"Only because you haven't tried something else. Maybe that's why I'm here, why the Angel sent me: to expand your influence." I leaned my face close to his, lips only inches away from the side of his face. "I can teach you things. All sorts of things."
Zealous or no, I was definitely affecting him. He took another deep breath, trying to steady himself. "We're already doing what the Angel wants."
I ran my lips across his check, letting my tongue flick out. "Are you sure? Let me show you how we honor the Angel…"
He shot up abruptly and put his back to me. After several deep breaths-honestly, he was in danger of hyperventilating-he turned around to look at me. Warring desires danced in his eyes. He still had that crazy yes-man zealot look, but he also looked like he was already envisioning me naked. It was intriguing that his devotion to a largely fictitious entity could stand up to my charms, but religious fanatics had a history of being tenacious. "You're very…sweet," he said at last. "Very. But I can't-we can't. I mean, this is what we do. What the Army does. We can't change that, not without talking to the others."
Progress. I kept the smile turned on, wondering if I should keep pushing on him now or try to enthrall the whole group. I opted for the latter, largely because I could think of few things more unarousing than having sex on the black Ozzy Osbourne plush rug on the floor. Especially if Evan decided to turn on any black lights. "Of course," I purred. "When can I meet them?"
He raked a hand through his hair, still a little hot and bothered. "Well…you should come to our next meeting. It's Saturday at ten a.m. Over at the big Tim Hortons on Broadway."
"Okay, I'll be-" I blinked, my sultry façade faltering. "Did you say Tim Hortons?"
He recovered himself and returned to his upbeat nature. "Oh, yeah. You guys don't have them, do you? They're these donut shops and-"
"No, I know what they are. I'm just surprised, that's all." Aside from seeming like a mundane place for a Satanists' meeting, Canadians going to Tim Hortons was like the biggest stereotype ever.
"Are you kidding? Their coffee's the best."
I left after that, my head reeling. These weren't Satanists. These were frat boys doing hazing pranks. They probably smashed beer cans on their foreheads at their dark ceremonies.
Kristin wasn't at her desk when I returned to Cedric's office across town. Presumably she was off doing imp things. Or maybe she was at lunch. His door was closed, making me think he must be busy, but honestly, I didn't have time to pay much attention to that. Something else immediately caught my attention.
There was a demoness in his waiting room.
A full-fledged archdemoness, actually. I recognized her, even though we'd never formally met. Nanette, Portland's archdemoness.
"Hi," I said, too stunned for much more than that. I might backtalk Jerome, but other demons were an entirely different matter.
She glanced up from her magazine like she'd just noticed me, though I knew she'd sensed me long before this. "Hello. Georgina, right?"
I nodded, wondering if I should shake her hand or something. She didn't seem like she was keen to get up, so I simply sat in another chair. Why was Portland's archdemoness waiting to see Cedric? And why was she waiting, period? That wasn't in demonic nature at all. They were too impatient.
Nanette wore a short, peach-colored shift dress that showed off long, shapely legs. Her blond hair fell just over her shoulders, smooth and sleek from a flat iron-or, well, from demonic magic. She was beautiful, but it was edged in the cold fierceness demons so often had, like the way a cobra or a katana is beautiful.
I wasn't afraid to talk to people. Striking up conversation was part of what I did. But I wasn't entirely sure what to say to her. Demons were prickly about how they interacted with lesser immortals. Some were quite snobby about it. I didn't know too much about Nanette or how she might react. I knew she was less powerful than Jerome and that the two didn't have much contact. I'd never heard of her being particularly bitchy or trigger-happy, so I took that as a good sign.
My concerns about what to say were put to rest when she spoke first.
"Boy," she said. "I wouldn't want to be you for the world."
"I-I beg your pardon?"
"This." She gestured toward Cedric's closed door with a French manicured hand. "All of this. I presume you've been out to see his little Army of the Night?"
"Darkness," I corrected. "Army of Darkness."
"Whatever. Those nuisances. Jerome sent you here to 'help' because Cedric wanted an infiltrator?"
"Something like that." I wondered how this news had spread so fast.
Nanette shook her head in mock sympathy. "You're going to be the one to take the fall if something goes wrong. If things go bad between Jerome and Cedric or if that cult won't play ball…well, like I said, I wouldn't want to be you. You're being played from every angle and don't even realize it."
"What's there to play? I just got here. And I don't see how things can go wrong," I said slowly. "I mean, this group just does stupid stunts." I recalled how even a little seduction had affected Evan. If I'd started stripping on the Ozzy rug, I was certain he wouldn't have been able to hold back. "They're no real threat to Cedric, and I don't think they're going to be that hard to rein in. And as for him and Jerome…I mean, they patched up their differences already, right?"
"Come now. You're what, a millennium old? Millennium and a half? So young." She smiled. "Georgina, demons never settle their differences. Even you should know that. Do you really think things are stable around here? With the way Cedric's let this cult run wild? And after the way Jerome's barely been able to keep control in Seattle?"
I thought about Jerome booting me to Canada in less than twenty-four hours. "Jerome seems like he's got control to me."
She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, blue eyes gleaming. "Jerome has had three nephilim in his territory in the last six months. Three. Do you know how unheard of that is? I'm guessing you'd never even run into a nephilim your entire life before this. Not in all those years."
"No," I admitted.
Nephilim were the children of humans and angels-well, angels who had fallen and were now demons, seeing as having kids was a breach of Heaven's employment agreement. Considered abominations by both good and evil alike, nephilim were the scourge of the immortal world. They had a lot of power and were pissed off at the way greater immortals treated them. They were unruly, destructive, and given to killing sprees.
Jerome had actually fathered two nephilim, twins who were among the three Nanette was referring to. One of them, Roman, had been my boyfriend for a bit while he secretly wiped out immortals on the side. I'd been instrumental in his undoing-something I was certain he was still pissed off about, particularly since it had resulted in the death of his sister. We hadn't seen Roman since then. Shortly thereafter, a nephilim named Vincent had come to Seattle, following an angel he loved. Vincent was actually a very sweet nephilim, though I wasn't sure how kind he was feeling these days since Heaven had kicked out his girlfriend when she killed another angel to save him. Vincent too had disappeared.
"Three nephilim," repeated Nanette. "And two got away. Sloppy, very sloppy."
"It wasn't Jerome's fault," I said loyally, a bit unsure how you'd even assign blame in that situation. It had never occurred to me that our unexpected visitors could be seen as a sign of Jerome's weakness or his inadequacy as archdemon. "The angels could have done something. It's their territory too."
"Not in the eyes of our superiors," she said slyly.
I frowned, losing a bit of my timidity. "With all due respect, what are you doing here?"