Demon Forged

dark braids, the stunning face. “It is Khavi.”
    “Prophecy Girl?”
    “Yes.”
    Taylor didn’t hide her irritation. She dropped into the driver’s seat and slammed her door. “You’ve broken into police property. I should haul your ass to the station.”
    “I broke nothing. I teleported.”
    “Then teleport out.” Taylor backed out of the parking spot.
    “And fasten your seat belt, or I’ll cite you just for the fun of it.” She frowned at Irena. “You, too.”
    Strapped to a seat, facing forward with Khavi behind her? No. Irena continued sitting sideways, watching the grigori. By the time they were driving along the street, Taylor’s irritation had turned to anger.
    So did Irena’s. “What do you want, demon spawn?”
    Khavi’s gaze remained fixed on the back of the detective’s head. “Will you not ask me about Jason? I have seen futures in which you ask.”
    Taylor’s face paled. “Then I’m going to change that.”
    Khavi’s Gift rushed out in a powerful wave. “And so you have. But even if you never ask, the answer is the same: He will never wake up.”
    Taylor slammed the brakes. Irena flew forward, cracking her head against the window. Through the stars exploding behind her eyes, she saw Taylor whip around, her gun pointed at Khavi’s face.
    “Get out! Get the fuck out now !”
    Khavi vanished.
    Her eyes wet, Taylor faced forward and holstered her weapon. She spared Irena a glance, then looked again. “Jesus.”
    Irena wiped at the blood streaming down her forehead. Until the laceration healed, vanishing the blood from her face and clothes was pointless. “It looks bad. But it is nothing.”
    The detective’s expression hardened. “Screw nothing . I listen to you about Wren, about Rael, all your goddamn centuries of experience. Next time, you fucking listen to mine when I tell you to buckle up.” She started driving. After a minute, her lips twitched. “Are you okay?”
    Irena started to laugh. Yes, she liked some humans very much.

    She hated demons. And as Wren showed them into the same room with its sliding glass doors and windows overlooking the bay, where Rael sat on a sofa with his head on his hands, pretending exhaustion and grief, Irena did not attempt to hide her seething hatred.
    But whatever it was that Khavi had said to upset Taylor, whoever Jason was to her, the detective had wrapped it up and shielded it. If Taylor felt anything when she looked at Rael, Irena could not sense it.
    Irena took her hate, projected it, pushed it—so that even if Taylor slipped, Rael might not notice that beneath Taylor’s questions lay suspicion.
    She wondered what the detective saw when she looked at the demon. Rael was undoubtedly handsome, but his sculptor had not been sparing in his materials. Everything lay in the open. Irena found nothing interesting in the perfection of his face—nothing that forced the personality behind it to fill in the sharp edges and to work. She saw no mystery, only bland beauty.
    But Taylor might see something different. The lack of mystery was a deception worse than any other—it led people to believe they could know him, trust him. And when he looked back at them, he appeared to understand so much about them, about their troubles. He probably did understand, Irena had to admit. His deception was pretending to care.
    One low chair faced Rael’s sofa and sat with its back to the bay window. After Rael dismissed Wren, Irena called in a sword. She sank into the chair, set the point of the blade between her feet, her elbows on her knees, her hands fisted around the grip.
    The rounded pommel was embedded with jewels and glass and a small camera, and the effect was far more decorative than she liked. She’d rather rip him apart with her teeth than use a sword this ugly and unbalanced. Rael wouldn’t know that.
    She sneered and flashed her Gift, beginning the recording.
    Rael frowned up at Taylor, who stood beside Irena’s chair. “Are the threats necessary, detective? I will answer your questions.”
    “Yes, you will,” Irena said, forcing his gaze back to her. She bared her teeth. “If you don’t, you stinking pig-fucking demon, I will gut you.”
    Taylor sighed and sat on the arm of Irena’s chair. She rubbed at her forehead, pinching the bridge of her nose as if to ward off a headache—or relieve a current one. Irena could not tell if it was genuine or not.
    “No, congressman, we do not need threats.” She cast Irena a warning glance