Demon Forged (28 page)

He closed his eyes, fighting a laugh. Irena spoke in an over-loud voice, and he realized it was possible that she hadn’t talked over a phone before. Like every Guardian, she had been issued one, but she might only use hers to receive messages.

And he told himself that he only felt so unbalanced by her call because it had been unexpected. It wasn’t the hope that went along with the realization that, no matter how stubborn she was, Irena could change. A phone wasn’t a compromise, just an adaptation—yet perhaps she wasn’t impossibly set in her ways.

But now was not the time to wonder if she would—if she
could
—adapt to other circumstances. He concentrated on the question. Mark Brandt.

The young man had been just as helpful as when he’d assisted Alejandro during the weeks he’d pretended to be Mark’s father. But this time, Brandt did not have any useful information.

“Nothing.” Mindful of the others in the elevator car, he said carefully, “And on your end?”

“We do not believe she knew he was—Is anyone there who will overhear me?”

“No.”

“Margaret Wren did not know Rael was a demon. Now we wait for his return. Our appointment is in two hours. We are driving now to speak with one of Julia Stafford’s friends.” He heard Detective Taylor’s voice in the background, and Irena repeated, “And then grab lunch.”

Alejandro glanced at Preston. He’d forgotten about the necessity of food. “We are proceeding as planned and will meet you afterward.”

“Very well. Be safe.”

Be safe. It wasn’t personal; Irena said it to everyone. Still, his voice lowered as he said, “Be safe,” in return.

He’d never been affected by a phone call before. He avoided Preston’s eyes as he pocketed the cell, uncertain he concealed his response.

“No new information,” he told Preston, and left the elevator on the thirteenth floor.

Special Agent Bradshaw, whose voice carried a faint memory of the Deep South, met them at the front desk and said they’d arrived in time to sit in on the debriefing with the agents who were leading the investigation. Bradshaw’s medium build, short black hair, walnut brown eyes and skin, and unremarkable features shouldn’t have made Alejandro immediately wary. Demons chose flashier forms to wear. Yet Alejandro still tensed, uncertain why the agent had tripped his instincts—until the agent moved.

His walk was not flashy either, but like the dark roll of a seal underwater. Though athletic, Bradshaw’s form didn’t reflect the discipline and training that Alejandro associated with humans who moved with such fluidity.

But there was more to it. A niggling familiarity seemed to tug on the back of his mind. Softly, he reached out with his senses, brushed against Bradshaw’s psyche. Human, with light mental shields. Frowning, Alejandro stabbed deeper, piercing Bradshaw’s shields.

Human.

At that psychic level, neither a demon nor Guardian could disguise himself. One of the nephilim could. When in human form, the nephilim matched their psychic scent to the scent of the humans they’d possessed.

Alejandro had difficulty believing, however, that if Bradshaw was a nephil he would have been able to fool Michael, Lilith,
and
Castleford.

Bradshaw led them through a maze of cubicles and into a small room occupied by a table topped with pictures, laptops, papers. Four agents—three men, one woman—sat at the table, two on each side. Though Alejandro preferred not to sit when he was anywhere but his own home, he took the chair Bradshaw offered at the end of the table. Preston settled in next to him, and Bradshaw sat at the opposite end.

Bradshaw picked up a pen, and Alejandro’s vague feeling of recognition solidified into a name:
Luther.
Though Alejandro had taught him how to hold a sword rather than a pen, he would have recognized the shape and tension of the Guardian’s grip anywhere.

What had Luther’s Gift been? Alejandro couldn’t recall, but it must have been a psychic mask, or Alejandro would have identified him before now.

As Bradshaw, he must have to live deeply in his role. Luther hadn’t been completely inactive, however; Alejandro knew of several kills—demon and nosferatu—that had been attributed to Luther in the past several years. Now, Alejandro would wager that each of those could be traced to investigations that the Bureau had been handling.

Did Lilith know what he was? While the agents suggested different political and fundamentalist groups who might have had reason to kill Congressman Stafford—all of which Alejandro and Preston had already discussed—he sent a text message.

A single name that gave nothing away if she didn’t know; if she did, Lilith would realize exactly why he was asking.

Her reply came quickly.
You don’t know that.

Or, Alejandro guessed, he wasn’t
supposed
to know. Rael worked in this building; he probably encountered Bradshaw often. If the demon knew the agent in charge of this office was a Guardian, Bradshaw’s life would be in danger. With his Gift, he could hide—but if another Guardian knew his identity and gave it away, the psychic mask wouldn’t be worth much.

Bradshaw had been with the Bureau more than twenty years, and at the San Francisco office for fourteen. He’d been Lilith’s superior before she’d become SI’s director; she’d worked beneath him for a decade. Had she known Bradshaw was a Guardian during that time?

He glanced down as another message from Lilith came through.

Which told him that she hadn’t known until a Guardian had told her. Castleford, most likely, when they’d gotten together two years ago. Alejandro had recognized Luther because he’d known him, but Castleford could determine demon from human from Guardian, just by observing body language.

Before that, probably only Michael had known; anything else would have been too dangerous for Bradshaw—the previous agent in charge had been one of Lucifer’s lieutenants. And although Special Investigations performed a similar function to what Bradshaw did here, the Doyen hadn’t changed Bradshaw’s assignment after SI had been established and Lucifer’s lieutenant had been slain.

Because Rael worked only one floor above?

How many know?
he asked her.

You , H & M.
Hugh and Michael.
Keep it that way.

He’d undoubtedly add an
I
to that list, but he needn’t tell Lilith that. He put away the phone, drawing a quick, inquiring glance from Preston. Alejandro shook his head.

“No new information,” he said softly.

After the debriefing—in which they learned no new helpful information—Alejandro and Preston climbed one flight of stairs, where the congressman’s offices took up one corner of the fourteenth floor. A garden of cut flowers overflowed the receptionist’s desk and spilled over to the conference table visible through a glass wall. The office had been decorated in blues and creams, the furniture and paintings both understated and expensive. Stafford walked a fine line. Unless he was different from every other demon, he preferred luxury, money, and power. But as a public servant, he couldn’t flaunt them without drawing the wrong kind of attention from his political opponents and risking his career.

Did hiding anger the demon? Or was concealing his nature just part of the game?

Though her eyes and nose were red from weeping, the receptionist greeted them with quiet dignity. Lynne Simmons was human—as was the entire staff, Alejandro discovered after a careful sweep of the office. Sounds of grief came from deeper within the office, and a great heaviness had settled over their psyches. Either Julia Stafford had been well liked—or Stafford was, and they grieved in sympathy.

Their sympathy would mean nothing to Rael.

Alejandro suppressed his anger. The demon didn’t deserve this. Perhaps Rael had earned it, through careful planning and advancement, by treating his staff well—but he did not deserve to be serving them. This position required putting the interests of his people foremost. Rael would only serve himself. His voting record wouldn’t reflect his beliefs, and Alejandro didn’t doubt that no matter where Rael lived, the demon would adopt the values of the majority for the sake of political expedience.

Alejandro let Preston take the lead and introduce them. The receptionist’s eyes welled up at the mention of Julia Stafford, though her confusion was evident.

“The FBI just left. They interviewed all of us.”

“We’re just following up, Mrs. Simmons. Did you know Mrs. Stafford well?”

And did she know what Rael was? Alejandro had difficultly imagining that anyone who willingly worked for a demon would grieve as genuinely as she did.

“Yes. No. We weren’t friends. But she was friendly.” She waved with her tissue. “She always asked how my daughters are doing.”

Faint praise, Alejandro thought. As if Mrs. Simmons had to dig for something kind to say about the deceased.

Preston picked out a round mint from the crystal bowl on the receptionist’s desk and began untwisting the plastic ends. “How long have you worked for the congressman?”

“Four years now.”

“How would you judge the relationship between the congressman and his wife?”

“Oh, very good.” With this response, the receptionist seemed to find firmer ground. “I never heard a cross or impatient word from either of them. And Congressman Stafford, he would always make certain he never forgot any date—her birthday, their anniversary. He would often tell me of tickets he’d gotten for a ballet or show that she’d wanted to see, or a trip that he’d planned for them.” She paused. “He didn’t buy the presents himself, of course. But he always told his personal assistant exactly what to get.”

Alejandro nodded. That sounded like a demon. If he was generous, he’d make certain that everyone knew it. “Is his assistant in?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” She glanced at the switchboard, brightly lit. “He’s on a call. I’ll slip him a note to tell him you’re here.”

“Thank you.” As soon as she stood and was out of hearing range, Alejandro turned to Preston. “I’ll return shortly. If I take longer than Mrs. Simmons does, I ask that you make an excuse for me.”

“Are you doing anything I should know about?”

“Not if you value the fourth amendment to the Constitution.”

“Considering it’s a demon, I’ll pretend I don’t.” Preston popped the mint into his mouth. “And if I happen to turn around, I can honestly say I didn’t see anything.”

He wouldn’t have seen it anyway. Less than a second after the detective looked away, Alejandro slipped through Stafford’s office doors. He took in the surroundings in an instant: the thick green carpet, the national and state flags against the wall, the leather sofa, the stately mahogany desk in front of the large windows. The desk held a computer monitor. Not a laptop, but Rael might carry one with him.

Alejandro would make do with what he had. Within moments, he’d disassembled the casing of the desktop computer and installed a transmitter. Every file that Rael looked at, every e-mail he sent would be collected and analyzed. The phone line was next. Savi already tracked the calls to and from Rael’s cell phone number—although he might have a phone they didn’t know about. Alejandro placed the last transmitter beneath the lip of a visitor’s chair to pick up any conversations within the room.

Something SI should have done at the beginning, Alejandro thought grimly. Though Rael wasn’t foolish enough to communicate with his demons here, he might be arrogant enough to.

Alejandro took a few more moments to search. No loose papers were spread around the room. Color-coded files had been neatly stacked on a low table in front of the sofa. A glance through them revealed pending legislation, drafts of bills. Alejandro was familiar with most of them. He found an additional folder full of correspondence.

He vanished them all into his cache. Copies could be made and the originals returned. If the shooter had been politically motivated, the answer might be in this pending legislation.

At least, that was what Alejandro would claim if he was asked. But another question had begun to form in his mind. A question . . . and a possible solution. One the detective, as far as he was willing to go, might not agree with.

Alejandro looked around the office. He could do this. He could slay Rael. He could take the demon’s place.

No, he decided. He
would
do this. Whether the demon was involved with Julia Stafford’s murder or not, he hadn’t long to live.

Alejandro left the office, determination and dread filling him in equal parts. Irena would applaud his slaying Rael. But taking over the demon’s position meant that Alejandro would become everything she hated.

And if he dreaded her reaction, that must mean that his heart had foolishly begun to hope for a future with her.

He was going to let it.