Sarah Brennan - The Demon's Covenant

Mae had never heard Nick’s voice show feeling, but she had heard it show danger plenty of times. He didn’t shout, but sometimes everything went silent when he spoke and his voice sounded louder, like the slide of a knife from a sheath in a sudden hush.

She remembered Nick’s voice sounding like this one night when he’d whirled and hit his brother. And she remembered Alan coolly pulling a gun.

Alan’s voice cut Nick off.

“No, Nick. You can’t.” He turned away from his brother and focused on Mae. “Mae, come here—thank you—and tell me what exactly is going on with Jamie. What magician is he mixed up with? What’s going on?”

And Mae found herself sitting in the armchair across from Alan, her hand curled, as if still around the glass Alan was now holding, and feeling at a loss and almost annoyed. That was the thing about these two. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them. She did, but she didn’t feel in control around them. She wanted to feel in control.

“Gerald, of course,” she almost snapped. “He said he’d come back for us and he has. Only I didn’t know he’d come back, and it’s—it’s pretty clear that Jamie’s been meeting him and not telling me. I saw them, and they seemed like they were friends . His damned Obsidian Circle tried to kill Jamie a month ago! I don’t know what he’s doing, what kind of hold he might have over Jamie, and I don’t understand anything.”

So she’d gone running to them. Again.

Mae clenched her hands into fists and looked away from them both into the empty grate. She hated feeling so useless.

She wasn’t looking when the door burst open and Jamie’s voice rang out, saying, “Mae, are you really sick—oh.”

Mae twisted around and saw Jamie held still by surprise in the open door, one hand clinging to the door frame. His expression of concern was fixed on his face, as if he’d absentmindedly left it there even though he was done with it, and Mae felt suddenly and unexpectedly angry with him.

He was much more scared to see Nick than he’d been to see Gerald. And no matter what Nick was, he’d done nothing but help them.

“Hey, Alan,” Jamie said, a real smile touching his lips but not staying long. “Nick. Wh-what’s going on?”

You’re busted, that’s what , Mae thought, feeling about eight years old and meanly pleased to see her little brother in trouble. She turned to Nick, to tell him—to show him—that she knew what they owed to him, that she wasn’t scared.

When she looked at Nick, she saw him draw his sword.

It was so bizarre that for a moment Mae forgot to be angry. This was her home: The shiny cold floors, high ceilings, and white walls that looked like blank pages were no setting for swords and sorcery.

Despite everything she knew, Nick still looked like part of the normal world. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He shouldn’t have been wielding a sword, but he was. The blade was bright and steady in his hands, held with casual expertise, and he walked forward softly as a stalking cat and lifted his sword with each step until the edge was held against Jamie’s throat. For an instant Mae thought that Nick wouldn’t stop.

He did stop.

“In trouble again, Jamie?” Nick asked. “Seems to be a hobby of yours. And I’m getting pretty tired of cleaning up your messes. I think last time was enough, don’t you?”

Jamie swallowed, his Adam’s apple brushing the sword edge.

“I can see the magic all around you,” Nick continued, his voice sinking further. “Who gave that to you? Or should I be asking what you did to get it? Mae’s been telling us all about the company you’re keeping these days. Maybe I should have saved myself some bother and let the magicians cut your throat when I had the chance. They would have done it, you know.”

Jamie tried to speak and had to clear his throat before he could. “I know. And I’m not—”

“ Don’t lie to me,” Nick snarled. “I don’t like it.”

Nick took a step forward, just slowly enough for Jamie to take a step away. His back slammed up against the door, and Nick had him trapped.

“That’s enough !” said Mae, jumping up, but before she could move toward them the moment changed.

Jamie suddenly didn’t look scared, didn’t look uncertain. He tilted his head and fixed Nick with a long, calm look. Then he reached up and caught the blade gently between his palms. Mae looked at the back of Nick’s head and wished for a frantic moment that she could see his face, until she remembered that even if he was about to slice Jamie’s hands open, his expression would not show one trace of emotion.

Nick’s body was held taut, either to attack or defend.

Jamie closed his eyes.

Between his hands the sword flew apart like a dandelion clock that had been blown on. It dissolved into a hundred glittering points of steel that fell in the air around both boys, fading as they fell until they were nothing more than dust motes, visible for an instant in the light from the bay windows.

“I’m not a magician,” Jamie whispered. “I’m not. I know what I owe you all. I know that both of you could have let me die, and I know that if Mae hadn’t killed a magician for me I would’ve died. You’ve all done more than enough for me. I didn’t want to be a burden anymore. I wanted to be able to handle this myself!”

“Let him go, Nick.”

Mae looked back instinctively at the sound. Alan was leaning forward in his chair; he hadn’t made the slightest effort to get up. She looked at him and realized his body had been held in the same taut lines as his brother’s.

He had not spoken in that tone of low command until he’d heard Jamie say that he wasn’t a magician.

Nick gave no sign that he’d heard Alan. The hilt of his vanished sword was still in his hand, and he tossed it high up into the air like a toy.

The day was so bright that the light of the chandelier seemed pale and irrelevant, but it caught the sword hilt with a sudden particular gleam. The gleam spread, became a ray of light that looked almost like a sword, and when the hilt hit Nick’s palm the light had become steel. The sword was whole.

“Do you think I need a sword to kill you?” Nick asked softly.

“No,” said Jamie in a shaky voice. “But you didn’t have to threaten me.”

“Let him go now ,” Mae ordered.

Nick didn’t pay any more attention to her than he had to Alan.

“I wasn’t threatening you. I was menacing you. You threaten people with words,” Nick said. “I prefer swords.”

He stepped back then, sliding his restored blade into the sheath he kept strapped to his spine, under his T-shirt.

“And that one is my favorite sword,” he added, turning away from Jamie and heading for the window. “Don’t mess around with it again.”

He braced himself against the casement, one leg up on the window seat and his face turned a little away from them all. Jamie slumped against the door, looking massively relieved, and of course immediately said something ill-advised.

“You and swords,” he remarked brightly. “Compensating for something?”

The corner of Nick’s mouth curved upward a fraction. “No.”

He apparently didn’t feel the need to say anything else, but the slight sign of amusement relieved the tense atmosphere a little. Mae took her seat again, and Jamie went over and sat on the hearth rug between Mae and Alan’s chairs, curling himself up small and leaning closer to Mae’s chair. She reached out and touched the ends of his spiky hair, and he smiled at her.

“Now that we’re done menacing each other with swords, I feel it’s time for social pleasantries,” Jamie announced. “How’ve you been, Alan?”