower, bobbing unsteadily against the crosswind, was a brightly striped purple-and-blue hot-air balloon. In place of a basket, a table and two chairs rested on a wooden platform hanging below the balloon by four ropes. The table was set for two, and a rose sat in a thin vase at its center. A three-pronged candelabra completed the setting, although the winds swirling around the Eiffel Tower kept blowing out the candles. Annoyed, Magnus snapped his fingers, and all three candles lit up again.
“Uh,” said Alec. “Can you fly a hot-air balloon?”
“Of course!” Magnus declared. “Did I ever tell you about the time I stole a hot-air balloon to rescue the queen of France?”
Alec grinned as if Magnus was making a joke. Magnus smiled back. Marie Antoinette had actually been quite a handful.
“It’s just,” Alec said thoughtfully, “I’ve never even seen you drive a car.”
He stood to admire the balloon, which was glamoured to be invisible. As far as the mundanes around them were concerned, Alec solemnly gazed at the open air.
“I can drive. I can also fly, and pilot, and otherwise direct any vehicle you like. I’m hardly going to crash the balloon into a chimney,” Magnus protested.
“Uh-huh,” said Alec, frowning.
“You seem lost in thought,” Magnus remarked. “Are you considering how glamorous and romantic your boyfriend is?”
“I’m considering,” said Alec, “how to protect you if we crash the balloon into a chimney.”
As he moved past Magnus, Alec stopped and pushed a wayward lock of hair off Magnus’s brow. His touch was light, tender but casual, as if he did not even really realize he was doing it. Magnus had not even realized his own hair was in his eyes.
Magnus ducked his head and smiled. Being taken care of was strange to him, but he thought perhaps he could get used to it.
Magnus glamoured the attention of mundane eyes away from him, and then he used his chair as a step and climbed onto the swaying platform. The moment he planted both feet on the floor, it felt as if he were standing on solid ground. He offered his hand. “Trust me.”
Alec hesitated, then accepted Magnus’s hand. His grip was strong, and his smile sweet. “I do.”
He followed Magnus, vaulting lightly over the railing onto the platform. They sat down at the table, and the balloon, ascending bumpily like a rowboat on a choppy ocean, drifted away unseen from the Eiffel Tower. Seconds later they were floating high above the skyline as the sprawl of Paris expanded in every direction around them.