Demon Forged

spilled over to the conference table visible through a glass wall. The office had been decorated in blues and creams, the furniture and paintings both understated and expensive. Stafford walked a fine line. Unless he was different from every other demon, he preferred luxury, money, and power. But as a public servant, he couldn’t flaunt them without drawing the wrong kind of attention from his political opponents and risking his career.
    Did hiding anger the demon? Or was concealing his nature just part of the game?
    Though her eyes and nose were red from weeping, the receptionist greeted them with quiet dignity. Lynne Simmons was human—as was the entire staff, Alejandro discovered after a careful sweep of the office. Sounds of grief came from deeper within the office, and a great heaviness had settled over their psyches. Either Julia Stafford had been well liked—or Stafford was, and they grieved in sympathy.
    Their sympathy would mean nothing to Rael.
    Alejandro suppressed his anger. The demon didn’t deserve this. Perhaps Rael had earned it, through careful planning and advancement, by treating his staff well—but he did not deserve to be serving them. This position required putting the interests of his people foremost. Rael would only serve himself. His voting record wouldn’t reflect his beliefs, and Alejandro didn’t doubt that no matter where Rael lived, the demon would adopt the values of the majority for the sake of political expedience.
    Alejandro let Preston take the lead and introduce them. The receptionist’s eyes welled up at the mention of Julia Stafford, though her confusion was evident.
    “The FBI just left. They interviewed all of us.”
    “We’re just following up, Mrs. Simmons. Did you know Mrs. Stafford well?”
    And did she know what Rael was? Alejandro had difficultly imagining that anyone who willingly worked for a demon would grieve as genuinely as she did.
    “Yes. No. We weren’t friends. But she was friendly.” She waved with her tissue. “She always asked how my daughters are doing.”
    Faint praise, Alejandro thought. As if Mrs. Simmons had to dig for something kind to say about the deceased.
    Preston picked out a round mint from the crystal bowl on the receptionist’s desk and began untwisting the plastic ends. “How long have you worked for the congressman?”
    “Four years now.”
    “How would you judge the relationship between the congressman and his wife?”
    “Oh, very good.” With this response, the receptionist seemed to find firmer ground. “I never heard a cross or impatient word from either of them. And Congressman Stafford, he would always make certain he never forgot any date—her birthday, their anniversary. He would often tell me of tickets he’d gotten for a ballet or show that she’d wanted to see, or a trip that he’d planned for them.” She paused. “He didn’t buy the presents himself, of course. But he always told his personal assistant exactly what to get.”
    Alejandro nodded. That sounded like a demon. If he was generous, he’d make certain that everyone knew it. “Is his assistant in?”
    “Yes. Yes, of course.” She glanced at the switchboard, brightly lit. “He’s on a call. I’ll slip him a note to tell him you’re here.”
    “Thank you.” As soon as she stood and was out of hearing range, Alejandro turned to Preston. “I’ll return shortly. If I take longer than Mrs. Simmons does, I ask that you make an excuse for me.”
    “Are you doing anything I should know about?”
    “Not if you value the fourth amendment to the Constitution.”
    “Considering it’s a demon, I’ll pretend I don’t.” Preston popped the mint into his mouth. “And if I happen to turn around, I can honestly say I didn’t see anything.”
    He wouldn’t have seen it anyway. Less than a second after the detective looked away, Alejandro slipped through Stafford’s office doors. He took in the surroundings in an instant: the thick green carpet, the national and state flags against the wall, the leather sofa, the stately mahogany desk in front of the large windows. The desk held a computer monitor. Not a laptop, but Rael might carry one with him.
    Alejandro would make do with what he had. Within moments, he’d disassembled the casing of the desktop computer and installed a transmitter. Every file that Rael looked at, every e-mail he sent would be collected and analyzed. The phone line was next. Savi already tracked the calls to and from