Demon Angel

intercepted it. She hoped she wouldn't have to go through him .
    "Sir."
    "Since your return, I've asked that all your correspondence come through me first." He paused, as if expecting her to object. When she said nothing, he continued, "This arrived by courier not ten minutes ago. I don't remember a request for assistance from the Ingleside station, Agent Milton. And I'm certain I would have heard of it, as Captain Jorgenson is a particular friend of mine."
    "I approached them, sir."
    "What did you approach them with, Agent Milton?"
    "Expertise, sir. They have a recent murder in which the ritualistic nature resembled one of my previous cases. I delivered files which I thought might help their investigation, and the detectives asked for my assistance in preparing a profile."
    "This may come as a surprise to you, agent, but We do have standard procedures, particularly when dealing with other agencies. I expect you to follow them."
    "Are you forbidding me from assisting the SFPD on this case?" Lilith asked, her voice cooling to match his. "Sir."
    "No." With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the package onto her desk. It landed with a solid thump. "But as you represent this agency, I do expect you to act with a measure of decorum."
    Her eyes widened. "When have I not, sir?"
    A muscle in his cheek flexed. "I hear one thing about you ruffling feathers, and I pull you. One misstep, one bit of questionable evidence, and I pull you."
    She barely held her wince in check. Hopefully, Taylor wouldn't complain about her earlier conduct. "Yes, sir," she said meekly.
    If he was suspicious at her sudden compliance, he gave no indication of it. With a final, hard stare, he turned and left.
    The rookie had his nose practically pressed to his desk, determinedly looking as if he hadn't heard or seen a thing. She waited until he glanced up, gave him a conspiratorial wink. "I slept with his girlfriend. He didn't take it very well."
    He blushed to the roots of his prematurely-receding hair. Sweet boy. Hugh used to blush as easily. With a grin, she swiveled her chair around and ripped open the envelope.
    She'd only read through half of the reports when the thick reek of nosferatu penetrated the air. Several nosferatu. Her psychic shield snapped up, but she rose to her feet unhurriedly, and .looked over the tops of the cubes. Any nosferatu would be tall enough to be visible, but no bloodsuckers were in sight.
    Uncertain if she'd be back to collect the reports, she vanished them into her cache. There were weapons there, too, swords and guns; she let her mental touch linger over each one in turn, but she fought the urge to arm herself. She could do so quickly enough, if she had to.
    Though instinct demanded she protect her back, she walked boldly through the office, following the scent trail to the primary conference room. She picked up the physical odor of nosferatu there—along with a demon's, just as recent: SAC Smith.
    Beelzebub.
    She wavered, disinclined to face the other demon, but she needed to know if he was with the nosferatu.
    Out, past the front desk, and they stood in the hallway near the elevators. Four nosferatu, hulking in black suits, bowler hats covering their pointed ears and bald heads. Smith glanced at her with a smile that seemed to fill her blood with ice crystals— even in his tall, bulky human form, he stood inches shorter than the nosferatu. And another human, whose scent was disturbingly familiar, almost like—
    Her heart thudded sickly, as if unwilling to accept what she was seeing, feeling; her expression remained impassive, disinterested.
    He smelled like a combination of Ian Rafferty and nosferatu.
    And he was in the shape of a man.
    "Lilith," Smith said. Like Congressman Stafford, he'd adopted a handsome blond visage; unlike Thomas, there was nothing friendly or open in his features, and his body was ridiculously muscle-bound, as if he couldn't bear the thought of being perceived as weak. "Let me introduce you to our guests."
    The elevator dinged, opened. No one moved. The nosferatu stared at her with hooded, expressionless eyes, but she felt the malevolence that emanated from them. The thick carpet muffled the sound of her steps, and she fought to control the racing of her pulse that would give her away.
    No fear, she told herself. But it was difficult, given the combined power before her, and the implication of the man-nosferatu.
    She drew to a halt a respectable, but not cowardly, distance from the group.