Nick saw fear in his eyes, saw he knew what was coming. It made Nick want to laugh, but he only ran, so fast that he almost threw himself out into space when the roofs ended.
He looked around to see if the magician’s demon had managed to blow him across the street and saw the man veering for an old bridge that spanned over the street to join up with the next set of rooftops. Nick grinned, feeling his lips skin back from his teeth, and hurtled over the curved bridge in pursuit. A gold coat of arms flashed by as he ran, a bright lion below making a face at him. He was several strides past the bridge, onto the next roof and close enough to hear the magician’s ragged, desperate breaths. Nick felt the solid weight of his knife handle against his palm, with no memory of reaching for it. He narrowed his eyes, judging the distance, measuring how hard he’d have to throw the knife, and remembered again that he could not kill this magician.
Nick tossed up his knife as he ran and caught it by the blade. Cold steel cut across his palm and he ignored it, aimed, and threw.
The hilt of the knife caught the magician hard on the back of his head, and he went down like a thrown stone, tumbling head over heels. Nick had to throw himself down and seize the man around the middle to stop him falling off the roof.
They were almost at the end of the rooftops. There was nothing ahead but a street and a bridge, this one actually over water. Down below Jamie was running. Nick could hear his voice assuring passersby that this was a daring rooftop chase scene they were rehearsing for a movie.
Nick sat on the rooftop, cold, breathing harshly, and with his heart hammering a loud, triumphant rhythm in his chest. He’d done it. He’d caught a live magician, and now Alan would be safe.
9
Chains
“ALAN,” NICK SAID. “DON’T BE A FOOL.”
He did not think he had ever been so angry in his life. He’d been the one to catch the magician. He’d carried him over his shoulder through the streets of Salisbury with Jamie on his heels, explaining to anyone who questioned them that the unconscious man was Jamie’s cousin, and he had fits. Nick had trussed the magician up in iron, mostly bike chains he’d stolen, and thrown him in the boot of the car.
Nick had caught the magician. He should get to decide what to do with him.
Alan ran a hand through his hair as he always did when he was worried, leaving a fuzz of curls in the wake of his fingers as if he felt the outside of his head had to express the turmoil inside. “I’m trying to think of what’s best for everyone.”
“I don’t care what’s best for everyone!” Nick snarled. “I only care about what’s best for you.”
Jamie flattened himself against the wall, and even Mae jumped. Only Alan continued to look tired and unaffected, and Nick was frustrated enough to wish for a moment that his brother would just this once be like everyone else so Nick could scare him enough to do what he wanted him to do.
“The Circle may know by now that we have him,” Alan said slowly. “They’ll be on the alert.”
“There were no other magicians around to see us take him. Don’t you think I looked? Let’s kill him now and get the mark off you,” Nick argued. “Before they notice he’s gone and send something after him.”
“We can’t kill him yet. We need two magicians, and we won’t be able to surprise the Circle again. We need to get information from this one before we kill him.”
Nick did not know what to do. Alan insisted on acting as if Jamie’s life was worth as much as Alan’s, and no matter how much Nick disagreed, he knew with a wrench of furious despair that he was powerless to change Alan’s mind.
“Alan,” he said at last. “I swear I’ll catch another magician. I’ll do whatever you want. Only let me kill this one now and get the mark off. Alan. Please.”
When Alan looked at him steadily, Nick had to look away. Alan knew Nick, and knew what Nick was thinking: that he would try to catch another magician, but he might fail, and what did broken promises matter if Alan was safe?
“I don’t think we should take my mark off now,” Alan said at last. “I think we should take off Jamie’s.”
“Oh no,” Nick breathed. “No.”
If Alan thought for a moment that Nick would let Jamie be saved while Alan was still in danger, he was dreaming. Nick opened his mouth to say so.
Unexpectedly, Jamie spoke. He said, “No.” Everyone looked at him and his mouth quivered, but he pressed his lips together for a moment and went on. “You wouldn’t have a second-tier mark if it weren’t for me. We wouldn’t have this magician if it weren’t for you and Nick. It wouldn’t be fair to — I want you to go first.”
“Thank you, Jamie,” Nick said savagely. “At least somebody is showing some sense—”
“Shh,” Mae ordered, speaking for the first time. She was leaning against the wall, studying their prisoner, and now her eyes narrowed. “I think he’s waking up.”
Everyone fell silent and stared at the magician, who was chained to a chair in the middle of their sitting room and was now stirring.
He was very young, as magicians went. Nick usually only saw magicians in their true forms after he or Alan had managed to kill one, but he did not think any of the corpses had been as young as this. He looked about twenty, but Mum could not have been much older when she joined the Obsidian Circle. Youth did not make him any less dangerous.
It did make him look less dangerous, and he was not a very threatening specimen in any case. The magician had a shock of sandy hair, standing up on his head and then falling into his eyes like the petals on a rather floppy daffodil, and beneath the sandy mop he had a narrow, inquisitive face. There was something about his features, perhaps his long, pointed chin, that vaguely recalled a fox. Apart from that he had a friendly, freckled face, the face of a young man whom old ladies would instantly trust.
He opened wide gray eyes, blinked, and looked dismayed.
“Oh Lord,” said the magician. “Now I am in the soup.”
Nick was not in the least worried about himself or Alan. They knew what magicians were. He was worried about Mae and Jamie, and what their reaction was going to be once they got over the revelation that magicians looked and acted entirely harmless, entirely human. Until they didn’t.
“We’re going to kill you,” he said deliberately. “There will be no negotiation. I want to kill you now, but others of the group think you might have information we need. So we’re going to have to torture you first.”
He added the last sentence so Mae and Jamie could know the worst at once and deal with it however they had to. He didn’t want to have to cope with hysterics later.
“I think I could be persuaded to offer you some information without being tortured, if it’s all the same to you,” the magician said. He had a rueful way of talking, as if inviting sympathy, and a soft Irish accent.
Nick did not often have much use for his switchblade, since the moment it took to flick the weapon open could be a moment that made the difference between life or death. Now he felt he could take his time, and he appreciated the cold, quiet snick the knife made opening, and the way the magician’s face paled as he heard it.
“Talk.”
“My name’s Gerald,” the magician said promptly. Again his rueful voice asked them all to laugh a little at the name and see him as a little more human.
His shrewd, friendly eyes traveled over them all, making eye contact and assessing weaknesses. He didn’t even look at Nick, which confirmed Nick’s opinion of him as intelligent. He looked at Alan for a long moment and did nothing, looked at Mae and smiled bravely, and then let his eyes settle on Jamie.
“We don’t care about your name, magician,” said Alan. “Any more than you cared about the names of the people you’ve killed.”
Gerald looked genuinely indignant. “Killers? Is that all you think magicians are?”
“Not really,” Nick said, playing with his switchblade. “If I did, I’d think I was a magician.”
He knew he should shut up. Mae and Jamie were looking from Nick with his knife to Gerald chained in his
