Demon Marked

Almost three years . . .

Shit. The timing was exactly right. Somehow, Madelyn had escaped from Hell just before the Gates closed.

Had she brought this demon with her?

The demon shook her head. “I don’t know how she escaped Hell. I didn’t even know that Hell is a real place.”

How could that be true? “Then where were you before Nightingale House?”

Demons were creatures of habit. If Madelyn had hidden in a specific location between the time she escaped from Hell and left this demon at the psychiatric hospital, she might return there to conceal herself again.

“I don’t remember. Before Nightingale House, I don’t remember anything clearly. Only that Madelyn and I were . . . somewhere. I don’t know where. There was someone else with us. He cut these marks into me. His voice was so big—more painful than the knife.” She closed her eyes. “And I was frightened.”

For the first time, strong emotion came through in the tremble of her voice, in the clenching of her hands. But by the time she looked at him again, he couldn’t see any fear. Only expectation. Perhaps a faint hope.

And for an instant, he believed it was hope. As if she wasn’t acting, but truly thought he had answers for her.

God, he was in over his head. He didn’t even know if this memory loss she claimed was possible. Maybe none of this was true. Maybe she’d already broken a bargain with someone else and had nothing to lose by lying to him now. Before he went any further, he had to find out.

He set the crossbow on the mattress and retrieved his mobile phone. “Don’t move,” he said. “Don’t talk.”

She only lifted her eyebrows as if to ask where she would go, and watched from the edge of the bed as he found Rosalia’s number in his list of contacts.

The Guardian didn’t like him, but she’d answer any questions he had—and she was one of the few people he trusted to be honest with him. Three hundred years ago, her father had also been replaced by a demon; she understood his quest for vengeance better than anyone else could. She’d taught him how to search for Madelyn, to distinguish demons from humans, and which weapons would be most effective against one of their kind. Most demons and Guardians fought with swords, but in a physical match, pitting a demon against a human was no contest at all. Nicholas wasn’t fast or strong enough to pose a threat. Knowing the Rules—that a demon couldn’t fight him or hurt him—evened the odds. So did knowing their susceptibility to electric shock, and how to kill or slow them down.

Rosalia answered on the third ring, her rich Italian accent rolling over his name. “Nicholas.”

No need to ask why he was calling. He only contacted her when she was useful to him—when he had a question for her.

“Have you ever heard of a demon with amnesia?”

“Amnesia? No.”

That’s all he wanted to know. “All right—”

“But I’ve heard of those with their memories stripped away.”

He frowned. On the bed, the demon had straightened, her gaze locked on the phone. She could hear everything they both said, and there was probably no point speaking in Italian rather than English. He’d never heard of a demon who hadn’t lived on Earth long enough to pick up almost every human language.

But then, he’d never heard of a demon with her memories stripped, either.

“Why would that happen?” He switched to Italian and watched the demon’s brow furrow with confusion. Maybe an act . . . but he didn’t think so.

“As punishment, if they’d upset Lucifer—or just because he didn’t want the demon to know something.”

Perhaps that was what had happened to this demon. It didn’t explain how or why she resembled Rachel, but he found punishment easier to believe than a demon breaking a bargain.

“Just tell me, Rosalia: Even if the demon had no memory, would you still slay them?”

“Of course, unless it was more useful at the time to keep them alive. But I’d slay them eventually—and I’d be wary all the while it was alive. A demon’s nature doesn’t change, even if its memories do. The rebel angels who followed Lucifer were physically transformed into demons, but their new forms only revealed what they were inside. So never forget that they are evil, Nicholas. Every single one of them.”

He eyed the demon. “I suppose a former nun doesn’t call someone ‘evil’ lightly.”

To his surprise, Rosalia laughed. “No, I don’t.”

“What are you saying?” The demon got to her feet and started toward him. She froze when Nicholas showed her the remote device again. Her fingers curled at her thighs. Frustration? If so, good. She ought to feel a little of what Nicholas had, talking to her and receiving no answers at all.

She looked to the phone. “This woman knows more about demons than you? Who is she? Can I speak with her?”

Rosalia’s voice sounded sharply in his ear, her laughter gone. “Who is that, Nicholas? If a demon is there, don’t trust—”

Nicholas hung up, cutting her off. No, he couldn’t trust the demon. But she might be his only way to find Madelyn, so he’d take the risk.

If they were going to risk anything, though, they had to do it quickly. Rosalia wouldn’t wait around for him to call her back. She was probably heading to London right now—either flying with her wings or using her Guardian power to gather the darkness around her and speed through the night. If she found them, this demon would be dead within seconds.

Knowing Rosalia’s skill with a sword, perhaps she’d be dead in less than a second.

He tossed the remote to the bed. “We need to go. Now, before the Guardians catch up to us.”

She stood still as he reached for her neck. “Who are the Guardians?”

Whether she played stupid or just didn’t know, he didn’t have time to explain it. The heat of her body had warmed the steel collar. He unlocked it, tossed it aside.

“All you need to know right now is that the Guardians will kill you. So let’s head out.”

She nodded and started for the door. “Where to?”

The demon didn’t know how to find Madelyn, so they’d try to find Madelyn through her connection to Rachel . . . and get as far from London as they could.

“The States,” he said. “We’ll fly there tonight.”

“I can’t. I don’t have any ID.”

“And I wasn’t thinking of a plane.” When she looked at him blankly, Nicholas clenched his teeth and counted to three. “I know you can fly.”

Her eyes widened and she looked down at her hands. “I can shape-shift into a bird? How?”

Jesus H. Christ. The next time he made a bargain, Nicholas would damn well make certain the demon knew more than a bag of bricks.

“You can’t turn into a bird. You can only form wings—” Oh, fuck it. He turned for the door. “I have Rachel’s passport. I’ll charter a jet.”

“That’s good. It’s probably less likely to crash into the Atlantic than I am.” She hurried into the hallway after him. “Why do you have Rachel’s passport? Did you kill her?”

Even if this demon truly didn’t know that Madelyn had done it, why would she care? Perhaps she was just testing him to see if he’d break down into some guilt-induced confession. To see if Nicholas secretly felt that he was to blame, that his actions had killed her, boohoo.

Thanks to Madelyn, he’d stopped boohooing as a kid. Nicholas did feel guilt—that he’d used Rachel, that she’d fallen in love with him, that he couldn’t save her when she was dying in his arms—but he wasn’t responsible for her death. Madelyn had killed Rachel. Full stop.

He didn’t know this demon’s reasons for asking, and he didn’t have to speak the truth. But in the end, truth was just simpler.

“No,” he said, and started down the stairs. “I didn’t shoot her. Madelyn did.”

He glanced over his shoulder to catch her response. Her eyes had narrowed, and he easily read the suspicion in them.