Or possibly torturing Jamie cheered Nick up.
“But we were going to bring my old guitar over to Alan so we could see him play it and stuff,” Jamie said with deep cunning. “We need the car for that.”
“Didn’t bring the car,” Nick told him.
“You should go fetch it,” Jamie urged. “I’ll wait here. I won’t move. Why would I move? My head might fall off.”
“Seb and I can bring the guitar over later,” Mae offered.
“Good,” said Nick abruptly, and reached out for Jamie’s arm. Jamie was too busy giving Mae a betrayed look to be vigilant, so Nick grabbed him without much difficulty and pulled him out the door.
Nick had his hand on the door, no doubt to slam it, when Annabel came downstairs.
Mae was aware that her mother owned pajamas. She’d seen them neatly folded in her wardrobe, but Annabel never emerged from her room unless she was fully dressed and fully made up.
Today was no exception. Annabel was in crisp tennis whites, swinging her racket, with her hair in a shimmering ponytail that made the very idea of wisps seem like a horrible dream.
“Mum, help me,” Jamie said beseechingly. “I don’t want to go for a run.”
“Good morning, Mavis, James,” Annabel caroled out. “Lovely to see you again, Nick.”
Nick inclined his head and almost smiled. Annabel looked at Seb, a faint curl of her lips indicating vast polite distaste.
“One of Mavis’s young men, I presume.”
Seb looked overwhelmed by the unfairness of the world.
Annabel visibly dismissed the painful thought of Seb’s existence from her mind. “Enjoy your run, boys.”
“Mum!” Jamie wailed.
“Exercise is good for you,” she said serenely. She sailed past Mae on her search for coffee, and Nick shut the door.
Seb was left standing in the hall. “I think,” he said, “I kind of hate Nick Ryves.”
“Coffee?” Mae asked.
Mae amused herself by watching her mother’s dismay until she felt mean about tormenting Seb, so she finished her coffee and ran upstairs to get dressed and get the guitar. She did it in less than five minutes, but Seb’s pale face when she returned suggested that the moment Mae’d gone up, her mother had whipped out the thumbscrews.
“Sorry about her,” said Mae, going out with Seb into the sunshine, which was a warm yellow splash on their high walls. “She’s kind of like a high-powered modern White Witch. It’s always office hours, and never casual Friday.”
She thought of Annabel going up the stairs quick as a cat in her teetering high heels and grinned slightly. Seb caught her smile and reflected it back to her.
“It’s fine,” he said. “She’s just worried about you. She thinks I’m like all the other boys you’ve dated.”
“But you know you’re something special,” Mae teased.
Seb’s smile twisted a little, rueful and something else besides. “I know I’m different.”
Mae thought of Nick wielding a sword by night and Alan throwing knives on the cliffs with Goblin Market music behind him. Seb had no idea how different some of the boys she knew were.
Not that she was dating either of them.
Mae felt disloyal having had that thought, itchy and uncomfortable about it in a way that started at the tingling spot just below her collarbone. She reached up and touched it lightly, fingers slipping under the high-necked blouse she’d dug up from the bottom of her wardrobe.
She drew her hand away and grabbed Seb’s, a lifeline into a world where choices were easier. He took a breath as if he was startled, and she laced their fingers together, deciding to ignore his hesitance for now.
“So what do you want to do?” she asked.
Seb’s hand was warm in hers. The sun made the pale gravel in her driveway a blinding white path full of promise.
“We should drop off the guitar to Ryves’s place,” Seb suggested, and the dazzle in Mae’s eyes seemed to dim slightly.
She wanted to yell at Seb. Didn’t he know that she had to be away from Nick for a while, because apparently whenever she saw him her brain turned off and she did stupid and insane things? And she couldn’t be stupid and insane when she had to save him.
She didn’t yell at Seb. There was a mark burning on her skin that felt as if a channel had been opened between her and the demon who had marked her, as if there was something connecting them that was almost like a dry river bed, burning and aching for a rush of magic or the thrill of contact.
She didn’t say anything. She wanted to see Nick badly.
Mae had shoved that thought into a box in her mind and slammed the lid on it by the time they were there. Seb seemed relaxed, happy, and at ease with her once they were in the car. The trapped heat made the car luxurious and not oppressive, warmth from the car door seeping through Mae’s thin blouse and an air conditioner blowing light on her knees. She was glad she’d chosen a skirt for once, glad the next week of school would be the last, and glad Seb was there. He was living proof that she could be normal and not seduced by magic, that she could have both worlds.
The garden gate on the side of Alan and Nick’s house was open. When Seb and Mae walked in, they saw that Nick had wheeled a car out of the garage and was cleaning it.
It was silvery in a way that looked more like steel and shaped in a way that made Mae think of the cars her father’s friends bought instead of or just before leaving their wives, but it was old and missing a door. Clearly this was Nick’s one true love, the Aston Martin Vanquish. Nick was washing it, shirt off and a bucket of water beside him. Jamie was sitting cross-legged in the grass with a paperback folded open on his lap, looking less ashen and disheveled than earlier, and Alan was fiddling with an ancient rusty barbecue.
“Are you going to tell him or will I?” Jamie asked Nick.
“Tell me what?” Alan’s voice was wary.
Jamie smiled as if he was oblivious to the tension in the air. “Yesterday there was an English quiz,” he said proudly. “And Nick got a B minus.”
“Yeah?” said Alan, stilling and then smiling a beautiful, slow-blossoming smile. Jamie beamed. Nick looked indifferent, but it was less convincing than usual. “Well done.”
Mae hung back, not really wanting to interrupt and spoil the moment, but of course Seb had no idea and walked right into the garden. Jamie noticed him, and the glow of his pleasure faded a little, then brightened when he noticed the guitar in Seb’s hand.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Jamie,” Seb said in return, and gave Alan a brief, slightly embarrassed nod. “Hi—we came over to drop off the guitar. I’m Seb McFarlane. I’m Mae’s, ah …”
“Gentleman caller,” Mae filled in.
“Hi,” said Alan, straightening up. The sun was so hot that even Alan had abandoned his usual button-up shirts and was wearing a T-shirt, which made it obvious his shoulders and arms were strong and muscled in a way that did not exactly suggest a mild-mannered bookshop employee. “What’s with the guitar?”
He smiled at Mae and Seb both, in his usual friendly way, but he didn’t give Mae a special look or smile like he usually did. Mae wondered if that meant things were going to be awkward between them.
“Well, I took guitar lessons once,” Jamie explained, “but then after, um, you know, two lessons, I sort of lost interest and wandered off.” He frowned slightly. “I don’t think I have the soul of a musician. But I have this guitar! And Nick said you played the guitar. So I thought I could bring it over here and you would play it. Having a musical accompaniment to barbecue is important to me.”
Once Jamie had finished his spiel on how he was clearly not giving Alan a present, he blinked hopefully at him. Alan’s mouth curved into a smile.
“I guess I can play you a few songs,” he said, and limped up to Seb, taking the guitar. “You two want to stay around for barbecue and its important musical accompaniment?”
“Well,” Mae said, and stopped.
Nick had not even
looked at her, had not looked up from washing the car. She was painfully aware of him, though. Every move he made was echoed by a twinge in her mark, as if it was a second heart beating only for him.
She should probably go.
“Sure,” Seb said, and sat down on the grass by Jamie. “Thanks.”
That was that, then. Mae went and sat with Seb and Jamie. She wanted to use them as her talismans, as if being near them meant she was guarded from all magic.
Alan went to fetch Jamie a glass of water. He’d apparently been keeping Jamie hydrated for a while.
“My reading voice needs care,” Jamie said. “It has nothing to do with my clever consumption of eleven thousand drinks last night.”
“I want water too,” said Nick. “I’m hot.”
“Here’s some water,” Alan told him, coming from the kitchen carrying Jamie’s glass. He took a sponge out of Nick’s bucket and squeezing it so the water flooded into Nick’s hair and down his back.
The water slid from the nape of his neck, where the black locks lay like inky scrawls against the white skin, and down the curved arch of his spine, droplets chasing one another down the smooth expanse of his back. Nick made a small sound of satisfaction, then resumed washing the car, sponge moving in steady strokes, ring catching the light so brightly it hurt Mae’s eyes.
It hurt the same way when Nick glanced over his bare shoulder at her, and then away.
Alan just laughed at Nick and went back to fiddling with the barbecue.
Mae collapsed back on the hot grass, tired of herself and the situations she kept throwing herself into. Seb got out his sketchbook, and Jamie started to read again as Alan began cooking lunch.
Jamie’s voice, talking about dancing and reading and love in a more decorous time, became a gentle rhythm to the warm air and the deep blue sky. Mae had almost fallen asleep when he cut off, sounding surprised.
“Is that a picture of me?”
“Yeah,” Seb said, guarded.
“It’s really good,” Jamie told him, easy as if he’d never hated him. Jamie was ridiculously generous with his feelings, all offenses pardoned with no trace of resentment left, all loves absolute.
Now he thought he loved Gerald. Mae had no idea how to deal with that.
“Yeah?” Seb said the same word in a very different tone, this one startled and pleased.
“Next do Nick,” Jamie suggested. “He’s barely wearing any clothes. That’s artistic.”
“Don’t volunteer my body without running it by me first,” Nick drawled.
“I don’t want to draw Nick,” Seb snapped.
“But I guess I’ll do it for art,” Nick continued calmly. “I’m told I have the body of a god.”
“A Greek god, or one of those gods with the horse heads or elephant’s legs coming out of their chests?” Alan asked. “Next time someone tells you that, ask them to specify.”
The smell of meat and smoke drifted to Mae and made her sit up, rising from the crushed grass. “All right, I’m awake. Feed me.”
Seb got up and started to hand around plates, though Mae noticed that Nick had to get his own. He abandoned the car and came to sit on the grass as far away from Seb as he could manage, hair drying tufty and falling damp into his eyes. Jamie looked mildly ill at the sight of food but also anxious not to insult Alan’s cooking, so he pushed it sneakily toward Nick whenever Alan happened to glance away.
Alan turned his head just in time to see Nick eating calmly off Jamie’s plate.
“Oh no, Nick,” Jamie said in tones of supremely unconvincing shock. “How could you? When my back was turned for one moment. And my food was so delicious.”
Alan reached out to smack Nick in the side of the head and Nick ducked, still eating. Mae was looking at them, glad that they seemed easy together for once, and she saw their faces change.
It was strange. For a moment they looked alike, eyes narrowed and lower lips drawn in, appreciative.
Then Alan smiled ruefully to himself and turned his head, Nick got to his feet, and Mae looked across to see what they’d been looking at.
Through the garden gates came Sin, like a reminder they could never really escape the magical world, a vision of beauty and danger that made Mae recall why she didn’t really want to.
She looked more normal than Mae had ever seen her, but she still moved like a dancer in jeans and a scarlet string top, a bright red bandanna caught in her flying hair. She was all vivid color, and for a moment Mae was just dazzled by how spectacular she was.
At the next moment she registered that Sin’s mouth was set in a straight red line.
“Sin?” Nick asked, and he definitely sounded pleased.
“Alan?” said Sin.
“Uh, no,” Nick told her.
Sin raked him with a dismissive dark glance and then looked away, her jaw tightening. “Alan?” she repeated. “I’ve been sent to deliver a message to you from Merris of the Market. Alone.”
Alan rose to his feet, lurching a little as he did so, and Sin looked away as if she’d seen something obscene, but she followed him into the kitchen.
And it occurred to Mae that Sin was exactly the right person to help her.
She stood and went for the kitchen door, where she halted and watched.
Alan and Sin were arguing in hushed, tense whispers, Sin’s back against the kitchen counter as if she felt the need to have her back to something in case a fight began. Alan was holding on to the counter, with his fingers gone white.
“Are you going to deliver the message, or did you just come here to accuse me of lying to Merris?”
“You did lie to Merris!”
“I lie to everyone,” Alan said softly. “It’s nothing personal.”
Sin looked furious and helpless for a moment, lips parted, and then nothing but furious again.
“Merris says she’ll do it. First of July. Huntingdon Market Square. There will be nobody there to stop you doing what needs doing. And I don’t even know what that means,” Sin went on, her voice suddenly sharp. “All I know is that you and Merris are making a bargain with the magicians, and I hate it more than I can say.”
“Well,” said Alan, “you’re not the leader yet.”
“We haven’t sold any talismans,” Sin said, her voice a little unsteady. “We haven’t given any advice. People are dying at the hands of demons, and we are doing nothing to stop it. I follow Merris’s orders, but if I didn’t? I’d carve your treacherous heart out of your chest.”
Alan’s voice didn’t change. It remained quiet and reasonable. “You’d try.”
Sin made a disgusted noise. “I think we’re done here.”
She pushed off the kitchen counter, and Alan grabbed her wrist. She stared up at him in outrage, every inch the princess of the Market assaulted by a commoner.
Alan said, “Stay.”
“What?” Sin exclaimed, sounding equal parts stunned and amused. “Because you enjoy my company so much?”
“Ah, no,” Alan said. “You and Nick were pretty friendly before all this, weren’t you?”
Sin put her hand behind her back, fingers curled over a slight bulge beneath her shirt where Mae was prepared to bet she kept her knife.
“What are you trying to say?”
“Go out and be nice to him. He doesn’t often like people. I don’t want him hurt.”
Sin’s mouth fell open. “Hurt? The demon? Oh my God, you’re crazy. You’re actually crazy.”
“I’ll pay you,” said Alan.
“I’m listening,” said Sin.
“Six-thousand-year-old Sumerian translation. It’s a full ritual, too, so the going rate will be higher.”
Sin’s eyes widened, but she was a Market girl. Mae wasn’t surprised to see that her face and voice betrayed nothing more. “Done,” she said briskly, and then a thought seemed to occur to her. She smiled, the curve of her lips cynical and not happy. “So you want me to play nice with the demon, do you?” Her stance shifted, ever so subtly. Suddenl
y the curves of her body were on offer, as was the curve of her red mouth when she said, low, “And you, traitor? How do you want me to treat you?”
Alan laughed. Sin looked outraged.
“Really, Cynthia.” He gave her a look over his glasses. “Your usual barely concealed contempt will be fine.”
“It’s Sin,” Sin snarled.
“Want to do another deal?” Alan asked. “Watch me walk across a room without flinching, and I’ll call you whatever you like.”
Sin bit her lip. “Get me that translation. I want to be paid in advance.”
Alan nodded and made his way across the kitchen. Sin leaned against the counter with her back deliberately to him, so she wouldn’t have to see him walk.
That meant she saw Mae standing at the door. She gave her a slight smile and pushed herself up so she was sitting on the counter, one slim leg kicking out at a cabinet. “Hear anything interesting?”
“I think so,” Mae said slowly. “Merris is incapacitating the Market and allying with the magicians.”
Sin looked angry for a moment, then sighed and let her tense shoulders relax. Mae crossed the room to Sin and leaned against the counter, close enough that Sin’s bare shoulder was pressed warm against Mae’s blouse.
“Gerald of the Obsidian Circle wants Alan to trap Nick on Market night and strip him of his powers,” Mae said. “One blow and he gets rid of the greatest threat they have. Nobody can stand up to him then. Merris isn’t even trying to stand up to him now. How long do you think the Market will survive?”
“The other choice is that Merris dies,” Sin said, her voice a thread.
Mae closed her eyes. “I know. I’m really sorry. But you told me you loved the Market.”
“What can I do?” Sin demanded.
Mae could hear Alan’s step outside the door and only had time to say, “Something,” before he came in. He looked mildly startled to see her but approached Sin anyway, handing her a folded piece of paper and a tablet wrapped in cloth. Sin opened the paper and scanned it with an expert’s eye.
“All I have to do is pretend to like your demon?”
“Putting on a show is kind of your specialty, isn’t it?”
“I thought it was yours,” Sin said, level. “You had us all fooled.”
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