Sarah Brennan - The Demon's Covenant

Nick was bleeding too much. There was a scarlet trail leading down from the wound his fist was still clenched over, and from the end of his shirt blood was dripping, forming a dark pattern on the bridge.

“I’m sure,” Nick said. Their blades flashed and rang, again and again, faster and faster, until all Mae could make out was a metallic blur and Helen’s white face. “And I’m sure of something else. You should’ve spent your time learning to use these swords, not magic them.”

The humming of Helen’s sword was more like shrieking now, a thin sound with steel and rage behind it. She went in again, wilder and sloppier, going for the kill. That bright sword kept coming within inches of Nick’s heart, his throat, his ribs. She scored another cut on the outside of his thigh.

Nick kept his blows steady and controlled, making every one count. Helen feinted to his wounded side, and he faltered. She dived in to exploit the moment of weakness, close to his body, and Nick struck her a blow that forced her arm up.

Her sword went flying into the air, sketching a golden arc against the night sky. Then it fell, all brightness lost, and was swallowed by the dark waters of the Thames.

Nick kicked Helen’s kneecaps, sending her legs out from under her. She tumbled down to her knees before him on the bridge, and he rested his sword lightly against her neck.

“Finish it,” Helen ground out, without lifting her bowed blond head.

All Mae could see was his back, his black head bent to survey his kill. He looked huge and menacing suddenly, now that the woman was on her knees. Now that she was helpless.

“No,” Nick said at last.

Helen did look up then. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to,” he said calmly. “I want you to go home, magician, and practice the sword without using magic. I want you to get really good. And then I want to fight you again.”

His voice changed a little on that last line, dark and anticipatory. Helen smiled.

“You’ve got yourself a date, demon.”

Nick strode forward to where the Aventurine Circle stood, transfixed and appalled.

Celeste Drake looked as if she might be considering taking some action as a demon advanced on her with a blade in hand.

“He won his prize,” Helen called back sharply over her shoulder.

Nick kept walking, swinging his sword in what seemed to be an idle manner. Celeste’s eyes followed it. Her free hand glowed a little, magic building hot in the center of her palm, and her other hand tightened on Jamie’s silver chain. Jamie wasn’t fighting anymore, but he was standing as far away from her as he could, the line of magic held taut between them.

“My prize,” Nick repeated. “You don’t have any slightly more impressive prizes on offer? Yeah, I thought not.”

Jamie looked indignant.

Nick said, “You are so much more trouble than you’re worth,” and brought his sword down viciously hard, cutting the magical tie between Jamie and Celeste Drake in two.

Jamie launched himself bodily away from the magicians and at Nick, almost knocking into him. Mae’s relief at seeing that silver cord severed was cut short when she realized why Jamie, who usually kept his distance from Nick, was pressed up against him with a hand over his. Jamie was trying to staunch the bleeding.

It was hard to tell when Nick was pale, but his lips were leached of all color, white and set in a thin line.

“Come back whenever you need to, Jamie,” Celeste said gently. “Demons always turn against you in the end.”

Nick turned his back without a word. Jamie went with him.

“C’mon,” Alan breathed, and Mae turned in time to see him slip a gun into the waistband of his jeans.

Alan hadn’t pulled her back and held her bruisingly hard for comfort. He’d positioned her deliberately, had her exactly where he wanted her, so she stood between him and the magicians. So her body blocked their view of his gun.

Jamie was on one side of Nick and Alan on the other as they went down one of the twin ramps, and Nick had relaxed enough to sag against his brother.

It occurred to Mae that Nick hadn’t pushed Jamie away when he flew to him because Jamie was helping him stand up.

“Jamie, let me.”

“No,” Jamie told her. “I’ve got him.”

“I want my sword,” Nick said without looking over his shoulder.

“Right,” said Mae, and ran back.

The Aventurine Circle were in the process of leaving the bridge, going north toward St. Paul’s, which was white as carved bone gleaming in the city lights. Helen was holding her side, one of the male magicians hanging solicitously around her. Celeste was still facing south, and she saw Mae coming.

Celeste’s eyes narrowed as she watched Mae kneel down on the deck and reach for the broken sword.

“The demon’s errand girl, are you?”

“The magician’s sister,” Mae corrected.

Celeste’s eyelashes swept down, modest as a lady hiding behind her fan. The china doll face was restored, a perfect mask now that the incongruously intelligent eyes were hidden.

“When you’re ready to be your own woman,” she said, “come find me.”

She reminded Mae of a different magician suddenly. For an instant the cold bridge at night slipped away and she saw Olivia again, Nick’s mother, with her midnight hair and her mad eyes, leaning close to whisper.

It’s probably best to change the world yourself, she’d said.

Before she died.

When Mae focused on Celeste again, the woman had already turned, fragile shoulders hunched slightly against the cold, the lights of riverside London blurring the gold of her hair and the white wool of her dress into one iridescent shape walking away. Mae had no chance to ask her what she’d meant.

She cut her hand picking up the broken blade that was half of Nick’s sword, and felt hot blood well up in the chilled hollow of her palm. She closed her fingers over blood and blade and ran to catch up with the others.

They were near the car park when she reached them. A couple of pedestrians had noticed how Nick was staggering and looked torn between worry and disapproval. Mae hoped fervently that nobody would call the police. Nick needed to get out of the city fast, and besides, she doubted her mother would react well to Mae ringing and requesting bail money.

“Got the sword,” she called out.

“Good,” Nick said between his teeth as they tried to manage the ramps inside the car park, oily puddles harder to avoid now. Under the flickering fluorescent lights, Nick’s footprints were vivid red.

Mae tried to avoid walking in them.

“Lucky they let us go,” she said, talking mostly because she thought it might soothe Jamie. “I mean—I didn’t expect them to play fair.”

“Having us trapped in a magicians’ circle and kidnapping Jamie isn’t exactly playing fair,” Alan observed.

“No,” Mae said. “I just meant that they kept by the rules of the duel. You didn’t.”

It wasn’t that she disapproved exactly, but seeing the flash of the gun as Alan tucked it away had caused an uneasy shift in her stomach. You expected the bad guys to be the ones doing the double-crossing.

“It’s true,” said Alan, and maneuvered his brother so Nick’s back hit their car. Nick leaned against it and panted, long shuddering breaths like an animal in pain. “I was cheating. They were going after my brother. When losing isn’t an option, it doesn’t matter what you have to do to win.”

He spoke in a distracted voice, as if he didn’t really care what he was saying. Mae didn’t care either, though, not really. Not when Nick looked as if he was about to collapse before their eyes.

Alan rested his bad leg against the car for a second as well, then opened the door to the backseat and pushed Nick into it. Nick went sprawling, head tipped back. There was a sheen of sweat on his throat.