The Demon's Covenant by Sarah Rees Brennan

simply began retracing their steps, heading back in the direction of the church. The wind seemed to change course so it could blow into their faces.
    Of course, since she was walking with a guy who was tall, dark, and in control of the elements, there was probably no “seemed” about it.
    â€œWhen you say awful things and people react badly to them,” Mae yelled into the wind, “you might want to try saying something like you didn’t mean it.”
    â€œI always mean it,” Nick told her.
    â€œUm. Okay. You might try saying that you didn’t mean for them to take what you said the wrong way.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause it will make people feel better to think you just made a mistake. Because humans say idiot things all the time,and we’re all allowed to take it back, and that way everyone mostly forgives everyone else and civilization isn’t destroyed,” Mae said. “Because the worst thing you can possibly do is seem like you don’t care.”
    Now they had turned and were no longer walking by the river; the wind was whistling overhead, shaking branches at them and launching surprise attacks from the tops of walls.
    Nick appeared to consider this and find it reasonable. “Okay. I can pretend I care.”
    â€œWell,” Mae said, “if you want to be human, it might be a good idea to try actually caring a little.”
    Nick gave her a long, thoughtful look, and then he smiled.
    It wasn’t a nice smile.
    â€œI think you’ve misunderstood me,” he said. “I don’t want to be human.”
    Mae blinked.
    The sound of a slam and a sudden barrage of noise made her jump violently, as if someone had started shooting a gun behind her ear, but it wasn’t a gun firing. It was a dog, throwing itself against a garden gate and barking in wild, loud animal panic. Trying to get to Nick.
    It was a big animal, a German shepherd, with white teeth bared and gleaming. When Nick started to walk toward it, its efforts to break through the gate redoubled. Its body slammed against the black-painted iron so hard that the bars shook with the impact.
    Nick leaned against the gate. A terrible, guttural growl was coming from the animal’s throat now, the noise stuttering and fracturing in the air.
    â€œAnimals can tell,” Nick remarked.
    He looked almost normal, with his scruffy jeans and hisshock of hair; for a few moments this morning things had felt like they had before she knew. Except that there was something so profoundly wrong with him that animals feared and hated him on sight.
    â€œI’m not human,” said Nick. “I never was, and I never will be. We don’t work in the same way you do, we don’t feel or think the same, and I don’t want to. Why should I? What’s so great about you people? You spend your whole lives in a stupid emotional mess, and then you die. You torture each other and you don’t even mean to.”
    He glanced casually over at the dog and its belly hit the gravel, a whine breaking from its throat. Nick shut his eyes for a moment.
    â€œWhen I torture someone,” he said, “I mean it.”
    There was a long pause, filled with nothing but the sound of the wind shrieking overhead and the small, terrified noises of the animal behind the gate.
    â€œThat’s a shame,” Mae said at last. “I had this picture of you, you know, all dark and brooding and anguished. Longing for humanity. Listening to piano and violin music. Sometimes you’d stand on top of a tower, feeling impossibly lonely. Then you’d cry a single perfect tear.”
    The corner of Nick’s mouth curled up. “Can’t spell ‘demon’ without ‘emo.’”
    â€œIt was very romantic,” Mae went on soulfully. “You’ve ruined a beautiful dream for me.”
    â€œAlan has some piano and violin stuff at home,” Nick said. “I could listen to it. I’m