Demon Angel

and she frantically tried to move—and could not.
    His face transformed. Huge, terrible. Ice slipped through her, and the markings on her chest began to burn. Closing her eyes, she clenched her teeth and refused to scream, though it felt as if he tore her to shreds.
    "Do you like your surprise?" he asked, laughing.
    She looked up, though she could barely focus through the haze of pain. "I've had better."
    And was grateful for the silence that followed.
----

CHAPTER 25
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    Hugh held his hand to his side as he shuffled across the hospital room, ignoring the tandem sighs of frustration from the detectives, just as he'd ignored the countless questions they'd asked since he'd woken.
    Almost forty-eight hours since he'd last seen Lilith, and he had not yet heard from her. Those who might have known where she was, what might have happened to her, were equally silent: Michael, Selah, Colin—he'd have welcomed a visit from Beelzebub if it brought him news of her.
    Thoughts of the demon made him close his eyes against a wave of doubt. He'd called the demon a liar when he'd said Lilith had procured another human for them, but had it simply been Hugh's arrogance that had blinded him to the truth? Sue had been killed, and Lilith had seen her alive the same afternoon. She'd been preparing herself, as if for a ritual—had he believed her explanation because he was accustomed to catching lies?
    If they had threatened her with Punishment or death, would she lie to him, help with the ritual—and he'd been too desperate to believe her to see the truth?
    He couldn't believe it… didn't want to believe it. But he couldn't force away the doubt.
    "I don't think you understand, Castleford," Taylor said as he gathered the clothing Savi had left for him earlier. Every movement ripped at him with angry teeth. "The last thing you should do right now is leave here."
    "You said I was not under arrest. You have no reason to keep me here." His voice was still hoarse—a bruised windpipe. The bandage around his throat and the sutures beneath itched, multiple contusions pulled and ached, but it was his ribs that bothered him most: two cracked, one broken. Each breath burned.
    "Putting you back in that bed would suit me just fine right now," Preston said.
    Taylor laid her hand on Preston's arm, then stood and walked over to Hugh. "Look, Castleford," she said, taking a shirt from him and unfolding it. He hesitated, then accepted her help, sliding his left arm through the sleeve. She moved around to his other side, easing it over his shoulders. "I don't understand what I saw in Miss Murray's house. Frankly, I'm a bit…" She paused, as if searching for the right word. "… freaked out by it."
    "And the idea that the shit you talk about in your book might be true," Preston added.
    "We've just told you we have two eyewitnesses who will testify they saw you dump the bodies of Sanchez and Fletcher in Harding Park. We have a fire at a location that matches a name and address written on a note found during our search of your house, and the owner of that house—whom we know you spoke with only hours before the fire—is missing. We have a missing FBI agent, with your torn clothing, traces of your blood and semen, and your fingerprints at her apartment."
    "Along with almost half a million dollars in stolen books and an arsenal of stolen weaponry."
    Taylor flicked a glance at Preston. "Our case against you seems solid—except that we were talking to you when you allegedly made the dump in the park. Except for reports of howling from several of Beaumont's neighbors, and another eyewitness in the area who told the police they saw someone matching the description of a nosferatu exit the house after the fire started, accompanied by a man she later identified as FBI Agent Smith—who, two hours ago, took over our jurisdiction in the investigation of the three murders, Milton's disappearance, Beaumont's disappearance, and the fire. The three bodies have disappeared from the morgue, and though we are being told by the Bureau that they've taken possession of them, we have no records of transfer, nor any evidence that they've been picked up through official channels. We don't like what we're seeing, Castleford; and now his office is denying our requests to share information. It reeks of a cover-up, or a setup. And the few things my partner and I have to go on are an unbelievable story from me, and a letter whose authenticity is questionable, at