Demon Bound

just as well. If he feared retaliation, he might tread carefully.
    Except he looked more pleased with himself than wary. And more himself —at some point during the flight, he’d reverted to his natural form.
    “I guess this means we’re at war now,” he called over the rush of wind.
    Alice held her hand out long enough to sign, How juvenile that would be, novice —then resumed plotting her next attack.
    Guerrilla tactics would be most effective. Unexpected, brutal, and launched from familiar terrain. The Archives, perhaps. Or, considering how many decades of experience she had over him, the practice field or the sky.
    Perhaps he expected that , though. Jake never flew ahead of her, even when she slowed and offered the lead. He allowed her the altitude advantage, and maintained his flanking position at eight o’clock—about forty-five degrees behind and to the left.
    She glanced over her shoulder and frowned. His wingspan was longer than hers.
    He caught her look and made a signal she’d seen thousands of times, while practicing countless hours of flight formation. Automatically, she altered her course, flying straight up.
    It hadn’t been raining, but the clouds piled thick. She broke through and hovered, the gentle wind teasing the hem of her skirt. The whisper-light silk was heavy now, saturated by the vapor and clinging to her legs, but there was no point in vanishing the moisture. She’d have to descend through the clouds, eventually.
    Jake slipped through the surface, the vapor swirling and closing behind him. Mist coated his face, and he wiped it away with a swipe of his hand. He was chewing on his toothpick again.
    “So,” he said, hovering in front of Alice, his wings beating a steady rhythm. “Charlie and Drifter’s trip to Hell.”
    “Here?” The clouds drifted by below their feet. They were high above the lake, and a psychic probe didn’t reveal any demons or Guardians near enough to hear or to see them signing . . . but there were ways to be certain no one could .
    Three of the demonic symbols— silence, surround, lock —scraped near the entrance to a room or building and activated by drops of blood prevented anyone from entering and every type of communication. Even someone watching their hands wouldn’t be able to understand their gestures.
    “I assumed we would use the shielding spell around the house,” Alice said.
    “This’ll work.”
    “Yes, but—”
    “I’m not such of fan of being stuck behind the shield. Not when you can’t hear or sense what’s coming. I’ve learned to avoid it, if I can.”
    Because that was how the demon had tricked Jake before capturing Charlie, Alice realized. Jake hadn’t been able to determine through the shielding spell whether the shape-shifted demon was a human. But his mistake was one many Guardians might have made, no matter their experience—when a demon was in human form and his psychic shields tight, a Guardian and demon could pass on a street, each unaware of the other. And they’d only had knowledge of the shielding spell for less than two years.
    “Then it seems you have only learned to avoid the situation, instead of learning how to prevent the same outcome,” Alice pointed out.
    “Ya think?” His face was suddenly expressionless, his tone flat.
    What in heaven’s name had offended him? Surely he hadn’t interpreted her statement to mean that she thought he was too fearful of being in that situation again.
    A gust of wind buffeted her toward him. She steadied herself, and tried again. “I don’t intend to suggest that you are a coward for avoiding—”
    “This’ll work, Alice.”
    “But I didn’t—” She was on the verge of flitting her hands like a silly goose. Slowly, she brought them in. “Very well then.”
    His gaze slid down her form, paused at her legs. “Unless your spider is getting cold.”
    “Lucy?” The widow was curled up in a watertight pocket sewn into the lining of her skirt, cozy from Alice’s body heat. “No. But thank you for taking her comfort into consideration.”
    His brow creased for an instant. It cleared when he shook his head. “Okay, here’s the thing: you know Michael was teleporting around Hell last spring, searching for the prison that Lucifer had kept the nephilim in, right?”
    “Yes, that is what Selah told me. Also that Michael found it.” And discovered that Lucifer had let all of the nephilim go—over one hundred released to Earth. A frightening number. More than