“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
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 sins’ 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.
In Madelyn’s town house, she’d recognized that an obsession enslaved him after a single look at his bare chest, yet Ash hadn’t realized the effort Nicholas put into it until she’d followed him down to the hotel’s workout room just after midnight. Too icy to jog outside, he’d fired up the treadmill, instead. For an hour, Ash watched him
