Demon Marked (12 page)

“And a demon knows what love feels like?”

“I spent a month walking through London. I've
felt
love. Strong, weak. Between friends, between children and parents, between lovers of all stages—even those who were grieving. You
did
feel grief, though. So you must have cared for her. It just wasn't love.”

She was right. But it pissed him off, knowing that she'd looked into him. “You don't know what the fuck you're talking about.”

With a shrug, she drove forward again. The snow had let up a bit, enough for Nicholas to make out the gas station signs rising along each side of the road.

“Kissing you felt familiar, too,” she said.

Goddammit. He'd kissed this demon
once,
less than fifteen hours ago, and only so that he could get close enough to electrocute her. There had been nothing for her to be familiar with or remember. So what was she trying to say now? “You're not Rachel.”

“As I've told you. Several times.”

“And you've also said you don't know who the hell you are. Yet here you are, so bloody
familiar
with Rachel's life. Are you trying to convince yourself or me?”

“I'm convincing no one.” She pulled into a full-service bay and stopped beside the gas pumps. “
You
are supposed to be helping me figure out who I am.
I
am trying to give you as much information as possible, so that you can hold up your side of the bargain. Remember?”

She snapped off the last word between teeth that had sharpened to points. So he'd gotten to her, pissed her off, too. Knowing that soothed some of his own anger.

“I remember. And you've got fangs now. “

Her gaze snapped to the rearview mirror. She bared her teeth at her reflection. Her eyes widened.

Surprised? Not as much as the guy who pumped their gas would be. “You'd probably better get rid of those before the station attendant posts on Twitter about it. I'm sure the Guardians watch for that kind of thing.”

“Oh.” Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “Thanks.”

God. Why did she have to do that? He'd always found it difficult to be a bastard when someone was polite in return. Even, apparently, if that someone was a demon.

A demon.
He hadn't thought of her in any other way. But she hadn't gone three years in a hospital without being given a name.

“So you don't know who you are,” he said. “But I can't call you ‘demon' in public—and I
won't
call you Rachel. What should it be?”

“Ash.” She lowered her hand and tested the shape of her teeth with the tip of her tongue. Human again. No fangs. “My name begins with ‘Ash.' I don't know the rest of it.”

“Ashley?”

She looked heavenward, as if searching for patience—or guidance. An odd place for a demon to look. “Why do people assume that I'm too stupid to search through a baby name book?”

“A
demon
baby name book?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but he sensed the anger that had forged her teeth into points had already passed. Unlike his anger, however, the emotion hadn't turned to amusement. It had simply faded to nothing.

“I'll look for one,” she said, and turned to speak to the attendant when he appeared at her window.

Nicholas reached into the backseat for his coat. But although nature called, he waited before opening the door, studying her.
Ash.
Strangely, it didn't feel odd to think of her that way. Though she looked exactly like a tattooed version of Rachel, Ash acted nothing like her—and aside from those few gestures that had thrown him when he'd first seen her, Nicholas hadn't experienced a single moment of confusion between the demon and the woman. Did the tattoos make such a difference? Or was it the whole package?

He waited until the attendant moved off. “What about the symbols? What do they say?”

“What symbols?”

“Your tattoos.”

“I don't know.” Almost absently, she lifted her hand to rub her chest. The largest glyph had marked her there, he remembered. An intricate design between perfect breasts. “Should I be able to read them? Because I can't.”

He didn't know. And they likely wouldn't have a chance to ask another demon. “A few Guardians can. If we don't discover any information in Duluth, we'll e-mail pictures of the symbols to Rosalia and ask what they mean.”

“Oh.” That faint hope brightened her face again. “That would be very helpful. Thank you.”

Shit.
With a sharp nod, he shoved against the door, escaping the SUV's warmth and plunging into the icy air. So polite again. He wished she'd stop doing that.

Or better yet—
he
needed to stop giving her reasons to be grateful.

The omelets
were
good, and pulling off the highway a few hours later gave Nicholas a chance to stretch his legs, gave him some breathing space. The demon must not have agreed about the food, however, or
like
and
dislike
didn't matter. After only a few bites, she'd set down her fork, scraped her chair back, and stood.

“The taste isn't familiar.”

She'd stalked away from the table after that announcement, leaving Nicholas to finish his meal alone. Since he was accustomed to eating by himself, her sudden absence suited him. So did knowing that her politeness had gone out the door.

She had, too. From his seat by the window, Nicholas watched her trudge through the foot of snow that hadn't yet been plowed from the edge of the parking lot. Hood up, hands in pockets, she did an excellent job of acting just like a human bracing herself against the cold. She reached their SUV, then must have remembered that Nicholas had the key fob.

Even from this distance, he could have unlocked it for her by remote. He signaled the waitress for another coffee, instead, and waited to see what the demon would do.

He wasn't surprised when she simply leaned back against the driver's side door, and began watching everyone else. She'd done that on the plane, he remembered. In this diner, too, before they'd been served—and she'd managed to unsettle half the people eating here. Some of that effect came from the tattoos; the reaction to the symbols had been visible as they'd come in. Many of the diners turned to look, and others flinched or recoiled. He'd heard more than one mutter about “ruining such a pretty face.”

But most of that uneasiness stemmed from the unwavering, unreadable stare leveled at the person she observed, and that she didn't glance away when they caught her looking. A few had tried to stare her down in return. Not one of them had succeeded.

If Nicholas hadn't already been convinced that Ash wasn't Rachel, the way the demon unsettled everyone would have persuaded him. Rachel had been friendly, outgoing, and eager to strike up a conversation with any stranger just to learn about them. Ash didn't speak to or approach anyone. Rachel had killer instincts when she invested, but she'd been a negotiator at heart—always trying to find common ground. She began by putting the person at ease. Ash didn't bother. Rachel pointed out injustices and tried to fix them. She'd have made everyone who'd recoiled from Ash's tattoos aware of their reaction . . . and she'd have done it gently. Ash didn't seem to notice, though she must have sensed those same reactions. Apparently, however, she just didn't care that they'd judged her.

Yet still, she watched them all—and Nicholas didn't think she stared anyone down for the same reasons he might have. As a tool of intimidation, it had been a useful technique in his business negotiations. After an opponent backed down once, even over something as trivial as eye contact, that person would begin to concede in other ways, too.

He didn't think Ash looked for concession. He didn't think she stared to win. She simply watched.

Searching for something familiar? Perhaps. Her lack of emotional response made it difficult to guess exactly what she wanted to gain when she observed someone.

Shit.
Difficult to guess? Not at all. She was a
demon
. And he needed to remind himself that she was probably just looking for their weaknesses.

Fucking stupid, that he needed to remind himself at all. By now, that knowledge should be ingrained.

Maybe Cooper had found something to drive that knowledge home. It was night in England; his investigator should have been able to speak with the nurses and sent his long report by now. How to check his e-mail, yet throw the Guardians off the scent if they were looking for him?

His gaze fell on a sullen-looking teenager in a nearby booth, slouching in his seat and holding a phone between his hands—scrolling through an online social site. Beside him, a harriedlooking woman pored over a map, her finger tracing a southbound route.

Too easy.

 

He paid the kid fifty dollars for five minutes and the chance to check his e-mail, then quietly covered their lunch bill when he was through.

The demon had been telling the truth. At least, she'd been telling the truth about Nightingale House. The nurses had confirmed that a strange blond woman had lived at the hospital for almost three years—first under the name
Mary
, because she hadn't talked at all, then using the name
Ash
when she'd begun coming round.

Cooper reported that she'd creeped the nurses out, had been the reason they'd both left Nightingale House. Even though Nicholas didn't get the same impression, that sounded right for a demon—ruining lives, jobs. What
didn't
sound right was the patient's complete lack of emotion and empathy, which both nurses spoke about at length. Demons faked that shit.

Why hadn't Ash?

He finished his coffee, left money on the table. Outside, the sky had cleared. The bright sun glared over the snow. Ash watched
him
now, he saw. From within the shadows of her hood, her gaze had fixed on his. He wouldn't look away first.

She didn't call out to him as he crossed the parking lot. Madelyn would have, smiling and cheerful—and loud enough to make certain she was heard.
Nicky! There you are, love. I thought you'd become lost on the way to the loo!
Anything to make a boy blush and squirm, especially if they'd had an audience. Alone, she'd still have been cheerful.
So you've finally finished eating, have you? Oh, that's all right, love. Mummy didn't mind waiting. I don't have anything more important to do, such as running your father's business, do I? You obviously know that nothing can be as important as your little stomach, Nicky, because you certainly took your time, ha ha!

God. That had just been the beginning of it, and she hadn't always been so cheery. As it was, fifteen years had passed before he'd exorcised the sound of her laugh echoing in his mind—a far longer time than he'd actually lived with her. Emotionally and mentally, Nicholas supposed he was still well and truly fucked up. Exorcising her from the face of the Earth wouldn't change that.

He'd sure as hell feel better after she'd been slain, though. And if this demon—Ash—screwed up any opportunity to destroy Madelyn, he'd take her down, too.

Though he let
that
determination shine through his emotional shields like a beacon, Ash didn't look away from him. She didn't even blink. Christ. Didn't a demon's eyes get dry?

Apparently not. She held his gaze until he was practically on top of her, and when she did glance away, he didn't think it had a thing to do with intimidation, with winning or losing. She simply decided to observe someone else.

He didn't look around to see who. And though he'd intended to drive the remainder of the distance to Duluth, he couldn't tolerate the thought of her watching him all that way—maybe learning too much about him. Better that she focused on the road. Taking her hand, he pressed the keys into her palm.

Her fingers twitched, her gaze snapping back to meet his. Startled? So was Nicholas. But she didn't pull away, and he didn't let go. He
should
have let go—and a demon's touch should have been repulsive, but the warmth of her skin seemed to soak into his. He held on, letting the heat sink into him. Enjoying the feel of it.

Until her eyes began to glow.
Jesus.
He dropped her hand, pulled away. The cold air must have left him more chilled than he'd realized if the heat of a demon's skin felt that good. Time to invest in a pair of gloves.

“Your eyes,” he warned her, and within a blink they were blue again. Shaking his head, he started around the vehicle to the passenger side. At this rate, she'd have the Guardians on them by nightfall. Or with Rachel's face, a few humans.