Demon Marked

Rachel. It’s too many people, and if it’s in my power, I’m not going to let any demon hurt even one more.”

Leslie’s brow had furrowed. “What did you do, Nicholas?”

“I chopped his head off with a sword.” And that had been more difficult than he’d realized, too. Not just mentally, but physically. “Then after a while, Rosalia came and cleaned up.”

He saw the slight tremble of her mouth. Maybe a man who hadn’t known her for twenty years couldn’t have recognized the alarm, the disbelief, the horror in her expression. Nicholas could. And he knew what she thought now, too—that despite his delusional paranoia, at least he’d always been functional. But now his delusions had either become a full-blown psychosis, or he’d become a serial killer.

She gathered herself. “Nicholas, I know that you’ve always rejected the idea of medication, but—”

“No.” And because he’d always vowed to be brutally honest with himself in this office—and honest with her—he sat forward, took her hands between his. “Leslie, that’s not what I need.”

She squeezed his hand. “What do you need, then?”

Ash. But that wasn’t possible yet.

“I need you to know that I can’t express how valuable you’ve been to me. I know that I’ve not been the easiest man. You’ve probably saved my life more times than we both know.” He took a long breath. “But what I also need now is someone who believes me.”

She held his gaze, and he watched her struggle, the compassion and the acceptance. Closing her eyes, she nodded. “I don’t know if I can find someone who will believe, Nicholas, but I know a few people who might be better able to help you. I can make some calls, give you a referral.”

“Thank you.”

“And Nicholas, you know that I will always—Oh, dear God!” She lurched back in her chair, her hand flying to her heart. Mouth open, she stared across the room.

Nicholas fought to cover his own shock. Wearing enormous black wings that arched up to the ceiling, a possessed Taylor stood . . . No, he realized. Not Taylor. Unless she’d shape-shifted, this woman with braided black hair and obsidian eyes wasn’t Taylor, but someone more like Michael.

In a low, harmonious voice, she said, “Madelyn has Ashmodei.”

God. Nicholas surged to his feet. “And you stopped to get me first?”

“Of course.”

“You should have just gone after her, saved her.” But since the Guardian was here, he wouldn’t argue. “Where is she?”

“In some Roman ruins near old Fordham Castle in County Essex. There used to be a portal to Hell there—the weak spot makes it easier to open a new one.”

By sacrificing Ash. Not if Nicholas had anything to say about it. “I have no weapons with me.”

“Hold out your hand.”

When he did, an egg-shaped grenade appeared in his palm. “You’re only giving me this?”

“Why would you need anything else?”

He wouldn’t, Nicholas realized. If this woman had half the power that Michael did, he wouldn’t need anything. He probably wouldn’t even be able to track the fight with Madelyn. “All right. Let’s go. No, hold on.”

He had just enough presence of mind to turn around. “Leslie, are you okay?”

Though obviously still astonished, she nodded.

“Oh,” the Guardian said, peering around Nicholas’s shoulder. “You are a psychotherapist? Are you taking new patients?”

Heart pounding, Nicholas stared at her in disbelief. “Ash is waiting—”

“And she won’t be bleeding yet when we arrive, so whenever we decide to teleport, we’ll still be in time.” She looked back to Leslie. “Everyone thinks I’m crazy, just because I spent over two thousand years alone in Hell and I can also see the future. Do you suppose I could come and talk with you at some time?”

Leslie blinked. Her mouth opened, but no answer emerged.

“It’s all right,” the Guardian said. “I already know that you will say yes. Thank you. You will be very helpful to me, especially what you will have to say about coping mechanisms.”

With a shaky nod, Leslie blinked again. “Yes. I—Yes. And Nicholas . . . I think I might qualify for your new belief requirement. So, next week?”

“No, he won’t be there. Shall I take his appointment, instead?”

Jesus. Whatever got them out of here, now. “Say yes, Leslie.”

“Yes,” Leslie said.

The Guardian smiled brightly, and took Nicholas’s arm. Then the world dived, spun, and spit him out the other side.

CHAPTER 17

Even with his feet planted into the sodden ground, the world still spun. Only steadied by the Guardian’s hand, Nicholas fought not to heave up his lunch, fought the darkness swirling around the edges of his vision, tried to focus. He stood in a large, flat field, with short grass that squelched with the swaying shift of his weight. The ruins near his feet were only distinguishable from any other weathered rock by the straight line of their formation and the ninety-degree angle of an ancient corner. He stood just outside the old building, the walls broken down to his shins.

Still dizzy, Nicholas lifted his head. Though he could focus more clearly now, he had to wait for his eyes to adjust. Twilight was leaching the light from a leaden sky.

Where was Ash?

“Nicky?”

Madelyn’s name for him, but his voice? Nicholas gave his head a sharp shake. There, only ten feet away, in the center of what would have been a room of some sort, stood . . . Nicholas. He held two long, curving swords, and if the shadows playing over his double’s face weren’t misleading him, the demon was regarding the Guardian with abject terror.

The black wings, those obsidian eyes. Madelyn must know she didn’t have a chance, no matter whom she looked like. But where was Ash? He had to make certain Madelyn couldn’t hurt her before this Guardian got a chance to tear the demon apart.

A crimson glow began to shine near Madelyn’s feet, casting red light across the ground. Oh, Jesus. Ash lay on her back behind Madelyn, her face turned away from Nicholas. He couldn’t see her expression or whether she was hurt, but those glowing eyes meant she was still alive.

Thank God.

“If you take a step toward me, grigori”—Madelyn shifted in an instant as she spoke, taking the form of his mother’s dark-haired, elegant beauty—“I will kill her.”

The Guardian’s grip on his arm loosened. “Can you stand now without falling?”

“Yes.” His fingers clenched around the grenade. When Madelyn was dead, he was going to shove it down her throat and pull the pin. “When you’ve finished with her, save me the head.”

“What? Oh, no. I need to go feed my puppy. I’ll be back when you’re done.”

She vanished.

Madelyn whipped around, as if expecting the Guardian to teleport in behind her. So did Nicholas. They waited with only the harsh sound of his breathing to disturb the silence.

Then Madelyn tossed back her head and laughed, cutting through the shock that held him frozen and threw him back to twelve years old again, humiliated and horrified after she’d walked into his room and caught him with his pants down. Oh, Nicky, you don’t even have enough there to play with. God. It had taken him years to keep that mocking, nails-scrapingacross-his-brain noise from echoing in his head. Now he feared