The Demon's Lexicon Read Online Free
Author: Sarah Rees Brennan
he couldnât bear it.
âYou lot still here?â he asked. âWhenâs dinner?â
âWe have a serious problem,â Mae told him, now looking angry rather than appreciative.
Nick came in, idly swinging his sword, and took a seat on the other end of the sofa. âIâm sorry to hear that,â he said. âAnd Iâm still hungry.â
âIâm sorry about him,â Alan put in, glaring. âHe gets cranky.â
Nick raised his eyebrows. âIâm only cranky when Iâm not fed.â
âSo heâsâheâs cranky?â Jamie repeated. âCranky, andâand he carries a great big sword. Well, thatâs marvelous, that is.â
Alan laughed, and Jamie relaxed again. Alan had a knack for that. Parents, bosses, animals, and children, they all liked Alan.
Girls liked Nick. He felt it was a fair trade.
Nick realized that since Jamie was in his class at school, chances were that they were the same age, but Nick had always looked and felt older than all the kids at school, and Jamie was small and wide-eyed: made to be his teacherâs pet and his classmatesâ target.
He probably wouldâve been less of a target if he hadnât insisted on wearing lavender shirts and jewelry to school.
Nick didnât blame Jamie for being nervous around him. Lots of people were, and besides that, Seb McFarlane and his lot were always hassling Jamie, and they were technically Nickâs friends.
Nick thought the kid was stupid for sticking his neck out when he didnât have to and couldnât protect himself, but heâd never laid a finger on him. It was a waste of energy; Jamie had never done anything to him, and Alan would have been furious.
He understood anger, though, the restless urge to lash out at anyone that made that little group of bored boys tick. Nick always gravitated to those boys, the troublemakers in every school. The other kids avoided Nick, as if they could smell the violence on him. It didnât bother Nick; he could smell the weakness on them. These boys thought every danger sign was a show of strength. They werenât afraid of him, and he needed a group. A boy alone got too much attention.
âSo,â Jamie said, apparently now under the impression that he was welcome, âyou two live together?â
He jumped a little when he saw the expression on Nickâs face, then edged so far down the sofa he was practically sitting on the arm.
âYes,â Nick responded, in a voice of ice. âBecause he is my brother .â
âAh,â Jamie said faintly.
âDonât take that tone with my brother,â Mae said, tilting her chin. âHow was Jamie supposed to know? You two donât look anything alike.â
Nick looked away from her and Jamie, to the mirror over the mantelpiece. It only reflected the lamp against the wall, the light a low sunset color inside the ugly orange lampshade. His grip on his sword tightened.
He didnât need her to tell him. He knew that.
Mae and Jamie were not much alike, as siblings went. She was on the curvy side, and Jamie was a skinny wretch Nick could have snapped like a twig in one hand. Jamie was blond, and Nick suspected that under the pink Mae was a basic brunette, but they both had the same big brown eyes, the same heart-shaped face. They shared a few markers of kinship with each other, the small signs of shared blood that Nick would have wanted to share with Alan, and not with her .
Alan looked uncomfortable. Nick cleared his throat, and Jamie jumped again, as if the sound was a gunshot. âAlan looks like Dad. I look like Mum.â
It was as simple as that. He fixed both of them with a stare that dared them to ask further questions or make further personal observations. His family was none of their business.
Neither Mae nor Jamie spoke. Alan, however, could never be stopped from talking by any power of God or Nick.
âNow that Nickâs
âYou lot still here?â he asked. âWhenâs dinner?â
âWe have a serious problem,â Mae told him, now looking angry rather than appreciative.
Nick came in, idly swinging his sword, and took a seat on the other end of the sofa. âIâm sorry to hear that,â he said. âAnd Iâm still hungry.â
âIâm sorry about him,â Alan put in, glaring. âHe gets cranky.â
Nick raised his eyebrows. âIâm only cranky when Iâm not fed.â
âSo heâsâheâs cranky?â Jamie repeated. âCranky, andâand he carries a great big sword. Well, thatâs marvelous, that is.â
Alan laughed, and Jamie relaxed again. Alan had a knack for that. Parents, bosses, animals, and children, they all liked Alan.
Girls liked Nick. He felt it was a fair trade.
Nick realized that since Jamie was in his class at school, chances were that they were the same age, but Nick had always looked and felt older than all the kids at school, and Jamie was small and wide-eyed: made to be his teacherâs pet and his classmatesâ target.
He probably wouldâve been less of a target if he hadnât insisted on wearing lavender shirts and jewelry to school.
Nick didnât blame Jamie for being nervous around him. Lots of people were, and besides that, Seb McFarlane and his lot were always hassling Jamie, and they were technically Nickâs friends.
Nick thought the kid was stupid for sticking his neck out when he didnât have to and couldnât protect himself, but heâd never laid a finger on him. It was a waste of energy; Jamie had never done anything to him, and Alan would have been furious.
He understood anger, though, the restless urge to lash out at anyone that made that little group of bored boys tick. Nick always gravitated to those boys, the troublemakers in every school. The other kids avoided Nick, as if they could smell the violence on him. It didnât bother Nick; he could smell the weakness on them. These boys thought every danger sign was a show of strength. They werenât afraid of him, and he needed a group. A boy alone got too much attention.
âSo,â Jamie said, apparently now under the impression that he was welcome, âyou two live together?â
He jumped a little when he saw the expression on Nickâs face, then edged so far down the sofa he was practically sitting on the arm.
âYes,â Nick responded, in a voice of ice. âBecause he is my brother .â
âAh,â Jamie said faintly.
âDonât take that tone with my brother,â Mae said, tilting her chin. âHow was Jamie supposed to know? You two donât look anything alike.â
Nick looked away from her and Jamie, to the mirror over the mantelpiece. It only reflected the lamp against the wall, the light a low sunset color inside the ugly orange lampshade. His grip on his sword tightened.
He didnât need her to tell him. He knew that.
Mae and Jamie were not much alike, as siblings went. She was on the curvy side, and Jamie was a skinny wretch Nick could have snapped like a twig in one hand. Jamie was blond, and Nick suspected that under the pink Mae was a basic brunette, but they both had the same big brown eyes, the same heart-shaped face. They shared a few markers of kinship with each other, the small signs of shared blood that Nick would have wanted to share with Alan, and not with her .
Alan looked uncomfortable. Nick cleared his throat, and Jamie jumped again, as if the sound was a gunshot. âAlan looks like Dad. I look like Mum.â
It was as simple as that. He fixed both of them with a stare that dared them to ask further questions or make further personal observations. His family was none of their business.
Neither Mae nor Jamie spoke. Alan, however, could never be stopped from talking by any power of God or Nick.
âNow that Nickâs