The Demon's Lexicon

  Nick had already heard a gunshot. Alan did not miss: If the wolf was not dead, then it was bulletproof.

  The wolf’s snarl became a stuttering, ugly growl that sounded like a dying car engine. Its haunches bunched up for a spring.

  Nick wrapped the end of the chain around his fist and lunged forward. He brought the chain down hard against the wolf’s back and heard the animal yelp, then yanked the chain back, over his head, and as the wolf swung to face him he dived for it before it could leap at him. They went down together, the wolf’s growl reverberating through its body and its body crashing down on Nick’s. Its claws scored burning lines down Nick’s chest, and its teeth snapped an inch from his face.

  He threw his chain over the creature’s head, caught the other end and twisted the makeshift choke chain hard in both hands. The wolf choked, the cold weight of the chain hurting Nick’s hands. He kept almost grabbing big handfuls of fur and the wolf lunged, trying to find a way to breathe, shoving hard against the single barrier of the chain.

  The sound of Alan’s gun rang out again, even though he must know by now it wouldn’t work. Nick turned his face to one side and felt the wolf’s hot breath on his face, felt its teeth graze his cheek. He pulled the chain tight with both his hands and tried to hold the wolf at arm’s length while the creature snarled and tried to throw itself at him. Nick pulled the wolf on top of him, rolling with it in a nightmare of claws and straining muscle, trying to wrestle it and strangle it at once. The wolf twisted its head around and sank its teeth in Nick’s wrist.

  Nick did not have time to scream. He pulled the choke chain closed, a band of iron around the wolf’s neck. A howl was choked off in the wolf’s throat and the fierce thrashing of its body started to seem less like an attack and more like desperation. It kept trying to breathe. Pain lanced through Nick’s arms with the effort of keeping the chain tight and ever tighter, the wolf’s eyes were bulging in its head, and suddenly it collapsed forward against Nick’s chest.

  Instead of a wolf, a woman fell against Nick, her long hair tumbling into his face. He pushed the body off him and sat up with difficulty, his arms suddenly feeling weak, and let the chain slip out of his hands.

  It occurred to him when it was too late that if he’d only had his sword, if he’d been able to make her bleed before he killed her, he could have used her blood to paint over Alan’s mark. Alan would have been safe.

  He climbed wearily to his feet, unsurprised to see Jamie and Mae staring at him with shocked faces. They weren’t used to death yet. Mum turned her eyes away when he glanced at her. She looked sick.

  Alan grabbed his shoulder and spun him around with one hand. He looked furious.

  “Where is it?” he demanded, his eyes blazing. “What have you done with it?”

  “What?” said Nick. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your talisman!” Alan shouted. He was shaking. “Do you know what could have happened? How long have you had it off? Tell me you just took it off now, Nick. Tell me that much.”

  Of course. His talisman. Now that Alan said it, Nick was completely aware that it was gone. In some corner of his mind he’d known for some time that the small, constant burden had been lifted. Its irritating presence had been an absence ever since—ever since—

  “I took it off to call Liannan,” he said slowly. “I left it in a building site.”

  Color drained from Alan’s face, his veins standing out like blue lines struck across white paper. “You haven’t worn your talisman for a week.”

  “You gave your talisman away.”

  “I—” Alan lowered his voice. “I didn’t throw it away! I meant it to be for a couple of hours. A week, Nick! Anything could have happened. God.”

  Now that Nick had killed something, he felt better. He’d done something at last, something useful, and even though his arms ached and his wounds stung he felt calmer; some of his simmering rage had burned away in the fight. Alan was worried about him, and that wasn’t bad either.

  “Sorry,” he offered at length. “I’ll get one later.”

  Alan was hanging on to his shoulder as if Nick had almost walked out into traffic and Alan had only just been able to catch him in time. As Nick spoke he breathed out deeply, once, and shut his eyes. He slipped out of Alan’s grasp as gently as he could and stood watching him uncertainly, wondering what he’d done wrong now.

  “You’re lucky your big brother learns from his mistakes,” Alan said at length. “Come on upstairs. I got some spares at the Goblin Market.”

  He limped toward the door and Nick followed him for a few steps, then stopped. Alan threw a glance over his shoulder that was more silent command than look; Nick took another step forward without even thinking.

  “Wait,” he said. “There could be more magicians around. We shouldn’t leave this one alone with two tourists and her.”

  Alan looked mildly amused. “We’re just going upstairs.”

  “Yeah, we can handle this,” Mae said, her voice calmer than she looked, and Nick felt like admiration was being dragged out of him against his will. “Olivia will stay with us.”

  She smiled at Nick, and he kept his face chill and expressionless so she would transfer her smile to Alan. She did transfer her smile to Alan, that was the thing: If there had been no hope for Alan at all, it would have been less of a dilemma.

  Nick let them smile at each other and leaned back against the wall, examining the claw marks of the wolf. The deepest were on his stomach, on one side of his belly button. Nick looked at the red grooves and was distantly pleased that the wolf had been too busy trying to bite him to claw him open. Intestines belonged on the inside.

  The room was a mess. Chains were scattered about the place, the rug was twisted like bedsheets after his fight with the wolf, and their prisoner seemed on the point of hysterics. The other magician lay crumpled at Gerald’s feet.

  “We could just kill him now,” Nick said, and watched the slow shudder work its way through Gerald’s body, from shaking shoulders to trembling lips.

  Alan looked impatient. “We can kill him for Jamie.”

  “No,” Nick snarled.

  Alan looked at him for a long moment, as if by making Nick his single focus he could somehow keep him safe, and then his strained face smoothed out. “We can talk about that later,” he said softly. “First let’s just go upstairs and get that talisman. We’ll only be gone a minute, and—I want you to have it. I don’t want you in any danger.”

  “Good luck with that one. I just strangled a wolf to death five minutes ago,” Nick said gruffly. Alan smiled, and they both understood that Nick had given in.

  Just on this one thing. He’d come and get a talisman if it made Alan feel better, but he wasn’t going to put up with any of this nonsense about Jamie going first. Alan had sacrificed enough for Jamie already.

  “C’mon,” said Alan, and Nick moved to follow him.

  “This is just a thought,” Jamie called after them. “But while you’re up there, you might see if you can find a shirt.”

  When they went into Alan’s room, Nick could not help casting an uneasy eye over Alan’s bookshelves. He hadn’t had a chance to put Alan’s precious photo back in its hiding place yet, and he had a sudden moment of foreboding. If Alan tried to sneak a look at the stupid picture he liked gazing at so much, he’d find out what Nick had done.

  It didn’t matter if he did find out. Nick had a right to discover the truth, but somehow he didn’t like the idea of how Alan would look at him if he knew.

  He turned deliberately away from the bookcase and occupied himself shrugging into one of Alan’s baggy old T-shirts, lying slung over a chair. He went to lean against the wall, looking out of the window where the sun was going down, the sky brimming dark blue over the gray roofs of London.

  Alan knelt down by his wardrobe and took out the box where he kept his protective charms, beginning to sift through them slowly and thoughtfully as if he was telling rosary beads. Or as if he was afrai
d to look up.

  “I’m serious about taking Jamie’s mark off,” he said slowly.

  “You’re being stupid.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “Yeah, I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you’re being stupid!”

  Nick’s voice rose in a shout, a harsh, flat sound like a whip cracking or a door slamming. If he’d been shouting at anyone but Alan he knew he would have seen the effect of the shout: seen the sound seep into their bones and make them shudder, make them give in.

  It was different with Alan. Threatening him wouldn’t work; he didn’t seem to care about saving himself. He would have to find some other way to make Alan do what he wanted. Nick looked at his brother and suddenly felt icy calm.

  He knew what threat to use.

  “Here it is,” Alan said in a quiet, pleased voice, as if Nick hadn’t shouted at him a moment ago. He got to his feet with his usual care, a flash of pain drawing a deep line between his brows, then smiled and limped over to Nick.

  The talisman was dangling from Alan’s left wrist like a bracelet. There was a crawling sensation of dread in Nick’s stomach just looking at it, but when Alan beckoned, he bowed his head and let his brother slip the talisman around his neck. He felt like an animal going back into harness.

  The talisman burned where it touched his skin. Nick set his teeth at the return of the dull, constant pain and looked into Alan’s face, which showed uncomplicated relief.

  “Do you know what I’ll do if you don’t take that mark off?” he asked. He did not shout this time. He lowered his voice so it was a very private and personal threat, a soft promise of pain.

  Alan recognized it. “Nick,” he said, startled and a little pleading.

  Nick had to make him understand.

  “You care so much about Mum? She was an Obsidian Circle magician. She still has the sigil. Her lifeblood would save you.”

  Alan took a quick, unsteady breath, his thin chest rising and falling sharply. He was trembling.

  “I’d do it,” Nick swore to him. “I’d trade her for you. I’d do it in a heartbeat. I won’t let you die!”

  Alan’s mouth twisted viciously. “Why not? More useful to you than Olivia, am I?”

  He was watching Nick in the same hurt, horror-struck way he had when he’d seen Nick with the magician. Nick looked away and out of the window again, to where the sun was sinking, shadow closing its claws over the houses one by one. He fought with black incomprehension: Alan wanted a particular response from him, and he didn’t know what it was.

  “Well—well, you are more useful than she is,” he said haltingly.

  “How can you—,” Alan began in a furious voice.

  He was interrupted by the sound of Mae screaming. It wasn’t a scream for help. It was the scream of someone in pain.

  Alan palmed the knife from his wrist sheath and held it out before Nick could say a word. Nick closed his fingers around the hilt and ran, taking the stairs three at a time, and bolted into the sitting room, throwing open the door and running almost directly into Mum.

  She flung up an arm as if Nick was the threat.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  “I don’t want to touch you!” Nick snarled. “What happened?”

  Mum didn’t bother replying. It was pretty obvious what had happened. Their sitting room was torn apart. Someone had broken the window and shredded the rug. Mae was lying at an awkward angle on the floor with blood all over her face, struggling to get up as Jamie tried to push her down. The chair that had contained Gerald the magician was on its side, the chains that had bound him were a gleaming silver path that pointed to the shattered window.

  Outside the window and utterly beyond reach was a huge bird, the curving shape of amber wings outlined in the setting sun, flaring gold as he flew. Nick imagined that its talons were fairly impressive as well, judging by what the creature had done to the rug and Mae’s face.

  “Mae,” Nick said. “Are you—”

  Alan stumbled down the last step on the stairs and was almost instantly at Mae’s side. Nick fell silent and went for the first-aid kit, passing it to Alan without a word. Alan accepted it with a nod, murmuring comforting nonsense to Mae as he taped the cut across her cheek carefully closed. Mae stopped fighting to get up and bore the taping without a sound, and Nick watched her whisper reassurance back to Alan, watched their shared smiles.

  “I’m really okay. Thanks,” Mae murmured, low and grateful, Alan’s musician’s fingers held lightly against the curve of her jaw. “He turned into a freaking bird. I couldn’t believe it!” Her voice turned frustrated. “I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t do a thing.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Alan assured her.

  He was right. There was nothing she could have done. If Gerald could transform into an animal, he had a whole lot more power than Nick had thought. He had so much power that it must mean he’d wanted to be captured.

  He’d wanted to be brought here.

  They’d been played for fools. And that wasn’t even the worst part.

  Nick gazed with building fury at his brother, bent solicitously over Mae and acting so very concerned.

  He said, “You did this.”

  Alan stood up at once. “Come outside,” he said, in that calm, reasonable voice of his. Nick strode forward and grabbed Alan’s elbow, dragging him to the front door and only stopping when his brother almost fell on the threshold.

  He steadied Alan with his free hand and then stepped back. For a moment his throat was too tight to find words.

  “You did this,” he repeated at last.

  He remembered Alan’s face, smoothing into a bland mask when Nick refused to let him take Jamie’s mark off. We’ll only be gone a minute. I don’t want you in any danger. He’d been worried, and he’d used that to make Nick do exactly what he wanted. Once he’d brought Nick upstairs, he’d kept him upstairs with that little line about Jamie. He’d known Nick would argue with him.

  He’d deliberately let the magician go, and now he was facing Nick with that careful look on his face, trying to calm Nick down without actually giving anything away, waiting to see what lie would work this time.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you got the only two people capable of restraining that magician out of the room! You did it, and you did it on purpose, because you wanted to keep the demon’s mark that is going to kill you. I know all that. I just don’t know why. And I want to know why, Alan. I’m going to know why.”

  Alan looked at Nick’s face and obviously saw that denials weren’t going to do him any good.

  “Because of what that messenger said,” he answered quietly. “Because I have a plan. Would you rather I didn’t have one?”

  Nick grabbed the collar of Alan’s shirt and pushed him up against the door frame with one hand.

  “I’d rather you didn’t get yourself killed!”

  Alan looked up at him, pale and silent, and Nick realized how this would look to anyone watching. A crippled boy, stumbling and obviously upset, being menaced by a vicious thug. He felt vicious; he would’ve hit Alan if that would have made him stop.

  Only he knew his brother. Pain didn’t scare him, and nothing could make him stop.

  “Mum’s not worth this,” he snarled. “Nothing’s worth this.”

  “Some things are.”

  Nick did not shake him, no matter how much he was tempted. He let go of his brother’s shirt and stepped back. He thought Alan looked a little relieved.

  “It won’t take long for Gerald to report back to the Obsidian Circle,” Nick said. “They’ll be coming soon. We can’t be here. Do you have a plan for that?”

  He glared at his brother, and Alan looked back, pained but still calm, still plotting something.

  “I do,” said Alan. “I told you I needed to see what Merris was experimenting with. She lives on the Isle of Wight. We can go there. We can escape the magicians that way.”

  Nick looked
away from him then, leaning his cheek against the steel door frame and looking out onto the narrow gray street, just another street among the hundreds of streets he had lived on and would never see again. Alan was still thinking about the best way to help Mum, and then it would be the best way to help Jamie, and all Nick wanted to do was take Alan and run. If they kept moving, maybe the magicians wouldn’t get a chance to put the last mark on Alan and finish him off. Nick didn’t care about anything else.

  He opened his mouth and could not find words.

  Alan held him in that moment of silence with a look.

  “Nick,” he said quietly. “I’m going. You can’t stop me. If you raise a hand to me I’ll shoot you in the leg. I’m going to Merris’s because I need her help and nothing you can say will change my mind. You don’t have to come with me.”

  “Yes, I do,” Nick snapped.

  What a stupid thing for Alan to say. They had never been separated for longer than those few days last Christmas; Nick always knew where Alan was and usually knew that he was close. That was how things were and how they were going to stay. Alan was his brother, and if he was set on carrying out his little plan, risking himself to save Mum, then Nick had to be with him to make sure he was safe.

  Alan looked almost too worn out to smile but he did anyway, a faint, sweet smile that lingered in his eyes. “All right.”

  He nodded slightly, as if they were businessmen who had come to an understanding. Then he turned and went back into the hall, limping a little more than usual, as if he was carrying something heavy. Nick followed him. It was clear that Alan needed to be watched. He’d meant what he’d told Alan: He would sacrifice Mum if he had to.

  It didn’t matter what Alan wanted. It only mattered that Alan lived.

  10

  The House of Mezentius

  THEY WERE ALL IN THE CAR FIVE MINUTES LATER, abandoning everything that would not fit into the couple of old schoolbags they had in the boot. Nick had secured his new favorite sword at his belt, and Alan had slipped his family pictures, and the book with the hidden picture inside, into one of the bags.