The Demon's Surrender

He got up from the sofa, moving awkwardly enough that Sin could see how tired he was. Of course, he would have been the one to put the children to bed when they got home.

She slipped silently backward into the shadows, letting him go to his bedroom without having to deal with yet another person he felt he was duty bound to help out.

When the door of Alan’s bedroom swung gently shut, Sin stepped back into the living room.

Mae and Nick both had their backs to her. Mae had turned her chair slightly, and Nick had come to sit at the foot of her chair, as she’d seen Nick sit at the foot of Jamie’s and Alan’s. It seemed to be a thing with him.

“I’d ask how you’re feeling,” Nick said. “Except I’m scared you might tell me. And terrified you might cry.”

“I’m not going to cry.”

“I’m overcome with relief.”

Mae took off her chandelier earrings, which she placed in a glittering heap on the arm of her chair. She kicked off her high heels and curled up in the chair, as if Nick’s cool voice was a comfort to her, as if she could relax now.

So nobody was going to be making any plans tonight. Like Sin, nobody had the faintest idea what to do next, and everyone was tired.

“I’m okay,” Mae told Nick. “I didn’t like doing it. I thought maybe I would, this time, but I’m never going to like doing it. And that’s sort of a relief. Because if I hated it, even this time when I thought I wanted revenge, I’m always going to hate it. And that will make me look for other ways to get things done.”

“The killing way usually works for me,” said Nick.

“Because it’s the easy way,” Mae said. “And it gets easier every time you do it, which is the scariest part. I’m not going to plan an assassination again. But I felt like this had to be done. I learned from it, and I wanted it to be me who did it.”

Nick did not respond, which Sin personally would not have found consoling at all.

“Do you remember,” Mae asked, “what you said to me, the first time I killed someone?”

“Ah, the sweet rose-colored memories of our youth,” Nick drawled. “Good times, good times.”

Mae snickered. There was another long silence.

“Well done,” Nick said eventually.

Mae leaned her head back against her chair. “Thanks.”

Well, whatever worked for Mae. Sin went to lie down and hold her sister for a little longer. She had Lydie back safe. That was the only bright spot of her night so far.

Nick’s bed was not made for three. Sin, balanced on the edge and determined not to disturb Lydie or Toby, couldn’t manage more than an uneasy doze that was broken by hearing voices in the hall. Specifically, Alan’s voice.

“Where are you going, Nick?”

“My new master gave a whistle,” Nick answered curtly.

Sin got up quietly and walked to the door, opening it in time to see Alan’s stricken face.

Mae grabbed Nick’s wrist, and Sin noticed that Mae looked pretty stricken as well.

Sin thought for a bitter moment that Mae didn’t need to be so very upset, not when she’d got her revenge, got the pearl and thus got the Market, not when Alan thought she was so perfect.

“Take care of Jamie. No matter what he’s done. Please.”

“Do I have a choice?” Nick asked. “Personally, I was considering tipping him over the side of the boat and hoping there was a lost shark in the water below.”

“Nick, swear to me.”

Nick backed away from the stark, desperate emotion on Mae’s face. She didn’t let go of his wrist, though, keeping her gaze fixed on him as if she could hypnotize him into doing her will through sheer persistence.

“I swear,” Nick said abruptly, and Mae let go.

Nick went for the door and slammed it after him.

Mae’s determinedly set shoulders slumped a little. “I’d better get home. Can I borrow a jacket? I left my coat with the magicians.”

“Sure,” Alan said gently, and ushered her into his room, presumably to select one.

The door slamming had made too much noise. Sin spun at the sound of stirring from the bed and saw Lydie, her hair rumpled and her eyes unfocused.

“Hey, baby girl,” Sin whispered, going over to the bed and sitting on the edge so she could ease Lydie back against the pillows. “Hey.”

“Sin,” Lydie murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Sin tucked Lydie’s hair behind her ear. “None of this was your fault.”

“None of it was your fault either,” Lydie whispered back.

“Yeah, I know,” Sin said, and kept stroking her hair. She spoke clearly, so Lydie would understand, so that she would know Sin could never resent her for any of this. “And I’m not sorry. Here we are together, right? I’m not sorry about anything. It could’ve been much worse.”

A hot drink was in order, Sin thought once Lydie was asleep again. She went into the kitchen and found Alan sitting at the table. The only illumination the room offered was the moon shining through the skylight.

“Coffee?” she asked.

He glanced up at her and smiled. It was a really lousy effort. “Yeah.”

Sin turned on the kettle and occupied herself getting cups and going on an epic teaspoon quest. For once Alan seemed to have nothing to say, no enthusiastic digression about books or questions about her feelings.

Sin had no idea what to say either. She made the coffee, the chiming of the teaspoon in their cups the only sound in that dark kitchen.

“Here,” she said, offering the cup over his shoulder.

This time when he glanced up at her, he didn’t even try to smile. He looked so lost that Sin moved instinctively, putting his cup down on the table and touching his hair.

Alan went very still, as if he was stunned that anyone might reach out and comfort him. Then he shuddered, a fraction of the tension going out of his shoulders, and pressed his face hard against the inside of her wrist.

It lasted for only a moment, and then he lifted his head, pulling away. Sin turned to the counter and picked up her own cup of coffee.

She was making for the door when she heard the sound of the chair being pushed back.

“Cynthia,” Alan said.

Apparently Sin was a glutton for punishment, because she turned around. They stood together, Alan leaning against the kitchen wall, and Sin might really have to speak to someone about these masochistic urges, because she found herself taking the one step closer necessary to touch him.

Alan put his arm around her neck immediately, drawing her in. Sin put her head down, resting her forehead against his collarbone to avoid any further acts of madness. He smelled familiar and comforting, like steel and gun oil. He stroked her knotted hair.

“I was really worried about you,” Alan whispered in her ear.

Sin was startled enough to look up. It was a terrible mistake. Alan was very close, glasses catching glints of silver in the moonlight, eyes troubled behind them. It would be easy to pull his head down an inch closer.

“Yeah?” Sin asked roughly.

She held her body taut. She could control it: She was a dancer. She wasn’t going to shake, and she was not going to make a fool of herself again.

Alan’s hand stroking her hair went still. His fingers curled around the nape of her neck. He closed his eyes and kissed her.

At the first touch of his mouth Sin dropped her coffee cup, hearing it break and not caring, and slid both her arms around his neck. He kissed her and kissed her again, mouth warm, curls sliding through her fingers, body pressed against hers. She kept losing track of her hands, but she knew where his were, one at the small of her back keeping her close. She was so happy, warm all at once and filled with delight, and he kissed her soft and deep and slow, then pressed a light kiss on the side of her smile.

They stumbled into the kitchen table.

“Oh my God, are you all right?” Sin asked, breaking the kiss. Alan nodded, and Sin slid onto the table to eliminate that problem and drew him back by her grip on his shirt. “Thank God for that,” she murmured, and kissed him again.

“Wait,” Alan said, and tried to step back.

This proved impossible when Sin did not let go of his shirt.

Alan looked down at her and said, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right,” Sin said patiently. “I think I can be persuaded to forgive you if you come back here right now.”

“No,” Alan told her. “I’m sorry. I’m—I’m really sorry. I apologize. That was very wrong of me.”

“What? Why?” Sin demanded.

Alan gestured at her. It was usually something she liked, seeing him talk with his hands, but right now she could think of about a hundred things she’d rather he be doing with his hands.

“I realize after tonight you probably think you owe me even more than you did before, but I’ve tried to explain to you that it’s not like that. I don’t want you to do anything because you owe me. I also realize that I just sent you rather a mixed message and as I’ve said, I apologize. I’m disgusted with myself. I shouldn’t have done it, I shouldn’t even have been tempted, and I’m so terribly—I’m so sorry.”

“Wait, what?” Sin asked. “You think this is about owing you? My God, that’s insulting. I’m a Market girl. You don’t think I know better than to keep making the same offer over and over again?”

Alan seemed at a loss for words. Sin felt delighted and calm. So that was why, then. She looked up at him, looking so worried and trying to do the right thing. His hair was ruffled crazily.

“And here I thought you were supposed to be so smart,” Sin said. She tugged him down sharply; he wasn’t actively resisting anymore, so she managed it. Then she let go of his shirt and laid her palms on either side of his face, smiling up at him. “Fool,” she whispered. “I love you.”

Alan jerked back. Sin was left with empty hands.

His body had actually recoiled, as if she’d shot him. His chest was rising and falling hard.

“What is it now?” Sin asked, and heard her voice waver. She almost hated him for doing this to her again, for being able to make her so happy and taking it away. “You don’t have to say it back, you know. I realize the idea is new to you. Just—turn it over in your mind. See what you think.”

His mouth curled into a sneer, too much like an expression that belonged on Nick’s face, and Sin thought, Raised with a demon. She felt hollow inside.

“See what I think?” Alan repeated, his voice cold. “I think it’s ridiculous!”

Sin pulled her robe tighter at her throat. “Okay,” she said. “I think I’m done here.”

“About when did this great romance start?” Alan inquired. “Was all that looking as if you wanted to get sick every time you saw me walk some sort of clever cover? What do I have to do to get you to stop, smash my kneecap with a hammer? I bet that would do it.”

“I wouldn’t bother,” Sin said. “I thought we were past this. Do I have to remind you that until five minutes ago you assumed I’d throw myself at someone a hundred times as if I was merchandise that could be used to settle a debt?”

“You were the one who leaned in to kiss me and told me how very grateful you were in the same breath,” Alan said. He had the absolute gall to look distraught, as if it was his heart being thrown aside as if it was rubbish. “Tell me, what else was I supposed to think?”

She had said that. She tried to put herself back into that skin, only a few weeks ago, tried to feel what she had felt before her heart had changed.

“I wasn’t offering love then,” she said, and he flinched at the word. “I don’t offer that as payment for anything. But that doesn’t matter. You’ve already made up your mind about me. What you want is someone like Mae to love you, someone normal and white and perfect. You see me as something the real people come and watch as if they’re at the zoo, and the idea of me having feelings is ridiculous!”