She wouldn’t grow old. Nicholas didn’t correct her, though.
“It’s not just luck,” he said. “You called their methods unoriginal, and you aren’t wrong. And that’s how you look for them.”
“A trail of dead dogs?”
Jesus. And people thought Nicholas lacked sensitivity. He wasn’t bothered by her question, but he definitely wouldn’t be letting her talk to the Boyles, even if she did learn to shape-shift.
“Not dogs. Dead people, sometimes. If someone says that a loved one came back to talk to them, there’s a good chance it was really a demon. If someone undergoes a complete personality change, a demon might have taken their place. If members of a vampire community start disappearing, they are probably being killed by a demon. If vampires start killing humans, there’s probably a demon in the background, prodding them into it. They use humans and vampires to do what they can’t: break the Rules.”
“I see.” She was quiet for a moment. “That’s still a lot to look for.”
“A lot of shit to wade through, and a lot of dead ends,” he agreed. Except for when it involved vampires, humans did everything he’d just mentioned without demon influence, too. “But I’m just looking for one demon, and I already know how she works. So I’ve been searching for something similar.”
He’d searched for a mother whose personality had undergone a sudden transformation. He’d searched for a husband who’d been committed to a psychiatric institution. He’d searched for a wife who’d taken over her husband’s business—probably in the financial sector—and who’d begun working all hours of the day and night, transforming the business into a burgeoning success.
He’d also searched for a kid battered by every recent change in his life. The ones marked by razor scars across their wrists or who’d spent nights in the hospital having their stomachs pumped. That had been the worst part of the search. He’d found far too many of those kids, and not a single one of them had ended up there because of a demon.
Did Ash know that part of his history? He hadn’t been wearing a shirt in Madelyn’s bedroom. If Ash had spotted the scars on the insides of his wrists, she could guess their origin, just as she’d guessed what Madelyn had done to Ringo. Not that it would matter if Ash had guessed; he was no longer self-destructive. All of the rage and pain he’d felt as a kid had cooled and hardened, and he’d channeled it into revenge.
“You searched for her and found me, instead,” Ash said.
He’d find Madelyn, too. “Yes.”
“And I resemble the assistant she killed—a woman you once dated.” Her brow furrowed in a way that told him she’d been distracted by some detail again. “But I can’t figure out why Rachel would date you, no matter how charming you were. As Madelyn’s assistant, her association with you created an enormous conflict of interest and was completely unethical.”
That had never been a problem for Nicholas, not where Madelyn was concerned. “Why is a demon bothered by something unethical?”
“I’m not bothered.” She frowned, as if trying to decide whether she should be or not. Finally, she shook her head. “What I don’t feel is beside the point. I’m trying to figure her out—and everything I’ve learned about Rachel says that she wouldn’t behave unethically. Do you think Madelyn told her to date you, to undermine your takeover bid?”
“Probably.” He’d used Rachel for the same reason: to undermine Madelyn. He had to assume the demon would have done the same thing. “If so, Rachel didn’t follow her directions well. She tried to make us reconcile instead of destroy each other.”
And Rachel had never understood that there’d never be a chance in hell of that happening. But then, Madelyn had been a different woman with her—a ruthless businesswoman, but not a cruel one. Rachel had been convinced that Nicholas’s hatred was just born out of ancient misunderstandings and a teenager’s rebellion.
“Did that amuse you?” Ash looked away from the road to study his face. “Or did it irritate you?”
Both, depending on how hard Rachel pushed him. He wouldn’t tell the demon that, though. She was here to learn about herself, not about him.
Her eyes narrowed. Ah, now she was irritated by his refusal to answer. “At least Rachel’s relationship with you makes sense now. I knew it couldn’t be your charm.”
Maybe she was right. “What did you think it was?”
“You said she was smart. So I assumed she dated you for your money.”
“Rachel had more than enough of her own.”
“As much as you do?”
No, but enough to live well for the rest of her life. Now, her assets hung in limbo. Only six years had passed since Rachel had gone missing, and she’d never been officially ruled dead. A demon with her face and identification could access them . . . which was why he’d taken the passport back as soon as they’d passed through customs.
When he didn’t respond, Ash bared her teeth, just a little—and there were those fangs. “I suppose money isn’t incentive enough to put up with you, anyway.”
He grinned. “Probably not.”
She was still watching his face rather than the road. If her driving hadn’t been so smooth, he might have been worried. As it was, he just wondered what she was looking for.
Her gaze dropped to his lap. “Maybe she wanted you for sex, then. Is your penis big?”
Was she serious or just winding him up? “I haven’t had any complaints.”
“If you haven’t had any complaints, it must not be too big.”
She slanted a look up at his face, and he realized that she wasn’t serious at all. And fucked up as it was, Nicholas was getting a kick out of this, too.
“It’s not monstrous.” He’d never heard anyone compare his cock to an ogre’s, at least. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Yes.” She sounded slightly mystified by that fact. “And I want to be your girlfriend.”
Now that seemed serious again. “What?”
“So that I’ll have access to your money. And since your penis won’t rip me apart, I’ll even have sex with you.” Her gaze turned inward, and though she spoke out loud, her question seemed directed at herself rather than at Nicholas. “I wonder if I’d enjoy that?”
She wouldn’t. Demons couldn’t. They could fake a sexual response, but they didn’t actually feel desire or arousal. Did she truly not know that?
If so, that ignorance didn’t give him an advantage that he could see. She knew so little, had no memory, and yet wasn’t a bit naïve. Her cynicism rivaled his—perhaps the result of being able to sense everyone’s true emotions. She might not know what someone was trying to sell her, but she didn’t buy any bullshit.
“You have access to my accounts without that,” he reminded her. “I’m bound to help you find out who you are. That includes giving you money when you need it.”
“Oh.” She focused on him. Her lips slowly curved before she faced forward again. “Good.”
Jesus Christ. What the fuck was she doing to him? Rachel’s smile had never kicked him in the gut, but here he sat, feeling like he needed to catch his breath after a single satisfied look from a demon. How in the hell could she have the same face as Rachel, the same mouth, and possess such a different smile? Rachel had always been weighing, judging, estimating the effect of her response on him, making certain he was at ease and comfortable. She’d cared for him, loved him. Yet it was Ash, who didn’t seem to give a shit about his response and had no interest in judging him—or caring what he thought of her in return—who got to him with a little twist of her lips. And how the hell was he supposed to hang on to his cynicism when she beat him to it with her unabashed greed?
And why the hell did he like it? Like her? God help him, now he was wondering if he’d enjoy sex with her, too, despite knowing that she wouldn’t feel a thing, and that it would fuck him up even more than he already was.
Any other woman, he’d manipulate her emotions and charm her until she wanted him in return, until he had the upper hand—just as he had
with Rachel. But he didn’t even know if Ash had any real emotions.
Goddammit. He had to take control of himself, and take the upper hand again . . . before she ground him under her heel.
CHAPTER 7
Since strange was normal now, Taylor didn’t think anything of teleporting into a graveyard in Illinois after the sun had set. Revoire had asked her to meet him at that location, and as graveyards went, this one seemed kind of pleasant. No spooky broken fences, no precariously tilted headstones. Just Marc Revoire, standing in front of a grave marker, looking a bit like a farmer in a worn brown jacket and tan trousers. He had that lanky, wide-shouldered look to him, as if he rose with the sun and spent the day behind a plow. In the Midwest, what could be more normal than that?
Popping a coffin up out of the soil like it was a jack-in-thebox was still a little weird, though.
Revoire simply looked at the ground and pushed with his Gift. Taylor felt the psychic thrust of it, a shot of energy that tasted like dirt and smelled of freshly turned earth, and suddenly the casket that had been in the ground sat above it, instead.
Frozen grass crunched beneath Taylor’s boots as she made her way around a headstone to his side. “Jason Matthew Ward,” she read off the grave marker. “Twenty-three years old. Died two months ago.”
“Local vampire community contacted me.” Revoire broke the seal on the casket, lifted the lid. Taylor deliberately stopped breathing. “Ward was actually turned three years ago. He was living in the community, had a bloodsharing partner, was doing everything right.”
“Who killed him, then?”
“I don’t know. Ward’s family found him—they’re still human, and still don’t know what he was. He made it into the morgue without the sun touching him. The teeth were written off as a cosmetic augmentation.”
They always were. And shit, she had to take a breath to speak. The rotting stench hit hard, made her eyes water. “Cause of death?”
“Stake through the heart.”
“You’re kidding.” That had to be the hardest and least effective way to do it. A sword through the heart or cutting off the head—quick and easy.
“No. The coroner found splinters.” Revoire let the casket lid fall shut again. “His report matches what’s left of the body in there.”
And this was all exactly the kind of thing that Special Investigations looked for. “So why weren’t you contacted earlier?”
“The local vampires covered it up. They’ve been taking care of their own in this area for a hundred years. They pay the county coroner to look the other way when something odd comes in.”
Handy. “But now?”
“They’ve got a few more dead—but by the time they were found, the bodies were ashed, and it was impossible to determine what killed them. So the community leader is concerned they have a demon on their hands.”
Taylor studied Revoire’s face. Though his features were of a man in his thirties, he always looked concerned. Not anxious, but careworn, like a much older man. As if he carried the burdens of the world and worried that they’d never be set right.
“And you?” she asked.
He shrugged, and she felt the push of his Gift. Behind him, the earth opened and seemed to suck the casket down before closing up again—and leaving behind an undisturbed plot. Taylor was impressed. As Gifts went, controlling earth and soil was one of the more practical powers a Guardian could have. Not as good as teleporting, but still handy.
“It might be a demon,” Revoire said. “Now and again, there’s one that comes through and challenges Basriel for territory. If I don’t get to them first, he takes them out.”
“Yay for Basriel?”
Revoire smiled faintly. “He’s low-key now, changing locations and identities quickly enough that I can’t get a lock on him, but once he’s established his territory, I’m sure that’ll change. He’s got five hundred years before Lucifer opens the Gates again, and he wants to reign over something. The vampires would be a good start.”
“So why kill them?”
“Exactly. And this doesn’t fit his pattern. He’s been focusing on maintaining his territory. Doing my job for me, half the time.”
By killing those other demons. “How far does his territory extend?”
“There’s a clear perimeter from the Canadian border down to Missouri, including the states on either side of the river.”
That included the location of the double murder they were going to investigate. “Do you know if he’s ever pretended to be a ghost, and urged a human to take revenge?”
Revoire narrowed his eyes, considering that. “It doesn’t sound right. Maybe he has before, but not since coming into the area. Not that I’ve been aware.”
So they might be dealing with another demon. Maybe one coming in to challenge Basriel, or one just looking to get his human-murdering jollies in.
Revoire must have been thinking the same thing. His wings formed, brilliant white feathers arching high over his head. “We need to stop by the community leader’s place, let him know what I found here. Then we’d best head north, take a look around.”
“Before Basriel slays another one out from under your nose?”
“Yes.”
His wings opened, but Taylor stopped him with a discreet cough. When he glanced back at her, she held out her hand.
“I’ve got a faster way.”
Revoire’s wings vanished. His quick grin washed away the impression of care and concern that usually hung over him. Oh, he should do that more often.
“Good,” he said. “I hate flying.”
Considering that most of the Guardians she teleported with ended up dizzy and dry-heaving at the end of the trip, he might choose flying next time.
“You hate it because of the Icarus thing?”
He gave a short, surprised laugh, shaking his head. “No. That name came from where I did: an Icarian colony, in the 1850s. We’d just come up from New Orleans and settled in this area when I died.”
“Oh.” A commune. No wonder he looked like a farmer. “I thought you were French.”
“Most of the Icarians were. I emigrated as a boy—and when I became a Guardian, they called me the Icarian. That eventually became Icarus, though the colony had no connection to the myth aside from the name of an island.”
“And so you didn’t have a freak flying accident as a novice.”
“I had a few. Mostly, I just hate flying because it’s so conspicuous. I like being up there. I don’t enjoy feeling like a spectacle.” He took her hand, and all of those cares and worries returned to his face, but this time she could feel the bittersweet ache behind them. “The name fits well enough now, anyway.”
“You flew too close to the sun?”
She knew that feeling, every time she opened up to Michael—or he did to her. A strange combination of warmth, freedom, and impending disaster.
“I did,” he confirmed. “And drowned for my troubles.”
“Who was she?”
Or he, maybe. Hell, given that they could all shape-shift, it was possible that Revoire hadn’t started out as a “he,” either.
Taylor had tried it a few times. Enough to know that she didn’t like the dangly bits.
Revoire gave her a little half-smile. He really should do that more often. Especially to the one who got away. “You’ve got a more important mystery to solve right now, Detective.”
“So we do.” Her hand tightened on his. “Hold on, Icarus. It’s a bumpy ride.”
Despite the two showers he’d taken since they’d arrived in Duluth and checked into the lakefront hotel, Nicholas St. Croix didn’t get naked in front of Ash as often as she would have guessed.
The lodging itself proved to be exactly what she’d expected. The corner suite overlooked Lake Superior and offered an unobstructed view of the canal’s aerial lift bridge, brilliantly lighted against the clouded night sky. Inside the rooms, yards of white upholstery and bedding rejected any suggestion that any previous guests si
ns’ needed to be concealed with beige or paisley fabric. Ash’s nose told her differently, however. Evidence of the former occupants’ activities lingered beneath the harsh scent of bleach, and warned her not to sit on the bed, the love seat facing the flat-screen television, the two chairs at the small table, or a large portion of the carpet beneath the eastern window—at least not until she made certain that nothing flaky or crunchy remained stuck to the fibers.
She didn’t warn Nicholas. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, and the information might be useful later, anyway. When she told him, he might take another shower . . . and he might forget to bring his clothes into the bathroom and strip off in the bedroom, instead. No door separated the living space from the sleeping area, but the angle of the rooms and a short wall offered privacy. Someone in the main room would have to make an effort to see another person undressing near the bed.
If it meant seeing Nicholas naked, Ash would make that effort.
So, her first plot against him consisted of warnings about dried bodily fluids. He’d probably consider it small potatoes. Ash was pleased, however. Stripping off in front of her wouldn’t destroy Nicholas’s soul, but the plan might offer her a better glimpse of it.
As it stood, his reluctance didn’t make sense, just as learning that he saw a therapist initially hadn’t fit her impression of him. Arrogant as he was, she thought he’d also have a blatant disregard for modesty. He’d do as he pleased and not care whether she saw him.
Yet he’d undressed behind a door . . . just as he hid his emotions behind a shield of another sort. But what would his nakedness reveal?
Maybe he simply knew that she wanted to see him and chose to deny her. Ash didn’t think so, though. Nicholas St. Croix had reasons for everything he did, and so far, Ash hadn’t seen any evidence that his reasons were so petty.
So it was something else. Perhaps he hid something from her. If so, he must believe that revealing it would give Ash an advantage over him.
Fascinating. She couldn’t imagine what that advantage could be, but she wanted to find out. Until then, Ash worked with what she had, and even a clothed Nicholas revealed himself in many ways.
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