Demon Forged

on the files stacked by his thigh. “What have you been reading?”
    He felt his chest tighten again. He couldn’t avoid this. “The files from Rael’s office. Legislation, correspondence. For the investigation, and so that I will have the information I need after I take his position.” When she didn’t respond, but stood pulling her fingers through her hair, he began roughly, “Irena—”
    “No.” She straightened and flipped her hair back. “No fighting now. I have had enough for today.”
    Alejandro battled his frustration, then nodded. “Was it a good fight?”
    She took her time answering, poking at the fire and staring into the flames. Finally, she said, “Yes. Yes, it was, though it almost ended badly. It would have, if you hadn’t come with Jake and Alice.” She looked to him. “What brought you here?”
    He would have come anyway, to try to convince her that taking Rael’s place would be right . But they were trying not to fight. “Jake wanted to compare the spikes that he found on Zakril’s skeleton to the spike that had pinned Rosalia.”
    Irena frowned, but didn’t comment on the thousands of years separating the two incidents. Demons often had an individual method of operation—and pounding iron spikes through Guardians and into stone wasn’t common. Zakril and Rosalia were the only two Alejandro knew of who’d been pinned that way.
    “We will have to compare them tomorrow,” she said. Her gaze studied his face. “But that is not why you came.”
    He searched for a reason that had nothing to do with Rael. He stood, calling in one of the swords she had given him in the church. The blade had snapped in half. “I have two swords left,” he said. “I need more.”
    A fierce light came in her eyes. She took the sword from him, examining it. “When did this happen?”
    “Tonight.”
    “In Argentina?”
    “Yes. It was a fine sword,” he said—unnecessarily, by the chiding look in her eyes. Yes, she knew the quality of her work. “But the demon traded his sword for two maces when I did not expect it.”
    A risk for the demon, changing weapons midair—but one that had paid off. Irena’s gaze ran quickly over him, as if looking for any sign that he’d been injured. She turned toward the furnaces, tossing the sword away. It clanked against the other discarded weapons.
    “You are lucky Jake was with you, then.”
    Alejandro followed her to the worktable. “He was not.”
    “Who was your backup?” She formed her apron and arranged her tools on the bench. “Have you begun specialization with a novice?”
    “I went alone.”
    Her fingers froze above a hammer. “Alone against two demons?”
    “I’d already assessed their skill. They weren’t a threat.”
    “Except for when your sword breaks.” She turned on him.
    “Of all the stupid, reckless—”
    “We are not fighting tonight,” he reminded her, barely holding on to his own temper. Did she think him an untrained fool?
    Her jaw clamped so hard, Alejandro was surprised her teeth did not shatter. She turned her back to him, laid a billet of steel on the anvil, and began to hammer.
    The pounding, painful ring stabbed at his ears. Each blow had to be hurting her ears, hurting her arm.
    “No matter how hard you wish, that will not be my head.”
    She glanced over her shoulder. He saw her lips twitch. Her Gift pulsed, and the steel on the anvil became a miniature sculpture of him.
    She tapped her hammer against the head. “I will pound sense into you, until you admit it was reckless. It is one thing if you come across two demons and must fight them. But to go into a fight against two? You cannot guard against a broken sword.”
    He did not point out that his sword had broken, and yet he had still won. He did not point out that a sword could break no matter how many demons surrounded him. She was trying not to fight. So would he.
    He held his tongue and let it go. This would not be settled tonight.
    She turned back to her anvil and vanished the steel figurine. She laid the hammer on the bench. Her hands clenched on the edge of her worktable, the smooth muscles in her arms hardening. The serpents danced in the firelight, vibrant with life.
    When her forearm had been severed, the tattoos decorating the unattached limb had barely resembled snakes. Those crude blue lines had been shaped by an unskilled hand, but these were Irena’s. Her body shifted to create the designs that moved over her skin. He wondered if she knew