Demon Marked

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 protegee 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 protegee 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.