Demon Forged (43 page)

“Not yet.”

“Then I will accompany her,” Alejandro said.

Taylor sighed.

Irena laughed and started for the door. Her fingers trailed a warm path over his hand as she passed him. “You’ll meet me in Caelum afterward?”

“Yes.”

Until then, he’d work through the gnawing suspicion that Rael had been behind the nephilim’s attack on Irena, and decide whether the suspicion had teeth or if it was a distraction to be ignored.

That morning in the federal building plaza, the idea had bit and he’d dismissed it as impossible. Because the prophecy said Belial would only rise to the throne after the nephilim were destroyed, Belial’s demons—and therefore Rael, Belial’s lieutenant—were enemies of the nephilim. But after witnessing Rael’s reaction to Khavi and learning they’d once been friendly, his suspicion had taken hold again. Rael’s pleasure upon seeing Khavi was genuine.

It made Alejandro wonder if the demon’s best memories were several thousand years old.

Taylor and Preston spoke little as he rode with them across the city. With new eyes, he reexamined pieces that shouldn’t have fit, turned each one, and watched them fall into place.

Rael had loved a woman. Alejandro briefly considered Khavi, but Rael’s response to her had been wrong. Even a demon, seeing the woman he’d loved for the first time in more than two millennia, would have wanted to go to her. He’d want to touch her, to confirm she truly stood there. And even a demon’s pleasure would be tinged with pain when he held himself back.

Anaria
, however . . . Anaria fit.

Anaria was Belial’s daughter. Even if fatherly love hadn’t been a reason to protect her after Michael ordered Anaria’s execution, her knowledge of the symbols and magic were. Anaria had power, and she wanted to challenge Lucifer for his throne. Even if she didn’t succeed, surely her attempt would weaken Lucifer, giving Belial an opportunity to take the throne for himself.
Yes
, Alejandro thought. He could easily see how Belial’s lieutenant had become an ally to Anaria and her husband, Zakril, while they’d hidden from Michael—and Khavi hadn’t yet given Belial the prophecy, on which his need to destroy the nephilim was based.

Zakril had been murdered before Khavi delivered the prophecy, too. Murdered, and his body left with a message for the nephilim, telling them where to find their mother. A demon couldn’t open Anaria’s prison—only the grigori, Lucifer, or the nephilim could.

But Khavi had been trapped Below, and Aaron, her husband, had been slain by Belial; they couldn’t have freed her. Michael and Lucifer would have killed Anaria if they’d been the ones to find her, and the nephilim hadn’t been released from Hell until two years ago, when the Gates to Hell closed.

Rael had waited more than two thousand years—and lived as a saint during that time. Trying to make himself worthy of Anaria when she returned? Or just giving the appearance of it—to a demon, they were the same.

Now, the husband Anaria had loved was long dead—and within months of her return, Rael rid himself of his wife, too.

Cold certainty settled over him, but Alejandro turned each piece over again. They settled in the same way. Parts were missing, but the shape was clear.

Rael had killed Zakril. He’d waited for Anaria. And when she appeared, he’d killed Julia Stafford. The demon had removed every obstacle he saw standing between them.

Every obstacle except the Guardians.

Had Rael already been in contact with Anaria? Had he approached her as a friend, offering his support and fealty?

Alejandro sighed, knowing that if Irena had been with him, she’d have given him a look. Obviously, Rael had—and he also had the ear of Anaria or the nephilim. They’d shown up at Irena’s forge within hours of her telling Rael that she’d slay Anaria.

That hadn’t been coincidence. That had been Rael.

And suddenly, slaying the demon and taking his position had become far more complicated than it had once been—and more imperative.

Caelum’s silence wrapped around Irena the moment she stepped through the Gate. Earth could be quiet, but even on the tundra, background noises filtered through: the whisper of air currents across grasses or snow, the crack of ice and the drip of water, the settling of the soil as it warmed and cooled. Caelum’s silence wasn’t a deep quiet, but an absence of sound—and of life. It pressed on Irena’s chest until she pushed it back. Until she heard her heartbeat, her breath, her steps.

Caelum stood empty—but never abandoned.

And it was not completely empty, either. Somewhere in Caelum’s eastern quadrant, Khavi’s hellhound puppy roamed. Lyta hadn’t yet been on Earth; the puppy had only recently left Hell, where Khavi had been her only companion, and they were uncertain how Lyta would react to humans . . . and to Sir Pup. Like Sir Pup, Lyta was abnormally friendly for a hellhound, but that only meant they didn’t rip apart and eat every living thing they encountered.

Irena did not mind the hellhounds. She found their unwavering loyalty to their chosen companions admirable—even if their companions were Lilith and Khavi.

She formed her wings and took to the air. Her feathers ruffled, and each beat of her wings ended with a satisfying snap. Here was wind, and sound, though of her own creation. She flew toward the edge of the northern quadrant. The never-moving sun shone overhead; below her, the city rested in an endless, waveless sea, an enormous white disc on a smooth bed of brilliant blue.

The buildings surrounding Odin’s Courtyard were stockier, less graceful than the temples and spires in the rest of Caelum. Alice’s quarters only consisted of a single building, but every Guardian considered Odin’s Courtyard hers. Irena landed at the edge of the courtyard. She coughed loudly before vanishing her wings and walking toward the giant marble elm tree that sheltered the square.

She was thankful she’d given Alice the warning when the Guardian emerged from her building, her skin flushed and her hair unbound. Alice’s giant tarantula ran out after her, claws clicking on the white stone tiles.

At the sight of the spider, Irena wanted to climb into the tree—but she wasn’t certain if Nefertari couldn’t jump that high.

Alice had told her that bigger spiders crawled in Hell, creatures many times larger than the Coliseum in Rome. Irena had lived more than sixteen centuries without stepping foot in Hell, and was glad of it. The demons didn’t frighten her; she’d have liked to kill legions of them. But she feared she might run away screaming if she spotted a monstrous spider.

She held her ground as Nefertari skittered toward the tree, and hid her relief when, with a soft word and a touch of her Gift, Alice commanded the spider to remain at her knee.

A second later, Jake appeared beside her—just as flushed, and wearing a broad grin. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something.

Irena eyed him, then realized what was missing: the staff that served as his electrical ground. She hadn’t felt the now-familiar sizzle of his second Gift, either—only a faint push of his teleportation Gift.

She nodded. “Well done.”

“Hah! Wait until you see this.” Jake held his index fingers an inch apart. His electric Gift hummed, and a white current arced between his fingers. “I’m a Taser.”

“I now see what had you so excited when you came to get me.” Alice’s mouth quirked, and she began braiding her hair. “I wonder if this is what Khavi meant when she said you would be known as ‘the Weapon’ among the demons. How utterly terrified all of Hell will be when you whip out your Taser.”

He grinned at her. “Just wait until I figure out other applications.”

Alice pressed her lips together, flags of color on her cheeks. Nefertari purred and rubbed her hairy body against Alice’s skirts.

Jake turned back to Irena, who was fighting a shudder and the urge to swat at her own leg.

“So does that rock or does that flippin’ rock?”

“We
are
susceptible to shock,” she agreed. But what he’d just shown her seemed worthless. An injury from that tiny electrical arc would be an irritation at worst. Unless . . . She stepped forward, took Jake’s hands, and put one on each side of her head. “Now, try—”

Her vision burst into a white hot flash. Then there was nothing.

Irena opened her eyes to Alejandro’s worried gaze. She felt the marble tiles beneath her back. Alice’s lap cushioned her head. She prayed her feet weren’t within biting distance of the tarantula.

The worry faded from Alejandro’s eyes, replaced by amusement. “Jake fetched me.”

“Not a healer?”

“I believe he was more concerned about what you would do to him when you awoke.”

She looked past him. Jake stood with his hands linked behind his head, his face pale. Not with fear, she saw, but guilt.

Sitting up only made her head swim a little. Whatever his Gift had done to her, it hadn’t hurt—or she’d healed while she’d been unconscious. She had to moisten her lips before she spoke. “I am impressed, Jake. But I will be more so when you can create that arc between two swords.”

Relief lightened his psychic scent. Speculation lit his eyes. “That would do some damage.”

“And might melt the metal, so do not use the swords I made when you practice.” All of her dizziness gone, she rose to her feet. “We’ll experiment with different conductors and weapons.”

“Not today,” Alejandro said.

She looked to him. Anticipation rose within her, sudden and hot. “Taylor?”

“Michael replaced me at sunset.”

She must have been unconscious for at least twenty or thirty minutes, then—and she still had not completed the task she’d come here to do.

To Jake, she said, “Do you have the spikes?”

When he called them in from his cache, she immediately saw that the two spikes Jake and Alice had found pinning the wings of Zakril’s skeleton matched the one she’d pulled from Rosalia’s forehead.

She called in that spike. A touch of her Gift to each one confirmed her suspicion. “They are the same.”

Alice frowned, looking at the spike in Irena’s hand. “Are you certain? They do not look at all alike.”

“I changed this one when I freed Rosalia.” With a pass of her Gift, Irena reshaped it. “But I am not certain because of the appearance—the composition of the iron feels identical. That only happens when iron is smelted from the same ore. They were probably molded at the same time, as well.”

Jake shook his head in disbelief. “So some demon has been carrying a stash of these in his hammerspace for two thousand years plus?”

“They could have been distributed to more than one demon,” Irena said, though she doubted it.

She sensed that Alejandro also doubted . . . and that he wasn’t surprised that the spikes were from the same source. “Find Khavi,” he said to Jake. “Ask her if she knew any demon who made or used weapons like these.”

Jake nodded. “Zakril was her brother, so I’m guessing she’d like to know that whoever spiked him might still be running around.”

“I wonder if she would,” Alejandro said quietly. “But we will ask her, regardless.”

“All right.” Jake held out his hand for Alice’s. “Let’s get going.”

As soon as they disappeared, Irena formed her wings and said, “And we should ask the demon who was a friend at the time.”

Alejandro looked at her, his expression unreadable. What went on behind his dark eyes? She did not know,
still
. But she could imagine. No one had suggested that Rael was responsible for Zakril’s murder, and yet she’d immediately put it out there based on a flimsy connection to Khavi.

“I am ready to blame him for anything,” she admitted.

“Perhaps. But that isn’t reason
not
to look at him.” He took a step, and his wings arched out behind him.

She waited on the ground as he launched himself into the sky. Watching him was sheer pleasure. She loved the way he flew, his body as straight as an arrow, each powerful flap of his wings. Smiling, she lifted into the air and joined him. The wind caressed her feathers with silken warmth, teasing the tips. He’d headed southeast—not toward his quarters, but hers.

Mine.
He was. But this time, she would hold on to him.

He glanced over as she caught up with him. “Consider this scenario: The woman that Rael loved is Anaria.”

Irena fought her immediate response—that a demon couldn’t love. But they did, in their own twisted way. “Zakril had helped imprison her. So Rael murders Zakril to help Anaria . . . or to get her husband out of his way?” Whatever the reason, Rael would be helping himself.

“And then kills his own wife after Anaria returns to get
her
out of the way.”

“Julia Stafford wasn’t spiked through the head.”

“No. But we found Rosalia just before his wife was murdered. And that murder has been a distraction enough that we haven’t looked hard in Rome’s direction. Deacon was the one who led us to Rome; now Deacon’s community is gone.”