Demon Marked

God, she wished.

Ash formed her clothes again just before stepping outside—no need to tip Madelyn off that someone might be quickly coming after her. And just before the door closed behind her, she heard a novice’s voice—

“We need to let Lilith know.”

Yes. Yes.

A minute had almost passed, but it only took her a second to run the three blocks to the cafe, already closed for the night. Her heart jumped into her throat. Nicholas sat at one of the darkened tables, but it was a poor version of Nicholas—handsome and slick, but not pared and hardened by his obsession; amused, but not burning with cold intensity. He’d crossed his legs at the ankles rather than his knee, tucked his legs beneath his chair. How strange. How strange and awful to see Madelyn in his shape.

“There you are, love, finally. We don’t have all night, you know. We have places to fly.” Madelyn’s eyes narrowed. “Can you fly? Answer me truthfully.”

“No.”

“After three years? But I suppose halflings cannot help being incompetent and weak. I’m only surprised you came out of your stupor at all.” She stood, uncoiling from the chair. “I will carry you, then, but there is to be no movement from you, no word spoken, no attempt to escape. You understand that you must obey me, no matter the order I give? Answer me truthfully.”

“Yes.”

“Let us see how well you understand.” A dagger appeared in Madelyn’s hand. “Cut off your forefinger, and then give the blade back to me, handle first.”

Which forefinger? Make the cut at which knuckle? Evade, delay. But Ash couldn’t evade everything . . . and she had no odor, not really, but the scent of her blood would leave a trail to follow.

So without question, she took the dagger, and cut.

“So you let her go?”

“I let her go,” Nicholas said, and it echoed through the hollow place in his chest. God. It still hurt to say, to think it. But he had let her go—he’d had to.

Leslie didn’t immediately reply, and he could feel her studying his expression. Trying to read into him. Funny thing was, she didn’t need to look that deep. He’d told her everything that had happened from the night he’d met Ash to the final day in the cabin, spilling his guts right out at her feet; the legs of her armchair might as well be swimming in them. But he waited, sitting on her couch, elbows braced on his knees and his hands clasped loosely in between.

Twenty years, they’d sat talking together like this. The salt-and-pepper in her hair had turned completely gray in that time. She’d moved offices, replacing drapes and soothing shadows with open blinds and pots of leafy flowers. Her two children had grown from gangly teens in a photo into a surgeon and an artist, now with children of their own. For twenty years, she’s seen into him, understood him better than anyone.

Except for Ash.

She drew in a soft breath. “Nicholas, have you been reading the news at all in the past few months?”

“Every day.”

“Then you know that Rachel Boyle has been found. That she suffered some trauma, lost her memory, but has spent the past three years at Nightingale House—just as you say this demon Ash did. Have you spoken to Rachel at all?”

“No, because that’s not her. Rachel’s dead, and Ash is what’s left of her.” And so much more. God, so much more than a woman stripped down to nothing. “The Rachel you’ve seen is a Guardian, drawing Madelyn out.”

“Have you spoken to the Guardians? Have they told you this?”

“No. But I know. She looks exactly the same, but she doesn’t move like Ash does. She doesn’t speak like Ash does. It’s close, but it’s not perfect.”

“I see,” she said.

Nicholas grinned. When she raised her brows to encourage him, he said, “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Tell me.”

“That whatever ‘trauma’ Rachel went through probably first occurred six years ago, the night that she and Madelyn disappeared. And that because I was with them, I probably suffered the same trauma—except that I repressed the events, and my mind created another scenario that seemed so real that I’m convinced that Madelyn shot Rachel, despite the lack of blood and other evidence. But now that Rachel has returned, I’m trying to fit the story from the news into the version that my mind has created. So I came up with Ash and all the rest.”

Leslie didn’t confirm or deny it. “Do you think that explanation is so impossible?”

“Not impossible. It’s just not what happened.”

“Nicholas, in our first session after you met the vampire who told you about the existence of demons, we discussed the possibility that you had constructed a mythology that not only eased your sense of guilt and responsibility for Rachel’s disappearance, but one that also allowed for her return. A resurrection, of sorts.”

“Yes, but this ‘mythology’ has never eased my guilt, and Rachel coming back never even occurred to me until I met the Guardians. Bringing her back was certainly never a goal. Only revenge was.”

“Now Rachel has returned, and your desire for revenge has shifted into a need to protect her.”

“To protect Ash,” he said. “Not Rachel.”

“Also, your mythology has deepened considerably,” she said. “Once, there were only vampires, demons, and eventually Guardians. But in the time since Rachel has returned, there are now halflings, spells, symbols, and sacrifices that open Gates to Hell. Do you not think it at all possible that this layering of your mythology has simply been a way for you to incorporate Rachel’s return into a form that you can accept?”

“I’m sure that’s not what happened,” he said, smiling. “And I know you hate it when I say that.”

“Refusing to consider a possibility does cut off avenues of exploration.” But though he recognized the faint exasperation at the corners of her eyes and mouth, she only said, “Let’s continue then. You let her go two months ago. What have you been doing in the time between—when you were not canceling our weekly appointments, that is?”

Nicholas had to laugh. “I wondered when that would come in.”

“I was very gentle,” she said. “I did worry, though, especially when I saw the news about Rachel. You’ve never missed so many appointments in a row, and I assumed it wasn’t a coincidence. Perhaps you can fill me in now.”

“I was hunting demons. Madelyn, primarily, but there have been others, too.”

“Other demons?” When he nodded, she asked, “You said that you had been wrong about Ash. How do you know these demons aren’t like her?”

“Because there are no others like her. Rosalia never mentioned halflings because Lilith had been the last— and they didn’t know about Ash.” When he’d met with her, Rosalia had apologized to him in her soft, motherly way. It hadn’t been necessary. She couldn’t have anticipated the events that led to Rachel becoming Ash. Neither could Nicholas, and that was why he wouldn’t take the risk of being wrong now. “But I won’t take the chance again. So I make certain they aren’t halflings.”

“How?”

“The hellhound venom. Halflings aren’t affected by it, just like Guardians and humans aren’t.” And Nicholas had verified that, too, by injecting himself with the venom. “But demons are, so I shoot them with the dart, and while they are paralyzed, I check their temperature. Then I call in Rosalia.”

“And she takes them?”

“Slays them, then gets rid of the bodies. All but the last one.” He looked down at his hands. “I had him down, paralyzed, but then I couldn’t reach her on the phone. The venom would eventually wear off, so I had to make a choice.”

“To slay him or let him go?”

“Yes. It was harder than I thought it would be. Maybe it’d have been easier if the demon had been fighting me, or threatening Ash like the one in Duluth had. It’s for her protection, so I was going to slay it anyway . . . but her protection wasn’t the only reason. I thought about Ash crying over her parents, I thought about my parents and