Demon Forged (7 page)

Physically, she’s fine. Mentally, we will have to wait and see.
Dru rocked back and forth from the toes to the heels of her red sneakers. Usually, she bobbed; Rosalia’s condition must have been worrying her.
Hugh is speaking with her now—telling her how you found her.

Soundproofing shielded the room; with the door closed, Irena couldn’t hear anything of Hugh’s and Rosalia’s conversation.
Should we give her a personal account?
Irena asked.

Dru shook her head.
What you can give her is ten minutes with Hugh.

Irena narrowed her eyes; Dru’s never lost their friendly expression, but her voice dared Irena to argue when she shoved her hands into the pockets of her lab coat and repeated, “Ten minutes.”

The healer would fight her if she didn’t comply, Irena knew. Dru only appeared bubbly and soft, as if she was composed of smiles and laughter. But when she’d specialized with Irena almost twenty years earlier, the healer had revealed a stubborn streak comparable to a deaf ox. Every time Irena had severed one of the healer’s limbs—teaching Dru to fight through that shocking loss—Dru had simply reattached it, despite Irena’s commands to the contrary.

Dru had been one of Irena’s favorite assignments.

“Ten minutes,” she agreed.

Dru nodded. “I’ll be downstairs if I’m needed. Pim?”

The novice hurried after the healer, the expression on her round face open and awed before she caught up to Dru and began gesturing wildly, questioning Dru’s method of removing the bone shards from Rosalia’s brain and rebuilding her skull. The novice’s awe went far beyond appreciation for the healer’s skill, and Irena wondered if Dru had realized yet that Pim was in love with her.

And she wondered if she and Olek were the only two Guardians who looked outside Caelum and the vampire communities for their bed-partners. They had that in common. . . although Olek’s arrangements typically lasted much longer than hers. Years, rather than a single night.

She knew the name of his most recent lover by accident; four months ago, while visiting Drifter in Seattle, she’d overheard Jake telling young Charlie that he’d teleported into a bedroom while searching for Alejandro—and found a human in with him.

Irena had known a few Emilias. They’d all had long, curling dark hair, ripe-cherry lips, and passionate spirits.

And she’d liked each of them. His Emilia probably wouldn’t be any different—and Irena wanted to hate her for that.

She felt Olek watching her, but didn’t look up as she walked past him into the common room. The floor shivered beneath her feet. The novices practiced in the gymnasium on the first level, and the soundproofing between the floors and the thick rugs spread around the sofas didn’t completely absorb the impact vibrations. The clattering of keyboards and the murmurs of phone conversations floated up the stairs from the main offices.

Though plenty of seats were available, Irena plopped down next to Becca. The microfiber upholstery was cool and soft against her back; she put her feet up on the low table, made herself comfortable. The novice lifted her dark head and gave Irena a tight, quick smile before returning to her book.

Ah, so she tried to cover her unease with polite disinterest. Irena couldn’t allow that. She called in a billet of steel, and began working the metal with her fingers and her Gift.

Alejandro moved around the room, stopped behind the facing sofa. He rested his hands on the curving back. His gaze fell to the regal stag forming between Irena’s hands, its body caught in a mighty leap.

Becca glanced over. Then looked again, brown eyes lighting with curiosity.

Snared as easily as a hare.

Beneath Irena’s fingertips, her Gift molded the steel antlers into a wide forehead, a powerful jaw. A running wolf quickly took shape, its fur ruffled by the speed of its passing.

“You are not training with the others, Becca?” Irena asked in English, smoothing away most of her accent.

Despite that effort, the mouse almost went back into her hole. Then Becca tilted her book, showing Irena the spine. “I’m supposedly training my mind.”

Irena worked through the Chinese characters of the book’s title. She could read symbols more easily than alphabets, but she was hardly well-read. And so when she made out the name, she was surprised to recognize Lao Tzu’s work.

She hadn’t read it, but she’d heard it recited—in Caelum and on Earth—many times.

She didn’t follow any part of it.

“The
Tao Te Ching
?” Alejandro said. His fingers flexed against the back of the sofa with each pulse of her Gift. Irena’s breath moved to the same deep rhythm.

“Lilith recommended it. To help me find inner peace and balance.”

The wolf in Irena’s hands became a razor-edged dagger. “And has it trained your mind to obey like a dog or sharpened it?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m still trying to figure out the ‘being like water’ part.” The novice hesitated, her gaze on the spear rising out of the knife. “Do you have any suggestions?”

To be like water? “Submerge yourself in a lake with a sword, and practice with it.”

As if finally noting his response to her Gift, Alejandro straightened and clasped his hands behind his back. “Perhaps Sun Tzu’s
The Art of War.
It is somewhat similar to Irena’s philosophy.”

Her lip curled, and she said to him in French, “Sun Tzu too often ignores his gut in favor of his head. That is the best way to get a sword stabbed through it.”

Becca looked at Alejandro, a hint of mischief in her smile. “So it’ll teach me to fight without arms and legs? Eat hearts?” She glanced back at Irena and her shoulders hunched. “Or so I’ve heard.”

She’d never forced anyone to eat hearts. “I suppose you will find out when you specialize with me in a few decades.”

Becca’s eyes widened. “God, I hope not.”

There it was—that spark Irena had wanted to see. She grinned and reshaped the spear to resemble Mackenzie, the novice’s vampire lover. She tossed the statue to Becca.

“Oh, wow. Thanks. Holy crap, it’s just like him.” Her fingers ran over the chest, the face. She jerked her hand away, sucking in a breath. Blood welled on her thumb, and the novice stuck it between her lips.

Irena frowned. “You put blood into your mouth but balk at eating a heart?”

Becca yanked her thumb out. “Was that a lesson? Was I supposed to learn something useful?”

Learn something useful—from a statue of a skinny vampire? Yet Becca was in earnest. Irena closed her eyes and fought to remain silent. The sort of laughter she was prone to might destroy the small progress she’d made in drawing out the novice.

“Yes,” she heard Alejandro say with dry amusement. “A simple lesson: Fangs are sharp.”

“Oh. I already know that.”

“Good,” Irena said, rocking up to her feet. She didn’t know if ten minutes had passed, but it felt as if they had. “And if you do specialize with me, bring Lao Tzu’s book with you.”

She sensed they were both going to need it.

Rosalia sat on the edge of a narrow bunk with her arms crossed, running her hands up and down the sleeves of a soft red sweater. She’d showered, Irena saw, and left her dark hair to dry into damp curls.

Guardians could clean themselves by vanishing dirt into their cache, but sometimes there was no replacement for water.

And even water couldn’t always clean deep enough.

Hugh had pulled a chair to the bedside. He’d leaned toward Rosalia, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze steady on hers.

It was, Irena noted with relief, a few moments after she and Alejandro entered the room before Hugh and Rosalia broke eye contact.

Trust still existed between them, despite the changes in Hugh after his Fall. He’d aged in the eighteen years since he’d become human again, growing from the boy he’d appeared to be as a Guardian into a man. He wore glasses to correct his vision; he had to eat, sleep, and breathe again.

But his psychic scent was the same, as was his core of strength. Rosalia would be able to take comfort in that—would
need
to take comfort in that. Because everything else had changed.

Little of it was for the better.

Rosalia glanced at Irena, then looked to Alejandro. A sad smile touched her mouth. “Hugh has just told me of the Ascension.”

Lead balled in Irena’s stomach. Had Rosalia been in the catacombs that long? More than a decade had passed since the Ascension—when thousands of Guardians had given up the fight, their duty, and moved on to their afterlives.

After the Ascension, less than a hundred Guardians remained—and half of those had been lost in battle with Lucifer’s nest of nosferatu two years before. Though she’d once counted many Guardians among her friends, Irena despised those who had Ascended. Those who had died fighting—those she still grieved.

But whether they’d Ascended or been slain, Rosalia had likely just learned that most—if not all—of her friends were gone.

“Is there anyone?” Alejandro asked.

Rosalia nodded. “Mariko and Radha,” she said, then looked to Hugh.

“Radha is on assignment in Calcutta, and Mariko has taken over most of eastern Asia as her territory,” Hugh said. “If you wish, Jake or Selah can teleport them here, or bring you to either of them.”

Rosalia nodded, and her eyes filled. “I cannot remember anything you say has happened to me. I shouldn’t need to see them, but I do. It is so stupid.”

In her distress, Rosalia had spoken in Italian, and so Irena’s quiet reply was in the same language. “It is not stupid.”

“If you say.” Rosalia firmed her jaw. “I left Caelum not long after you Fell,” she said to Hugh, then sliced her hand across the air in front of her when his brows rose in question. “My reason had nothing to do with your Fall. I told Michael I would watch Rome and destroy any threats I saw, but I wanted nothing to do with anyone in Caelum for some time.”

Irena understood that—she’d left Caelum behind several times. Leaving didn’t mean she wouldn’t hunt nosferatu or protect humans from demons; she just didn’t seek out other Guardians.

The last time had been after she’d made a bargain with a demon who had copied Alejandro’s face.

She met his eyes. They’d darkened to black. Yes, he was remembering, as well.

Shame burned; she looked away before he saw it, and forced her thoughts back to Rosalia.

If Rosalia had told her friends she was leaving, that explained why no one had been looking for her. And so she hadn’t necessarily been in the catacombs for as long as she’d been missing from Caelum.

“What date is your last memory of Rome?” Irena asked.

“It was July of 2007.”

A year and a half ago. “And after the Gates were closed,” Irena said, frowning.
After
Lucifer’s nest of nosferatu had been sent to Chaos realm, and Lucifer had been locked in Hell. So Lucifer couldn’t have captured Rosalia for the nosferatu.

Rosalia stopped rubbing her arms. “The Gates are closed? The Gates to
Caelum
?”

Hugh shook his head. “The Gates to Hell. Lucifer made a bargain with a group of nosferatu. They were slaying humans. Performing rituals.”

Rosalia studied his face. “Humans close to you,” she guessed.

“Students of mine,” Hugh confirmed. “Michael made a wager with Lucifer—and Michael won. Lucifer is bound to keep Hell’s Gates closed for the next five hundred years. That was in May of 2007.”

“But there were demons who escaped Hell before the Gates closed,” Alejandro said. “Several hundred.”

“There were some in Rome.” Rosalia swallowed. “That is the last I remember—coming across a group of demons in the catacombs.”

Hugh frowned. “Are you certain? A group of demons—not nosferatu?”

“Yes.”

“Lucifer’s demons or Belial’s?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“No,” Irena said.

“Yes.” Alejandro’s reply smoothed over hers.

Hugh leaned back in his chair. “In August of last year, Michael and Selah killed seven demons in Rome. Michael told me that he couldn’t find you then, but we thought you must have been shielding.”

Even Michael couldn’t teleport to someone if they completely shielded their psyche. With the iron spike through her head, Rosalia hadn’t been shielded—she’d simply not been there.

“The demons are dead?” Rosalia’s voice was even, but wrath burned through her psychic scent. Wrath—and disappointment.

Was she hoping to avenge herself? Irena approved. “Yes,” she said. “But only those ones. There are others to kill, and demons are all the same.”

“That isn’t true,” Alejandro said. “There are those who follow Lucifer, and those who support Belial in his rebellion against Lucifer—”

“You split hairs again. Demons, nosferatu—the Guardians’ only purpose is to slay them. You create a meaningless difference so that you do not feel dishonored by being here. Here, where you are
supported”
—Irena let the full force of her anger turn the word into an accusation—“by one of Belial’s demons.”