Taylor fell into another of her silences as Irena paid for their lunch with one of the credit cards Olek had given her. As they headed back to the car, she felt Taylor’s sudden tension.
“Someone’s in the back seat of my car.”
Irena recognized the dark braids, the stunning face. “It is Khavi.”
“Prophecy Girl?”
“Yes.”
Taylor didn’t hide her irritation. She dropped into the driver’s seat and slammed her door. “You’ve broken into police property. I should haul your ass to the station.”
“I broke nothing. I teleported.”
“Then teleport out.” Taylor backed out of the parking spot.
“And fasten your seat belt, or I’ll cite you just for the fun of it.” She frowned at Irena. “You, too.”
Strapped to a seat, facing forward with Khavi behind her? No. Irena continued sitting sideways, watching the grigori. By the time they were driving along the street, Taylor’s irritation had turned to anger.
So did Irena’s. “What do you want, demon spawn?”
Khavi’s gaze remained fixed on the back of the detective’s head. “Will you not ask me about Jason? I have seen futures in which you ask.”
Taylor’s face paled. “Then I’m going to change that.”
Khavi’s Gift rushed out in a powerful wave. “And so you have. But even if you never ask, the answer is the same: He will never wake up.”
Taylor slammed the brakes. Irena flew forward, cracking her head against the window. Through the stars exploding behind her eyes, she saw Taylor whip around, her gun pointed at Khavi’s face.
“Get out! Get the fuck out now!”
Khavi vanished.
Her eyes wet, Taylor faced forward and holstered her weapon. She spared Irena a glance, then looked again. “Jesus.”
Irena wiped at the blood streaming down her forehead. Until the laceration healed, vanishing the blood from her face and clothes was pointless. “It looks bad. But it is nothing.”
The detective’s expression hardened. “Screw nothing. I listen to you about Wren, about Rael, all your goddamn centuries of experience. Next time, you fucking listen to mine when I tell you to buckle up.” She started driving. After a minute, her lips twitched. “Are you okay?”
Irena started to laugh. Yes, she liked some humans very much.
She hated demons. And as Wren showed them into the same room with its sliding glass doors and windows overlooking the bay, where Rael sat on a sofa with his head on his hands, pretending exhaustion and grief, Irena did not attempt to hide her seething hatred.
But whatever it was that Khavi had said to upset Taylor, whoever Jason was to her, the detective had wrapped it up and shielded it. If Taylor felt anything when she looked at Rael, Irena could not sense it.
Irena took her hate, projected it, pushed it—so that even if Taylor slipped, Rael might not notice that beneath Taylor’s questions lay suspicion.
She wondered what the detective saw when she looked at the demon. Rael was undoubtedly handsome, but his sculptor had not been sparing in his materials. Everything lay in the open. Irena found nothing interesting in the perfection of his face—nothing that forced the personality behind it to fill in the sharp edges and to work. She saw no mystery, only bland beauty.
But Taylor might see something different. The lack of mystery was a deception worse than any other—it led people to believe they could know him, trust him. And when he looked back at them, he appeared to understand so much about them, about their troubles. He probably did understand, Irena had to admit. His deception was pretending to care.
One low chair faced Rael’s sofa and sat with its back to the bay window. After Rael dismissed Wren, Irena called in a sword. She sank into the chair, set the point of the blade between her feet, her elbows on her knees, her hands fisted around the grip.
The rounded pommel was embedded with jewels and glass and a small camera, and the effect was far more decorative than she liked. She’d rather rip him apart with her teeth than use a sword this ugly and unbalanced. Rael wouldn’t know that.
She sneered and flashed her Gift, beginning the recording.
Rael frowned up at Taylor, who stood beside Irena’s chair. “Are the threats necessary, detective? I will answer your questions.”
“Yes, you will,” Irena said, forcing his gaze back to her. She bared her teeth. “If you don’t, you stinking pig-fucking demon, I will gut you.”
Taylor sighed and sat on the arm of Irena’s chair. She rubbed at her forehead, pinching the bridge of her nose as if to ward off a headache—or relieve a current one. Irena could not tell if it was genuine or not.
“No, congressman, we do not need threats.” She cast Irena a warning glance before looking back at him. “First, let me say that I am sorry for your loss.”
“I’m sorry she’s dead,” Irena cut in, and let Rael feel the brutal honesty of that. “But I’m not sorry for you, because I know you feel nothing but enjoyment at this situation. Because not only did the human who tried to kill you fail in that attempt, a human who meant nothing to you died. One human is damned, another is dead. I am only surprised you are not dancing, demon.”
“You know nothing, Guardian. Julia was a good woman and a good wife.”
Taylor’s hand clenched into a fist against her thigh. She said smoothly, “Forgive my associate, please. She was also at the protest yesterday and was deeply saddened by what happened. So much so that she has not quite recovered.”
“Is that how you would put it?” Rael said.
“Yes. She asked to be assigned to help find your wife’s murderer—and has agreed to the condition that she puts aside her Guardian prejudices.”
Taylor finished through clenched teeth, staring Irena down. Irena sneered at the demon again, but fell silent.
“Thank you, detective.” He steepled his fingers. “Might we begin?”
“Yes. Thank you,” she said, as if he’d done her a favor. “Of course you’ve realized that we are here because the FBI cannot follow certain lines of inquiry.”
“I have realized that, detective.”
“Good. That will make this so much easier. We won’t spend any time on your political enemies—”
“Political opponents, detective,” Rael said. His smile invited her to join in. “We are all on the same side, working toward a common goal. We simply have different ideas about how to get there.”
“Opponents, then,” Taylor said. “The FBI will look there, and at special interest groups. But do you know if any of your opponents are demons who might be interested in seeing you fall—either in the political arena or as one of Belial’s favored demons?”
Rael shook his head. “None would dare.”
Did that mean none would dare try to harm him, or none would dare to take office? But Taylor moved on before Irena could ask.
She let her frustration burn.
“What of Lucifer’s demons? Wouldn’t they like to take you down a peg or two, just because you’re loyal to their enemy?”
“Of course they would, detective. But at this moment, they are enjoying their brief freedom while the Gates are closed, and pursuing their own interests—not Lucifer’s.”
“Don’t they worry about the prophecy? The one that states the Morningstar will lose his throne to Belial? Doesn’t that prophecy make Lucifer’s interests their own?”
Rael’s expression went blank for an instant, and Irena realized that Taylor had surprised him by even knowing about the prophecy. Had he thought the Guardians would keep it to themselves?
In normal circumstances, Irena supposed that they would.
A hint of condescension came into his voice. “You must understand, detective, that the demons who follow Lucifer do so not because they are loyal to him. They follow him because he has the power to crush them if they don’t—and when my liege takes the throne, they will switch their allegiances without hesitation.”
Hugh would find no lie in this po
rtion of the recording, Irena thought.
“All right.” Taylor nodded. “What about the other part of the prophecy—the nephilim and Anaria?”
“No,” Rael said firmly. “The nephilim would not conspire in that way. Neither would Anaria. She wants the throne. That is all she wants; her efforts will be toward that end.”
“So she would not bother with you?”
A brief flash of anger crossed his face. Apparently, he didn’t like the way Taylor had phrased that. Irena grinned. Perhaps Taylor had not meant her question to dig as it had, but he’d felt it.
“She would not bother with anyone who does not support her, or whose goals do not match hers.” Rael glanced at Irena. “She doesn’t bother with the Guardians, either. Not even Michael.”
“That is good for her sake,” Irena said. “Because when we find Anaria, I’m going to cut out her heart and eat it.”
Crimson rolled across his eyes, as if he had trouble controlling his fury. Irena grinned, snapped her teeth together.
He regained control, looked at her with disdain, and dismissed her.
Taylor stepped in again. “How many people knew that you would be attending the protest?”
“The rally,” he said, and smiled. “Protest is too negative a word for what we hope to accomplish, detective. We rally together to fight against a piece of legislation that should never have been passed—only those who oppose us would want to cast a negative light on it.”
Slippery bull-fucking demon. Irena clenched her teeth, held her tongue.
“You don’t agree, Guardian?” Rael glanced at her, then back at Taylor. “Where do you stand, detective? Don’t you think that people should be with the ones they love?”
Irena could not stand it. She hated him. Not just because he was a demon, but because he used such tactics: If Taylor agreed with him, it gave the appearance that she was complicit in more than just this. To disagree would make her appear cold to her fellow humans. To evade the question would make her appear as if she lacked conviction.
“What would you know of love, demon? You know nothing of love. And if you support it, rally for it,” she sneered, “it is only because you think that it will be your gain.”
He did not look at her, and said flatly, “I do know, Guardian. I have loved. I know what it is to love a woman and to want nothing more than to lay the world at her feet.”
“Or put a bullet through her throat so that she lays at your feet.”
“Tell me how I could have shot Julia, Guardian.” He cast her a baleful stare. “You were there. Give me a scenario where that could possibly be true. And then give me a reason why I would kill a woman so valuable to me.”
“Hold on.” Taylor held out her hands, then looked to Irena. “You know you’re off track. Sit back. If he’d done this, he’d be nephilim fodder by now.”
Irena sat back and seethed.
“So let’s get back to the question: Who knew, besides Miss Wren, your wife, and yourself, that you would be at the rally?”
“A better question, detective, would be: Who did not know?”
“Fair enough. So if you are mistaken, and a demon did plan to hurt you—politically or otherwise—they’d have had plenty of notice and opportunity to find a hired gun.”
Rael shook his head. “I’m sorry, detective, but your logic is flawed: A demon would know I wouldn’t die.”
“But you might be exposed. They couldn’t have known the Guardians would be there to cover for you. Do you know of any demon who would risk exposure—or who has argued for it? Any vampire?”
“I will have to think on that, detective.”
Taylor nodded. “What of your wife? Does she have any enemies?”
“She was well-loved, detective.”
“Can you think of anyone who would harm her to get to you?”
He frowned. “You don’t think she was the target, do you?”
Answer the question. Irena gritted her teeth, fought to stay in her seat and force him to answer. Hugh could not see the truth if Rael returned every question with a question.
“I have to cover my bases, congressman. Many times, that means just throwing something out—even if I can’t see a motive behind it. Other times, we don’t even have to ask, because the motive is clear, either for or against: For example, you’ve already stated—and we know—how valuable Julia was to you. Not to mention your career. So that takes you out—you obviously didn’t hire someone to kill her, risking exposure in the process.”
He smiled, shook his head. “No, detective. I didn’t.”
They would soon see, Irena thought.
It was nearing sunset when Taylor pulled the car alongside the sidewalk a block away from the federal building. Irena stepped out, and had a quick stare-down with Preston before he accepted the front seat she offered him. She slid into the back as Alejandro folded himself into the other side. He had to turn toward the center to fit his legs. He stretched his arm along the back of the seat.
His nostrils flared, and she knew that he’d scented her blood. Though he didn’t move, his body tightened with suppressed violence.
Unexpected heat sizzled through her. Did she warm from his protective response or that display of readiness? She didn’t know, and didn’t try to separate the parts of her reaction. All that mattered was that she’d warmed so quickly and fiercely, because of Olek’s response and his readiness. Not her anger, not his pride. They would come again, she was certain. But at this moment, anger and pride were not in the car between them.
And she enjoyed the feeling of what was.
Olek made a single sharp gesture. Rael?
No. Khavi appeared after our lunch, Irena signed to him. Taylor did not appreciate the visit.
Khavi spilled your blood?
Taylor stopped the car very quickly. Reminded, she pulled the restraining belt across her shoulder and clicked it home. I did not stop until my head met the glass.
He rubbed his thumb back and forth over his chin, obviously amused. His gaze left hers when Taylor spoke from the front seat.
“So, we head back to SI and report to Lilith?”
“And Castleford, yes,” Alejandro said. “When he watches the recording of your interview with Rael, Castleford will know when the demon lied.”
Taylor snapped a glance at Irena. “You recorded it?”
“Yes.”
Her jaw clenched. She faced forward again.
The detective would struggle with that, Irena thought. Taylor would come to terms with it, or not. The Guardians’ methods of gathering evidence were different than the methods allowed by human courts. Demons had already been judged and sentenced by those Above. Rael would never stand trial on Earth, he would never be imprisoned—and, if they chose to kill him, Guardians would be the executioners.
Whether humans liked their methods or not.
Alejandro signed, Bradshaw is a Guardian. His Gift is a psychic mask.
A Guardian? She’d had no idea. Who was he in Caelum? Luther.
She did not recognize the name. How long has he been with the FBI?
Since before the Ascension.
And Rael does not know?
No one does but Lilith, Hugh, and Michael. When Bradshaw is not at the office, he does, essentially, what I do.
Irena smiled, pleased. Carrying out a human life on top of a Guardian’s would be difficult, but she could see how Bradshaw’s position was necessary. She glanced over at Alejandro; he seemed pleased as well, though she could not decide the reason for it. So much of him was still a mystery to her.
Good, she replied, then spoke aloud to include Taylor and Preston. “Were any demons among Rael’s staff? Did any know what he was? His household employees did not.”
“Nor did his office staff.”
Disappointment wound through her. A demon like Rael would have subordinates; she wanted to know where and who the demons closest to him were.
“What about the staff in D.C.?” Preston said. He’d produced a
bag of peanuts from somewhere; the crinkle of plastic and the scent filled the car. “He’s got an office there, right?”
“Yes, but I met with each of them as Senator Brandt. They are not demons.”
Taylor frowned. “So where are all of his flunkies?”
“We believe they are at Legion,” Alejandro said.
Not in government, but in the corporate world. Irena had no real knowledge of either. She turned to look out the window, once again feeling the uncomfortable fit of this role.
“And how short does he keep their leash?” Taylor asked.
“Not tight enough to choke them.”
Alejandro’s voice was soft—and nearer to her. Irena looked at him, startled as he reached across and pressed at the buttons on her door. Glass lowered. Night air and frigid drizzle washed her face.
But she did not breathe easier. Her eyes locked with Alejandro’s, and she watched their color deepen.
That was the only alteration in his expression. His psychic blocks prevented her from sensing anything else of his emotions.
She wanted to tear the blocks away. To see what lay beneath. To strip away everything that hid him from her, to examine him piece by piece, not just the bits he let slip through.
He wasn’t looking at her hands, so she couldn’t sign to him. But she could not speak to him in French. That language was for watching her words—and those words had helped hold them apart for four hundred years.
“I want to rip you apart,” she said beneath her breath in Russian.
There. Something in his expression. Was it hurt or anger? She didn’t know. She wanted, needed to know.
In Spanish, he murmured, “I do not look down at you.”
I want to destroy you. Yes, she remembered when she’d said that, too. But her words held a different meaning now.
She shook her head. “So that when I put you back together, I will see what you are made of.”
And there, in his eyes—another change. It looked like wonder, or hope. He laid his hand on her thigh, his grip bold and possessive. “Do it, then.”
He challenged her. Everything within Irena called for her to rise and meet it.
But if she did, a piece would still be missing. Something that she had not given him. Something she was afraid to give him.
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