Sarah Brennan - The Demon's Lexicon

“All right. We’ll talk about this later, but — it’s all right.”

“Let’s go,” said Nick, and carefully, one by one, they lowered themselves to slip in through the attic windows and into the house of the magicians.

It was a very fancy attic. There was an expensive-looking carpet on the floor, royal blue and goldenrod-yellow, and the ceiling was full of curves and shadows. They all stood looking at each other, panting in the silence, all a little uncertain now that the plan was about to be put into action.

Mae grabbed Jamie in a sudden hug.

“Don’t worry,” she said, holding his thin shoulders in a death grip. “I’m not worried. It’s all going to be okay.”

Jamie patted her on the back, looking shaky but enormously relieved, and said, “Okay.”

“All this time wasting is very touching,” Nick observed. “Shall we go?”

He turned his back on Alan without a word; next time he saw him, Alan would be unmarked and free to go and live in the world he had been born into. Nick did not plan to bother him again.

Behind him, Alan said, “Nick. Don’t — if you see Black Arthur, don’t talk to him. Don’t listen to a word he says.”

“Why?” Nick asked. “Will he lie to me? Imagine that.”

Twisting the knife worked. There was a significant pause before Alan was able to say, “I’m sorry.”

“For which lie in particular?”

Alan stood silent for a moment, and then he said, “You’ll see.”

Nick made a disgusted sound and jerked his head sharply in a summons at Jamie. Jamie swallowed again and followed Nick as he made his way down the stairs.

He hadn’t said much while the others were planning, but he had insisted on leaving the attic, and access to the roof, to Alan and Mae. That would give them the best chance of getting out.

The magicians’ Circle must have owned this house for some time. There were no signs of a rushed and recent move, and now that they were inside, it was obviously a magicians’ house. The place was filled with charms that would have fetched a good price at the Goblin Market. There were protective symbols cut into the glass of some windows. There was a chandelier in the shape of a dream catcher, feathers and net carved out of crystal and catching the pale noon light. Nick walked under it and along the corridors softly as a cat, glancing occasionally backward to make sure that Jamie was close behind him and not about to cause any trouble.

Once when he turned around, Jamie was not behind him but a few paces back, studying something on a table.

“What are you doing?” he snapped, but quietly.

“What’s this?” Jamie whispered.

He picked up the little glass shape in his hands, turning it over, and the glass, which had shown a flurry of golden autumn leaves, suddenly burst into green leaves and bright sunlight.

“It’s a season tetrahedron,” Nick said. “Like a snow globe, but depending what side you look at, it shows a different season.”

“It’s beautiful,” Jamie murmured. He turned the season tetrahedron again and got drifting white snowflakes.

“Yes, it’s lovely,” Nick agreed flatly. “And completely worth being killed because you were too busy looking at toys to keep an eye out for magicians. Don’t get left behind. Don’t think I will not leave you to die.”

Jamie put down the season tetrahedon in a hurry, the glass chinking against the marble tabletop. He took a step backward, toward Nick, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I know you would.”

Nick was mildly startled by Jamie’s tone. As they walked on, he glanced over at Jamie, whose face was pale above a dark hooded sweatshirt. Nick took a moment to be annoyed by the flash of his earring. He’d never blend into the shadows if they had to hide. That little glint would catch anyone’s eye.

“I can’t work you out,” Jamie felt the need to inform him, because he was an idiot who never stopped talking. He seemed determined and was speaking low enough, so Nick didn’t even try to stop him. “You’ve been okay to me sometimes, but I can’t tell if that means you like me. I don’t know if you like anyone, I don’t know if you can like anyone. I thought at least there was Alan, but then you hit him.”

Jamie was furious with him, Nick realized. He supposed it made sense. Jamie hated violence so much.

“I’ve never thought about you enough to dislike you,” Nick said. “I just think you’re useless.”

“And I think you’re scary,” Jamie snapped. “So we’re even.”

There was not a sound, not even the creak of a floorboard, but Nick popped the knife from his wrist sheath all the same. He felt more comfortable with a knife in his hand.

“We’re not even. You’re causing me a lot of trouble, and I am saving your pointless life.”

“You wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help us if Alan hadn’t insisted. Alan’s the one who wants to help people. You don’t want to help people. I don’t think you even see most people as people. You remind me of — someone I used to know.” Jamie bit his lip. “He was terrifying as well.”

There was a moving shadow down the hall, but after a moment of observation, Nick saw it was a tapestry fixed to the wall only by the top. It was fluttering in a breeze and covered with symbols to attract wealth and power.

“You only do the right thing because Alan wants you to,” Jamie continued, still sounding furious. “Without him, I’m pretty sure you’d be a monster.”

Nick bared his teeth at Jamie. “So I’m a monster,” he murmured. “Are you scared?”

Below them came the sound of running footsteps, sudden and clear. Jamie jumped and grabbed for Nick’s arm, making a small, startled sound. Nick whirled and pushed Jamie up against the wall, a hand over his mouth.

“Shh,” he hissed. “Try to remember there are monsters here. Besides me.”

Jamie nodded. Nick could hear his own heart beating far too fast as they waited, both tense, for another sound, for a door to open or a voice to speak.

Nothing came. After a moment he released Jamie.

“Sorry,” Jamie whispered. “I just wanted to talk to you. I wanted to say — that I think you should forgive Alan. We all have our secrets.”

“You certainly do,” Nick sneered, and Jamie bit his lip again.

He almost wanted to talk to Jamie about that. It was obvious that Jamie had as much potential to be a magician as Nick did. For days all Nick had been able to think of were images of Black Arthur and demons and death.

It was impossible to think of Jamie in those terms, though. Nick could ask him, perhaps, how he controlled his power. If Nick could find some way not to be like Black Arthur, Alan would be pleased.

Except that it would be impossible for Nick to be harmless and well-meaning, to be like Jamie. And Alan was a liar.

“I don’t want anyone to talk to me,” Nick snarled. “What difference do words make? He’s not my brother.”

“What does that matter?” Jamie demanded. “Don’t you understand—”

“No,” Nick growled. “I understood being brothers. I understood that word, but now I don’t understand anything and — Shut up and get behind me!”

Jamie went white and ran to obey him. Nick now had an unobstructed view of what he had seen bearing down on them over Jamie’s shoulder. He sheathed his knife, reached behind him, and drew his sword. Then he stood waiting.

Jamie’s voice quavered behind him. “Is that a magician?”

“It used to be,” Nick said.

A demon could animate a corpse. They didn’t like to do it. They preferred all the sensations that went with the living, and besides, the living lasted longer.

When there was no body but a dead one available, though, a demon would make do.