No, he wasn’t. “How are you going to get faster?”
“Not faster. Better able to anticipate a demon’s movements and speed. I’ve never been able to practice before. Now we can.”
“So you’ll try to shoot at me?”
“Something like that. And I’ll teach you to fight, so that if a demon grabs you again, you can get at least a punch in.” His gaze lingered on her face this time. “The way I see it, we’re just fulfilling our bargains—because neither of us will be able to help the other with anything if we’re dead.”
“I’m not arguing.”
“All right.” He looked back at the road. Comfortable silence stretched between them, until his lips quirked and he said, “We got our asses handed to us, didn’t we?”
Ash laughed. “Yes, we sure did.”
“It can’t happen again.” Serious now, he glanced at her. “And time for the first lesson.”
“In the car?”
“You won’t have to move. This isn’t fighting; it’s learning to block your mind. I’ll tell you exactly what Rosalia told me, but I can’t test it for you. So understand this, Ash: You have to do it right, and have to keep your shields strong. Because if you don’t, they’ll find us again. So are you ready?”
She took a deep breath, nodded.
“I’m ready.”
So Michael wasn’t completely gone. But the shattering pain that Taylor had felt from him didn’t make that knowledge reassuring. God. Whatever he was going through down there, whatever he’d been hiding from her . . . she had to get him out.
Revoire wouldn’t return to SI to seek out a healer for his injuries, but they’d heal up soon enough, anyway. Taylor dropped him off at the cottage he called his home, where he could celebrate in his quiet, farmerly way that he’d finally taken down Basriel.
Taylor sought out another teleporter. Only a few other Guardians had the Gift, but Michael couldn’t stop them from checking on him. Jake, maybe. In possession of two Gifts, including a powerful electric burst that could incapacitate most demons, he’d probably be safe—but he was also the youngest Guardian in active service aside from Taylor. Selah was older, more skilled, but at this time of night, she’d probably be with her vampire lover, and Taylor didn’t want to jump into that.
That left Khavi, who was undoubtedly the best choice, anyway. As old and as strong as Michael, she’d been one of the first Guardians—and like Michael, wasn’t completely human. Michael and Khavi were both grigori, the offspring of a demon who’d been made fertile with dragon blood and a human.
And after living alone in Hell for over two thousand years, combined with her Gift of foresight, Khavi was also either completely freaking nuts, or the most brilliant strategist the world had ever seen hiding behind a wall of crazy. Taylor didn’t completely trust her, and was certain that Khavi had an agenda that she forwarded with her Gift. Her dedication to Michael was unquestionable, however—as was her ability to kick demon ass to Hell and back.
The only problem was finding her. The grigori often disappeared for weeks or months at a time, searching for a spell that might free Michael.
Or . . . her Gift of foresight had told her to return to the Special Investigations warehouse exactly when Taylor needed her. As soon as she teleported, Taylor found herself staring into Khavi’s eyes—fully obsidian, just as Michael’s sometimes were when he was angry, or suppressing deep emotion. Just as Taylor’s were when Michael took over.
Khavi’s voice was similar, too. A feminine harmony, like many voices speaking together, and didn’t match the rest of her. A woman this powerful didn’t walk around in ripped jeans and a powder blue tank top featuring a glittery unicorn prancing across her breasts. Yet Khavi did.
She said softly, “Who is it that you’ve met, Andromeda Taylor?”
“You don’t know?”
“Not yet. Only that something has changed. Doors have opened.” The beads at the ends of her small black braids tinkled when she shook her head. “But I cannot see what I do not already know. So tell me: Who have you met? Show me.”
It could only be the demon, Ash. Taylor had met St. Croix and Revoire before. Closing her eyes, she pictured the blonde in her head, the vermillion tattoos along the side of her face, and projected it into Khavi’s psyche.
The grigori’s breath stopped. “Who is she?”
“St. Croix called her Ash.”
“No. That is not her name. She hasn’t found it yet.” Khavi tilted her head a little, as if examining the image in her mind. “When she does, it all begins to end.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” she said, which Taylor knew just meant that Khavi didn’t want to tell her. “Where is she?”
“Minnesota. For now. What do you see in her future?”
“Not hers. I haven’t met her. I only see yours.”
“And I’m doing what?”
The black cleared from Khavi’s eyes, leaving them dark brown. Human, except that no human ever had eyes that looked so ancient. “Sacrificing her.”
No. Taylor really couldn’t imagine herself doing that. “I don’t think so.”
“Not even to save Michael?” Khavi smiled when Taylor’s breath caught. “It is so amazing to me, the lengths to which people will go for love.”
“I’m not in love with him. You said I never would be in love with him. You saw it.”
“But I didn’t say that I was speaking of you now.”
No . . . she hadn’t. Khavi had said “people.” God. Taylor hated talking to this woman, sometimes. “And what about Michael? I—”
“Want to ask me to teleport to the frozen field to check things out. I know. I already did.”
Oh, thank God. “And?”
“And Lucifer found him.”
The psychic reaction to that softly spoken announcement reverberated throughout the warehouse. Guardians, all with perfect hearing, all listening—a practice that most would usually consider rude, but not when the Doyen and the grigori were discussing Michael. Now they began to appear at the top of the stairs, at the edge of the hub. Leaving the gymnasium, gathering around. But all silent, all waiting for more.
Their horror echoed Taylor’s. “So what’s happening to him?”
Khavi closed her eyes, but not before Taylor saw the moisture glistening in them. “What do you think? No, no—that is the wrong way to put it. You can’t think of what is happening, because you are not a demon. Because you are not Lucifer.”
“So maybe I’m imagining worse.”
But no. The truth was, she wasn’t sure what could be done to him. Only his face was exposed, and that was a block of ice. Would they scratch him? Poke at him? Try to stab him? He was frozen solid.
She looked to the faces of the other Guardians. She was not alone, Taylor realized. They, too, knew it would be horrible. But they didn’t know exactly what that meant. Only . . .
Taylor turned toward the director’s offices—and yes, there was Lilith, standing at the end of the hallway. Her hand rested on the scruff of Sir Pup’s center neck. Shape-shifted down to the size of a Labrador, he was rubbing his left head against the former demon’s leg. Comforting her, though it was almost impossible to tell by her face that she needed it. But the hellhound knew.
So did Hugh Castleford. He’d come up behind Lilith, slid his hand around her waist.
“Lilith?”
Taylor’s voice cracked when she spoke her name. She didn’t want to know. But she had to. Michael had made this sacrifice for them. They would all bear it, too.
Lilith’s hand found Castleford’s at her waist, and she threaded her fingers through his before she began. “An ice pick would be first, because it’s instant gratification. The eyes are open, so Lucifer would focus on those at the beginning, digging all the way in, but then he’d realize that pain was pain, and it didn’t matter where it came from, so he’d start in on the rest of the face. Hammers, maybe to finish shattering the ice, and he’s strong enough to do it. And when the
face and eyes regenerate, he can do it all again.”
Oh, God. Taylor covered her mouth, uncertain whether she’d scream or begin crying. A few of the novices already were.
“You go easy on them,” Khavi said, and Taylor couldn’t determine whether there was appreciation or accusation in her voice.
But how could there be more? How could there be worse?
She looked to Lilith, and knew that it was true. “How?”
“For fuck’s sake, Taylor—” Lilith stopped, glanced up the stairs at the novices. “He’s being eaten by dragons in Chaos. Over and over, chewed and devoured, and then torn apart and eaten again. Do you really think that an ice pick to the eye is worse? Lucifer knows it’s not. Especially to someone like Michael. The pain is fun for Lucifer, but it doesn’t really hurt Michael. It doesn’t get to the heart of him. So he’d wait until Michael’s eyes healed, and then he’d drag up humans from the Pit. Now imagine your favorite torture, then imagine it a thousand times worse, and then imagine it being done to those human souls. That is what Michael’s watching right now. And once they’re down there, it doesn’t matter so much that they’re murderers, that they are the shit of humanity. Down there, they are only people, they’re in agony, pointless agony, because they aren’t burning so they don’t give Lucifer power and they won’t find release, and Michael can’t help them.”
Taylor stared at her. Yes. That helplessness would hurt him more than any pain. But, of all people, Lilith knew that? Lilith, who never had a word for Michael that wasn’t dripping with sarcasm or disdain for the “golden boy.”
“I thought you hated him,” she said.
Lilith’s eyes narrowed on her. “Fuck you, Taylor.” Her focus shifted to Khavi. “And fuck you, too. Why didn’t you warn him?”
“I did. Before he made his sacrifice, I told him exactly what it would mean.”
“Then why the fuck can’t you see how we get him out?”
“I cannot see what I do not already—”
“Oh, fuck you again.”
The grigori tilted her head. “No, I do not see fucking in our future.”
Khavi vanished. Lilith shook her head, met Taylor’s eyes.
“You, my office.” She looked around at the gathered Guardians. “All of you. Every spare moment, I want you at the archives in Caelum, in the libraries wherever you can find one, searching for any damn little thing that would help get Michael out of there. So move your asses now, or I’ll have Sir Pup come bite them off.”
Taylor loved her a little bit right then. She followed Castleford and Lilith back to the office, grateful that Sir Pup stayed behind in the central hub to carry out Lilith’s threat. Once inside, Lilith ripped her hands through her hair and sat heavily in her chair.
“Fuck.”
Castleford smiled a little and sat on the edge of her desk, crossing his arms over his massive chest. Without the glasses he typically wore, he looked less like the scholar and more like the warrior—an eight-hundred-year-old warrior who, even though he was human again now, could still see the truth in a person’s answers as clearly as if he read them. Luckily, whenever Taylor lied in front of him, he usually didn’t call her on it.
“‘Fuck’ again? Now you’re just teasing me, Lily.”
Lilith glared at him, but even Taylor could see that he’d just pushed Lilith out of her temper. With a sigh, she picked up a file from her desk and tossed it to Taylor.
“We found St. Croix’s demon.”
Taylor opened the file to a picture from airport security in New York. Crap resolution, but clear enough to identify them both. “What name did she use?”
“She went through as Rachel Boyle. Straight on through. She was flagged as missing, not dead—but she’s obviously not missing anymore, is she? She’s never been charged with anything, and she’s a citizen, so they basically just said, ‘Come on in.’ Idiots.”
“Why would a demon use an airport at all?” Taylor wondered.
“Maybe she’s trying to convince St. Croix that she’s human,” Lilith said. “But I don’t think so. He wouldn’t fall for that, and she’s got symbols all over her. So maybe he didn’t trust her not to drop him.”
Castleford frowned. “Boyle. The same as the double murders Taylor was looking at?”
“The same,” Taylor confirmed. “We saw her tonight. She wore the markings then, too, but St. Croix called her Ash.”
“So St. Croix went to Duluth?” He exchanged a glance with Lilith. “With the demon who was pretending to be Rachel’s ghost?”
Lilith shook her head. “That makes no sense. No sense at all.”
They’d only heard the beginning of it. “Let me tell you the rest,” Taylor said.
She relayed the meeting with St. Croix outside of the sheriff’s office, the burst of grief that had led them to the snow-covered field, Nicholas’s defense of the demon.
“This is the crazy part, and I’m not really clear on it, because as soon as I saw her, Michael jumped in and began steering the boat,” Taylor told them. “And he was . . . angry. Not at the demon, but that kind of anger that comes from realizing that something is completely fucked up, and someone got hurt, but there’s nothing you can do about it. Then he told St. Croix that she was ours.”
“As in, ‘ours to kill’?” Lilith asked.
“No. As in, ‘she belongs to the Guardians.’” Taylor took in their confusion. “Rachel Boyle died saving St. Croix’s life, remember.”
“Then she was supposed to be a Guardian,” Castleford said.
“So how is she a demon, instead?”
“No, that’s the wrong question,” Lilith said. “It’s not: How did she go from being a Guardian to a demon? There’d have to be more steps. And the first: Why isn’t she a Guardian?”
Castleford nodded slowly, as if in dawning realization. “A bargain.”
Taylor shook her head. “I’m not following either of you.”
Lilith sat forward. “It’s like this: The only way Michael wouldn’t have been called to transform her into a Guardian is if there was a prior hold on her soul. She must have broken a bargain—probably a bargain with St. Croix’s mother.”
“That would put her in the frozen field when she died,” Castleford picked up the rest. “Her soul, anyway. Just like Michael’s soul is in the frozen field, but his body is in your cache.”
In Taylor’s cache, and marked up with symbols that completed the psychic connection between them . . . and allowed for an eventual rejoining of his body and soul after he was released from Hell.
“St. Croix said that Rachel’s body vanished. You think his mother had it in her cache?”
Lilith nodded. “And she would be in Hell, enduring her punishment for killing a human. So Rachel’s soul is in the frozen field, her body is in a demon’s cache . . . and Lucifer has access to both. So he makes a halfling out of her.”
All right. Taylor could follow that far. Lucifer had pulled Rachel out of the frozen field, reunited body and soul, and then Rachel had completed the ritual that turned her into a demon. What she couldn’t understand was Why?
Lilith didn’t have an answer for that. “I have no idea. Obviously for some purpose. But I don’t know what.”
“Some kind of spell?” Taylor suggested. “The symbols on her face made Michael uneasy.”
Lilith squinted at the airport photos, before shaking her head. “Even magnified, I wouldn’t be able to read these. They’re too pixelated. But symbols are part of the transformation ritual. I had them all over me. They defined my powers, my bargain with Lucifer, my name. They’re normal. I only wonder why she doesn’t hide them.”
“The symbols I saw called for something to open.”
“To open?” Lilith grimaced. “Not so normal. And Michael didn’t like them, either?”
“Not at all.”
“Okay. So let’s assume that whatever Lucifer wants, he’s going to get it through Rachel Boyle. The question is: Does Rachel share Lucifer’s purpose? Does S
t. Croix?”
Castleford turned to Taylor. “Did you get a look inside her mind?”
“Yes, actually. A clear one.” Which, thinking about it now, was strange. Beyond even “normal” strange. “And I do mean clear. I’ve never touched a mind like hers. She’s wide open. And there’s no conflict in her. Her emotions sang like pure notes.”
Even children felt more of a push and pull—between love and resentment, between desire for an object versus a desire to please.
“Demons aren’t conflicted,” Castleford said.
“But they’re malevolent. She wasn’t. There was only grief, confusion, pain—and joy, when St. Croix came for her.”
“And what does he feel?”
“I couldn’t get into his head. But he’d have killed me for her.”
“So if we want to get to her, we have to get around him . . . and he’s familiar with the Rules.” Lilith considered that. “All right. And you say he called her Ash?”
“Yes.”
“So Lucifer took her name and gave her a new one. If her emotions are that clear, too, he might have taken more than her name. Memories, associations—especially if they are connected to strong emotions—he might have taken all of that. If she’s only just been transformed—and that would also explain why she couldn’t fly into the U.S. by herself—she wouldn’t have had time to create those new emotional connections yet. All those conflicting feelings that muddy everything up.” Lilith heaved a long breath. “Which means that now is a good time to recruit her.”
Both Taylor and Castleford stared at her.
“What? Halflings aren’t the same as demons.”
“I know that better than anyone,” Castleford said. “But there’s the matter of her bargain. She’d have vowed to serve and obey Lucifer during the ritual. We wouldn’t be able to trust her.”
Lilith shook her head. “Probably not sworn to obey Lucifer. Not with the Gates closed. He’d have bound her to someone else, someone who probably was charged to carry through whatever purpose he had in mind.”
“St. Croix?”
“No.” Castleford didn’t hesitate. “Not a human. A demon. And he probably bound that demon to him, to make certain whatever he wanted from them was followed through.”
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