Nick knelt on the ground, motioning away the offer of a ceremonial knife. He preferred to use his own weapons, even if he did have to sharpen them afterward. He took his largest knife from a sheath strapped around his ribs and began to cut his circle. The blade bit deep into the earth and he made a symmetrical circle with the ease of long habit, his hands remembering the symbols and guiding the blade without input from his brain.
First there was the circle itself. Then he cut the lines for walking between the worlds, traveling out from the center like the spokes of a wheel. He cut two circles intersecting to represent worlds colliding. He cut straight lines through those, the lines of communication that would hang between him and the demon like magical telephone wires so that the demon would be able to understand human speech and the silent communication of the demon would be translated into human words for Nick. Later he would have to walk each line perfectly, in a series of measured steps, or the demon would never come and the circle would remain silent and still.
“A dancer calls a demon into the circle — but a dancer does much more than that,” Alan said in his earnest teacher’s voice. His arm was still around the little girl, but he pointed out the intersecting lines with his free hand. “This is the weaving. It opens up a connection between a human and a demon, so the demon can feel some of what the human is feeling. A dancer has to follow the lines of the weaving perfectly, even while he takes fever fruit to lessen his control.”
“Demons always demand a price,” said Merris Cromwell. “That is why magicians are corrupt. A magician is someone who wants something for nothing — they are willing to let someone else pay the price for what they want. A dancer opens himself up to demons. He lets the demon share a few beats of his heart, a few breaths from his lungs, and Alan’s right, the demon can feel what the dancer feels. The dancer shares a part of himself with the demon in the dance, but he has to be careful what he says when the demon comes. If he says the wrong thing or takes a wrong step, then the demon can have all of him.”
Merris Cromwell regarded the circles with a slightly wistful air. The story in the Goblin Market was that she had been a famous dancer when she was a girl.
Jamie looked extremely alarmed. His eyes darted from the dancers — some of them already stretching, most lying on the earth cutting the lines of the weaving — to Nick.
“Alan will be the one doing the talking,” Nick explained.
“That’s what the speaking charm is for,” said Alan. “So I can speak for Nick. Demons trick you, and the fever fruit lowers your defenses, so—”
“Never been all that good with words,” Nick said. “Alan always does it.”
“So the dancer in the circle is the one who asks for favors,” Mae said in a strange, speculative voice.
“Well, there are always two dancers in two circles,” Alan said, and went a little red. “Usually a girl and a guy dancing side by side. It’s often couples, because, um — the demons are attracted to strong feelings, and the fever fruit lowers inhibitions, and, er—”
“It’s all very Magical Circle Dancers Gone Wild,” Nick interrupted, and tucked his knife away. “You’ll see.”
“We can ask about Jamie,” Alan continued, looking relieved to be on a safer subject.
“I’m getting that damn mark off Alan,” Nick corrected, so that everyone was clear. “I might get around to Jamie later.”
Mae’s eyes had a bright, strange look about them. They were fixed on Alan. “So it matters if you care about what the demon has to offer,” she said slowly. “That’s why Nick is doing it for you.”
Nick looked away into the darkness of night and tangled trees. He did not hear Alan reply. It was possible that Alan nodded. It was possible that Mae simply swept on without waiting for an answer.
“And you don’t have to be able to do magic?” Nick could look at Alan then, and he saw him nod this time. At Alan’s nod Mae went on, her voice gathering determination. “If it’s just steps along those lines, I can do it. I want to do it. I want to dance. I can ask the demons to help my brother myself.”
Of course it was all about helping her brother, and nothing to do with being a dazzled tourist.
“You can’t dance,” Nick said flatly.
“I can,” said Mae, the light of battle in her eyes. “I’m a good dancer.”
“I don’t care,” Nick snapped. “If you get one step wrong, then calling the demons won’t work, and calling the demons is going to work. This isn’t clubbing, sweetheart. This is my dance. And I say you can’t do it.”
A moment afterward Nick knew he had made a mistake. Merris Cromwell did not like anyone besides herself to assume authority. Her face changed as she looked down at the small and defiant shape of Mae.
“If you want to help your brother,” she said, in her cool voice, “that might make a great difference. How much do you want to help him? Are you desperate?”
“Mae, don’t,” said Jamie.
Mae met Merris’s eyes. “Yes.”
“That’s good,” said Merris. “The demons will like that.”
“I’ll do anything—”
Merris made a hoarse, abrupt sound that was almost a squawk. She sounded like a kicked crow. “You must understand, you have to be very careful about what you say. None of that ‘I’ll do anything.’ The demon will be trying to twist any word into a promise so it can possess you.”
“I promise I’ll be careful,” Mae said breathlessly.
“Well,” Merris said, with a certain amount of approval. “If you dance with an experienced partner like Nick, it might do.”
“She’s not dancing with me,” Nick snarled.
“Be sensible, Nick,” Merris told him. “You always do best with an emotional partner.”
“That’s true,” added Sin over her shoulder. She was looking at Mae with some sympathy.
It was true. Everyone always said it was because Nick didn’t have much feeling to share with the demons. It didn’t bother Nick. He thought they were right, and it made sense. Why should he care about the strangers dancers were usually called on to help? Their problems had nothing to do with him. When he’d danced before, he’d been doing it for money or favors.
He opened his mouth to say it was different this time because it was Alan, but they were all looking at him, and he couldn’t think of a way to say it. He shut his mouth.
“Come, child,” Merris said briskly. “We will test your speed and reflexes. We’ll see if you would make a dancer.”
Sin reached out and grasped Mae’s hand. The other girl dancers moved to form a fluttering crowd about Merris, like bees attending the queen, and they moved away from the lights in a group. They all looked coldly at Nick as they went past.
Apparently Sin did not appreciate being glared at. Well, what did it matter? He’d made his decision about her already. Dad wouldn’t have approved of him getting mixed up with a Goblin Market girl, someone who might have guessed the truth about Mum, and Sin shouldn’t look at Alan like that.
Maybe dancing with Mae wouldn’t be so bad, he thought suddenly. At least she was decent to his brother.
His gaze fell on Jamie, who was looking decidedly nervous about Mae’s sudden departure.
“Don’t mind Merris, she always acts like that around me,” he said. He figured jokes were the only language this boy understood, and added, “She tries so hard to hide her attraction. Her mouth says, ‘I cannot imagine what they all see in you’ but her eyes say, ‘Take me, wild stallion.’ She’ll be back. She can’t keep away.”
Jamie smiled, looking a little startled.
“You’re not allowed to be a wild stallion until you’re older,” said Alan, but he caught Nick’s eye and smiled crookedly at him, looking very pleased.
Alan cared so much about kindness.
The dancers returned, bearing the platters of red and golden fruit to lay around the circles. The fruit formed bright circles around the dancing circles, rings laid within rings. The lights of the Market danced over the fruit and made it gleam.
Fever fruit was grown from small trees carefully nurtured in the caravans of the Market folk. For a long time they looked like nothing but dry sticks in little pots, shriveled and dead, but every tree had a day of blooming like a butterfly. Then the tree was garlanded with blossoms, their colors bright as ribbons on a maypole, and under the rich colors the fever fruit grew. They were gold and scarlet, like apples to bite into but with a single poisonous stone at the core, and they had the heavy exotic smell of expensive perfumes.
