Talent’s eyes flashed with an inner fire before turning deep yellow. Demon eyes. She advanced on him, snapping another golden arrow into place. It whizzed and thumped into his thigh, and he screamed. Win stepped closer, horror etched on his face. Talent’s body arched, straining against the shafts.
Poppy stood over him. “Who are you and where is Jack Talent?”
Caught, the demon let his glamour go. Human in appearance except for his pale grey skin, he glared up at her with his yellow eyes. “Fetch my mettle, you bunter bitch.”
Win snarled at the foul words, and his foot slammed into the demon’s side. “Address the lady properly or I’ll have your tongue.”
The demon sneered as blood streamed down his lip. The gold was affecting his system now, turning the network of veins a deep black against his grey skin. “Get me out of these bonds, and I’ll make a capon out of you. Stuff your lobcock down your gullet, I will.”
Win moved to strike him again, and Poppy placed a staying hand upon his arm. “Do not bother. He’s merely a weak and pathetic raptor demon. They feed off the pain and misery of others and are notoriously foul-mouthed.” She glanced down at the demon. “And quite stupid.”
The demon on the ground showed his sharp teeth. “Go bugger yourself, you bleeding three-penny upright.”
Win looked capable of murder. Poppy tightened her grip on him, and giving the demon a pleasant smile, aimed her last arrow at its crotch. “If anyone is in danger of being a capon, it is you. Now talk before you spend the rest of your short, miserable life as a eunuch.”
A bloody grin worked over the demon’s face. “Can’t.” He craned his neck to reveal the image of a chain tattooed upon his skin. “Am bound by Master.”
“Which means he is physically incapable of divulging any information,” Poppy explained to Winston. “No matter what we do to him. That tattoo will literally choke the life out of him if he says anything against his master’s wishes.”
“Aye,” said the demon with a gurgling laugh. “But can tell you Mr. Jack is having good fun with my mates.” His dark tongue ran over his teeth. “Tasty is Mr. Jack. Been having fun with him since the boat.” At that, the demon shifted his appearance to the murdered ship’s officer, then to Mary Chase, before going back to his ugly, demonic self.
Something cold and dark passed over Winston’s eyes as he looked down at the demon. “If you have nothing to tell us, then you are of little use.” Tight-lipped, Win turned his attention back to Poppy. “Decapitation works with this one, yes?”
Below them, the demon began to writhe against his bonds, snarling and spitting like an enraged dog. “Shanker covered, whore pipe, pig-fucking—”
“Are you sure you want to do the deed?” Poppy asked. SOS law gave her the right to execute any demon guilty of body theft and torture, which this demon clearly had done to poor Jack Talent. However foul the criminal may be, executing one still ate at the soul. She felt the weight of every life she took and did not like to think of Winston carrying that same burden.
But Win’s expression was set as he pulled his sword free from his walking stick. “Quite.” Dispassion etched his expression in harsh lines as he stared down at the demon, who still cursed a blue streak. Win raised his sword. “For Jack.” He struck true and clean.
Chapter Twenty-eight
They searched the Noble house from the dank cellars to the roof rafters, but found no sign of Jack Talent. And so they headed for London and Ranulf House to let Mary off there. She would alert Ian Ranulf to the problem, and the lycans would begin the search for Talent.
“It will soothe The Ranulf to search,” Mary said. “But they will not find him before I do.” Though she and Talent had never got along, fierce determination heated her voice and shone in her eyes. But her fervor quickly died.
Mary’s lids lowered as she grimaced. “I ought to have realized that one stole my blood aboard the Ignitus.”
Poppy rested a hand upon Mary’s. “None of this is your fault.”
No, it was his. Winston ought to have at least noticed Talent was not himself. He clutched the handle of his walking stick harder so that he would not smash something. “What is to say that Talent is still alive? Do you not suppose that he might have been dispatched when we