Seduced by Shadows (22 page)

“You think right makes it harmless?”

She lifted her chin in challenge. “You felt it too.”

His pupils constricted, lost in a sudden flare of violet, as if she’d struck some terrible blow. “If I die in battle with a demon, the stain on my soul is at least lightened. But if I take you with me . . . I am already damned, but I won’t be twice damned.”

“My life and my soul have nothing to do with yours.” She wanted to stamp her foot, but he was already treating her like a child. “You’d fight with a man, with Zane or Ecco.”

“I hunt alone. I always have.”

“Which doesn’t mean you always have to.”

“Yes, it does.” He stood. The thin flannel made it obvious he wasn’t impassive to her touch, but from his expression, harder yet, she knew he’d never give in.

“Don’t put me aside like you did your fiancée. You
didn’t even give her a chance to accept what you’d become.”

“No one should have to accept.”

“No, you clearly haven’t. After how many years?”

The violet deepened toward black, merging with his pupils as he roused the demon in him. “If there ever was a mated-talyan bond, it died out for a reason.”

From that flat, threatening tone, she thought he was desperate to do some convincing of his own. “What bond?”

“Nothing. It’s only a story in one of Bookie’s old books. There’s no mystical fate holding us together; just blood and demon gore.”

Apparently rejecting her for personal reasons wasn’t enough; he’d had to find something in the demon-ridden employee manual to make it official. “Since you’re kicking me to the curb, I’ll call Liam and make sure that room is available.”

His hands clenched at his sides. “I said I’d take you in the morning.”

“Never mind. Zane will let me in.”

“Zane’s too young to be your partner.” The words seemed torn from him.

She frowned. “I just need his key card to open the door.”

He paced a few steps. “Ecco is the strongest fighter, but he’s reckless. Maybe—”

“I’ll find someone.” Her tone rang harsher than she’d intended, with more nuance than she really meant. She saw it hit home in the way he straightened. If only she took more pleasure in his pain. “What’s the phone number to the hotel?”

He grabbed the phone, punched a button, and tossed it across the bed. She turned away, listening to the ring, so she didn’t have to look at the rumpled covers and he couldn’t see the bleakness she knew was in her eyes.

CHAPTER 13

She’d planned to sneak into the league hotel under cover of darkness, but Zane met her at the door and said Liam had asked for her.

The penthouse suite was quiet—with most of the talyan out demolishing demons, she supposed. A couple of the men nodded to her, but none approached. She remembered how Archer had run his hand down her back, claiming her.

At the time, she’d been too nervous to pay attention. Now she wished she’d smacked him, since he didn’t have the guts to hold on to what he claimed.

Annoyed, she circled the room as she waited for Liam. She paused before a collection of black-and-white giclee prints. The stark abstracts entranced her. Desert landscapes, she thought, or close-ups of the human body leached of context, but somehow they were familiar. . . . With a jolt radiating out along her teshuva’s marking, she recognized the empty, flowing lines of the demon realm.

“Compelling, aren’t they?” Liam stepped up beside her. “Who’d guess a demon-ridden could have an artist’s eye?”

“Slaughter would be easier without a lot of refined sensibilities.”

He was silent a moment, as if contemplating who in particular might’ve led her to that insight. “Archer said you helped take out two ferales tonight.”

Apparently Archer hadn’t explained the odd circumstances. She tucked her hands inside the sleeves of her sweater, warding off the phantom sensation of Archer’s fingers laced in hers. “A distraction, at least.”

“Still, he seems to think you’d be more valuable in some other capacity.”

She lifted one eyebrow. “Like what?”

“No idea. We don’t have any purpose besides offing demons.” He ran a hand over his hair. “Since we found you, our Bookkeeper has been searching our records for any modern precedent for a female talya. I’ve asked him to meet with us.”

“It’s not too late?”

“Despite what Archer says, I have to believe it’s not too late to make a difference. . . . Oh, you meant too late in the evening to meet.” He flashed her a boyish grin. “We’re busy when the horde-tenebrae are, and since the last Veil crossing, they’ve been very busy.”

“Which I’m told has been my fault.”

“Your demon’s fault, which is not quite the same as yours.”

She took a last look at the prints. She should make time to meet a talya who’d found beauty in hell. “I’m glad to talk to your Bookkeeper. I’ve been studying the collections he sent over. Grim stuff.”

“And dull. We’re men of action. And woman.” He inclined his head. “Which is why we bring in Bookkeepers from outside the demon-ridden. Somebody has to keep their hands clean enough to take notes.”

“I suppose you can’t post Bookkeeper job openings at the local coffeehouse.”

“We start the search in seminaries, military colleges, and head shops.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “How open-minded.”

“That’s the point.” He gestured toward the elevator. “I’ve set up a room downstairs to talk.”

The parlor had a warmer ambience than the penthouse, with taupe highlighted in moss green to replace the black-and-white and crimson. The man who waited there was similarly less stark than the talyan, his ruddy coloring and slight build a marked contrast to the powerful and austere warriors.

Liam waved him forward. “Sera, this is Bookie, our Bookkeeper for the last seven years. His father held the post before him.”

Bookie pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “I’m excited to meet a female possessed.” He peered at her, as if she might do something noteworthy right then.

She smiled. “Is Bookie your title, or should I call you by your name?”

He blinked. “Yes, it’s my title. And my name.”

She let it go. Everyone else was possessed; why shouldn’t he be
obsessed
at least? “I’m glad to meet you too. I’m fascinated by your collation of accelerating timelines in cyclical demonic activity. Although I guess by the dates on the paper, your father worked on that report too.”

He straightened. “You read that?”

“Your hypothesis that demonic disturbances are becoming more common certainly calls for investigation.”

Bookie straightened. “I’ve been trying to get reliable figures for contact with malice and ferales, since teshuva-djinn interactions aren’t feasible, but . . .” He slanted a glance at Liam.

The league leader dusted his hands. “Well, you two have a lot to talk about, and I have evil to destroy.”

Bookie muttered as Liam escaped.

Sera raised an eyebrow. “Men of action don’t take kindly to gathering stats?”

Bookie glared after the retreating talya, then shrugged. “It’s not as if I have a peer review journal waiting for the article.”

“Chicago isn’t the only place with demons and talyan. Don’t you share your studies with them?”

“League enclaves with supporting historians exist in many of the world’s bigger cities. Wherever enough people gather, they attract the horde-tenebrae. But the leagues focus more on putting out fires than . . .”

“Than discovering the source of fire?”

He gave her a considering look. “Well, we won’t change their minds anytime soon. One of the downsides of immortality.”

“Stubborn, are they?” Sera tried to tell herself she didn’t care.

“Also arrogant, violent, and borderline suicidal.” He hesitated. “Present company excepted, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure,” she murmured. The way Archer had thrown off her touch as if she were poison, he’d certainly excluded her from his bad ol’ boys’ club.

But Bookie turned away as if embarrassed by his candor. “I’m interested in running some tests, if you’re agreeable. None of the others will sit still long enough.”

She was suddenly wary. “What are the tests exactly?”

The overhead light glinted off his glasses as he tipped his head back. “Nothing that will kill you.”

After the immortality crack, that didn’t exactly reassure her. But she wanted to make a place for herself in this new life. Not that she had a choice anymore. She’d never been content with more of the same. If she could advance this war against evil, what had happened to her might be worth something.

How much
was
a soul worth anyway?

Bookie took her downstairs. He explained how the
league had converted the old hotel to their private retreat. Past generations of talyan, she was informed, had made sound investments during their long, ascetic lives.

In the basement, the lab was a clutter of hardware, steel cabinets and glistening glass pipettes, sheaves of papers and a bottle of red wine.

He saw her roving gaze land. “Would you like a glass?”

“Are the tests going to be that bad?”

“Ironically, considering that intoxication lends itself to many sins, I’ve never seen a talya drunk. The demon-quickened metabolism never falls behind.”

Again, that didn’t exactly answer her question. But when he patted an exam table, she hopped up. He photographed her eyes and showed her the pictures of her enlarged irises. Then he showed her a second set.

“Under ultraviolet,” he said. “Flowers must look beautiful to you when the demon is ascendant, like they do to a butterfly.”

“I haven’t seen any flowers since my possession.” The last flowers she’d seen had been in Archer’s greenhouse. And she’d been otherwise occupied.

She wrenched her wayward thoughts back as Bookie continued. “It’s an endless source of amazement to me, all the ways demonic energy shows itself in our realm, right down to the changed structure of your bodily tissues.”

“There are other changes too,” she murmured.

He cocked his head, then turned away to gather the materials for a blood draw. “Yes. The immortality, the aptitude for violence.”

She’d meant the weary, wary eyes, the hesitation at every touch, the loss of faith in hope itself. But she supposed those didn’t show up in blood work.

“Liam thought you might have some insight into why this demon chose me, a woman, and what that might mean . . . ,” she said, hesitating, then finished, “to the
league, to the war between good and evil. And repentant evil, I guess.”

He didn’t look up from threading a large-bore needle. “I couldn’t really say. I’m little more than a secretary around here. Roll up your sleeve.”

She dragged her sweater back. “Liam values your opinion. And Archer also suggested I talk to you.”

“Archer? He’s one of the few who sends me his demon depletion counts with any regularity, although he’s always stingy on the details.”

“Maybe he’s not the sort to brag.” She managed not to snort since then she’d have to explain herself.

Bookie pressed the needle against her skin. “That’s right, you’ve fought with him. Twice.”

More than that. Of course, Bookie was talking only about demons. She grimaced as he drove the needle in.

“I’ll be glad to share my experiences,” she told him in some desperation. She needed guidance here.

He huffed out an aggrieved sigh. “Then I’ll share my thoughts. Mostly that I don’t have any. No idea why the demon chose you. No idea what you will offer the never-ending battle. If I knew . . . maybe I’d finally make the talyan pay attention.”

In silence, they watched her blood pour into the syringe.

“I want to get a biopsy of muscle tissue too,” he said at last. “Take off your sweater.” She hesitated, but he turned away to stow the syringe, saying, “I’d give you a local anesthetic, but the demon would neutralize it as fast as the alcohol. You’ll just have to tough it out this time.”

This time, right. Because so far possession had been such a cakewalk. She stripped off her sweater, sitting in just Archer’s T-shirt.

Bookie turned back with an even larger needle—and froze, his gaze fixed on her chest.

Somehow, she didn’t think the unflappable historian
acted this way around Ecco’s chest. “Something wrong?” Annoyance flickered through her, and the room wavered toward a black-light tinge.

She fought back the rise of irritation since demonic intervention seemed somewhat extreme. Until Bookie reached out to touch her. She caught his wrist, arresting the stereoscopic possibilities where he touched her, and then she broke his arm.

The possibilities collapsed into one when he finally looked into her eyes. He went limp. “I don’t—”

“Definitely don’t.” She forced herself to release him.

“That stone. I’ve never seen another—” He drew back, rubbing his wrist. “Where did you get it?”

She narrowed her eyes, demon-fueled suspicion warring with her customary yearning for answers. “It came with the teshuva. Why?”

“It’s dangerous. You shouldn’t go waving it around.”

She hadn’t been waving it. “What is it?”

“Desolator numinis.”
He clutched the biopsy needle. “A djinn weapon.”

The stone burned icily against her skin. “Djinn? Why do I have it?”

His gaze shifted away.

“I am not evil,” she said softly.

“Good and evil are such subjective terms.”

She couldn’t help herself. She laughed.

Bookie didn’t. “The league would laugh at me too. Right before they tore you to pieces as a djinn traitor.”

That shut her up. “But I don’t even know what it is.”

“Most talyan don’t.” He scowled as if he resented the need to enlighten her. “It’s in our league records, from long ago, if they’d read. The stone is fluorspar, common in old hydrothermal vents. Lots of occlusions in this sample, more like the material used in fluxes than the refined stuff used in making glass.”