Read The Demon's Covenant Online
Authors: Sarah Rees Brennan
The Demon's Covenant (30 page)
She lay flat in the backseat of the car for hours, staring up at the worn gray roof and trying not to think about Alan's hands holding her too tight and the kiss that had tasted like a goodbye.
If Liannan killed Alan, she was the one who was going to have to carry the news back to Nick.
It would be all her fault.
She shut her eyes and tried to concentrate on the music, while Alan's death played out against her eyelids.
“Mae, are you asleep?” Alan asked, at which point Mae opened her eyes, scrambled up on her knees, and punched him in the chest.
“No, I was lying back contemplating the fact of your
death
and listening to some truly embarrassing music!”
She pulled out the earbuds and turned off her iPod, shoving it into her pocket to hide the evidence. Alan looked hideously tired, gray shadows under his eyes, as if someone had
rubbed their dusty thumbs over the tender places directly below his lashes, but he smiled.
“What were you listening to?”
“I don't wish to discuss it at this time,” she said loftily.
What she did want to do was give Alan a hug, hold on hard to make sure he was real and alive after all the horrors she had been imagining, but he looked like he might break or fall down if she touched him.
She climbed into the passenger seat instead, and Alan got into the car, moving carefully, as if he was old. He turned the ignition, and Mae reached out as the car came humming to life and touched him, very gently, on the shoulder.
“What did you ask her, Alan?”
Alan did not look at her. He looked over the steering wheel. The sky was ashen, all the blue bled out of it as gray evening set in, and Alan's face had a tinge of the same color.
“I asked her whether I could trust Gerald to keep his part of the bargain,” he said hoarsely. “And she says that I can.”
Mae felt as if someone had pulled her stomach out from under her.
“The bargain where you betray your brother and rip his powers away from him? That bargain?”
“Mae,” he said.
“Aren't demons meant to beâaren't they meant to
be
magic? They are their power; you'd be cutting him in half. Less than half. You'd trap him in a box and start sawing, is that it?”
Mae was almost surprised to find herself raging. She'd been so relieved to see him, such a short time ago. It was ridiculous to be so relieved you felt dizzy and so angry you felt dizzy in such swift succession. She looked down at her
knees rather than at the fields of home passing her by, or Alan's face.
“And you'd lie to trap him.”
“I lie all the time,” Alan said quietly.
She looked over at him, and his hands were steady on the wheel, as if he wasn't bothered about any of this, as if he didn't even care.
“What happened between you and Nick in Durham?” she demanded. “When the storm came and those two people died. Sometimes it seems like you hate him now. Is that it? Do you want to take revenge for something? What did he do?”
Alan stopped the car in the middle of the road with a screech of tires, and Mae, not wearing her seat belt, jolted forward in her seat. She bit her tongue hard, and her mouth filled with the taste of blood, hot and bitter.
“I don't want to talk about it!”
“Well,” Mae said, slamming open the car door and jumping out, banging her shoulder against the frame of the door as she went, clumsy with anger. “I don't want to stay in this car.”
She held the door in one clenched fist as she ducked her head, glaring into Alan's startled face.
“I wouldn't have risked calling demons for you if I knew you were planning to betray your brother,” she told him. “I thought you were better than that.”
She slammed the door and stormed forward, walking in the ditch, and did not quite realize that she'd expected Alan to stop the car and argue with her until she heard him rev the engine and watched his taillights disappear into the gray evening.
It was only about two miles' walk home. Mae put her head down and walked through the warm evening, trying to concentrate on walking and not let herself think.
That was going tremendously well. She was so lost in thought that when her phone rang she almost walked into a tree.
“Sorry,” she mumbled automatically. It did not accept her apology, on account of being a tree.
She glared at it anyway, and then transferred her glare to her phone. Someone whose number she didn't recognize was calling her.
“What is it?”
“Get a better offer?”
“Huh, what, crazy person on the line,” Mae said, before it sank in that this was unmistakably Nick's voice, deep and a little scratchy as usual, sounding as if he'd just taken about five shots of whiskey an instant before she picked up.
“If you're not coming over, I'm going to get Jamie and start him on some hand-to-hand blade work.”
“Oh good, crazy person I actually do know and who wants to cut up my brother,” said Mae. She didn't want to see Nick, not so soon after Alan had let her know that his awful plan was actually happening.
She remembered feeling as if Nick was going to raze the city. She didn't know what he had done in Durham.
She wasn't about to let Jamie get hit with surprise knives.
“I'm coming over,” she said, her voice sounding soft and a little worn. She couldn't believe how tired she was, but it wasn't much farther to get to Nick's house. She could make it.
“I'll work on my car until you get here, then,” said Nick, who had no idea that his brother was planning to hand him
over to a magician. That there was no way for him to become human enough.
“Try not to die of excitement before I get there,” Mae told him, brittle and bright as her mother was before a board meeting, when she knew she had a problem to fix and had no idea how to do it. Mae knew she had to be twice as confident and convincing, put up a facade so brilliant nobody could see past it, in order to buy enough time so that somehow she could figure out what to do.
She got off to a bad start when she walked in the door and found Alan on the sofa. It took her a moment of sheer frozen panic, knowing she couldn't meet his eyes or talk to him right now without Nick knowing something was wrong, to realize that he was asleep.
“Yeah,” Nick said from the door. “He was meant to be going to his boring talk on whatever, but he came in and collapsed on the sofa. That bookshop manager thinks she can run him into the ground. Don't wake him.”
His voice sounded taut. When Mae looked over her shoulder at him, he looked too tightly wound all over. It was the way he sometimes got when they were all living together in London, when his answers to questions would become shorter and snarlier until Jamie was looking really alarmed. Nick would eventually jump out of his chair without another word to anyone and go into the garden to practice the sword for about four hours.
Mae wondered if he knew something, but when she looked at him, he just looked irritably back at her and said, “Are you ready to read yet?”
“Oh,” she said. “Oh, sure.”
She followed Nick up the rickety attic stairs to the little
room that the setting sun was turning into warm gold and red and shadows, and sat down on the floor with the copybook. The wood was so old, even the splinters seemed to have given up and gone soft, feeling almost fuzzy under Mae's clenched fist as she opened the book and began to read.
I tried to leave again today. Yesterday was Saturday, the day when Alan's football team plays. We have been living in this town for a month, and Alan has been playing almost as long. He loves it. Watching him play is one of the things that make me happiest.
Sometimes I wish I could watch him at school. I wish I could see him enjoying himself more often.
A brilliant student, an athlete, the sweetest boy in school. You must be so proud, his teachers say, and I am proud of him. I am ashamed of myself.
Sometimes all his promise seems like a reproach to me. What is going to happen to my son in this world?
Even at his games we are not quite free. Alan insists that I bring the demon with me to watch him play football.
We got the whole row of seats to ourselves. Alan insisted that it start preschool this year too. It turns my stomach to think of its presence in a room full of real children. They can't possibly be comfortable around it.
Nobody has been hurt. Nobody is ever hurt. If I just knew what the demon was planning, if it is planning anything at all, then I could bear this better. As things are, dread keeps me awake for hours, keeps me listening for the sound of a demon stirring in my home.
Demons have influence over the minds of humans,
Olivia says. Sometimes I think my son is simply the demon's puppet. That I have to kill the demon to set him free.
The other football team was bigger, older, and a little rough. Parents around me were muttering and concerned, but I'm used to my son being in far more danger than could be posed to him by other children. I only noticed when Alan went down hard and was lost in a pile of seething bodies; when I heard him cry out.
I leaped to my feet then. And I felt a cold presence at my elbow. The creature was on its feet too, black eyes scanning the field.
All the hair stood up on the back of my neck. I felt as if Olivia's voice was whispering in my ear, laughing, at her most mad. Demons crave strong emotions. They love tasting things like fear, like pain.
When Alan came off the field laughing, proud of his trophy and his loose tooth, he put an arm around it and tried to show it the trophy.
The demon turned around and touched Alan's mouth. Its hand came away stained.
Demons want blood.
Alan laughed and hugged it closer. “Don't worry,” he said. “I'm okay. It doesn't hurt.”
That was yesterday. Today in the early morning I carried Alan downstairs, as if we had to move. I murmured to him that it was all right, that I had everything taken care of, that I had Nick.
I was driving as fast as I could. I was almost out of town when Alan woke up properly. I saw him yawn and stretch, rub his eyes and almost knock off his glasses. Then his eyes traveled from my head to Olivia's.
“Where's Nick?”
This time I was not going to be stopped by seeing fear on his face. This time I wasn't thinking about slaying a monster. I was simply taking the coward's way out. I was running away. Let the magicians have it. Let someone else deal with it.
I met Alan's eyes in the mirror head-on, so desperate that I was almost calm.
Reflected in the glass, my son's eyes narrowed.
Then he threw himself out of the speeding car. I stopped with a screech of brakes, far too late
Alan had already picked himself up off the road and was running fast, becoming a speck in the distance. My Alan, the athlete. If I'd leaped from the car and chased him, I doubt I would have caught him.
“Poor thing,” Olivia remarked as we drove back. “Alan,” she said after a moment, as if she had trouble recalling his name. “He seems like a nice child.”
I don't know what else I expected. Alan doesn't think of her as his mother. It would break my heart if he did.
She's not fit to be anybody's mother.
It's not her fault. But the way she is now breaks my heart too.
Alan was not back in the house as I had expected. He was at the top of our road instead, he and the demon. There were blood and tears streaming down Alan's face, making a grisly mask for my child as he shook and held the demon in his arms. It looked the same as it always does.
Alan looked at me, defiant. “He was coming to look for me,” he said, based on no evidence at all. Then he returned to whispering comfort in the demon's ear.
“All right, Alan,” I said loudly, trying to drown out that soft sound. “You win.”
He looked at me for a moment and then resumed his years-long one-way conversation with the demon: telling it that everything was fine now, that it was safe, that above all else it was loved.
I sat with the car door open, hearing the small sounds of the engine cooling, and looking straight ahead. The wind blew the long locks of Olivia's hair across to the open door, obscuring my view like streamers of shadow, like the bars of a prison window between me and the world.
Perhaps Alan is not enchanted. Perhaps he is simply his father's son, loving the most where there is no happiness and no hope of return to be found.