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He turned and climbed back into the car. He hoped that their uninvited guests would be gone by the time he reached home. It shouldn’t take long for Alan to tell them that there were magicians in the world who could call up demons and set them on people. That there were quite a lot of other things happening side by side with the normal world those idiots pretended they didn’t fit into. They had probably just heard the warnings Alan had spread and convinced themselves they needed “occult help.” wop.&rdqu

Chances were, after all, that whatever problem the pair had was imaginary. He turned the engine on. It roared to life, and he pulled away fast from the side of the river where the body was sinking.

Imaginary problems. Must be nice.

By the time Nick had turned the curve past St. David’s station, he was sure Alan was already finis.h.i.+ng the usual spiel. He told everyone who came all they needed to know to protect themselves. If Alan had been less eager to help people and more concerned about protecting himself, Nick would’ve felt better.

Nick could almost hear Alan’s voice now.

There are demons living in another world, he would say, a world side by side with ours, and they are hungry.

They are hungry for the sounds and sights and sensations of our world. None of them can get in, though. None of them can touch you, unless a magicians’ circle builds a bridge for the demons. Stay safe. Stay away from the magicians. Stay away from us.

Worked for Nick.

He parked the car, jumped out, and came in angling the door so he could see everything, his sword half-drawn, as he usually did.

Alan’s voice drifted to him through the open door. “So, Mae — is that because your birthday’s in May? Because it’s almost May now….”

Alan had changed the usual spiel a bit, Nick noticed.

He pushed the door all the way open and slid his sword all the way out of its scabbard. This pair had invaded his house. He could scare them if he liked.

“It’s not May like the month,” Mae explained. “It’s Mae like Mae West.”

“Like you wish,” said Nick.

At the same time, his brother glowed and asked, “Are you a movie buff?”

The sitting room was brightly lit and conspicuous for its ordinariness, unlike their kitchen full of broken gla.s.s and dead birds. Alan had obviously made everyone a cup of tea, and he and Mae were sitting in the two big, broken-down armchairs. Jamie was perched on the end of their sofa, his tea untouched, as if he did not trust it. Alan was leaning slightly toward Mae, and she twisted her head at the sound of Nick’s voice and looked toward the door.

Nick observed the flicker of appreciation in her brown eyes. He wasn’t particularly surprised. She was just the type to like them tall, dark, and carrying a lethal weapon.

He let his lip curl. That kind of behavior was so stupid, he couldn’t bear it.

“You lot still here?” he asked. “When’s dinner?”

“We have a serious problem,” 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. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “And I’m still hungry.”

“I’m sorry about him,” Alan put in, glaring. “He gets cranky.”

Nick raised his eyebrows. “I’m only cranky when I’m not fed.”

“So he’s — he’s cranky?” Jamie repeated. “Cranky, and — and he carries a great big sword. Well, that’s marvelous, that is.”

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 cla.s.s 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 teacher’s pet and his cla.s.smates’ target.

He probably would’ve been less of a target if he hadn’t insisted on wearing lavender s.h.i.+rts and jewelry to school.

Nick didn’t blame Jamie for being nervous around him. Lots of people were, and besides that, Seb McFarlane and his lot were always ha.s.sling Jamie, and they were technically Nick’s friends.

Nick thought the kid was stupid for sticking his neck out when he didn’t have to and couldn’t protect himself, but he’d 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 didn’t bother Nick; he could smell the weakness on them. These boys thought every danger sign was a show of strength. They weren’t afraid of him, and he needed a group. A boy alone got too much attention.

“So,” Jamie said, apparently now under the impression that he was welcome, “you two live together?”

He jumped a little when he saw the expression on Nick’s face, then edged so far down the sofa he was practically sitting on the arm.

“Yes,” Nick responded, in a voice of ice. “Because he is my brother.”

“Ah,” Jamie said faintly.