Read Pandaemonium for Free Online

more, and grown-ups take responsibility. For their own strength, among other things, and how they handle it.
    “Um,” I said. “I’m sorry, I just broke your clever curtain thingie.”
    He shrugged, because it really didn’t matter; and came down the length of the room in jeans and T-shirt and barefoot, his absolute definition of dressing in a hurry. But he’d taken time for a shower first, his hair was still spiky with it. Quick and cold, I judged, from the tight skin on his cheeks and the mildly manic alertness in his eyes.
    No blame to him for that. I was envious, almost; or I would be, once I’d shrugged the Aspect off again.
    Not yet. It was easier, just to keep all my defences up. And besides...
    He still couldn’t look at me; his eyes shifted to the window, to the daylight. “Why were you messing with the curtains, anyway?”
    Oh, just something to do. Occupy my hands. Play with an old favourite toy. You know...
    No. Still no. I had the habit of honesty on me; I said, “That damn bird.”
    I watched him find the crow, still perched on the jib there. He frowned. “What about it?”
    “I’m being silly. Probably. But on my way here, the Twa Corbies came for me. From your parents, I presume.”
    That frown only deepened. “I told them to lay off you. Of course I did, first thing.”
    “Well. The message may not have filtered down. It’s going to take time, you know? And – well, it’s not a worry, the Corbies can’t hurt me, but –”
    “What do you mean, the Corbies can’t hurt you? I mean, yeah, daemon, Aspect, all of that, I get that – but, hell, the Corbies could hurt me. They’d lose in the end, but I’d go a long way out of my way not to give them a chance to prove it. What makes you immune?”
    “Nothing, but they’re overrated. They tried to muscle in on me while I was running, and I just knocked them away. No bother. I had the Aspect, sure, but I’m not sure I even needed that.”
    “Wait, what? The Corbies? Fay –”
    “Desi.”
    “– Desi, whatever, you don’t just...”
    His arm waved vaguely at the impossibility of saying what it was that you didn’t just, where the Corbies were concerned. I was all set to point out how wrong he was, because here I was and I did just; and to elaborate on my new theory about the conservation of mass, which I thought should interest him deeply and might help to see us both over this early difficult bumpy time. Only I didn’t quite get the chance to do it, because we were both still looking at that bird.
    So we both got to see when it spread its wings out like a cormorant drying in the sun, flapped them in situ like a fledgling trying out its feathers, not ready yet to fly.
    I was sure then that it was a Corbie, rather than a coincidence. I still wasn’t worried.
    Only then there was a smudge in the sky above the river, a charcoal sketch of cloud that moved against the wind. And frayed and clumped and came with purpose, came down low and intent and proved to be – of course! – a flock of birds.
    Big birds, black birds. Crows.
    See a whole lot of crows together, they’re rooks . But I didn’t think so. Not this time.
    “How many Corbies make Twa?”
    It’s always been a question, and never one you want to hear asked. Not in that tone of voice, at least, and not from someone who ought to be a power in the land. Is a power in the landscape of your own mind, someone to run from. Someone to run to.
    I drew a shaky breath, and that was almost a first in itself, that something could still shake me even through the solid grip of Aspect. “Well,” I said, “half the songs actually say three, but as far as we know there have only ever been two; and whether they started the songs or whether the songs started them, we don’t know. Which came first, the Corbies or the legend? Or the eggs? Were they born, or were they hatched? It’s all questions, really. But...”
    But I was just talking, it was only bravado, and I never do that. Not with my