Demon Forged

this way. Perhaps that was reason enough.
    The steel glowed orange when she removed it from the furnace, radiating heat that she could feel through her leather apron and gloves. His blades had always been long and thin, but now she made them longer, heavier.
    Sparks flew as her hammer struck the blade. Her Guardian strength was no help here; if she used any more than a human’s, the sword would be ruined.
    Olek had learned that quickly. He’d had a delicate artist’s touch when he worked with metal. Just firm enough. And so it hadn’t surprised her that his mouth had been just as—
    That hadn’t been Olek.
    Her hand slipped. The hammer struck on the edge of its face. Too hard. Much too hard.
    Steam boiled up as she plunged the sword into a vat of water, but the damage was done. The blade was a hair’s-breadth thick where she’d smashed it flat. A touch would shatter it.
    She could repair the blade with her Gift. She wouldn’t. This sword was ruined. Perhaps she would reuse the metal, but it would never be a worthy weapon.
    Irena tossed the sword onto the pile of damaged weapons heaped near the wall—and frowned as another sound intruded over the clatter. She tilted her head, listened. Someone outside the forge sang her name. A psychic probe met with nothing. She called in her knives.
    Outside, swirling white snow filled the air. Khavi knelt in a drift, brushing the fine powder from side to side. She looked up, her black eyelashes dusted with flakes.
    Her gaze rested on Irena’s weapons. “I do not need foresight to know that jumping into your forge, unannounced, would not end well.”
    “For you.”
    “For either of us.” Khavi stood, held out her hand. “You will come with me.”
    “Where?”
    Exasperation crossed her face. “You will come with me. I have seen it. Do not make me explain. There isn’t enough time.”
    “Until what?”
    The image that exploded past Irena’s shields stayed a brief second, but she saw enough: Alejandro with blood on his hands, crouching beside a still body. A woman with pale hair kneeled next to him, her white shirt soaked with crimson.
    “He is already there,” Khavi said. “And so is a demon. He will need help.”
    Irena extended her hand. This time, Khavi’s foresight had tested true. Irena did go with her.

    Khavi teleported her next to a brick wall. The grigori immediately disappeared again, while Irena fought the spinning effect of teleporting.
    The wall belonged to a building. The distant noise and psyches were human. Their English sounded American. Straightening, Irena vanished her knives and traded her apron for her rabbit fur mantle.
    She quickly found Alejandro at the edge of the crowd. The protesters were mostly young, she thought, but with a good mix of middle-aged and older humans. Some were holding signs. Others stood, blowing into their cupped hands to warm their fingers.
    Alejandro didn’t look at her when she stepped up next to him, but kept his gaze fixed on the speaker, a tall, handsome man with blond hair sprinkled by gray.
    Irena’s lip curled. Rael—the demon who supported SI. He spoke into a microphone about rights and love and marriage. What would a demon know or care of them? Yet the psyches of the humans around her said they cared very much. Rael deceived them with every word.
    “What game does Khavi play?” Irena asked. Alejandro understood these sorts of games better than she did.
    “I don’t know.” He paused briefly as shouts and applause broke over the crowd. “Did she tell you who we need to protect?”
    Protect? Anger ripped through her. They were to protect a human, and Khavi hadn’t told them who?
    Irena scanned the crowd. “She showed me a woman. Pale blond hair.”
    She projected the image—not tight enough. Though Rael’s mind was blocked and he probably hadn’t seen the image, he’d felt her. His speech faltered.
    He met her eyes, smiled, and continued.
    Would it be such a terrible thing if this crowd of humans witnessed her ripping his heart out?
    “Did she show you whose blood it was?”
    Irena shook her head. There were many women here, but none were familiar, none but—
    She met a pair of cool blue eyes. The flat expression in them wasn’t dislike, but there was nothing warm in them, either. A human, who shielded her mind as well as a Guardian did.
    “Detective Taylor is here,” Irena said. She hadn’t seen the woman since the night Lucifer had lost his wager with Michael, when Taylor and her