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Mikhail was released, and he fell to the floor, taking the bed table with him. The crash reverberated in the room, but no one paid attention. All eyes were focused on Rowan and her mother.
“Where is it?”
“I sold it to a demon.”
“A demon.” Rowan was incredulous. “That’s just”—she threw her hands into the air, and the large watercolor beside the fireplace fell to the floor—“wonderful.” She arched a brow. “This demon have a name?”
Marie-Noelle faced her daughter, head held high. “Seth,” she said softly.
“Seth,” Rowan repeated. “Seth have an address? ’Cause we could really use one right about now.”
Marie-Noelle’s eyes narrowed. “Your tongue is sharp. Reminds me of—”
“Father?” Rowan asked silkily.
The two women stared at each other in silence, then Azaiel stepped forward. “Did this Seth have Lucifer’s mark on the side of his neck?”
“I don’t . . .” Marie-Noelle’s brow furled.
“Think, Mother,” Rowan ground out. “It’s the least you can do.”
“Jesus, Ro. Take a seat,” Kellen snarled.
Rowan ignored her brother, but she was aware that his hands were fisted, and he was itching to fight just as much as she was. They just had different targets in mind.
Marie-Noelle nodded slowly. “Yes, he had the mark under his left ear.”
Rowan saw something flicker in her mother’s eyes and didn’t like the way Azaiel’s mouth tensed.
“Do you know him?” Rowan turned to Azaiel.
The Seraphim nodded, his dark eyes somber, his mouth set tight. Rowan could tell by the look on his face that this Seth person wasn’t your average everyday demon next door.
“It’s not good, is it?” she said quietly, the fight in her suddenly gone. She was so tired.
“No.” Azaiel glanced at Kellen. “It’s not good.”
“Where do we find this bastard?” Kellen asked.
“District One,” Azaiel answered carefully.
“And that would be where?” Kellen asked.
“That would be a long way from here.”
“An exact location would be good,” Kellen retorted testily.
Rowan held her breath as Azaiel cocked his head to the side. “The exact location would be Hell.”
“Wow,” Rowan murmured, as her gaze swept the room. She fought the urge to laugh because she wanted to cry at the same time. “Nice. What do we do now?”
Azaiel stared down at her, his dark eyes glittering as small ribbons of gold bled through the black. “I’ll look after this.” He nodded toward Marie-Noelle and turned toward the door.
“Azaiel, wait! Where are you going?” Rowan grabbed his arm.
“I’ll get the grimoire.”
“But it’s . . .” Rowan blew out a hot breath. “In Hell.”
