The Child Thief

faces. “Who among you will make the Flesh-eaters scream?”

The New Blood shared a quick look.

“Any who stand with us today will become Devils the moment they walk out that door. For such a courageous deed would make any worthy. We’ve a world to win. Eternal youth, and all the glory of faerie awaits our victory. Search your hearts, find the courage to take life on. Now, who will share this grand adventure with us? Who will become a Lord of Avalon?”

This was it, Nick knew: the point of no return. It was all too real now and suddenly he was unsure. Was this a death march? Did he dare trust this insane boy? The last time he’d followed Peter, he’d ended up in the Mist fighting for his life. Did he believe today would be any better?

Nick glanced from Danny to Cricket. They looked as scared as he felt. This wasn’t a game, not this time. They were going off to kill men. You can call them Flesh-eaters or whatever you like, but they were men. By the gravity in the air, Nick suspected some of these kids, maybe a lot of these kids, wouldn’t be coming back. Nick wondered if he might stand a better chance trying to get back home on his own.

None of the New Blood stepped forward. They stared at the ground, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot.

Leroy stood beside Peter, his head cocked back. Like a real tough guy, Nick thought. Leroy was decked out in full Devil garb, proudly holding his sword and looking full of himself.

Cricket gave Nick a nervous, sidelong glance. Nick met her eyes and shook his head. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered.

She made a pained face that said she did. “This is my family now,” she said and walked over. Peter hugged her and all the Devils clapped her on the back.

Then it was Nick and Danny. Danny was biting his lip. His brow cinched up.

Danny glanced at Nick. “Peter says we won’t have to do any fighting.”

“Do you believe that?”

Danny shrugged his shoulders, took in a deep breath, like someone about to jump off the high diving board for the first time, then followed Cricket.

They were all looking at Nick then. The silence of the room weighed on his shoulders. He caught the smirk on Leroy’s face. That smirk said Nick was a chump, a wuss, a regular fucktard. But Nick didn’t care about that, not anymore. It was his mother that mattered. He thought of her alone in that house, and in the end he knew he had but one choice. Nick locked eyes with Leroy and stepped forward. When he did, Leroy’s smirk fell from his face; as a matter of fact, Leroy looked like he’d just swallowed a bug.

A cheer rang out. Peter dashed forward and embraced Nick in a bear hug. Then they were all patting him on the back, ruffling his hair. And at some point, among the cheering, the backslaps, and grins, Nick forgot to be scared, forgot to be mad, realized he was grinning too. I’ve lost my mind, he thought, I’ve totally lost my mind. And it was amazing how good it felt.

“Three cheers for our New Blood!” Peter cried.

One and all, they cheered.

THE DEVILS’ ALOOFNESS evaporated. Nick felt the warmth of a true brotherhood as the whole clan worked quickly to deck the New Blood out in battle gear. Even the most ferocious of the Devils pitched in, laughing and joking as they helped them lace up boots and strap on belts and armor.

They’d painted lines of dark green straight down Cricket’s face, and when she pursed her lips and lowered her head, she looked wicked and dangerous.

Unfortunately for Danny, he’d allowed Redbone to apply his war paint. “He’s a war cat,” Redbone declared. But complete with black snout and whiskers, Danny looked more like a war panda. No one could look at him without letting out a snort. It only made matters worse when Danny began to pout, for then he looked like a pouting panda.

After seeing what they’d done to Danny, Nick decided it might be prudent to slip over to the mirror. At first, Nick thought it was some trick, because the boy in the mirror wasn’t him. Standing there instead was a savage with dark swatches of black paint running down both sides of his face. The savage looked lean and hard, but it was the eyes that Nick found most disturbing, piercing, haunted eyes, sparkling with gold. Was that really him? What had they done with the nerdy boy with the funny shoes? Nick wasn’t sure how he felt about this.

Peter came up behind him. “Nick, this is for you.” Peter handed him a short sword.

Nick slipped it out of the tattered leather scabbard. The blade was thin and elegant, so smooth as to shimmer, but on closer inspection, Nick could see the faintest runes inlaid up and down the metal. When the graceful designs caught the light, they sparkled like tiny diamonds. Its edge was so sharp that he nicked his thumb just by touching it. “Wow,” Nick said.

Peter beamed. “It’s a true elven blade. One from their glory days of long, long ago. It’s so strong and sharp that it can cut through steel. These are very rare, Nick. Oh, and it has a name, of course—because those silly elves have to give everything a name. It’s called Maldiriel. I want you to have it.”

Nick looked at Peter. He didn’t know what to say. Why had Peter given this to him? He hadn’t given any of the other New Blood such gifts. “Mul-deral?”

“No, Maldiriel,” Peter corrected.

“Maldiriel,” Nick repeated.

“Maldiriel?” Redbone echoed, then laughed. “That’s a girl sword.”

Peter frowned and gave him a cutting look.

“A girl’s sword?” Nick asked.

“No,” Tanngnost put in. “Not a girl’s sword. But the sword itself is female.”

“My sword has a gender?”

“Man, you gotta dig them elves,” Redbone said. “They’re a fruity bunch.”

Nick looked at the sword again, at all the slender, graceful lines. It did look rather feminine. “Well, girl sword or not, I like it,” he said. “Thanks.”

Peter’s smile returned, big and broad. “Sure thing,” he replied, then slipped over to help Danny get his belt in place.

Nick held the blade up and snuck another peek into the mirror. He decided that he did indeed like what he saw, liked it very much. And for the moment, he let himself relax, to set aside the dark thoughts and fears, and just reveled in how cool he looked decked out in the odd leather Devil suit, with its sewn-in boots and high, belted waistband, his hair in a greasy tangle, war paint running down his face, and a flipping elven sword named Maldiriel. Too cool.

“Let’s go,” Peter called, and the Devils began to file out the door.

Nick snuck a last peek, still not believing what he was seeing. He touched his blue rabbit’s foot to his lips, then ran along after them.

PART III The Flesh-eaters

Chapter Sixteen Flame

They trekked silently down the trail, all lost in their own thoughts, the ageless silence of warriors making peace with their fears as they marched into battle.

Nick glanced over at Redbone. Redbone winked at him, his perpetual grin growing into an impish smile. Nick