A slow, small creak came from the darkest corner of the alley. Even the boy being menaced by the airborne bin lid turned his head to see the rusty old drainpipe peeling itself from the wall.

The bin lid was pinwheeling in the air now, a blur of silver. The drainpipe was bowing toward them, tall and thin, looming out of the night like a spindly, starving giant who had finally spotted food.

Gerald laughed indulgently, as if he was showing them all a trick, as if he’d just produced doves from his sleeve rather than killer drainpipes.

“Run,” he suggested.

Two of the boys exchanged frantic looks, their eyes swiveling from Gerald standing in the alley entrance to the drainpipe, and then back again.

“Don’t bother Jamie anymore,” Gerald advised. He stepped back, politely motioning for them to go through.

The two boys ran. They didn’t even notice Mae standing frozen and furious to one side.

Seb did not move. For a moment Mae thought he was frozen by magic as she was, his hand still lifted to deliver Jamie a blow that would never land. Then he let his hand fall.

“Did I fail to make myself clear?” Gerald said, with an edge to his voice now. “When I said run, I meant you, too.”

“I’m—” Seb began, and shook his head. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I—right.”

He bowed his head to Gerald. Mae saw him shoot a dark look under his lashes at Jamie.

Jamie gave him a little wave. “Don’t let the alley hit you in the ass on your way out.”

Seb looked like he wanted to answer, possibly with a blow, but then he cut a swift look back at Gerald and stepped slowly away. He passed Gerald, making for the alley entrance.

He did see Mae. For a moment they looked at each other, his scowling face smoothing out. He looked as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do, and in the end he did nothing, just backed uncertainly away.

She’d deal with him later.

In the alley Jamie raised a hand and the spinning of the bin lid slowed. It was held still and suspended for a second, and then it flew with extreme force at Gerald.

Gerald caught it easily and nodded thanks, as if Jamie were a squire who had just tossed his knight a shield.

“Yes, like that. Why do you allow them to hassle you when you can just do something like that?”

“Because I don’t have to,” Jamie said shortly. “They’re idiots, but that doesn’t mean I want them hurt or scared. And I don’t need you to scare them either. There was no need for all that! I have to live here, you know.”

“No, you don’t.”

Jamie batted his eyelashes and laughed. “Oh yes, take me away from all this. You don’t listen.”

“It’s you who doesn’t listen!” said Gerald. “You’re a magician.”

“No, I’m not.”

“It’s not a choice,” Gerald said. “You were born a magician. It’s in your blood, and you think you can just stay here in this dull little life, being persecuted by dull little people, when you could be so much more. I could teach you.”

Jamie smiled, so much more at ease with a murderous magician than with school bullies. He spread his hands wide and stepped away from the wall. Gerald was taller than he was, but he didn’t look at all threatening.

He looked protective. They looked comfortable together.

“What could you teach me?” Jamie asked, a dimple flashing in his right cheek next to his earring. “Do I need to learn a secret magician handshake? Do I need to learn to do finger wands?”

Gerald burst out laughing. “I—” he said, and seemed somewhat at a loss. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Like a finger gun, but only magicians get to do it,” Jamie explained, grinning and shifting his schoolbag on one shoulder. He swished one finger in a dramatic circle, making a swooshing sound to accompany the gesture.

“We don’t use wands,” said Gerald.

“Don’t think that wasn’t a crushing blow for me.”

Gerald laughed again and ducked his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. “C’mon,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

“Well, that sounds ominously nonspecific,” Jamie remarked. “How could I refuse?”

They fell into step casually, as if out of long habit. Gerald grabbed the bag that was always sliding off Jamie’s shoulder and adjusted it. Jamie murmured something that made Gerald grin.

When they were leaving the alley, Mae thought that Jamie would see her, but Gerald said, “Look,” and pointed.

As Jamie looked up, the night over Burnt House Lane was torn like a veil. The air shimmered, and the broken road was paved with gold, and the whole world was magic.

“That’s just an illusion,” Jamie said while wonder still held the breath caught in Mae’s throat. He hesitated and added, “How did you do it?”

“I’ll show you,” said Gerald. “I’m going to show you everything.”

The light faded slowly, like honey dripping off a knife. Jamie still had his face upturned to the sky, mouth open, as Gerald led him away with one hand at the small of his back.

The magician brushed by Mae and suddenly she could move, as if she was made of ice and his touch was hot enough to change her to water.

She fell to the ground like a puppet with its strings abruptly cut, gasping and trying to think, trying to make a plan for a situation she would never have believed possible.

She’d always believed there was more to the world than school and clubs and the life Annabel wanted her to live. And she’d found out that there were people in the world who could do magic, people who sold magical toys in Goblin Markets and magicians who called up demons that could do almost anything. For a price.

The last time she and Jamie had seen Gerald, he’d just become the leader of the magicians’ Circle that had given Jamie a demon’s mark. The Obsidian Circle had almost got Jamie possessed by a demon, an evil spirit that would use his body until it crumbled from the inside out. The Circle had almost killed Jamie. Gerald had certainly killed countless others.

Now here he was in Mae’s city, acting like her brother’s best friend. And Jamie had told her nothing about it.

She was in over her head. They needed help.

She struggled up onto her hands and knees, and then sat up. She was leaning against a filthy brick wall in the wrong part of town with no trace of magic left.

She dug out her phone and called Alan.

When he answered she jumped, because he was screaming above high wind and the sound of a storm.

“Hello?”

“Alan?” she said, staring up at the calm, empty sky above her head. “Where are you?”

On the other end of the line there was an echoing snarl of thunder.

“Mae?” Alan yelled, and there was silence.

The sound of the storm had just stopped abruptly, not as if it was dying away but as if someone had thrown a switch and turned off the sky.

Mae realized she was trembling. “Alan, what’s going on?”

She could hear Alan properly now, his low, sweet voice more remarkable over the phone than it was in person, when it was hard to notice much about it other than that it made you want to do whatever he asked and believe whatever he said. There was a warm undercurrent to it, as if Alan was happy to be talking to her.

Of course, that was the way he talked to everyone.

“Nothing’s going on. Is something wrong?”

Mae swallowed and tried to sound calm and assured, as if she wasn’t running to him begging for help. Again.

“Jamie’s mixed up with a magician.”

There was a pause.

Then Alan said, “We’re on our way.”

It was long past midnight by the time Jamie got back. Annabel was still at the office, because she liked being there more than being at home, and Mae had been sitting for hours in the music room with her head in her hands.

She’d thought this was over.

As soon as Jamie looked at her he came rushing to her, sinking to his knees between hers and taking her hands in his.

“I thought you were going out tonight. Did something happen at school? Are the teachers not understanding your unique and rebellious spirit? Did you kick some guy in the biology textbook again?”

Mae smiled at him with an effort. “Things are fine at school. Though now you mention it, no teacher does understand my unique and rebellious spirit at all. Where have you been?”

“Out,” Jamie said. Mae saw the unease plain on his face. She supposed she should be thankful her brother wasn’t an accomplished liar, wasn’t like Alan, but seeing him dodge her question made Mae feel sick. “C’mon, get up.”

Jamie sprang to his feet and turned on their sound system. He ran through their CDs and put on a waltz. She laughed and shook her head at him, and he beckoned to her.

“Come here.”

“Nope,” said Mae. When Jamie grabbed her hands and tugged her gently to her feet, she laughed again and let him.

He stepped back and spun her so the lights of the chandelier and the white walls formed a dazzling blur before her eyes, as if the walls had turned to light and were turning with her. These days Mae kept imagining magic.

For a moment it was as it had always been between them, him and her against the world. This big stupid house felt just like the house they’d had before Annabel and Roger split up: oriel windows, parquet floors, and Jamie and Mae being loud and silly enough to drown out the echoing expensive silence.

“So where did you learn to dance?” Jamie asked, starting the game.

“I learned to dance in a cowboy bar in the Old West,” Mae told him. “The boys could shoot the neck off a bottle at a hundred paces, but my moves were too dangerous for them. Eventually the sheriff ran me out of town.”

Jamie dipped her so her hair touched the floor. This smooth move was slightly spoiled when he almost overbalanced and dumped her on her ass. He staggered and she grabbed hold of his shirt, using it as leverage until she was standing on her own two feet again.

Mae caught her breath and waggled her eyebrows. “Where did you learn to dance, sailor?”

“Oh, I learned to dance wearing a lace frock at Madame Mimsy’s exclusive seminary for young ladies. They thought I was a good girl,” Jamie said cheerfully. “Wrong on both counts.”

He had a hand under her elbow, careful, as if he was afraid she was going to fall again. After a few moments of silent dancing, he said, “Is anything wrong? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Mae took a deep breath and heard the door creak open.

She and Jamie separated and turned to face their mother.

Annabel Crawford was as small as Mae and Jamie, and thin because she never ate anything but salads; her hair was lemon blond and her eyes very pale green, not like emeralds but like old-fashioned soap. She would have seemed washed-out and easy to overlook except for how polished she was, always perfectly put together with her hair so glossy it looked lacquered. Somehow that lent her an icy luster that was more noticeable than color, and she was actually almost impossible to overlook.

“James,” she said, her hands folded in front of her. “Mavis. Did you have fun tonight?”

Her cool gaze traveled over Mae, making Mae acutely aware that her jeans were slimy from falling in that alley. Annabel probably didn’t like the corset top with the black lace and the pink ribbons that spelled out ALL WRAPPED UP IN ME either.

Mae lifted her chin. “Yeah, it had everything I ask for in a party. Hard drugs. Casual sex. Ritual animal sacrifice.”

“Dancing,” said Jamie, and advanced on Annabel with intent. “Would you like to dance, Mum?”

Annabel looked as if she would prefer to eat dirt, but she put her perfectly manicured hands in Jamie’s anyway. When they started to dance, she caught him a nasty blow with one of her high heels.