Carmen muttered something.
Bianca’s brain decoded the mumble and then immediately tossed the meaning out as impossible. “Say that again, sweetie.”
“Patty thinks Christen took the grimoire.” Carmen’s tone grew more certain. “I told her it was impossible. Christen would never take the coven’s grimoire. He loves the coven. He would never do anything to damage our magic.”
Her head spun, and Bianca was glad she was already sitting down. Her gaze was drawn to Lucifer.
Eyes blazing—and not in the sexy way they’d blazed last night—he straightened.
Barely cognizant of what she was saying, Bianca murmured a few more reassurances to Carmen before she hung up.
Lucifer’s voice was silky with menace. “Tell me that doesn’t mean what I think it does.”
Swallowing to relieve her suddenly dry mouth, Bianca said, “Christen might have stolen the coven grimoire.”
“I heard that much,” he drawled.
Hair rose on her nape as prey recognized an apex predator in the room. “He took our magic.”
Lucifer’s wings whooshed from his back. The draft fanning her hair back.
Despite her nerves, Bianca had to suppress the need to ogle. His wings rose three feet higher than his head and were at least twice his width on either side. Glossy black with silver and verdigris filaments, they brushed the floor. He’d never looked more terrifying or more beautiful. Spending time with him had made it easy to anthropomorphize Lucifer. The being standing before her now was alien, infinitely powerful, and enraged.
Ancient anger resonated through his voice. “He has stolen your magic?”
“Yes.” Her spine softened as if it wanted to pay physical homage in a bow. “And everything we know about the amulets.”
“He must be found,” Lucifer thundered.
Bianca lowered her head and said the only thing she could, “Yes.”
Chapter Seventeen
Ashe materialized outside the abandoned farmhouse and took a moment to identify the various demon signatures within the crumbling red brick remains. Irritation surged through him, and he experienced an inkling of what hell princes dealt with.
Stupid, fucking demons were growing arrogant and sloppy. With a hell prince, an archangel, and a Nephilim in the vicinity, they should be more careful about broadcasting their demonic power signatures. As the rebellion met with more success and increased momentum, the demons became more brazen.
Keeping his power on a tight band, he slipped silently through the empty doorway. Rotten wood from the original door hung in drunken strips from the corroded hinges.
Twelve demons loitered in the shell of the living room. Traces of human squatters—a torn out car seat, cans and cardboard, the tattered remains of a blanket—lay strewn about the place. The demons were loosely clustered in a circle, passing bottles of alcohol between them and talking.
“Get up.” Ashe didn’t raise his voice, but his command shot like an electric current through the demons. All but two leapt to their feet and faced him. Clayton, Ontario, was a small town with limited hiding places, and the demons chosen for this mission were largely humanoid in appearance.
The demon Ashe had come looking for lounged on the car seat and swigged from a bottle of Canadian Club. “Ashe.” Torpidius smirked. “Come to slum it with the rest of us?”
“Torpidius.” Ashe returned the greeting pleasantly. An upper-level demon, Torpidius had served below Indolex in Belphegor’s demesne. He’d never forgiven the hell prince for not making him a second and had carried that grudge over to Ashe when Indolex had favored him over Torpidius. Little did the stupid fucker know, being favored by Indolex created a higher level of pain. “You’re here for the witch child?”
“Checking up on me?” Torpidius took another swig and winked. “Where are my manners?” Unfolding himself to his feet, he offered the bottle to Ashe. “Want some?”
Wiping any hint of anger from his face, Ashe leaned his shoulder against the cracked wall. Thin, green vines had pushed through the crumbling mortar in that eternally optimistic way of nature reclaiming her own. “You know what you have to do.” He let his gaze stray over the demons, pausing for a moment on the other demon still seated. Ashe didn’t know him, but his signature indicated Envy. The same blaring power signature he wasn’t making any effort to mute.
“Yes, we do.” Torpidius sneered. “Not to sound ungracious, but what are you doing here?”
The standing demons shifted their weight, glancing between Ashe and Torpidius. One whispered to his buddy, and they both took a discreet step back.
Not all demons were stupid apparently.
Ashe allowed a touch of menace into his voice as he said to Torpidius, “I’m looking for you.”
“I’m flattered.” Torpidius scoffed and took a gulp from his bottle.
The sitting demon must have sensed the mounting tension because he got to his feet.
“Did the master have a message for me?” Torpidius drawled, swilling rye around his mouth.
He was so fucking predictable. Did he really think Ashe would react to his inference that he was a messenger boy? Of course he did, because it was the sort of meaningless slight felt only by the insecure and dickless. “I need to locate Belphegor,” Ashe said.
Torpidius blinked and then quickly schooled his features into a derisive mug that was even uglier than his usual expression. “And you want me to help you?”
“The master wants her.” Ashe gave the conversational approach one more try. He was such a fucking optimist. Just once, he’d like to see a demon use their brain instead of brawn. Every demon in this rebellion knew the cost of failing Indolex.
“I heard Calix is no longer with us.” Torpidius handed the bottle off to his left and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Given the way the jeans were plastered to him, it took a couple of tries. Clearly, Torpidius had missed the memo about skinny jeans being out. And had the dumb asshole stuffed the crotch?
Ashe kept his response short and simple. “Calix fucked up.”
Torpidius didn’t give a shit about Calix. He was only laboring under the misapprehension that he was holding an ace over Ashe. It was going to be Ashe’s pleasure to set him straight.
“Way I heard it, someone fucked up.” Torpidius’s eyes glittered triumphantly. He motioned to one of the demons who had stepped back. “Edacia was there when it happened. When that Nephilim escaped.”
Edacia held up his hands. “I don’t know anything. I was lucky to get away from the hounds.”
Ashe took his time studying Edacia. The demon barely breathed. “What do you think happened?”
“Technical failure.” Edacia swallowed. “Generator failed, lights went out along with security and surveillance. That’s what I told the demons the master sent to investigate.”
If Edacia kept playing it like that, he might make it out of the fuckery alive. Not that Ashe gave any of them good odds. If Indolex didn’t get them, the hell princes would. They’d all joined this rebellion of their own free will. With a few notable exceptions, and he counted himself one of those. Ashe nodded to Edacia. “That’s what happened.”
“The Nephilim had a key to its cell,” Torpidius snapped. “One of only two demons could have given it that.” Torpidius gave him a contemptuous once over. “You or Calix.”
“Is there a point to this jaunt down memory lane?” Ashe folded his arms and kept his body relaxed. Like most upper-level demons, Torpidius had a useful trick or two in his arsenal. Torpidius could track Belphegor and save Ashe a shitload of time by doing so. However, there was only so long he was prepared to play nice to get what he wanted.
Torpidius’s power swelled as he readied himself for battle. “I don’t think Calix did it.”
Edacia hissed and put another few steps between himself and Torpidius. One of the other demons gasped. Ashe didn’t have time to identify the pearl clutcher.
He knew Torpidius wasn’t the only demon with doubts, but he wasn’t going to feed that crappy fire with vehement denials. The thing with demons was to show no fear and no regret. “And I should care what you think, why?”
