Sarah Brennan: The Demon’s Surrender

“Lydie,” said Sin, and brushed a kiss at the golden curls at her sister’s temple. Lydie looked past her and reached her arms out for Alan.

“Hi, sweetheart,” said Alan, his voice turning slow and sweet as honey. Lydie’s arms stretched forward, questing and imperious, and Alan leaned his weight against the stall and reached out to hold her.

Sin had to look away as he lurched.

“You’re so irresistible to women, Alan,” she remarked. “Pity your charm only works on those over fifty or under five.”

“Poor me,” Alan said. “I just missed my chance of dazzling you. You’re what, seven by now?”

He gave her the smug look of a boy a bare three years older than she was. Sin rolled her eyes.

“Same age as your brother,” she remarked. “And he’s looking pretty grown-up these days.”

Alan’s stance shifted suddenly, and Sin realized that there was one of the Ryves brothers at least who was not entirely comfortable with Nick’s transformation. Alan’s T-shirt might as well have read MY BROTHER IS JAILBAIT. IT’S MAKING ME ANXIOUS.

Sin smiled with glorious and terrible joy.

“You’ve seen Nick,” Alan said, his voice suddenly wary. “Did you talk to him?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that he needed a signed permission slip to play with the other children. I have seen him. I had a lot of fun looking.”

“Yes, all right, Cynthia,” said Alan, who apparently felt he needed to use her full name at all times in order to achieve the maximum possible level of condescension. “Look, I’m just—I’m just saying, maybe be a little careful.”

“Careful?” Sin repeated. “You’re telling me to be careful of your own brother.”

Alan colored a deep, unhappy red. Sin did not give a damn.

Market opinion was divided on what Nick thought of Alan, their guesses ranging from “total indifference” to “sullen adoration.” But Alan had always seemed to love Nick, sticking close to him, taking care of him as Nick scowled about it. It was the only thing about Alan that Sin actually approved of.

She reached out and pulled her sister out of his arms, rocking Lydie when she made a noise of extreme dissatisfaction. She pressed Lydie’s cheek to her talisman, the enchanted web of net and crystal against her heart.

“I can’t count the ways you make me sick,” she said conversationally to Alan. “Besides the obvious.”

She wielded the words with vicious, deliberate emphasis like one of her long knives, and saw them cut deep. The color drained out of Alan’s face.

“Stay out of my way,” Sin ordered. “And don’t you dare interfere with any of my audiences ever again.”

“He was a creep,” Alan mumbled. “It’s wrong to objectify women.”

He turned away toward the piles of books, as if retreating to a refuge, and sounded a little awkward when he said that, like he really believed it but knew it sounded stupid. Alan was supposed to be so smart; Sin could not understand why he didn’t see that he was insulting her by implying she hadn’t known exactly what she was doing, and exactly what that guy was.

She gave Lydie to Trish and stepped in close to Alan, whose eyes widened slightly. Sin ignored her own surprise that Alan was so tall and leaned in closer still, almost resting her chin against his shoulder, so close she could feel his body heat. She concentrated her gaze until he followed it, and saw who she was watching.

She gave him a slow, sweet smile.

“Guess what,” she said. “I’m objectifying your brother right now.”

She left without another look at him, sliding through the Market. She smiled, seeing first-time tourists arrive looking wary about the mysterious invitations they’d received from strangers, and then seeing their faces wiped clean of everything but wonder. The stalls were full of glittering marvels like treasure chests newly discovered and just opened for the first time, and even the stars shone bright as new coins under lamplight against the black velvet drape of a stall. Sin remembered being very small, walking through the Market holding her father’s hand, dazzled by everything.

Sin was part of the marvels now.

As she listened to the pipers, the music from above changed, became something intense, with a beat that rang out to the sky. Sin tipped her head back to see white cliffs painted violet and black by the falling night, the pipers at the edge with their instruments gleaming in the moonlight, and above them walls and a castle keep.

Then she lowered her gaze and saw that everyone was looking at her.

She had already positioned herself under a lantern that beamed white light in a pattern like lace: a lantern enchanted to make everything it touched radiant. Sin knew it was making her silvery dress glow like moonlight on steel, that it made the fever blossoms woven through the pale material and her dark hair kindle with crimson fire.

She sent her body rippling to the music, bringing attention to the shifting whisper-soft material over her skin, to the sway of her hips. Her movement called the other dancers to her, spilling in from every corner of the Market to join her dance.

She swayed a few more times, slow and sinuous. The whispers and gasps of the audience stroked over her like caresses.

When she pulled a fever blossom slowly out of her hair, dark locks unraveling from the flower like ribbons, the noise from the audience rose to an excited pitch.

Clearly, this crowd had been informed that whoever was thrown a fever blossom had the dancer’s favor.

Sin laughed, and threw.

The single point of red drew every eye and painted a fiery streak against the sky, like a tiny falling star.

Nick was standing alone and looking bored, his eyes hooded. He caught the fever blossom in one hand.

Sin left the dance and walked toward him. His lids lifted as she came close. There was a gleam his eyes.

“You ready to dance?” Sin asked.

“With you?”

“Don’t tell me you were considering someone else.”

Nick smirked. “Why, will it break your heart?”

“No,” said Sin. “I just won’t believe you.”

She saw the glint of appreciation touch his cold face, curving his mouth at the very edges. Nick never showed much emotion, but even the smallest hint of a reaction was like a victory. And he’d always appreciated directness.

“Well, I don’t lie,” he said, tucking away the fever blossom and offering her his hand. “And I don’t want to dance with anyone but you.”

The summoning circles were cut, the drums were beating, and Nick was in the circle overlapping hers before she spoke to him again. Even then, he didn’t speak back.

He couldn’t. They always used a speaking charm so Alan could talk to the demons for him.

“Good luck,” Sin murmured, and they both smiled because the idea he might need luck was a joke.

The music had started as a trickle and became a flood now, cascading over the sand and into the ocean, echoing off the pale cliffs, coursing like sweet electric shocks through Sin’s bones. Sin could see the tourists’ heads turning even more than usual, as she looked at them with eyes that lured them into drawing closer and Nick stared at them with eyes that said to draw closer if they dared.

The music from the new drums was better, the tiny rattle of skulls adding an edge to the melody. Lines and circles leaped into fire under Sin’s feet.

She turned to fire with them, muscles burning as she twisted and turned and pushed them to their limit, blood burning in her veins as she spun. She was never so aware of her body as she was when she danced, of her body as a weapon honed to a perfect edge and a decoration polished until it was perfectly irresistible. Every pair of eyes resting on her, every breath she took away, was a triumph.