The Demon's Covenant Read Online Free Page B

and arms were surprisingly hard, lean muscle against her hands, and under his thin T-shirt he was carrying a gun. Mae felt the shape of it press briefly against her stomach.
    Alan wasn’t harmless. He didn’t mind if she knew it.
    For a moment she didn’t even think to return the hug, just stood there frozen. He’d started to pull away by the time she curved a hand around his shoulder, and there was an awkward instant where she grabbed him and he stepped back in too close and then they both stepped away too quickly.
    She wasn’t expecting a hug from Nick. She didn’t even get a hello.
    He leaned against her door with his arms folded and nodded at her. When she suggested they come inside he followed them into the sitting room, always one step behind, carefully shadowing his brother.
    Mae couldn’t stand how ridiculous and off balance she felt, and took the desperate measure of being her mother’s daughter and playing hostess. “Sit down,” she said, and pinned a smile in place like a badge. “Can I get you guys anything? Juice? Tea?”
    â€œI’d love some juice,” said Alan.
    Nick shook his head.
    â€œWhat, you don’t talk anymore?” snapped Mae, and wanted to bite her tongue out.
    â€œI talk,” said Nick, his mouth curving slightly. “And I see you still pester people.”
    He had a deep voice that reminded Mae of a fire; a low, dangerous sound that crackled occasionally and made you jump. Listening to Nick talk was like seeing Alan walk. It was always obvious there was something wrong.
    â€œIt is one of my favorite activities,” said Mae, and went to get Alan some juice.
    When she came back, she found Alan sitting in an armchair by the fireplace like a proper guest. Nick was roaming the room as if he was a feral dog she’d shut up in the house and he was searching for signs of danger and getting ready to bolt. He was stooped over the grand piano and he looked up, not startled but wary as she entered the room. Mae took a quick, instinctive step back and her free hand found the doorknob, her palm suddenly sweaty against the cool juice glass.
    She’d always been a little jolted when she met Nick’s eyes, and it was worse now she knew why. His gaze was steady, his eyes not the windows to any soul but to another world, a world with no stars or moon, no possibility of light or warmth.
    Then he looked down at the piano keys and was again simply the best-looking guy she’d ever seen, with lashes lying feathery on high cheekbones, a sooty shock of hair such a dense black that it didn’t shine but always looked soft, and a full mouth that should have been expressive but somehow never was.
    â€œDo you play?” she asked, and felt stupid and enraged. She never usually felt stupid.
    â€œNo,” said Nick in that low, emotionless voice. She thought that was all he was going to say, since he was always careful with words, acting as if he had a very limited supply and might run out at any moment. But he added, “Alan used to. When we were kids.”
    â€œAges ago,” Alan put in, his voice very light. “I was also on the football team and I played the guitar. But where I really shone was my work on the tambourine.”
    He didn’t say that that had been before their father died and before Alan had been crippled, when they’d had money. Mae held on tight to the doorknob and felt embarrassed by her whole house.
    â€œWe could get a piano,” Nick said.
    â€œAnd what, keep it in the garden?” Alan made a soft sound, almost a laugh.
    â€œWe could get a bigger place. You could play the piano. You could play football. We can do
anything we like
—”
    Mae had never heard Nick’s voice show feeling, but she had heard it show danger plenty of times. He didn’t shout, but sometimes everything went silent when he spoke and his voice sounded louder, like the slide of a knife from a sheath in