without offering any of her own. Thanks to Rosalia, he recognized this tactic: The demon pretended ignorance to discover how much he knew. She couldnât physically fight him, and so her only power came from possessing more knowledge than he did. So she was trying to figure out what lies to tell.
Nicholas was just as interested in seeing what lies she tried to spin when he didnât give her anything first. âWhat do you know?â
She answered more easily than heâd anticipated. âThat almost three years ago, Madelyn St. Croix brought me to a private psychiatric hospital and left me. I donât remember where I was before that. I donât remember anything from before that.â If that frustrated her, she gave no sign of it. âAnd until a few months ago, I didnât care. Now I do. I want to know who I am, what I am. And I think you might have the answers.â
Werenât demons better liars than this? Sheâd barely gotten into her story, and already he saw holes in it.
âYou have no memory, but you recalled Madelynâs name?â
âNot until a month ago. I looked up pictures of Rachel Boyleâs associates online, and recognized Madelyn as the woman who brought me to Nightingale House.â
Nightingale House. Jesus. No question that this demon either was Madelyn or connected to her.
When Nicholas had been a boy, sheâd had his father committed to Nightingale Houseâand it had destroyed his business, his reputation, his life. It had been Madelynâs first step in driving him toward suicide.
Fucking demons. His finger tightened on the crossbow trigger. As if she heard the movement, her gaze fell to his hand.
âIâd be grateful if you wouldnât,â she said. âIâd rather not die.â Bullshit. She didnât sound grateful or concerned.
âWhat happens if you die?â He let curiosity lighten his tone, as if he was considering pulling the trigger just to find out. Let her sweat. âDo you return to Hell?â
âI donât know.â She watched him steadily. No sweating. Dammit. âNicholas, I need your help. Somehow, Iâm connected to Madelyn St. Croix, just as Rachel was. And your motherââ
âSheâs not my mother,â he stated flatly. The idea sent fury through his veins, but he wouldnât let her see that.
Her brows rose. âThen who is she?â
âA demon.â
âA demon,â she echoed. Something sparked in her eyes. Excitement ? Whatever it was, the emotion quickly vanished. âIs that what I am?â
âYes.â
âAnd you are, too? You seem to suffer the same lack of affect that I do.â
The demon probably intended that observation to hurt him, to make him question his humanity, but to Nicholas, it only showed that she couldnât read his emotions. Good. Rosaliaâs tutelage had paid off there, too. Sheâd taught him to guard his mindâand obviously sheâd done it well enough, as this demon couldnât sense anything that he didnât want to give her.
âIâm human,â he said.
âHow can you tell?â Her gaze searched his face, as if looking for the differences. When he didnât answer, she asked, âWas Rachel a demon, too?â
Oh, that was clever. Introduce doubt about Rachel, throw him off-kilter. Too bad Nicholas had already considered the possibility that Rachel had been Madelynâs lackey all along.
Considered the possibility and discarded it. Heâd been skinto-skin with her too many times. Sheâd been humanâand the only reason the idea had ever occurred to him was because it could assuage his guilt. If sheâd been a demon and her death had been a setup designed by Madelyn, then Nicholas had nothing to be sorry for. An attractive thought, but not true. He preferred to live with his regret rather than blame Rachel.
âTry again,â he said.
She
Learning to Kill: Stories