Sarah Brennan: The Demon's Lexicon

It was different for Alan. He’d asked his brother once what he felt when he was angry since Alan never wanted to kill people — though sometimes he had to — and Alan had looked upset and described feeling indignation and annoyance and a hundred things all at once that he said added up to anger.

Alan was too soft. All Nick felt was the violent desire to cut down whoever was in his way.

“Come on, Mae,” Jamie said, his quiet voice a shock. “I told you he’d be too angry to help us. We’ll find some other way.” He glanced at Nick, eyes sliding apprehensively from him to the safer sight of the car. “I’m sorry about your brother. We didn’t mean for him to get hurt.”

“Doesn’t matter what you meant,” Nick pointed out.

He’d be on edge until Alan’s mark was gone. He didn’t need these people bothering him as well.

Jamie reached up to take his sister’s hand that rested on his shoulder, twining her fingers around his and trying to use it to tug her away. He backed up a step and then stopped, like a boat caught short at the end of its rope. Mae stood firm, her eyes boring into Nick.

“Get lost,” Nick said, enunciating each word as if she was a bit slow. “There’s no help for you here.”

That was when Alan came outside, blinking slightly in the bright light. His quickly checked smile at the sight of Mae made Nick feel unwell.

“Hi, Alan,” Jamie said in a small voice. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes, of course. There’s no need to worry about me, I’ll be right as rain in no time,” Alan assured him, smile fading as he looked at Jamie. This was just how Alan had looked at the sick kitten he’d taken home so it could grow up big and strong and able to bite Nick.

Jamie offered him a little smile as if to call Alan’s back. “You’ll get it fixed at the — Goblin Market thing.”

Mae and Jamie’s faces suddenly changed, as if a shadow had fallen over them. Nick turned to see that shadow was actually Mum’s dark form at Alan’s shoulder, moving slowly forward until the cold light touched her face.

Mum walked past Alan, her hand lingering on his sleeve for an instant as she went by. Her black flag of hair streamed behind her as she went, as if it wanted to cling to the shadows. When she stopped in the middle of the yard, her hair fell with a weighted swish like heavy curtains around her face. Nick kept his eyes turned to her so he would not have to look at Mae and Jamie. It was always the same, the way people’s eyes moved from Mum’s face to Nick’s, while their expressions moved from recognition to silent horror.

Nick’s mother had a face that kept all secrets but one. Her broad, slanted cheekbones made her look catlike, and her wide mouth was constantly moving and always formed a shape at odds with her expression. She was tall, and her black hair made her look even paler than she was. She looked like Mae might have wanted to look, if Mum had not looked insane. The full mouth kept shifting with the spasms of a tic. Past the protection of hooded eyelids that seemed pulled down by heavy lashes, her eyes were icy blue and seemed always fixed on someone who was not there.

Except for the color of his eyes, Nick looked exactly like her. He hated it when people saw her. They could never look at Nick again without associating him with madness.

“We’re leaving again,” she said flatly. “I don’t know why we bother. He’ll find us.”

Nick wished he could look away from her. He wished that he could leave her. He wished that Alan would agree to leave her.

Mum smiled dreamily, the rest of her face frozen and expressionless. She said, “He’s not the kind of man who fails.”

Alan limped forward to stand beside her in the uncut grass of their front yard, and reached for her hand. Nick didn’t see how he could bear to touch her. “Olivia,” said Alan, voice low, “don’t. Let’s get in the car.”

She turned and pressed her fingers against the curve of his cheek, gazing at him but not quite meeting his eyes.

“You’re a sweet boy,” she whispered. “You’re my sweet boy, but you’ve got it all wrong.”

Mae cleared her throat, pulling absently at one of her necklaces. The movement almost drew Nick’s eyes to the tangle of talismans and chains around his mother’s neck, but he stopped his instinctive glance. These two knew enough about his family already. They didn’t need to see him looking at Mum’s charms.

He looked at Alan instead, expecting to find steadiness there, expecting sanity and familiarity.

He saw fear.

He saw Alan draw his gun out in the open, out in their front garden where anyone could see. Nick didn’t hesitate. He drew his sword and held that sharp, glittering barrier between his brother and the rest of the world, and then he looked around to see what was threatening them.

She was coming down the road toward them, her high heels clicking on the cement. She looked to be in her forties, with a sleek brown bob and large earrings that caught the sun, shining perfect circles with a knife in the center of each one.

The knives danced jauntily in their circles as she turned and smiled at them.

“Hello, boys. How are you today?”

Nick strode toward her, Alan a pace behind him. He wheeled behind the woman, and after a moment Alan came to stand in front of her. She swung around, briefly teetering on her heels, unable to keep them both in her range of vision and unsure who to focus on.

Nick claimed her full attention by stepping in to her as if they were about to dance. She stopped, facing him, then looked down to see that he was holding each end of his sword and pressing the length of the blade lightly against her stomach. He gazed down at her and smiled a little.

“All the better for seeing you.”

There were as many types of magic user in this world as there were colors in white light. On one end of the spectrum were the magicians, and on the other end was the Goblin Market.

There were a lot of people who wanted more power than the Market offered, and who didn’t quite have the stomach for feeding their own kind to demons. There were the necromancers and the messengers, the pied pipers and the soul tasters, and a dozen others, and Market people trusted none of them.

They trusted the messengers least of all. Every messenger wore the sign of a knife through a circle. It was a sign from the magicians. It meant that the messenger was attached to a Circle of magicians, and if you crossed the messenger, you crossed the Circle.

The knife more or less indicated how things would go from there.

Messengers were closely associated with magicians. They carried information back and forth between Circles, and between magicians and the outside world, and in return they were paid with demons’ magic. Magic bought in blood.

As far as Nick was concerned, they were magicians without the guts.

Over the messenger’s shoulder he saw Mae and Jamie, looking alarmed by the sudden appearance of weapons and a stranger. He saw Mum standing by the car, her face a complete blank.

The messenger smiled, a small, wary smile like a concerned parent watching her child. She looked far more like a mother than Mum. Possibly Nick should hire her for his next parent-teacher meeting.

“You’re looking very grown-up, Nick.”

“It’s true, I’m entering on manhood,” Nick said. “You’re a stylish, sophisticated, ever so slightly evil woman of the world. Do you think we could make it work?”

She looked much less like a mother when her smile went sharp like that. “Probably not.”

Nick adjusted his grip on the sword, held it at the precise point where her ribs ended. “Pity.”

Alan interrupted, his face grave and his gun at the small of her back. “What’s your message?”