Demon Forged

silent.
    Taylor took a deep breath. “Sorry, that turned into a rant. I have, to quote Jorgenson, ‘anger management issues.’ ”
    Irena shrugged. “So do I.”
    A smile brightened Taylor’s face, and when it faded the detective looked less tired than she had. “But it’s not Julia Stafford that gets to me. Or the money. It’s that fucking demon.”
    Irena liked this woman.
    “All of you, actually.” Taylor met her eyes without apology. “No offense. Not you . The idea of you.”
    A police officer, bothered by the idea of anyone with different rules and who worked outside the law. Yes, Irena understood that. But that wasn’t all that bothered Taylor, Irena thought. Through her Gift, she’d sensed the small silver cross that lay hidden beneath Taylor’s collar. The detective was likely going through the same struggle that thousands of Guardians had in the years after their transformation, when everything they’d believed as humans didn’t seem to fit what they’d learned in Caelum.
    Irena had never experienced that particular struggle herself, but she’d been on the listening end of it hundreds of times. “I do not offend so easily,” she said.
    The detective didn’t reply, but went back to her thoughts. A road unwound before them. The bay glittered under the sun, but a fog bank was rolling in from the west.
    “What are we looking for with Wren?” Taylor asked abruptly. “The feds have already questioned her.”
    “We need to find out if she knows what Rael is.” If Wren did, then the questions Taylor asked could be different.
    Taylor shook her head. “We can’t go in, asking if she knows she’s working for a demon. Even if we told her she was, even if you flashed your wings, she probably wouldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t.”
    Humans rarely did anymore. Centuries ago, convincing humans not to believe their eyes had been more difficult.
    “It is simple, then.” Irena tilted her face into the air again. “We will find out if she believes what she sees.”

    Clumps of shrubbery squatted between needled trees and provided a screen between Rael’s house and the street. A black iron gate guarded the drive. A private security guard checked their identification before waving them through. The house exterior had been constructed with peach stone; block columns flanked the entrance and came together in a smooth arch beneath a clay-tiled roof.
    The structure had fewer levels than Irena expected, until she realized that the rear of the house sprawled down the side of the hill. It likely had a balcony, she thought—or several. At night, Rael could leave by air without anyone being aware that he’d gone.
    Margaret Wren opened the door at Taylor’s knock.
    Irena was instantly certain that this woman had killed before. But she wasn’t convinced that Wren knew about demons; Wren’s emotions were still easy to read. After learning about psychic abilities, most humans slowly developed shields; their desire to guard their thoughts became a reality. Chances were, this woman had no idea—
    No. Irena forced herself to slow down. She wouldn’t decide right away. Quick judgments had no place here. It was possible that Wren knew about Rael, and yet he’d never told her about his psychic abilities—she wouldn’t know that she needed shields to conceal her emotions.
    As Taylor introduced herself and Irena, those emotions were layered with irritation, anger, and grief. Wren’s expression remained flat. Her eyes quickly measured them both, then settled on Irena. Suspicion bloomed through her psychic scent, but she let them into the house.
    Bright bouquets in baskets and vases filled the entry with a suffocating array of perfumed foliage. Irena stopped breathing; she wouldn’t be talking, anyway. She mulled over Wren’s suspicion, instead. Did the woman suspect that Irena wasn’t human? Taylor had mentioned Special Investigations—did Wren know who was employed there?
    With long strides, Wren led them across a red-tiled floor to a large, open living area. Sofas and chairs the color of sand sat in the middle of the room. Irena walked to the enormous windows looking out over the water, then circled around to the fireplace. On the mantel, more flowers crowded a wedding picture of Rael and his wife. They both looked happy, their faces bright, eyes shining with love.
    Taylor offered condolences, which Wren heard without a change of expression. Her eyes did not miss anything. Irena did not move without