Demon Marked

and novices, warriors and scholars. Less than a hundred Guardians remained now, and they didn’t pass their time here. There were simply too many demons and too much to do on Earth.
    A few were passing through, however, visiting the archives or taking a short rest between assignments. Taylor could hear their heartbeats and voices, and at times, it seemed as if she felt their footsteps vibrating through the marble streets and courtyards. She hadn’t yet decided whether she truly felt those vibrations, or if it was another echo from Michael: his connection to the realm, channeled to her.
    She doubted that her singing would reshape the arches and spires as Michael’s singing did, however.
    Across the courtyard facing Michael’s temple, Rosalia emerged from beneath one of those arches, which doubled as a Gate between Caelum and the human realm. Used by the Guardians who didn’t possess a teleportation Gift—which was most of them—each Gate led to a different location; Rosalia was coming in from France.
    Dark-haired, stunningly beautiful, and so nice that it was impossible to hate her for it, Rosalia smiled when she spotted Taylor on the steps of Michael’s temple. Her yellow sundress flirted with her knees as she crossed the courtyard, and she looked so sunny and cheerful that it was easy to forget that this woman could manipulate shadows like a weapon, and that behind those warm eyes lay a mind that had formulated a plan that tricked hundreds of demons into destroying each other.
    And her warm eyes also saw too much. Her smile dimmed when she drew in close, and Taylor wondered if the cracks were showing inside her, too.
    “Are you feeling well, Taylor?”
    “Fine.” No need to worry her about Michael or the temple yet. For all of Rosalia’s brilliance, for all that she could manipulate people and form devastatingly successful plans, she knew no more than Taylor about spells or how to free Michael from Hell. “Just one of those days.”
    Rosalia nodded as if accepting that explanation, but Taylor wasn’t certain that the other woman wasn’t on the verge of feeling her forehead for a fever, even though Guardians couldn’t become sick. Rosalia had that way about her.
    But she didn’t pull out a thermometer. She only sighed and said, “I see.”
    She probably did see, and understood that Michael was at the root of it, even if she didn’t know the specifics. Rosalia had witnessed the worst of Taylor’s battle with Michael for control of her own body. Hell, Rosalia had healed from the worst of it, when Taylor, possessed by Michael, had stabbed the other Guardian through the chest.
    Strange how that incident had resulted in a bond of friendship between them. But then, since becoming a Guardian, a whole lot of Taylor’s life had become strange.
    Strange was her new normal.
    Though now that she thought about it, Rosalia being in Caelum wasn’t normal, either. The Guardian didn’t visit the realm very often, and usually only when meeting her friends. Neither Radha nor Mariko was here now, so that meant she’d probably come looking for Taylor. If so, now Rosalia was probably wondering if she’d come at a bad time.
    “Did you need me for anything? It’s not that bad of a day, if you are.”
    Smiling faintly, Rosalia stepped close enough to adjust Taylor’s white shirt collar, then smooth her hands over Taylor’s shoulders. Though she might have punched anyone else, Taylor allowed Rosalia this, too. The poor woman couldn’t stand seeing someone that she cared about looking untidy—and in any case, Rosalia wasn’t really paying attention to what her hands were doing. She’d gotten that look in her eyes that said: A demon would be dying soon .
    “Do you remember Nicholas St. Croix?”
    Taylor frowned. Did she? The name was familiar, but she couldn’t recall a face.
    Rosalia helped her out. “The dungeon in Rome.”
    Ah, yes. No wonder Taylor couldn’t immediately remember. She’d spent half of her time in the dungeon watching a few hundred demons being slaughtered, and waiting for Michael to take over her body and save the humans stuck in the center of the massacre.
    St. Croix had watched the massacre, too. He’d made being present for it a condition before allowing Rosalia use of the dungeon.
    “Let me see if I remember,” Taylor said. “Caucasian. Sixtwo, one-seventy, black-brown hair, and blue eyes that remind me of ice chips from the frozen field in Hell. A handsome devil of the GQ