The Demon's Covenant

5

Getting the Wrong Answers

That’s settled, then,” Alan said once the magicians were gone. “We turn them in to Celeste Drake tomorrow.”

“What will she do to them?” Jamie asked in a small voice.

Alan did not answer him directly, which was answer enough. “I gave him a chance to leave.”

“No, you threatened him!”

“What do you want, then?” Nick demanded abruptly. “You want to be a magician? You want them to stick around in Exeter, maybe end up killing someone you know? Hey, how about your sister?”

Jamie glared at Nick. “Of course not. I just wish that there was some way besides murder or threats, or—I wish there was some kind of box I could check marked ‘none of the above,’ that’s all! You saw what happened when Laura cast that spell. You know Gerald’s trying to protect me.”

“And now he has a hold over you,” Alan said. “You’re grateful to him. You don’t think he wasn’t counting on that?”

Jamie hesitated. “It was a lot of trouble to go to, just so I’d be grateful.”

“Yes,” Alan agreed simply. “A lot of trouble. He must have killed several people to get that kind of power. And he could break it any time.”

“I could break it now,” Nick offered. Jamie turned and stared at him, and the corner of Nick’s mouth turned up slightly. “But I won’t.”

Jamie smiled back, a little hesitantly.

Nick crossed the distance between him and Jamie before Mae could move, and pulled a knife on him.

“Why bother?” he asked Jamie lazily. He touched the skin of Jamie’s throat lightly with the blade. “The spell will only protect you from magic. Gerald’s not protecting you, he’s protecting his recruit. Any other Circle tries to recruit you by magic, they won’t be able to. Anyone needs to kill you …” He tossed the knife up into the air and caught it, playful and casual as a man flipping a coin. “It would be so easy.”

Mae grabbed Nick’s arm and he whirled on her, then caught himself and stood looking down at her with his pulse thudding against her palm and the knife still in his hand.

She lifted her chin. “Oh, put that away.”

Nick put it away. “Just making a point.”

“Yes, I took your point,” Jamie muttered. “Right up against my throat.”

Mae looked away from Nick and walked quickly toward the wall, scrambling over it and trying so hard to make the climb look easy that she skinned her elbow as she did so. She pretended it didn’t sting.

Nick did not try to help Alan over the wall this time around. He stood with his hands clenched into fists in his pockets as they all waited for Alan to get over on his own.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he told Jamie suddenly.

Mae reached out and touched Nick’s shoulder. Her hand brushed muscle, braced and tense under her palm, for a moment. Then he shied away from her and glared.

She smiled as if this reaction was perfectly normal. “Sometimes when you pull knives on people, they get this impression that you’re going to hurt them, and then they’re completely terrified. Crazy, I know!”

“Okay,” said Nick. He turned to Jamie and popped his left wrist sheath again. “Look.”

Jamie backed up. “Which part of ‘completely terrified’ did you translate as ‘show us your knives, Nick’? Don’t show me your knives, Nick. I have no interest in your knives.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “This is a quillon dagger. That’s a knife with a sword handle. I like it because it has a good grip for stabbing.”

“Why do you say these things?” Jamie inquired piteously. “Is it to make me sad?”

“I didn’t have you cornered,” Nick went on. “You could’ve run. And this dagger doesn’t have an even weight distribution; it’s absolute rubbish for throwing. If I had any intention of hurting you, I’d have used a knife I could throw.”

Jamie blinked. “I will remember those words always. I may try to forget them, but I sense that I won’t be able to.”

“Good,” said Nick. “Like I said, that spell won’t protect you, and you have a habit of getting into trouble. You need to know things.”

There was a long pause, during which Nick eyed Jamie in what seemed to be a critical manner. Jamie eyed Nick in what seemed to be mortal fear.

“Do you want to learn how to use a gun or a knife?” Nick asked abruptly at last.

“Ahaha,” Jamie said. “No?”

Nick raked a cold glance up and down Jamie’s body, as if he was planning to skin him. “Well, you’re too scrawny to be any good with a sword.”

“I prefer to think of myself as slender,” Jamie told him.

Nick gave Jamie a blank look, then said, “Come on. I’ll drive you to my place and teach you how to throw knives.”

“What!” said Jamie. “Why?”

“Because I am a sweet and caring individual who is truly concerned about your welfare,” Nick drawled. “You coming?”

Jamie glanced at him and at Alan, and carefully did not look at Mae. It occurred to her, with a painful little shock in her chest, that Jamie didn’t want to go back home with her.

“Okay.”

Jamie didn’t want to be around her, and Nick hadn’t asked her to come. Mae had a vision of them all just getting into the car and driving away, leaving her by the side of the road. Then she turned and looked into Alan’s eyes.

“Do you want to come and take a walk with me?” he asked. “I know you must have some questions.”

His blue eyes were steady and so dark they looked like deep waters, like you could fall into them for miles.

“I do have a few questions,” said Mae.

“Okay, so here’s my first question,” Mae said as they walked back to the city center. “Who the hell is Celeste Drake?”

“She’s the leader of another magicians’ Circle,” Alan said. “The Aventurine Circle. I don’t really know much about it; her Circle never hassled us much. As magicians’ Circles go, I believe they’re not the worst. Not much interested in power squabbles, and a higher number than in most Circles have real uses for their power. I think Celeste herself is a doctor, and I know one of the Circle has a special interest in using magic for fighting; the time we heard that was the one and only time Nick has ever been inspired to do magical research on his own. There are a couple of historians who use scrying bowls to see the past.”

“Well, speaking as a feminist, I’m glad that women can lead—uh, groups of unspeakable magical evil.”

“Yes,” Alan said gravely. “It’d be shocking if the evil magicians were sexist. For one thing, that would mean they were stupid, and having stupid enemies would be a terrible blow to my manly pride.”

Mae laughed at him for being a goof and Alan grinned back at her, easy and charming. She elbowed him gently, and he didn’t break stride.

“So why are we feeding Gerald to the Aventurine Circle in particular?”

“I still have a few contacts in the Goblin Market,” Alan said. “Word is that Celeste’s looking for him. I imagine it’s to express her displeasure about the Obsidian Circle invading her turf when they came chasing after Nick. Her Circle’s based in London, you see.”

“And moving’s difficult for them,” Mae said. “Territory’s a big deal.”

“Every circle a magician ever draws is a reflection of the one circle of stones their group is named for. The sigils they wear link into the same circles, and bind them to each other. Some magicians’ Circles have their circles buried in the ground, some of them hidden in plain sight as old druids’ circles. They all guard them with their lives. And they hate the thought of another Circle coming near theirs. Black Arthur didn’t ask Celeste’s permission to move his Circle into her city. He took what he wanted and planned to crush anyone in his path.”

“That was kind of Arthur’s way.”

Alan nodded. “It’s left Gerald in a complete mess. A lot of magicians have left his Circle and taken different sigils. He had to move back fast, he’s recruiting desperately, and one of the big Circles is after his blood for trespass. And it’s all very convenient for us.”

Mae touched her new talisman. “The messenger who came to see me said that Gerald might have invented something like a second sigil. A mark to give him more power. How much stronger is the Aventurine Circle?”

“Don’t worry,” said Alan. “They’re strong enough.”

They passed under the shadow of the trees that marked their entrance into the north side of the city. Alan glanced up at them, the branches heavy with their dark green summer armfuls.

“These used to be called dancing trees.”

Mae smiled. “I didn’t know that.”

Alan’s smile flashed back at her, brighter than the red, setting sunlight that sifted through the leaves and glanced brilliantly off his glasses. “Yes, they used to hang people in them and leave them up in the branches. Sometimes in pieces. Then in the wind the pieces would—”

“Okay, I get it,” Mae said hastily.

“Oh,” said Alan in a different voice. “Sorry about that. I just thought it was interesting.”

Mae wondered if that was how Alan dealt with terrible and frightening truths, how he dealt with Nick: by making even nightmares come to life a subject of intellectual curiosity.

“Wouldn’t it be more convenient,” she began instead, “wouldn’t it be simpler, rather than getting in touch with this Celeste woman, if Nick just dealt with Gerald and the others?”

Her shoes hit cobblestones as their conversation crashed into silence. She kept walking; after the first glance she looked at the sandstone walls and not Alan’s tightly controlled face.

“How do you think he’d deal with them?” Alan asked at last, his voice a thread strung taut enough to snap.

“Well,” Mae said, and thought of her own hands covered in hot blood. The words died on her lips.

Alan said it for her. “He’d kill them all.”

“They’re murderers.”

“They’re not my concern,” Alan answered. “Walk me through this plan of yours. So we ask Nick to kill them all. He does it. Mind you, I’m not entirely certain he could do it.”

“I thought demons were the ones with all the power,” Mae said. “That’s why magicians give them innocent people to possess and destroy, isn’t it? I thought that was the whole point of demons.”

They went right down another narrow street, this one with shop fronts fitted into the old sandstone buildings.

“Think of magic as like electricity,” said Alan. “Nick’s power is like lightning in the sky. It’s powerful, it can strike the ground and burn everything it touches, but you couldn’t use it to turn on a light or iron a shirt. The magicians are conduits. Through them, the magic can be transformed into something smaller but often a lot more useful.”

“So Gerald wasn’t lying. Nick could use Jamie as a channel for his power. It would help him to have a—a pet magician.”

“Yes,” Alan admitted. “But Nick’s too proud to come to anyone for help, even if he needed it. And he doesn’t. He’s not hurting for power, and it’s not why we came here.”

“I didn’t think it was,” said Mae. “I know better than that. Gerald might think so, though. And that’s interesting.”

Alan’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as if seeing things from a different point of view. Then he nodded, and Mae felt a pleasant little sense of accomplishment, like she’d been working on mathematical problems with a very bright partner and had found one answer before he could.

“So let’s say Nick kills them all,” said Alan, and the slight warmth that had gone through Mae was followed by a chill. “Do we stop there?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Destroying the magicians would be a good thing to do,” Alan remarked distantly. “I’d be pleased. Next time somebody came to me for help about a different Circle, Nick could kill them, too. He could start an all-out crusade against the magicians. He’d be up to his elbows in blood by the time he was done, and once he’d killed every magician in England there would be the messengers they use, and criminals, and at that point …” Alan touched a wall, sandstone so old it looked rusty and red, as if blood had seeped into the stone long ago. “At that point he would cut down anyone in his way.”

“Do you mean—you’re not scared for yourself. He’d never—”

“I’m not scared of being hurt,” Alan said quietly. “I’m scared of what he’ll do. He could tear himself apart or tear the world apart, and next to those two choices what happens to me doesn’t matter at all.”

“Hey,” Mae said sharply, and reached out and touched the hand that hung by his side. “It matters.”

He gave her a beautiful smile then, brilliant and surprised, which broke her heart a little because nobody should look startled that there is someone in the world who cares if they live or die.

“I can’t offer up Nick to help Jamie,” said Alan. “I have to draw a line for him.”

“Since he found out,” Mae murmured.

“Since always,” Alan told her sharply. “This hasn’t been the right sort of life for him, hasn’t been a life where he could have the things I want for him, where he could learn—”

“How to be human?”

“Kindness,” Alan said.

Mae was getting all her questions wrong today. She fell silent, and they went under the low tunnel through St. Stephen’s Church into the heart of the shopping center.

“I did try to keep him from the worst of it,” Alan continued. “When there was a particularly nasty kill to be made. When it was going to be torture, and death was going to be slow.”

Mae couldn’t quite believe they were having this conversation, strolling around the environs of the Princesshay shopping center. Hemmed in by neon-lit shop fronts and the stones of St. Stephen’s, its walls worn down by twelve centuries, stood the remains of an old almshouse. They hadn’t been allowed to tear it down when they built the shopping center.

Alan stooped and studied a plaque.

“You had to do it instead,” Mae said, her voice wobbling in the cool air. She wrapped her arms around herself.

“I was glad to do it,” Alan said. “I can help Jamie some other way.”

“We can help Jamie,” said Mae, and Alan nodded, accepting the correction in his turn. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t understand.” She took a deep breath.

“You and Nick,” she went on. “You’re not getting on, are you? When I called, there was that storm. Did something bad happen? Did he do something?”

Alan drew in a slow breath that answered her even before he spoke. “Mae,” he said. “Do you want me to lie to you?”

He put a hand up to his face, fingers smoothing away the worried line between his brows. Soon it would be etched there, Mae thought, and no hand could erase it. Least of all his own.

“No,” Mae breathed. “No, I don’t want that.”

Alan took a detour inside the almshouse ruins, roofless and with only part of the walls remaining. The nameless government types who hadn’t allowed the almshouse to be torn down had allowed glass doors to be built in the places doors would have been inside the almshouse, doors in the shape of glass windows and filled with artificial light. Suspended in the glass were fragments of Roman pottery lined up alongside old cola cans, and Alan was looking at those rather than her when he said, “You’d believe me if I did lie to you.”

“So tell me something true. Did you never want anything for yourself?”

Alan looked at her then.

“Yes,” he said. “One or two things.”

Mae looked down and kicked an eight-hundred-year-old wall.

She glanced up at the sound of movement and saw that Alan had circled so there was a glass door between them, lights captured in the glass casting an aquamarine glow on his face. He looked as though he was underwater, pale and otherworldly, his palm against the glass as if he was reaching out a hand to drag her down.

“I always thought those doors were kind of silly,” Mae said at random, trying to make this moment not serious, make it not matter.

“Really?” Alan asked, fingers light on the glass, touching carefully, as if he had one of the artifacts in his hands. “I like them. I like the idea that the past and the present are always tangled together, making us who we are.”

“Clearly the bright lights distracted me from the deep symbolism,” Mae said, and smiled at him.

He smiled back at her, the same smile as when she’d told him it mattered if he was hurt, surprised and sweet.

“After we go to Celeste Drake tomorrow, after Jamie is safe,” he began, and paused. “I thought Nick and I might stay here in Exeter.” He traced the shape of a broken cup with musician’s hands. “I was wondering what you were doing Saturday night.”

It was such an ordinary thing to say, such an overwhelmingly normal way to ask someone out after a conversation about demons and sacrifice, that it struck Mae speechless.

Alan watched her behind the door of light, his eyes dark serious blue. He waited patiently for her to answer.

“I don’t know. Does a rave sound like your idea of a good time?”

“It might,” Alan answered, lowering his eyes. His eyelashes sparked gold in the fluorescent lights. “If you were there.”

“You can’t ask me this now,” Mae blurted.

“Is it the wrong time, or is it that it’s me asking?”

“There’s a boy at school,” Mae told him. “We’re not going out, but I more or less promised him a chance. I don’t go back on my word.”

Alan stepped away from the door into the arms of the gathering shadows.

“I appreciate your honesty,” he said. “I’ll be honest too. It’s something I try, every now and then. Not often.” He smiled, and this time it was an ordinary smile, friendly and making her smile back involuntarily. “I hope that boy wastes his chance.”

Mae ducked her head to hide the smile, though it was in her voice as well. “You never know, but …”

“No, I understand,” Alan said. “What are you doing Saturday night? I’m asking as a friend. I thought we could go—just as friends, of course—back to the Goblin Market. If you’re interested in visiting it again.”

Mae burst out laughing at how sly he was.

“You don’t play fair.”

Alan drew her out of the ruins, still smiling. “You don’t say.”

Jamie wasn’t back by the time Mae got home. She had to face the fact that he would rather spend time with someone he was afraid of than come back and talk to her.

Either that or Nick had put him in the hospital.

Since she assumed she’d get a call if it was the hospital, she went to bed in one of the guest bedrooms. She could talk to Jamie tomorrow; she wanted a night so they could both rest, and so she could hug the thought of the Goblin Market to herself.

She remembered seeing a wood hung with glittering lights, magic being sold like toys at stalls, hearing drums and chants and knowing that she would rather be there than anywhere in the world. She was going again. She almost loved Alan, just for that.

But it wasn’t fair to Alan to love him for the potential of magic. She owed him more than she could ever repay: it was due to Alan that Jamie was alive at all. It wouldn’t be fair to Alan to love him for that, either. The idea of building love out of gratitude or pity made her feel sick, and she imagined it would make Alan feel sick too.

Loving Alan because of his smile and his smarts and how kind he was, that would be fair, but she’d had the chance to do that already. She’d known how he felt about her. She’d been so worried about Jamie, so swept away by the spectacle of magic, she hadn’t thought about it, and then when she wasn’t paying attention, somehow it had become all about Nick.

Things were different now.

It wasn’t fair to let Alan be second choice, either.

This wasn’t about romance, though. She’d given Seb her word, and she intended to keep it. This was just about friendship.

And magic.

She heard Jamie come in and immediately run upstairs and start drawing a bath. Now that she knew he was safe, she thought she could sleep.

The shutters on her window were open, and she could see the gray spire of St. Leonard’s Church rising like a Gothic turret against the sky. When she shut her eyes she did not see that gray-on-black vision, the color of scissors slicing through black paper and cutting the night in two.

Mae remembered the music and the lights and the magic, and at the center of it all the dancers who called up demons. The girl in red who Nick had called Sin. She’d been dancing when Mae had first seen her, every movement clean and purposeful, every movement lovely. And every time she went still, the audience’s breath caught and their attention fastened on her. She was powerful and beautiful, and in the midst of shining magic she belonged completely.

When she went to the Goblin Market, she might see that girl again.

Caught in a blurred warm place between sleep and wakefulness, Mae relived that moment, seeing that girl and feeling a pang of sudden visceral longing.

If I could have anything in this world, she’d thought, all I’d want is to be like her.

Sleeping with her new talisman safe around her neck, she dreamed she heard snarling and pacing outside her window, as if her garden was the stalking ground for hunting cats. She knew they could not get in, but she could not shut out the sound of their hungry cries.