The Demon's Covenant by Sarah Rees Brennan
“Jamie, don’t be an idiot!” Nick snarled.
Jamie blinked and stopped, the silvery tendrils clinging to his arm like a bracelet of light.
Celeste’s eyelashes, little golden fans like the lashes on a doll who could be sent to sleep, snapped up. Her gray eyes were cold and still as lakes in winter.
“I don’t think any of us require a lecture from a demon.”
She stepped forward, and the others all stepped with her in what seemed for a moment like a procession.
Mae took a step backward to be on Alan’s right as Nick was on his left, so they were flanking him in as much of a show of solidarity as they could make with Jamie still standing to one side, wrapped in magic and wonder.
Mae noted with disgust that even tiny china doll Celeste was taller than she was.
Alan held out his hand and said, “I’m—”
“I know who you are,” Celeste told him, ignoring his outstretched hand. “You’re the traitor, the boy who has managed to cut himself off not only from his own people but from all of humanity; the one who stands with the demons.”
“And you agreed to meet with me anyway,” said Alan. “Why is that?”
There was a tiny, smug curl to Celeste’s lips. It made her look like a cat smiling. “Put it down to a curious nature. What do you have to tell me?”
“The Obsidian Circle invaded your territory last month,” Alan said. “They’re in Exeter now. I understand the penalties for trespassing on another Circle’s territory are fairly severe. I wanted to point you in their direction.”
“Oh, I see,” Celeste remarked in dulcet tones. “Thank you so much. I’m delighted by the idea of being a tool in the hands of a demon.”
Alan’s voice stayed calm and friendly. “I just thought you might like to know.”
“Well,” said Celeste. “I’d like to let you know some things. I know perfectly well where Gerald Lynch and the remains of Arthur’s Circle have run. I know that Arthur Dee, the maniac who gave a demon its own body and who dared to come into my city without my permission, is dead. I know that I am not the kind of woman who would start murdering my own kind, particularly when their new leader is young and promising and was only following orders when he did me a wrong. Some of us have loyalty to our own kind, Alan. Now tell me something I don’t know—could you possibly have anything interesting to say to me at all?”
Some of the Aventurine Circle magicians were smirking. Mae had a sudden urge to grab Alan’s hand, but she didn’t want to betray even that much weakness to their watchful eyes.
“I guess I don’t,” Alan said quietly. “Sorry for taking up your time.”
Celeste shrugged. “That’s perfectly all right. It wasn’t a wasted trip.”
Mae really did not like the tone this woman was using. “And why’s that?” she demanded.
Celeste’s eyes rested on her, betraying nothing.
“Speaking of young and promising magicians,” she purred, “you brought one to my city. Do you think I would abandon him to a demon, or even let him waste his power on the ruined fragments of the Obsidian Circle? That would be a crime.”
The shining bracelet of light around Jamie’s wrist became thick as a steel snake, closing around his arm like a metal tentacle. Celeste held out a hand and curled her fingers, and the other end of the shining line leaped into her palm. Jamie yelped as the silver leash of magic tightened and twisted, and he stumbled forward, falling over his own feet, inexorably drawn to her side.
Before Mae could even move, her brother was trapped in the midst of the Aventurine Circle.
“We’re keeping the young magician,” Celeste said, still smiling. “Have a good evening.”
7
The Blade of Light
You’re wrong,” said Nick.
He was the last person Mae would have expected to speak, but his voice carried clear and deep over the whispering, rushing sound of the Thames below. The magicians seemed surprised that he had spoken too; they stirred and went still. Jamie’s wide eyes swung to Nick’s face.
“Oh?” Celeste inquired, her voice becoming a little higher and sharper. “And what am I wrong about? Do please feel free to enlighten me, demon.”
“You’re not taking him,” said Nick. “He’s ours.”
“I really kind of am,” Jamie put in. “I mean, I’m mine. Nick is being horrifying and inappropriate as usual, but I’d much rather go home with them. Not that I don’t appreciate the kind offer of hospitality as expressed by kidnapping me.”
Celeste looked over her shoulder at Jamie, who was still breathing hard and shocked by the way magic had turned from wonder to a weapon before his eyes.
It didn’t even make sense. Gerald’s spell was meant to protect him from this sort of thing.
“Everything is all right,” Celeste cooed. “I don’t blame you for an instant. It’s made you promises, hasn’t it? It’s made you want to do anything it wishes. It’s shown you marvels.”
Jamie blinked. “If you’re talking about Nick, all he’s shown me is this car he’s fixing up. And honestly, I wasn’t that interested.”
“You said you were interested,” Nick commented, his voice dry.
“Well, I was being polite.”
It eased the knot of panic in Mae’s chest, tighter than the one around Jamie’s wrist, to see that Jamie looked slightly calmer after this exchange. She wanted to run in and wrest him away from Celeste, but doing that risked getting Jamie hurt, risked getting herself hurt and doing Jamie no good at all.
She thought of her mother saying that you gave tasks to those equipped to deal with them. Annabel had been talking about delegating work in the boardroom, but Mae thought the logic still applied to a bridge by night and magicians bent on capturing your loved ones.
Nick could turn the whole bridge into a lightning rod if he liked. He was equipped, and he was dealing with this.
“Do you really think,” Mae murmured, modulating her voice into a copy of Celeste’s purr, “that it’s a good idea to aggravate a demon like this?”
Celeste laughed. “My dear girl. What’s he going to do about it?”
Nick’s voice turned thick, coiled around a snarl. “I’ll show you what I’m going to do!”
His voice rang out like a thunderclap. Mae braced herself for lightning.
None came. There was just the still night and the sound of the river, currents running as regularly as a clock, washing the seconds away.
“Well?” asked Celeste, dropping the word into the silence at the exact point when it became too much to bear. “I’m waiting. Show me.”
Mae ripped her eyes from Jamie’s scared face to whirl on Nick, but the demand on her lips died when she saw him. He was looking not at Celeste, but at his brother.
“Alan,” he said, “I can’t. I don’t understand.”
Alan pushed his shoulder slightly in front of Nick’s. “I think I might,” he said slowly. “Arthur never came down by this part of the river, did he? A river would have been pretty useful when dealing with demons, but he wouldn’t have dared. You’ve made this place, Southwark—your territory—you’ve made it so nobody else can use magic here. Like a giant …” His voice changed. “Like a giant magicians’ circle. Oh. That’s clever.”
He sounded appreciative, which Mae considered totally unacceptable when what Alan was appreciating was how brilliant he found Celeste’s methods of kidnapping.
“What’s clever?” she demanded.
Celeste’s smile was mocking. “Buried treasure.”
“Alan,” Mae said between her teeth.
“The magic circle,” Alan said. “The one every Circle’s power is based on, the one made of stones as big as they can find. She’s buried her aventurines in a circle under London. She’s made the Bankside her magicians’ circle. And once a demon steps into a magicians’ circle, its power is gone. For as long as it remains in the circle. But she’s in her own circle, so she can’t command the demon, either.”
Alan stared at her for a long moment, his profile briefly as unreadable as Nick’s. He glanced at Jamie, then bowed his head.
“Maybe we should.”
“Leave?” Mae shouted. “Leave without my brother? You must be mad!”
Alan leaned in and said into her ear, “We should come back when they’re not expecting us. As opposed to now, when they are looking right at us and about to blast us off the bridge.”
Alan’s mild, sensible voice stung as if he had touched her somewhere she was already bruised.
“Okay, you’re right,” she said. “You two go. I’m staying with Jamie.”
“That wouldn’t … be a good idea,” Alan told her. “Mae, I understand how you feel, but they won’t hurt Jamie. You, on the other hand, you’re not a magician. You’re like a pizza delivered to the door for their demons.”
Mae looked at Jamie. He didn’t even look small next to Celeste; he just looked like a boy standing among far more sophisticated adults, shivering in his thin T-shirt. He still wasn’t meeting her eyes. She would have killed the whole Aventurine Circle if she’d had the power, and never cared how many dark, bloody dreams she’d have later. He was worth it all: worth more.
“I will not leave him here alone,” she said. The lights of London blurred before her eyes, as if they had all been plunged underwater, but she clenched her fists and refused to let tears fall. “You guys go. I will not!”
“You don’t have to,” said Nick.
He’d been standing by his brother, still and silent as Alan’s shadow, since he’d turned to him for understanding. He was scanning the ranks of the Aventurine Circle as he spoke.
He was almost smiling.
“None of us are going anywhere. I’ve got a plan.”
“Nick?” Alan sounded very alarmed.
“Hey,” Nick said to Celeste Drake. “You magicians have duels, right?”
“We do,” Celeste replied slowly. She looked affronted that a demon was talking to her.
“You’ve laid claim to something that’s ours. Pretty good grounds for a duel, I think.” Nick tilted his head. “So let’s have one.”
Celeste’s eyebrows soared upward. “I believe I’ve already pointed out that you don’t have any magic. Do you want me to fry you from the inside out until you turn into a torch blazing for this whole dark city to see?”
“Oh, don’t,” Nick said. “You’ll get me all hot and bothered in public.”
Celeste looked disgusted. Jamie laughed, and when one of the Aventurine Circle glared at him, he turned it into a cough.
“You’re wrong on two counts,” Nick continued. “I don’t want to duel with magic. And I don’t want to duel with you.”
Mae remembered what Alan had said last night: One of the Circle has a special interest in using magic for fighting. Her eyes flew to the two men in the group, trying to size both of them up in the space of a second.
She felt thoroughly ashamed of herself when Nick said, “Can you resist a challenge, Helen?”
The tallest woman in the crowd was as blond as Celeste, but there the similarities ended. Her silvery blond locks were cropped short, her angular face was hard, not like china but like stone, and her white clothes were made of such old material that they moved with her like skin as she pushed past the other magicians and walked across the bridge to meet Nick in the middle.
She wasn’t as tall or as broad as Nick was, but there was a sureness to her movements and a solid, settled look to her muscles. There was a quality about this woman that reminded Mae that Nick was a boy.
Younger than Jamie. Not as tall or as strong as he would be one day.
And he had no magic.
Helen the magician reached behind her back with both hands and unsheathed two swords, long and thin and bright as if they were rays of light cast on water.
“Do you think you’ll even be a challenge, demon?”
“I’ll do my best,” said Nick, and drew his own sword.
It was his favorite sword, the one Alan had given him at the Goblin Market. Mae remembered it as she remembered everything about the Market night. It looked like nothing compared to Helen’s swords, which caught the fluorescent lights set into the steel of the bridge, the glow of the city spread out along the river, and turned all the lights into magic. Every time she moved her swords, they painted vivid trails of gold dust against the night.
They walked around each other in a slow, tight circle, watching the way their opponent moved.
“Two swords,” Nick commented. “Trying a bit too hard?”
“Maybe you’re not trying hard enough,” Helen said. “If all you can handle is one.”
Nick circled around, and Mae caught the flash of his savage grin.
“Oh, I think all you need is one. If you use it just right.”
Their swords met with a sudden ring, like the peal of a bell. Nick’s sword hit the spot where Helen’s blades met, crossed before her. She smiled, face framed by sharp steel, and Nick disengaged. Helen went low, snake-fast, and struck out at knee height. Her intention was so clear that for an instant Mae saw what Helen wanted as if she’d already made it happen: Nick’s legs scythed out from under him, having him bleeding and helpless for her final strike.
Mae moved forward and was pulled up short by the hard bite of Alan’s fingers into her arm. He pulled her back, tight against his chest, and said into her ear, “Don’t move.”
She didn’t move. She figured he must want comfort, though she wouldn’t have thought he’d seek it by grabbing someone hard enough to bruise.
It didn’t matter for long. They both had to keep watching Nick.
He jumped to avoid Helen’s swords and landed crouched, the aluminum deck reverberating under his feet.
Helen thrust, one sword cutting a golden wound in the night sky. Nick had to slam against the railing to avoid the blow, and then she was sweeping with the sword in her left hand to run him through where he stood.
Nick vaulted over the rail and onto the fragile cables on the side of the bridge, dancing backward on them as if they weren’t impossibly dangerous monkey bars suspended above murky waters.
Helen sliced out at him in a double stroke that could have beheaded him if she’d had more reach. He leaned backward, away from the swords, and for a moment either he or the bridge swayed and Mae shut her eyes, convinced he was going to fall.
“Stop playing around,” Helen snapped. “Let’s cut to the chase.”
Mae opened her eyes and saw Nick crouched like a huge cat on the end of a cable, sword washed in city lights and turned into a sweep of cool silver.
“This is the chase,” said Nick. “Cutting comes later.”
He grabbed the steel rail in one hand, and his arm tensed: the only sign before he threw himself over it, landing rolling on the deck and turning the roll into a stand almost too swiftly to see.
Not too swiftly for Helen. She swung, and Nick swerved. Directly into the path of her second blade, which slid between his ribs.
It was so simple and done with so little fuss that for a moment Mae forgot to feel alarmed. Then she heard the sound Alan made in the back of his throat, scraping and pained, as if he was the one who’d been stabbed. She saw the bloodstain spread slow and red across the white of Nick’s shirt.
Before Helen could draw her sword out, Nick attacked her unprotected side, his sword slicing in. She dived away, her shirt torn and bloody, pulling her sword out of Nick’s chest as she went.
Nick clenched his free hand into a fist and pressed it hard against the bloodstain, then swung in while Helen was still off balance. She fumbled the blade that was still dark and slick with Nick’s blood, and Nick struck her wrist hard with his sword. She gave a hoarse cry and dropped it.
“Now we’re even,” said Nick.
“We’re not even,” Helen said. “I was using magic and my swo
“I was killing long before you were born,” Nick told her, suddenly soft, as if struck by a pleasant memory. “I’ll be killing long after you’re dust.”
“You sure about that?” Helen said. “I’m not.”
Their swords met again, once, twice, three times in a ringing flurry of silver and gold, sparks flying into the darkness. Nick pressed in, and even Mae could see that wasn’t good for Helen: With their blades locked, Nick had the advantage of height and weight. He could drive her down.
Mae’s leaping heart went still and cold as a stone in her chest when Helen’s remaining sword flared into sudden vibrant life, humming and glowing with the white intensity of the sun.
Nick’s sword, locked tight with the magician’s, broke in two against it. The blade went clattering to the deck, and Nick was left standing there holding the hilt, a broken shard of steel still attached to it. It looked pathetic, especially next to Helen’s shimmering weapon.
Nick tossed it up into the air, caught it by the shard, and when Helen’s eyes followed the movement for an instant he moved past her guard and hit her hard in the nose with the hilt, then dropped it and punched her in the stomach. When she doubled over, he lunged away from her and across the bridge to seize the other sword, the one she’d dropped.
Helen looked up, blood streaming down her face, as he bore down on her.
She parried Nick’s blow and then struck. The sword Nick held was dimmed, ordinary again, while the one she still held was ferociously bright. It seemed to leap in her hands, and Mae clenched her fists at every blow, the ring of blades meeting turning into a murderous little song. Nick’s and Helen’s feet were moving together, back and forth, like a dance.
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.