Demon Marked

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 covered 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