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of furniture, every book on every shelf. The dark wood and volumes of occult lore crowded the delicate Oriental rug where he walked, stealing all the space and air despite the gleaming, bright walls.
    Yellow. My mother never would have tolerated such light colors.
    She wouldn’t have tolerated so many intruders, either.
    Jake focused his attention on a small elderly woman scurrying past him in the hall, trying not to meet his eyes. Instantly, he recognized Delilah Moses.
    Shock rattled through him, and he whirled and caught the diminutive woman by her elbow.
    She jumped and let out a yelp. Terror etched itself across her wrinkled face as she tried to pull away from him, and Jake let go of her immediately. "I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just wanted—you—you might not remember me specifically—there were so many of us. But two years ago, you saved my life."
    Delilah held the elbow he had touched and blinked at him, clearly not grasping his meaning.
    Jake wanted to drop to one knee to be eye to eye with her, put her on equal footing and perhaps help her relax, but instinct told him that would be over the top. "You put an end to the crazy bi—uh, ex-nun who had stolen my talisman. You freed me."
    Now realization glimmered in Delilah’s eyes and she nodded. "You were among the demons that nun had captured. The ones she was torturin’."
    Jake faced his savior, feeling almost reverent. "Yes, and you killed her. I take it you’ve stayed friends with the Sibyls since then?"
    "Yeah, I have." Delilah seemed to be growing more wary with each word. "But . . . you’re a cop, aren’t you?"
    Jake nodded. "Yes, I am."
    Definitely wary now. Almost outright suspicious. "I never heard of a demon cop."
    "I’m the first demon cop ever hired on purpose." Jake smiled at her, hoping it would help her relax. "The NYPD’s had a few before, but they were strictly off the record. I want you to know I owe you, okay? If you ever need anything, you come to me."
    Delilah’s face sharpened to that of a savvy old criminal so quickly Jake almost stepped back from her in surprise. "All right, Mr. Demon Cop," she said in a low, teasing voice that probably hooked and destroyed many a mark, back in her younger days. "That I’ll be rememberin’, and you might be hearin’ from me. For now, though, I’ve got to get to the library."
    She flashed him what could only be described as a wicked grin, then hurried off down the hall toward the steps.
    Jake watched her go for a moment, wondering what in the living hell he had just gotten himself into.
    Then he started back toward the conference room, turned the last corner—and there she was.
    Not Delilah Moses.
    His mother.
    She lounged in one of the corridor’s heavy oak chairs, her ash blond hair loose about her thin shoulders, shrouding her face as she read a book of spells and rituals.
    Jake’s gut lurched.
    In life, Jake’s mother had been a brilliant biosentient, always studying, always learning—and thanks to her elemental talent, capable of exploding cells, of murdering human life-forms with a single, focused thought.
    He slowed down and pressed his fists against his jeans, closed his eyes, then opened them.
    Now his mother’s image shimmered beside him, dressed in a red silk dress like she had been the night . . .
    The night I died.
    The night she killed my human body and transformed me into an Astaroth.
    Jake couldn’t walk any farther. He stared more directly at her, at the ceremonial dagger now visible in her long, merciless fingers.
    "Why?" he asked aloud, battling a childish urge to disarm her and throw the knife away before it could do its damage, like that would somehow turn back time and spare him his fate.
    Of course, the phantasm beside him didn’t answer. His mother’s empty blue eyes gazed at his blue sleeveless T-shirt, at the spot right over his heart. The place where she jammed the dagger through tissue to complete his ritual slaying, scraping bone,