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froze when he followed her up with the crossbow.
    “I knew handguns were hard to come by in England,” she said, sitting at the edge of the mattress. “I didn’t realize crossbows were easier to find.”
    “A gun won’t kill you.”
    “It wouldn’t?” She glanced down at her chest, as if imagining a bullet slamming into it.
    Nicholas imagined it, too—all too clearly. This demon would bleed. It would feel pain. Then it would heal. Rachel hadn’t. She’d thrashed and choked on her own blood, and nothing that Nicholas did to help had—
    No. Determinedly, Nicholas forced that memory away. Within seconds of this demon waking, he was already thinking of Rachel. This had to be what she’d wanted.
    He wouldn’t play her games. “You know a gun can’t kill you.”
    “No. I didn’t know.” She tilted her head as if taking his measure. Just like Rachel. “If you know I can’t be killed by a gun, then you know who I am?”
    “You’re not Rachel.”
    “No, I’m not,” she agreed. “I don’t know why I look like her. Or why I feel as if I should remember something. Perhaps this is her body, and there is an imprint of her memories in my brain? I don’t know. I hoped that you would.”
    Playing dumb. Six months ago, Nicholas might not have known what the demon was doing. Then he’d met Rosalia, a Guardian who could have given a demon lessons in extracting the information she wanted without offering any of her own. Thanks to Rosalia, he recognized this tactic: The demon pretended ignorance to discover how much he knew. She couldn’t 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 didn’t give her anything first. “What do you know?”
    She answered more easily than he’d anticipated. “That almost three years ago, Madelyn St. Croix brought me to a private psychiatric hospital and left me. I don’t remember where I was before that. I don’t remember anything from before that.” If that frustrated her, she gave no sign of it. “And until a few months ago, I didn’t care. Now I do. I want to know who I am, what I am. And I think you might have the answers.”
    Weren’t demons better liars than this? She’d barely gotten into her story, and already he saw holes in it.
    “You have no memory, but you recalled Madelyn’s name?”
    “Not until a month ago. I looked up pictures of Rachel Boyle’s associates online, and recognized Madelyn as the woman who brought me to Nightingale House.”
    Nightingale House. Jesus. No question that this demon either was Madelyn or connected to her.
    When Nicholas had been a boy, she’d had his father committed to Nightingale House—and it had destroyed his business, his reputation, his life. It had been Madelyn’s 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.
    “I’d be grateful if you wouldn’t,” she said. “I’d rather not die.” Bullshit. She didn’t sound grateful or concerned.
    “What happens if you die?” He let curiosity lighten his tone, as if he was considering pulling the trigger just to find out. Let her sweat. “Do you return to Hell?”
    “I don’t know.” She watched him steadily. No sweating. Dammit. “Nicholas, I need your help. Somehow, I’m connected to Madelyn St. Croix, just as Rachel was. And your mother—”
    “She’s not my mother,” he stated flatly. The idea sent fury through his veins, but he wouldn’t let her see that.
    Her brows rose. “Then who is she?”
    “A demon.”
    “A demon,” she echoed. Something sparked in her eyes. Excitement ? Whatever it was, the emotion quickly vanished. “Is that what I am?”
    “Yes.”
    “And you are, too? You seem to suffer the same lack of affect that I do.”
    The demon probably intended