Demon Night

didn’t find another exit. Easier to just use a sword. More merciful, too.
    But a demon wouldn’t care for that, and he certainly hadn’t been merciful with this one. Ethan wouldn’t have felt the least compunction against slaying her, but he’d never have considered something like this. Her neck had been opened down to her spine—but a vampire healed quick. Not as fast as a Guardian or demon, but enough to keep from bleeding out, even if an artery was severed. The demon must have kept slicing it open—taking a good five minutes to finish it.
    And he’d held her upside down, like an animal hung for slaughter. Bloody handprints circled her ankle. The back of her opposite boot had a bit of splatter, too, and her nails some flesh—Ethan reckoned she might have gotten a few good kicks in, but the blunt heels wouldn’t have done much damage and the demon would have barely felt the scratches.
    The rest of her blood was in a dark pool beneath her.
    It just didn’t make any kind of sense. A public place like this—she wouldn’t have been able to scream, but the demon had been taking an awful risk that someone might happen on them. And if torture had been on his mind, he’d have been better served carrying her to a different location and taking his time doing it.
    Unless he knew Ethan would be returning, and wanted the Guardian to find her this way.
    He could examine the body later, but it was best to record the scene. Michael or Lilith might recognize something about the demon—like serial killers, they often repeated their patterns.
    He snapped pictures, shaking his right hand out before repositioning the camera each time. His arm was going stiff—the bullet was working itself out, passing through a muscle that was tightening him up.
    Ethan was crouching for a shot of the spatter on the wall when the female’s body and blood disappeared from in front of him.
    Hell and damnation. He replaced the camera with his crossbow and palmed his sword in his left hand. Stepped back from the wall.
    He felt the demon an instant before it spoke.
    “I’m oddly impressed, Guardian. I thought Michael had whipped the killer out of all of you.”
    It perched on the edge of the roof, looking into the alley. Except for the membranous black wings that stretched behind him, he was in human form: a pretty-boy face, black hair and eyes—and wearing a fancy suit that Ethan reckoned had been bought for a hefty penny, instead of being made by the demon.
    Ethan couldn’t say he was all that surprised. “Samuels.”
    The demon’s eyes narrowed slightly. The psychic probe it sent toward Ethan was slick and powerful, but easily blocked.
    And it was nothing like the scaly psychic presence he’d felt earlier. Now that was unexpected, but Ethan didn’t let it show, just backed up another step to give himself a better angle with the crossbow. The bolt’s wooden shaft had been soaked in hellhound venom; even a small dose would paralyze a demon, and in trace quantities, it slowed them down right quick, made them easier to slay. The bolt was coated with more venom than a bullet would be—and with his arm gimped up, Ethan would need every advantage he could get.
    The demon’s lips curled into a smile. His teeth were human, too. “I prefer Sammael.”
    “I’ll make a note of it. I imagine Miss Jane might like to hear the truth of it, as well.”
    Well, now, that was interesting: mention of Jane got the demon’s eyes flaring, though his smile just widened. “You’re favoring your right side, Guardian. I wonder if you could even pull that trigger before I take your head.”
    “I reckon you might get a bit closer than normal, but whether I kill you where you are now or up at the end of my nose don’t matter much to me.” He paused as something changed in the demon’s psychic scent—an instant of recognition and anger—and then it was gone. Ethan dug at him again, looking for a repeat of the demon’s break in control. “And then I’ll just fly right on over to Miss Jane’s, maybe dandy myself up to look like you—”
    Sammael dove at him, his sword flashing. The bolt only nicked the demon’s shoulder, ripped through the sleeve of his suit. Bad aim, but Ethan was as proficient with his left hand as his right, and he blocked the demon’s first blow.
    Ethan smelled blood—the bolt had broken the demon’s skin. Then his own blood, as Sammael’s blade darted in and caught his sword arm, slicing into his wrist, through a