On the Prowl

sensing of demon dead.
    She stepped out as if from the very shadows, a part of it, startling my men because they hadn’t sensed her, spinning them around.
    She stood far enough away so that I felt her but was not writhing yet in pain. Because I understood now that it was her presence that had caused it, triggering something to life within me, something that wanted to come out, even if it had to claw its way out of me.
    “Do you sense me, young Mixed Blood Queen?” she asked, her beautiful face still and unsmiling, looking unreal, like a golden statue come to life.
    “Yes,” I answered in a quiet voice. “I sense you. How can that be? What have you done to me?”
    She smiled then, a human expression that warmed her still perfection, brought it to life. Then she laughed, that touchable laugh, the one that stroked you like a living, tactile thing. We all shivered, my men and I.
    “I? I have done nothing,” Lucinda said. And though her voice was slow and languid like honeyed syrup, her eyes were hard and observant. “It is from what you have done to yourself.”
    I frowned. “Because I have been with Halcyon?”
    She shook her head, causing her long metallic tresses to dance and shimmer about her face like a flow of hammered gold come suddenly to life.
    “No. You could have taken him into your body a thousand times and it would never have caused you to sense him a fraction more. It is that other thing you have taken into your body—Mona Louisa.”
    My body chilled as her meaning became clear to me. And her words had been deliberate. She had called Mona Louisa a thing. And she had been. A Monère who had drunk demon blood and become a little of both, breaking the demon dead’s greatest taboo…the tasting of their blood. And for good reason. Because drinking that blood had made Mona Louisa strong, demon dead strong. Blaec, the High Lord of Hell, had killed her and slaughtered her entire retinue of guards to keep that demon secret. He’d let me live because he knew I would keep his secret in return for his keeping mine.
    What was my secret? Mona Louisa had been strong enough to kill Gryphon, my first love, by literally ripping the heart out from his chest. She’d killed him, and I’d wanted to kill her in turn, but I had not been strong enough to do so. She’d fought me and was beating me. And in my anger, my despair, my desperation, I’d turned to the source of us all, our Mother Moon, and begged her vengeance, begged her for help.
    Then I had done something I hadn’t known was possible to do. I’d pulled the moonlight out from within Mona Louisa. When we Queens Basked, we pulled down the moon’s rays, and they entered us, resided within us. I’d turned that power that all Queens had and used it upon another Queen: pulled the light out of her and into me. Sucked her power, her essence, her energy into me, drained her dry until she had been nothing but a wrinkled bag of shriveled skin holding together dried bones. Weak, helpless, but still living. I’d beheaded her, but she hadn’t died because she had become more than Monère; she’d become part demon, and demons did not die even when beheaded. I could have chopped her into little pieces and she still would have existed. It had taken Blaec’s touch to kill her. Make her finally cease to be. Only she hadn’t, it seemed. Ceased to entirely be.
    My mouth dried and my heart stuttered. And deep, deep within me, it was as if someone laughed. Screeched with glee. I fell to the ground, feeling weak, feeling horribly frightened. Feeling something move within me like the stretching of wings.
    “The High Lord should have killed you,” Lucinda said in a voice gone quiet, causing a reaction quite opposite from that tranquil sound. Tomas grabbed my hand, staying beside me. But Dontaine moved forward, toward Lucinda. His sword sang free as he pulled it from its sheath. “Leave us, demon,” he demanded.
    She smiled, standing there calm and serene, a head shorter than Dontaine but not at all frightened. “And if I don’t, white knight, will you try and make me?” she purred.
    He didn’t answer her, just came at her, sword drawn.
    “No,” I said, but my voice came out weak and thready instead of the harsh command I had intended. Beside me, moonlight from Tomas’ sword reflected into my eyes. He’d drawn his weapon too, quietly, less flashy. Just there suddenly in his hand.
    “You’ve drawn your blades. I shall have to draw mine,” Lucinda said, the