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What loomed ahead wasn’t some low-rent hidey-hole. This was an old nest with amenities that suggested it was in frequent use and had been for years. Long before our first victim went missing.
Asa and I exchanged a wary glance, and then the daemon claimed his skin in a crackle of eagerness.
Unlike the stale restaurant from earlier, the air here was fresh. Clean. Helped along by strong currents that blew hair into my eyes. Either they recirculated their oxygen, or the tunnel was open at both ends.
Wand in hand, I took point, aware the daemon was not happy with me acting as his shield.
With him plastered to my back, I wasn’t sure I was walking ahead so much as he was pushing me from behind. The only reason he didn’t hook an arm around me was he understood I required a certain range of motion to use my magic.
Whoever oversaw this nest took their housecleaning duties seriously. The ceiling was cobweb free, the walls polished, and the floors had only a day’s foot traffic to dust them. The lights overhead glowed in a neat row, unbroken by burnt-out bulbs.
The tunnel veered left, and the daemon edged around me to take the turn first.
“Hello.”
The broken silence was deafening, or maybe it was the sudden thunder of my pulse in my ears as I stepped forward to find a young woman with a Civil War-era saber held against the daemon’s throat.
“Hi.” Cold rage echoed in my voice that the walls threw back at me. “Mind lowering your weapon?”
“Mind lowering yours?” Her gaze flicked to my wand. “I don’t want to hurt your mate, but I will.”
The mate comment sailed past me, muffled by the roar in my head. But I forced myself to calm down, to think past the caustic bubble in my gut that craved flesh between my teeth. This woman was rational, more rational than me at the moment, and that didn’t fit with Jilo’s summation of the problem either.
Next time we saw her, Jilo had some ’splainin’ to do.
“Okay.” I slid my wand into its pocket in my pants. “Let’s talk.”
“For future reference, it’s rude to barge into someone’s home. Next time, just knock.”
“I apologize for our rudeness.” I had to bite my tongue to get out the words. “I’m Rue.”
The woman lowered her blade and didn’t fuss when I yanked the daemon to me.
“Marah.”
We shook hands like civilized people, made easier by the fact she was wearing one of her human kills.
Maybe not so civilized after all, when you really thought about it.
“We have a sitting room for visitors, if you want to work things out there.” She smiled up at the daemon. “I have cookies.” She chuckled. “They’re not a bribe from the dark side, but they do have chocolate chips, pecans, and toffee pieces.”
“Like cookies,” the daemon reminded me. “Rue talk?”
“I’ll bake cookies for you when we get back,” I promised. “Probably not a great idea to eat them here.”
Marah gave no sign of insult at my thinly veiled accusation that she might poison us, or, based on what we saw in the restaurant, feed us a new flavor of people cookie.
Seriously, when had those gained such popularity?
“Okay.” The daemon thrust a handful of hair at me. “We talk.”
“Right this way.” The woman gestured us to follow her. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”
The tunnel flared out into a twelve-by-twelve block laid out like a living room. Beyond it loomed the first security measure so far. A thick metal door with dented rivets and a patina of age guarded what must be the entrance to their inner sanctum. An old smuggler’s route indeed. I wondered if it opened on the sea.
“We sit.” The daemon claimed a plush sofa and patted the cushion beside him. “Sit, Rue.”
Rue sat.
