The Demon's Covenant

over and over in his hands, the rough carvings glinting in the light.

“Mavis and I were wondering if your friend wanted to stay for dinner,” Annabel said in a voice that lacked all conviction, but also belonged to a woman so dismayed she had no idea what else to offer.

Nick lifted an eyebrow. “Mavis?”

“Shut up,” Mae told him.

“All right,” said Nick. “Mavis.”

Annabel was going to do damage to her manicure, hanging on to the doorknob like that. Jamie got up from the window seat and went and stood between Nick and Annabel, hovering a little uncertainly but with clear protective intent.

“Sure, Mum,” he said. “Everyone likes food. Um, so where’s the menu?”

Annabel kept sneaking peeks at Nick over Jamie’s shoulder, as if to verify the full horror of the situation. Nick did not look especially surprised that someone’s mother was clearly appalled by him.

“Yes,” Annabel said, her voice distant because she was obviously trying to place herself in an alternate universe, one where her son did not entertain knife-wielding delinquents in his bedroom. “I’ll go find it. The menu. So we can choose what to eat.”

She turned away and, very carefully, closed the door behind her. Then she began to descend the stairs. Despite the high-quality designer shoes, she was tottering a little.

“You two must get these tastes from your father,” she said as Mae drew level with her. “I was never in the least drawn to the dangerous type. Even in college!”

“Dad dated dangerous guys in college?” Mae asked. “I had no idea.”

“You know what I meant!”

“Also,” said Mae, “I think you have a firm grip on the wrong end of the stick. Nick and Jamie are just friends.”

“Oh, please,” said Annabel. “Boys like this Nick aren’t just friends with anyone.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Annabel went to the hall table, sliding out the drawer where they kept the menus.

“I think the Thai menu’s stuck up on the fridge,” Mae said. “And Nick’s my friend too.”

Her mother gave her a shocked look and went to the fridge, sliding the Thai menu out from under the ladybird- shaped magnets that Jamie had bought once in an attempt to make their kitchen look more cheerful.

Nick and Jamie came downstairs while she was looking at the noodles list.

“So I’m leaving,” Nick announced.

“No, you should stay. Mum, tell him,” said Jamie, and Annabel made a noncommittal gesture that could have meant anything between Certainly and Get off my property before I call the police.

“You guys don’t have any food in the house, you’re ordering in, it’s a pain to have to order for me, too,” Nick said. “I’m leaving.” He paused and added slowly, as if remembering something Alan had taught him long ago, “Thanks for having me.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Annabel said automatically.

“We’ve got plenty of food in the house,” said Mae. “It’s just none of us can cook and our housekeeper leaves early Mondays and Tuesdays. We order takeout half of the days in the week. You wouldn’t be a pain. Stay.”

“Oh,” Jamie offered in a bright voice. “I could cook some—”

“No!” Mae, Annabel, and Nick all exclaimed as one.

Annabel gave Nick a slightly startled look. He was too busy giving Jamie a forbidding look to notice.

“Look, I am getting better,” Jamie argued.

“I saw you put rice in a toaster once,” said Mae. “I was there when you made that tin of beans explode.”

“It was faulty,” Jamie protested, his eyes shifty. “I am sure of this.”

Nick took a short breath, as if coming to a decision, and took the three steps down to their kitchen in one bound. Annabel craned her neck in order to look up at him in alarm, and Nick looked back down at her, eyes narrowing into dark slits. He reached out, hands strong on the wasp waist of her business skirt, and pushed her onto a stool as if she was a child.

“Are you people helpless?” he asked. “Sit down. I’ll make you something to eat.”

Jamie came over and sat at the kitchen counter on a stool beside hers.

“Nick cooks quite well, Mum,” he assured her.

Nick started to look in the fridge and take out things like peppers and onions, and Mae drifted over to the kitchen counter so they were all sitting in a row observing Nick perform the mysterious ritual of preparing food.

“I cook better than you,” Nick corrected absently. “I think monkeys can probably be taught to cook better than you.”

“I’d like to have a monkey that cooked for me,” said Jamie. “I would pay him in bananas. His name would be Alphonse.”

“I agree, that would be awesome,” Mae said. “People would come for dinner just to see the monkey chef.”