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spoken about
sex and men and babies. It was a sore subject.
    I
checked my watch. A little after eight, and the gala ended at eleven. I still
had time. I took another long look at the photo, then carefully folded the
newspaper and stuck it into the back of my jeans. Helped the boys return the
files. They were quiet, subdued. So was I.
    I
knew my grandmother only through photographs and her journal: just one, her
writing and language spare, to the point. I thought of all the other women who
had come before, countless women who had fought the demons, a chain unbroken
from mother to daughter for more millennia than I cared to contemplate. I knew
even less about them.
    I
wondered if Zee and the others would miss me when I was gone.
    When
Badelt’s office was back in order, I looked at the boys, reached up to pat Dek
and Mal, and said, “Is that man in the picture my grandfather?”
    Zee
said nothing. Raw and Aaz stared at the floor, little claws digging into the
wood, spikes flat against their scaled skin. No way to tell if that was a yes
or a no, but it was obviously another subject not meant for discussion. Too
many of those tonight.
    I
gave them a hard look. Walked to the door. Opened it.
    And
found a demon waiting on the other side.

CHAPTER 5
    EXPECT
the unexpected, my mother once said. Because
the unexpected most certainly will be expecting you.
    The
demon was taller than the doorframe, so tall my neck hurt to look at him. He
was wrapped in a cloak that billowed and heaved in the still air of the hall,
the cloth—if it was cloth—whipping about his body with such violence he could
have been standing in a hurricane. I saw shadows in the winks of those folds,
bottomless, endless—like oubliettes for souls.
    Little
of the demon’s face was visible; a wide-brimmed black hat swept low over his
eyes, revealing only white flesh, a pointed chin, the long masculine line of a
hard mouth. Black hair curled past his jaw, the very tips twining and writhing
like snakes.
    I saw
no hands. And though his eyes were hidden beneath the brim of his hat, I felt
him looking at me. His stare, like a brand upon my face, the heat of his gaze
pushing through me with unfathomable strength.
    I
lost my mind. It had been a long time. Most demons I encountered tended to be
of the spirit variety, wearing human bodies. Substantial as a breath of bad
air. The ones made of flesh and bone were rare. Harder for them to pass through
the veil. Took an opening. But more than that, it required another level of
escape, through the rings, the ascending prison dimensions. Power was needed to
achieve freedom. Determination. Which meant the ones who did break free, as my
mother would say, were bad motherfuckers.
    The
boys and I had fought our share. Some had been on earth for centuries, merely
hiding until our paths crossed. I had no way of knowing just how many escapees
there were. It was a big world. Only one Hunter.
    I
stepped back and slammed the door. As if that would save me. I stood, staring,
expecting the demon to burst through. I also expected the boys to close ranks,
but they watched the door, as well. Unmoving. Eyes huge.
    “ Zee ,”
I hissed.
    “Maxine,”
he said, expression inscrutable, ears flattened against his bristled skull. Raw
and Aaz dug their claws into the floor, the spikes in their spines fanning out
with a clacking sound, violently trembling. Dek and Mal also quivered, their
breath rattling hot in my ears.
    None
of them looked ready to fight. And that was wrong, had never happened. It could
not. My blood was their blood. My death, the same as their suicide. The boys
lived only because I did. It was supposed to be an incentive. Beyond
friendship. Or loyalty.
    “Zee,”
I said again.
    “Open
the door,” he whispered.
    “You’re
going to get us killed.”
    “Never,
Maxine.”
    “You’re
wrong.”
    “Never,”
he snapped, and there was heat in his voice, anger. Not directed at me. I could
feel that much. I could taste the truth. The