Demon Forged

solid stone. And he was perfect. Not beautiful in the way Savi’s partner was, but more like someone had taken Taylor’s idea of masculine perfection and put it in an untouchable, unfeeling form. Like a cosmic joke—except that she wasn’t important enough to bother playing it on.
    He released her wine. She couldn’t decide whether to stop now or just throw it all back in one gulp. It wasn’t as if the damage hadn’t already been done.
    Enough damage that she told him so. “I’ve had a little too much to drink.”
    “Is that why you offered to share it?”
    His voice made her shiver. Or it was just the cold. “Yes. I sure as hell wouldn’t have asked you here sober.”
    “I know.”
    Of course he did. He could probably see right into her head. She forced her head back into work. “Savi got the information on Wren—some of it. Butlers make a hell of a salary, apparently. And Wren is making transfers. Big ones.” She took another sip. What the hell. “But the CIA stuff? It’s not on any computer. There’s a list of records, but not the records themselves.”
    Michael nodded. “I will get them.”
    “Do I want to know how?”
    “No.” He studied her wine, her cigarette, as if looking for the reason behind them. And he nailed it in one. “Khavi visited you.”
    “That she did.” With a big smile, she pushed her cigarette out, gestured for him to follow her inside the apartment.
    She liked it, mostly. Clean, well-built, nothing fancy. She couldn’t imagine what he thought. She’d seen the paintings of Caelum, including his temple—a huge, Parthenon-like structure of shining marble. A whole freaking temple to himself, with columns and statues, and room enough to fit ten of her apartments inside. Maybe twenty.
    Welcome to my digs, Doyen. Behold the luxury that can be had on a cop’s salary, a widow’s pension, and a brother’s medical bills.
    She didn’t have to open Jason’s bedroom door—it was never closed. The night-light gleamed off the rails of the hospital bed, the equipment beneath, his eyes. They were open; she hated it when they were open. When they were closed, she could still pretend that when they opened, he’d wake up.
    She felt Michael in the doorway beside her. “Can you heal him?”
    “No.”
    Her chest seemed to fold in on itself. She hadn’t even admitted to herself how much she’d hoped his answer would be different.
    “Would you if you could?”
    “Yes.”
    She turned, walked back out to the balcony. She could do tears. Tears were quiet. But if she got louder, she didn’t want her mom to hear, and wake up, and have that burden, too.
    Michael said nothing. He stood quietly beside her, his arms folded over his chest.
    After a few minutes, she wiped her cheeks. “After Savi was transformed last year, I tried to get rid of her. Stopped talking to her, e-mailing her. But she was such a stubborn little . . .” Taylor shook her head. “She shows up at the station. Somehow, she’d found out about Jason, and she tried to heal him with her blood—a transfusion.” She swallowed hard. “My mom doesn’t know.”
    Taylor wouldn’t give her hope, just to take it away. They’d gone through that too many times already. A small change in his status. A noise that would sound like a word.
    And always, it ended up as nothing.
    “Transformation would not work, either. There is too much damage.”
    “We figured that, and didn’t try.” She stared at the brick wall. “It was just a stupid, stupid accident. He was on his bike. Hit a pothole. His helmet didn’t do what it was supposed to do.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    She thought he might mean it. But she didn’t want to look at his face and see stone. “Thank you.” A deep breath seemed to clean her out. “I’ve accepted it, mostly. It’s been eight years.”
    “Khavi did not help.”
    That was the understatement of the year. She lifted her glass to him, finished it off, and said, “So, that’s the painful story of my brother. I hear you’ve got one about your sister. Anaria. What kind of name is that?”
    “It is demon, for sun . There isn’t one in Hell.”
    “Where does the light come from, then?”
    “Pain.”
    Jesus. That sounded like a joke, except she thought he wasn’t kidding. Was he?
    Michael sighed.
    Michael. “Your name isn’t demon.”
    “No. I was named after a friend of my father’s.”
    She stared at him. “An angel?”
    “Archangel. And one of the seraphim. Before the Second Battle,