Sarah Brennan: The Demon's Lexicon

He probably would’ve been less of a target if he hadn’t insisted on wearing lavender shirts and jewelry to school.

Nick didn’t blame Jamie for being nervous around him. Lots of people were, and besides that, Seb McFarlane and his lot were always hassling Jamie, and they were technically Nick’s friends.

Nick thought the kid was stupid for sticking his neck out when he didn’t have to and couldn’t protect himself, but he’d never laid a finger on him. It was a waste of energy; Jamie had never done anything to him, and Alan would have been furious.

He understood anger, though, the restless urge to lash out at anyone that made that little group of bored boys tick. Nick always gravitated to those boys, the troublemakers in every school. The other kids avoided Nick, as if they could smell the violence on him. It didn’t bother Nick; he could smell the weakness on them. These boys thought every danger sign was a show of strength. They weren’t afraid of him, and he needed a group. A boy alone got too much attention.

“So,” Jamie said, apparently now under the impression that he was welcome, “you two live together?”

He jumped a little when he saw the expression on Nick’s face, then edged so far down the sofa he was practically sitting on the arm.

“Yes,” Nick responded, in a voice of ice. “Because he is my brother.”

“Ah,” Jamie said faintly.

“Don’t take that tone with my brother,” Mae said, tilting her chin. “How was Jamie supposed to know? You two don’t look anything alike.”

Nick looked away from her and Jamie, to the mirror over the mantelpiece. It only reflected the lamp against the wall, the light a low sunset color inside the ugly orange lampshade. His grip on his sword tightened.

He didn’t need her to tell him. He knew that.

Mae and Jamie were not much alike, as siblings went. She was on the curvy side, and Jamie was a skinny wretch Nick could have snapped like a twig in one hand. Jamie was blond, and Nick suspected that under the pink Mae was a basic brunette, but they both had the same big brown eyes, the same heart-shaped face. They shared a few markers of kinship with each other, the small signs of shared blood that Nick would have wanted to share with Alan, and not with her.

Alan looked uncomfortable. Nick cleared his throat, and Jamie jumped again, as if the sound was a gunshot. “Alan looks like Dad. I look like Mum.”

It was as simple as that. He fixed both of them with a stare that dared them to ask further questions or make further personal observations. His family was none of their business.

Neither Mae nor Jamie spoke. Alan, however, could never be stopped from talking by any power of God or Nick.

“Now that Nick’s back, why don’t you tell us why you’re here and what you think might be wrong,” he said, still smiling. His eyes creased up behind his glasses when he smiled, until they were nothing but gleams of vivid blue.

It was Dad’s smile, and Alan used it to the same effect Dad always had.

Mae was apparently not immune to the smile. Her face softened and her back straightened as she smiled back.

“Well,” she said. “I’m psychic myself, you see.”

Nick snorted. “Oh, of course you are.”

Mae looked offended. “It’s possible that I’ve grown out of it, but very strange things happened around me when I was younger. Little objects used to smash by themselves, or fly through the air. I didn’t know what was going on, but I’ve researched and I’ve looked for people who might know something, and I’ve heard things about magicians and the demons who give them power. And it’s true, isn’t it? That man you — he’d turned himself into a bird! He was a real magician. It’s all real.”

Sounded like some of the Market people had been talking. Nick wished they could learn to keep their mouths shut, or at least learn not to take advantage of Alan’s soft heart, and stop sending the problem cases his way.

“It’s real,” Alan said, “but I don’t think—”

He looked worried about distressing the lady, so Nick came to his rescue. He leaned forward, looked at Mae, and said, “Let me put things simply so you will understand them. You’re not a magician. You’re an idiot. A few people in this world are born with a certain amount of magic, but they don’t grow out of it. They either learn to control it and keep it a secret forever, or they try to do something with the magic. Which means that most of them become magicians and call up demons. It’s the safest and easiest way to get more power, but there’re also rituals with the dead, and—”

“Rituals with the dead,” Jamie repeated in a faint, stunned voice. Nick turned and looked at him coldly. “I mean,” Jamie said, and swallowed, “how interesting and not at all creepy! Please go on!”

Nick was tired of this. They’d been attacked, they were going to move again, and he didn’t need these people witnessing what a mess his life was. He hated it that they were from his school: that Jamie had seen him trying to read, and now they were getting an illicit peek into his weird world. Afterward they’d go home, safe and warm, and they would think that they’d had an adventure.

He leaned forward and caught Mae’s eyes again, giving her the kind of look that made most people flinch.

“There are the magicians’ messengers, and people who can enchant others with music, and people who can make magical objects,” he explained, his voice low. “But funnily enough, there are no people who grow out of having magical powers. If you had them, you’d know about it. But you don’t know anything, and none of this concerns you. Go home and stop bothering me for no reason.”

Mae did flinch and immediately looked furious with herself. “I have a reason!”

Nick was ready to snap back at her when Alan leaned forward and touched his arm. His grip on his sword tightened, but he fell silent, and Alan said in a much kinder voice than any Nick could’ve achieved, “What’s your reason?”

Mae looked at the floor and said, “I told you. It’s Jamie.”

“It’s crazy, is what it is,” said Jamie. Nick turned to look at him again. Jamie did not seem overjoyed to have captured his attention. He swallowed and made a face, as if someone was forcing something bitter down his throat, and then continued, “It all started with — these dreams. I thought they were just dreams, strange dreams, of someone beautiful outside my window, asking to be let in.”

“A succubus,” Mae put in helpfully. Nick raised his eyebrows at the word and made sure she saw him do so. She frowned at him and continued, “Or an incubus, that’s the word for the men, isn’t it? I’ve read about them, they’re demons who come in the night and basically have their wicked way with you.”

“Their wicked way?” Nick repeated. “My, my. What kind of books have you been reading, and does your mother know?”

Mae glared, and Jamie’s face went scarlet. So did Alan’s. Apparently he’d never heard that there was such a thing as being too sympathetic.

“What happened?” Alan asked quietly.

Jamie looked up from the floor and found something in Alan’s eyes that made him square his shoulders and say, in a steadier voice, “I let him in. And then, in the morning, it was real. I mean, someone had really been there. There was—”

“All you need to do is answer the question,” Nick interrupted. “We don’t need details.”

Mae’s glare intensified, and Nick smiled, feeling pleased and vicious at once. These people shouldn’t have come here. School and home should not overlap. Nick was meant to be normal at school, and this was his place, his brother, his home, even his mad mother rocking upstairs. He did not care about their problems. He only wanted them to leave.