I nodded. “Good to know, even if none of it’s immediately useful for a part-blood.”
His deep-set eyes raked over me. “Perhaps not, though it appears you are coming into some of your birthright. You’ve been feeding recently, Zorah—and not merely from our mutual friend, I gather.”
Since I’d done nothing wrong, I absolutely refused to blush. “It’s better than starving.”
Would my bravado about feeding from other people’s sex energy hold up when I was living in an entirely different world from Rans?
“It can also be rather useful in a fight, as it turns out,” Rans said, with the air of someone who was trying not to let the conversation stray too far off topic. “Now, before we get much farther along, I’m certain you’ll be happy to hear me say that you were right and I was wrong, Nigellus. So, consider it said.”
Nigellus raised a swept brow. “Goodness,” he said mildly. “This is a cause for marking the date.”
Rans’ expression might have been carved from marble, and he didn’t rise to the small barb.
I cleared my throat. “Look. As far as I’m concerned, nothing has changed.” I ignored the little internal voice that whispered liar, liar in singsong tones. “I’d already intended to visit my father in Hell, so that’s what I’m doing. What happens afterward is... still up for debate, I guess you could say. I gather Dad arrived safely with the last Tithe?”
Nigellus tilted his head in acknowledgement. “He did. You’ve spoken with Myrial, then?”
My expression must have soured, because Nigellus lifted a brow at me.
“Yeah, we had a brief chat,” was all I said.
When I didn’t add anything else, he consciously smoothed his expression. “I gather he did not endear himself during that brief chat. May I ask what was said?”
But I frowned, confused. “He? Hang on, are we talking about the same person? This Myrial was a woman.”
“Myrial is a succubus,” Rans corrected.
“Or, depending on her mood, an incubus,” Nigellus put in. “As was the case when I spoke to him earlier. It’s easy to forget how little you know of demons.”
The puzzle pieces connected in my mind. Right. Rans had told me early in our acquaintance that succubi and incubi could change their physical sex at will.
“Okay, gotcha,” I said. “Sorry—I’d forgotten. And frankly, for a human, that one’s a little bit difficult to wrap my brain around... but, whatever.”
“I believe any friction arose from a succubus acting like a succubus,” Rans offered. “She was somewhat... forward.”
“I think handsy bitch is the phrase you’re looking for,” I muttered under my breath. In a more normal voice, I continued, “She also seemed to assume an awful lot for someone who’s never met me before—acting like she already knew me, offering to take me to Hell five minutes after we started talking. So, is she on the up-and-up, or what?”
Nigellus gave a small shrug. “She is one of us. Myrial and I are not close, but she did contact me to inform me of the arrival of an unusual human among the latest Tithe.”
“Did you send her after us?” I asked. “Because the Fae have watchdogs all over this city, and when she showed up where we were, things turned ugly real fast.”
“I did not,” Nigellus said. “However, it hasn’t taken long for news of your existence—and of the company you’ve been keeping—to spread among our kind. Demons tend to be well connected. I daresay finding you would have been no great feat for her.”
Wonderful. So my fake identity and all of my attempts to stay off the radar were basically useless, then. Had the murderous bikers shot up the fetish club last night because I was there, or because Myrial was there? I’d probably never know for certain.
“How did news about my existence spread, exactly?” I wondered. “You’re the only demon I’d ever had any contact with, before her.”
Nigellus gave me a thin smile. “Your presence in Dhuinne was hardly what one would call low-key, Zorah. Even during such a ceasefire as we now enjoy, both sides still have spies in place.”
“Bloody cloak and dagger nonsense,” Rans said under his breath.
“Information wins wars far more effectively than weapons,” Nigellus retorted in a mild tone.
Rans met his gaze sharply. “Try telling that to the rest of my race. Weapons worked pretty damned well on them.”
Ouch.
“You’re not at war now, Nigellus,” I pointed out. “The war’s over.”
“It’s more accurate to say that there is a lull in the conflict,” said the demon. “It’s easy to forget, sometimes, how young both of you are. Our races have enjoyed a few years of peace, it is true. It’s also true that both sides have been using that time in an attempt to strengthen their positions, since we all know the peace won’t last forever. It never does.”
I tried to get my head around the idea of Nigellus calling a seven-hundred-year-old vampire young... or calling a span of more than two centuries a few years.
“All right,” I said. “Fine. So the demon gossip mill knows all about me, and everyone and their dog can track me down while I’m on Earth. I’ll try not to hold Myrial’s tendency to paw at someone first and ask permission never against her, but I’d still rather not rely on her as my ticket to Hell.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Nigellus assured me. “I will escort you and see that you are safely settled, though I must return to Earth afterward.” His speculative gaze flicked over Rans before returning to me. “I don’t suppose you’ve managed to talk our mutual friend into making the trip, as well?”
And that question shouldn’t have hurt so much. It shouldn’t. I had no claim over Rans; no reason to expect him to pull up the roots he’d set down over the course of centuries on Earth. It was unfair to ask him to follow me into a trap from which he could never escape—at least, not without selling his soul first.
“I think I’m the
