All right. Nicholas understood that. He couldn’t hear the Rolling Stones without remembering his mother dancing in the kitchen. Not Madelyn, but his mother. After the demon had wormed her way into their family, it had been all classical, all the time—to soothe his father’s nerves, she’d said. Now, Nicholas recognized a thousand changes that she’d wrought when she’d taken his mother’s place, claiming that everything she’d done had been to help his father. The demon bitch.
The Stones sure as hell couldn’t tell him where his mother’s body lay now. “You’ve spent the whole night listening for familiar songs?”
The crimson faded from her eyes. “Yes.”
Strange. He didn’t know what to make of that—or of her. Her every response seemed wiped of any emotion, yet she was actively searching for those connections?
“I should have spent the night plotting against you, I know,” she added.
He laughed, damn it.
The demon didn’t even crack a smile. Peering ahead through the snow, she said, “The road sign says gas and food at the next exit. I know you’re hungry.”
Had she been listening to his stomach? “Not hungry enough to eat the shit they pass through a drive-up window.”
He’d spent the past few years training—learning to fight, making himself strong, preparing himself to face Madelyn. Now wasn’t the time to start shoving crap into his body.
“Maybe we can find a grocery. Or if you can hang on a few hours, there’s an all-organic diner at a truck stop north of Chicago that serves—” She cut herself off. Her mouth remained open, as if in surprise. When she continued, her voice barely rose above a whisper. “Great omelets. They serve great omelets. And before you ask, I don’t know how I know that.”
Nicholas hadn’t been going to ask. He was too damn unsettled. This demon wasn’t Rachel . . . but he’d heard about that diner before.
The demon stared ahead. “This part of the highway isn’t familiar, but I can almost picture the road from Chicago to Duluth, the same way I can remember a scene from a book or a movie after I think about it. But I don’t remember being there. And no, I can’t explain it.”
Nicholas couldn’t, either—at least, he couldn’t explain why this demon would know that stretch of highway. He knew why Rachel would, though.
“Rachel finished her masters’ degree at The Kellogg School,” he said. “She drove back to her parents’ house during breaks, on some weekends.”
“Oh.” That was all she said for several seconds. Then, “Kellogg has a good program. One of the best in the country.”
Frustration exploded through him. That was her response? About a fucking business school? And how the hell did she know that?
“You remember the school’s goddamn ranking?”
She didn’t seem to feel the blast of his anger. “Some facts are easy to recall. Other things are familiar, but I don’t realize they are until I think about them . . . and now I’m finding out that Rachel was familiar with them, too.”
“You’re not Rachel.”
“I know. Oh—and this one is familiar. ‘Friends in Low Places.’” Her gaze flicked to the radio. Unable to hear the music over the wipers and the static, Nicholas took her word for it. “I only mentioned Kellogg’s rankings because it meant that Rachel had to be good enough to qualify for the graduate program. Was she?”
More than good enough. She’d had a killer instinct for the market, choosing when and where to invest. At the beginning of her senior year of high school, her parents had given her a gift of five hundred dollars. Four years later, Rachel had paid off their new mortgage with it, and, after local papers had run with the story, gained the attention of several financial schools—and Madelyn’s interest.
“She was good,” he only said.
The demon glanced at him, as if trying to gauge his expression. “Do you mean that, or are you damning her with faint praise?”
He sure as hell wasn’t going to damn Rachel with anything. “She was brilliant.”
“Coming from Stone Cold St. Croix, that’s a powerful endorsement.”
Stone Cold St. Croix. He’d earned that name buying up businesses, tearing them apart, and selling the pieces—all so that he could eventually get to Madelyn. No one would have used the nickname outside of financial circles, however. She wouldn’t have found it in a news article.
“Is that nickname a fact you conveniently remember, too?”
“No. I found it on an old blog entry through Google about a week ago. I also took a look at Reticle. It’s been faltering without you at the head. It’s not nearly as strong as it was six years ago.”
Not true. His company’s profits weren’t increasing as quickly as they once had been, but he’d left Reticle in capable hands that were guiding it along in a steady climb. And as far as Nicholas was concerned, if he had money to pursue his revenge, it was strong enough. “You read that, too? ‘Not nearly as strong’?”
“I didn’t need to read it. I saw the numbers. They were easy to interpret.”
She glanced over again—but not at him. After checking the lane, she eased into the exit. Her gaze never touched his face, as if his reaction to her declaration didn’t matter.
But this was exactly what a demon did. Sow doubts. Quietly undermine. Perhaps plant the seeds that would lead him to abandon revenge and return to business. Not a fucking chance. He enjoyed working, but that didn’t matter. His business enabled his revenge. Until he destroyed Madelyn, he had no use for his company except the money it provided him.
She didn’t wait for him to say so. “If Rachel was that good, why was she only Madelyn’s personal assistant?”
Because Madelyn had tricked her, too. “Maybe because she traveled often and made a six-figure salary.”
“That’s nothing compared to what she could have made on Wall Street.”
“Few on Wall Street make as much as Madelyn’s protégée eventually would.”
“She was being groomed as Madelyn’s replacement?”
“That’s what she let Rachel think.” Hell, that was what Nicholas had believed, too. Now, he thought differently. “But I’d bet it was the opposite: Madelyn intended to take Rachel’s place.”
“By shape-shifting and pretending to be her? Why?”
“Someone would eventually notice that Madelyn didn’t look her age—and she’s too vain to appear as old as she should. But Rachel was gorgeous, young.”
As his mother had once been. How many women’s lives had Madelyn stolen in the same way? Waiting for her opportunity, then stepping into their shoes.
“You obviously thought the same,” the demon said. “Rachel was gorgeous, young—and so you got close to her. To find out Madelyn’s secrets, or just to steal her protégée away?”
He hadn’t needed Rachel to know how to destroy Wells-Down, but luring her away from Madelyn would have been a bonus. Rachel had been loyal, however.
“Maybe I intended to do both,” he lied easily.
“But you fell in love with her, instead.”
This lie twisted like a knife in his gut. “Yes.”
“I don’t think so.” The SUV skidded at the end of the exit. The demon tapped the brakes until they came to a stop at the sign. “That wasn’t what I sensed from you when we met in the town house.”
“And a demon knows what love feels like?”
“I spent a month walking through London. I’ve felt love. Strong, weak. Between friends, between children and parents, between lovers of all stages—even those who were grieving. You did feel grief, though. So you must have cared for her. It just wasn’t love.”
She was right. But it pissed him off, knowing that she’d looked into him. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
With a shrug, she drove forward again. The snow had let up a bit, enough for Nicholas to make out the gas station signs rising along each side of the road.
“Kissing you felt familiar, too,” she said.
Goddammit. He�
��d kissed this demon once, less than fifteen hours ago, and only so that he could get close enough to electrocute her. There had been nothing for her to be familiar with or remember. So what was she trying to say now? “You’re not Rachel.”
“As I’ve told you. Several times.”
“And you’ve also said you don’t know who the hell you are. Yet here you are, so bloody familiar with Rachel’s life. Are you trying to convince yourself or me?”
“I’m convincing no one.” She pulled into a full-service bay and stopped beside the gas pumps. “You are supposed to be helping me figure out who I am. I am trying to give you as much information as possible, so that you can hold up your side of the bargain. Remember?”
She snapped off the last word between teeth that had sharpened to points. So he’d gotten to her, pissed her off, too. Knowing that soothed some of his own anger.
“I remember. And you’ve got fangs now. “
Her gaze snapped to the rearview mirror. She bared her teeth at her reflection. Her eyes widened.
Surprised? Not as much as the guy who pumped their gas would be. “You’d probably better get rid of those before the station attendant posts on Twitter about it. I’m sure the Guardians watch for that kind of thing.”
“Oh.” Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “Thanks.”
God. Why did she have to do that? He’d always found it difficult to be a bastard when someone was polite in return. Even, apparently, if that someone was a demon.
A demon. He hadn’t thought of her in any other way. But she hadn’t gone three years in a hospital without being given a name.
“So you don’t know who you are,” he said. “But I can’t call you ‘demon’ in public—and I won’t call you Rachel. What should it be?”
“Ash.” She lowered her hand and tested the shape of her teeth with the tip of her tongue. Human again. No fangs. “My name begins with ‘Ash.’ I don’t know the rest of it.”
“Ashley?”
She looked heavenward, as if searching for patience—or guidance. An odd place for a demon to look. “Why do people assume that I’m too stupid to search through a baby name book?”
“A demon baby name book?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but he sensed the anger that had forged her teeth into points had already passed. Unlike his anger, however, the emotion hadn’t turned to amusement. It had simply faded to nothing.
“I’ll look for one,” she said, and turned to speak to the attendant when he appeared at her window.
Nicholas reached into the backseat for his coat. But although nature called, he waited before opening the door, studying her. Ash. Strangely, it didn’t feel odd to think of her that way. Though she looked exactly like a tattooed version of Rachel, Ash acted nothing like her—and aside from those few gestures that had thrown him when he’d first seen her, Nicholas hadn’t experienced a single moment of confusion between the demon and the woman. Did the tattoos make such a difference? Or was it the whole package?
He waited until the attendant moved off. “What about the symbols? What do they say?”
“What symbols?”
“Your tattoos.”
“I don’t know.” Almost absently, she lifted her hand to rub her chest. The largest glyph had marked her there, he remembered. An intricate design between perfect breasts. “Should I be able to read them? Because I can’t.”
He didn’t know. And they likely wouldn’t have a chance to ask another demon. “A few Guardians can. If we don’t discover any information in Duluth, we’ll e-mail pictures of the symbols to Rosalia and ask what they mean.”
“Oh.” That faint hope brightened her face again. “That would be very helpful. Thank you.”
Shit. With a sharp nod, he shoved against the door, escaping the SUV’s warmth and plunging into the icy air. So polite again. He wished she’d stop doing that.
Or better yet—he needed to stop giving her reasons to be grateful.
CHAPTER 6
The omelets were good, and pulling off the highway a few hours later gave Nicholas a chance to stretch his legs, gave him some breathing space. The demon must not have agreed about the food, however, or like and dislike didn’t matter. After only a few bites, she’d set down her fork, scraped her chair back, and stood.
“The taste isn’t familiar.”
She’d stalked away from the table after that announcement, leaving Nicholas to finish his meal alone. Since he was accustomed to eating by himself, her sudden absence suited him. So did knowing that her politeness had gone out the door.
She had, too. From his seat by the window, Nicholas watched her trudge through the foot of snow that hadn’t yet been plowed from the edge of the parking lot. Hood up, hands in pockets, she did an excellent job of acting just like a human bracing herself against the cold. She reached their SUV, then must have remembered that Nicholas had the key fob.
Even from this distance, he could have unlocked it for her by remote. He signaled the waitress for another coffee, instead, and waited to see what the demon would do.
He wasn’t surprised when she simply leaned back against the driver’s side door, and began watching everyone else. She’d done that on the plane, he remembered. In this diner, too, before they’d been served—and she’d managed to unsettle half the people eating here. Some of that effect came from the tattoos; the reaction to the symbols had been visible as they’d come in. Many of the diners turned to look, and others flinched or recoiled. He’d heard more than one mutter about “ruining such a pretty face.”
But most of that uneasiness stemmed from the unwavering, unreadable stare leveled at the person she observed, and that she didn’t glance away when they caught her looking. A few had tried to stare her down in return. Not one of them had succeeded.
If Nicholas hadn’t already been convinced that Ash wasn’t Rachel, the way the demon unsettled everyone would have persuaded him. Rachel had been friendly, outgoing, and eager to strike up a conversation with any stranger just to learn about them. Ash didn’t speak to or approach anyone. Rachel had killer instincts when she invested, but she’d been a negotiator at heart—always trying to find common ground. She began by putting the person at ease. Ash didn’t bother. Rachel pointed out injustices and tried to fix them. She’d have made everyone who’d recoiled from Ash’s tattoos aware of their reaction . . . and she’d have done it gently. Ash didn’t seem to notice, though she must have sensed those same reactions. Apparently, however, she just didn’t care that they’d judged her.
Yet still, she watched them all—and Nicholas didn’t think she stared anyone down for the same reasons he might have. As a tool of intimidation, it had been a useful technique in his business negotiations. After an opponent backed down once, even over something as trivial as eye contact, that person would begin to concede in other ways, too.
He didn’t think Ash looked for concession. He didn’t think she stared to win. She simply watched.
Searching for something familiar? Perhaps. Her lack of emotional response made it difficult to guess exactly what she wanted to gain when she observed someone.
Shit. Difficult to guess? Not at all. She was a demon. And he needed to remind himself that she was probably just looking for their weaknesses.
Fucking stupid, that he needed to remind himself at all. By now, that knowledge should be ingrained.
Maybe Cooper had found something to drive that knowledge home. It was night in England; his investigator should have been able to speak with the nurses and sent his long report by now. How to check his e-mail, yet throw the Guardians off the scent if they were looking for him?
His gaze fell on a sullen-looking teenager in a nearby booth, slouching in his seat and holding a phone between his hands—scrolling through an online social site. Beside him, a harriedlooking woman pored over a map, her finger tracing a southbound route.
Too easy.
He paid the kid fifty dollars for five minutes and the chance to check his e-mail, then quietly c
overed their lunch bill when he was through.
The demon had been telling the truth. At least, she’d been telling the truth about Nightingale House. The nurses had confirmed that a strange blond woman had lived at the hospital for almost three years—first under the name Mary, because she hadn’t talked at all, then using the name Ash when she’d begun coming round.
Cooper reported that she’d creeped the nurses out, had been the reason they’d both left Nightingale House. Even though Nicholas didn’t get the same impression, that sounded right for a demon—ruining lives, jobs. What didn’t sound right was the patient’s complete lack of emotion and empathy, which both nurses spoke about at length. Demons faked that shit.
Why hadn’t Ash?
He finished his coffee, left money on the table. Outside, the sky had cleared. The bright sun glared over the snow. Ash watched him now, he saw. From within the shadows of her hood, her gaze had fixed on his. He wouldn’t look away first.
She didn’t call out to him as he crossed the parking lot. Madelyn would have, smiling and cheerful—and loud enough to make certain she was heard. Nicky! There you are, love. I thought you’d become lost on the way to the loo! Anything to make a boy blush and squirm, especially if they’d had an audience. Alone, she’d still have been cheerful. So you’ve finally finished eating, have you? Oh, that’s all right, love. Mummy didn’t mind waiting. I don’t have anything more important to do, such as running your father’s business, do I? You obviously know that nothing can be as important as your little stomach, Nicky, because you certainly took your time, ha ha!
God. That had just been the beginning of it, and she hadn’t always been so cheery. As it was, fifteen years had passed before he’d exorcised the sound of her laugh echoing in his mind—a far longer time than he’d actually lived with her. Emotionally and mentally, Nicholas supposed he was still well and truly fucked up. Exorcising her from the face of the Earth wouldn’t change that.
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