Demon Angel

the vest buttoned snug over her flat belly and breasts, the fall of her pants doing little to hide the strong, lithe form beneath.
    It would be more suspicious not to look, he decided, and searched her features for a hint of her emotional state. He did not have to look very long: a thin red line ringed her pupils, as if she barely held back their crimson glow.
    She was angry.
    That was… unusual.
    "Detectives," he said, and gestured toward the students still remaining in the room, talking to one another or gathering their books. "Shall we take this to my office?"
    Preston nodded. Hugh brushed past him without pausing to see that they followed. Outside the room, the two officers who'd been shadowing him all day long were gone. Sent home? Was he no longer under surveillance because he was no longer a suspect, or was it a temporary reprieve?
    His lips twitched. Of course, the other option might be that the detectives were here to arrest him. But, as they hadn't immediately done so, he did not think that the case.
    Michael had said Lucifer would come at him though the system, using mankind's justice against him. Was Lilith the face of that? If so, strange that she was angry. If the detectives had followed her plan to entrap him for these murders, she should be ecstatic, gloating.
    Remembering how her hellhound had watched over him that morning, he shook his head. He couldn't make sense of it, and the short walk from the classroom to his small office was not long enough to determine Lilith's role.
    Relieved to see that Sue wasn't in the room, he laid his pack on his desk and leaned against the front. He didn't want to sit behind it; too easy to seem as if he was hiding behind its bulk. They were here on the offense, and he had no intention of giving them an advantage, even if it was only of position. The room was not large, and four standing adults did not fit comfortably. The detectives made no move to sit in the chairs, or to shake his hand in greeting. Their gaze quickly moved around, as if to determine if he'd changed anything from their last visit, if he'd hidden anything.
    Standing behind them, Lilith did not look away from him, and he held her gaze.
    As if noticing his attention, Preston said, "This is Agent Milton, of the San Francisco FBI. She's agreed to assist us on this case."
    Milton? Hugh quirked a brow, but his voice was flat as he said, "I'd like to see your identification, Agent Milton."
    Taylor and Preston looked surprised and offended, respectively, but Lilith's expression never changed. She approached him, flipping a wallet from the inside of her jacket, and held it open.
    "Closer, please," he said pleasantly. "I'm not wearing my spectacles."
    Her mouth tightened, but with annoyance or laughter he could not determine. Reluctantly, he dropped his gaze from her face to the ID. "Lily," he murmured. He raised his eyes to hers again. "I like it very much."
    He said the words like a caress, so softly Taylor and Preston couldn't have heard him. Lilith did. Her lips parted slightly, and the red faded from her eyes. Heat replaced it, was quickly banked.
    She snapped the wallet closed. "Satisfied, Dr. Castleford?"
    Hooking his thumbs in his pockets, he smiled. "Not yet." Her breath hitched, but he allowed his gaze to slide past her toward the detectives, pleased for the moment that he'd disconcerted her. His voice hardened. "But I will be when you discover who killed Ian."
    "So will we, Dr. Castleford." Taylor's tone echoed his. "I hope you don't mind if we ask you a few more questions."
    Hugh nodded. "I didn't think you were here for the poetry." Lilith backed away. She sat down at Sue's desk as if to participate only as an observer. He could feel her studying him, and though he did not look directly at her, he could sense the slight shift in her posture, in her mood when Taylor gestured to a manila envelope Preston carried.
    "You studied literature, Dr. Castleford. Do you know of a John Polidori?"
    Hugh fought the urge to look at Lilith for her response. "Of course. He wrote The Vampyre —a story that originated from a challenge Lord Byron gave to a group on holiday on Lake Geneva in 1816. Mary Shelley conceived and wrote Frankenstein that same summer. Both are considered classic gothic tales; The Vampyre , in particular, was a strong influence on Stoker's Dracula . Nineteenth-century lit isn't my area of expertise, however. If you need information relating to Polidori, Byron, or the Shelleys you'd be better