what about Seth? Any sign of him? Any word at all?”
“Nothing at all, as far as we know,” Jeff said. “And there’s no sign of him or talk online or among the other sups.”
“So he’s lying low,” Luc said. “And even if one of them popped up, it’s not like we could tell them apart. But at least we know what they are.”
“At least,” I agreed. “But that doesn’t solve our larger problem.”
“Which is?” Luc asked.
“We don’t know how to stop them.”
That’s when we got to work.
There’s at least one common thread linking detective stories and cop shows—the board that shows a victim’s picture, the potential suspects, and the witnesses. We opted for something similar, except instead of victims and suspects, we had a demonic angel and a something or other we weren’t quite sure about.
Well, we had pictures of Seth Tate and a movie still from Hellboy Jeff had e-mailed us, red skin and all.
I glanced over at Luc, who stood beside me, studying the whiteboard.
“Sometimes, we need a little humor,” Luc said.
“I guess I can’t argue with that.” I drew a simple image of a book on the board between Seth and Dominic.
“Seth touched the Maleficium. He split into Seth and Dominic. But why were they linked together in the first place? And if Dominic is a fallen angel, what’s Seth?”
“And most important,” Luc said, “how can we use that against them?”
We stared silently at the board for five minutes. Unfortunately, we still didn’t have an answer for either question.
“Angel, man, or monkey,” Lindsey said, “it makes no difference to me. I will kill him all the same.” She put an arm around me. “He hurts you, he goes down.”
I put an arm around her waist. “I appreciate the support.”
There was a knock at the door. Malik peeked his head in.
“Liege?” Luc asked.
“Darius would like to speak with Merit.”
I was half stunned, half confused, and one hundred percent nervous. “He wants to talk to me?”
“You are, and I quote, ‘a lynchpin in my review of the House.’ ”
Lindsey winced on my behalf.
I stood up and walked for the door, wondering if I should have just stayed with Dominic.
I followed Malik to the first floor of the House, then the second, and the third. Since there weren’t any public rooms up there, I was admittedly confused. “Where are we going?”
“The roof,” Malik said, following the hallway toward Ethan’s apartments.
“I’m sorry, the roof?”
“The roof,” he dryly confirmed, as if he was equally confused by the location. “Just follow me.”
Without a reason to argue, I followed him to the end of the hallway. He opened the last door on the right, then flipped on the light in an empty, vampire-sized bedroom. But unlike the others, a folding pair of simple stairs offered access into the ceiling.
“Attic?” I wondered aloud.
“Yep,” Malik said, then hopped up the stairs.
I grabbed the railing and followed Malik into the ceiling and then the space above. This was clearly an older part of the house. The beams were still exposed, showing antique square-headed nails and insulation that looked like horsehair. Kowalcyzk would have loved to send some building code inspectors in here.
“Watch your head,” Malik said, and I followed as he half walked, hunched over a bit to accommodate the low ceiling, across the room.
The air was chilly. An open window let moonlight and a stiff fall breeze spill into the room. The breeze carried the scent of clove cigarettes.
Darius was the only man I knew who smoked cloves.
Malik stopped a few feet from the open window and motioned me toward it. At my nervous expression, he smiled, then leaned in.
“Remember who you are, and who you were appointed to be,” he whispered. “We all believe in you.”
I smiled appreciatively, then climbed out the dormer window and outside onto the thin widow’s walk that capped the edge of the roof.
It was cold, and I zipped up my jacket as soon as I stepped outside and stuffed my hands into my pockets. I found my bit of worry wood still lodged there, and I rubbed its surface for luck. As if that would help me.
Darius leaned against the thin wrought-iron banister that outlined the widow’s walk. He wore a button-up shirt and trousers that couldn’t have been much protection against the chill, but he didn’t look cold. He looked well at home up here in the dark.
A dark cigarette between his fingers, Darius cast me a glance. “Sentinel,” he said, blowing out a stream of smoke.