“Tori?” I prompted. “You had questions?”

“Uh.” She squinted as though waking from a daydream. “Questions. Right. I’m investigating a series of unsolved bounties on demon mages.”

As she flipped open her folder, I hid my chagrin. This time, Zylas wasn’t out of the infernus and listening in. He’d warned me that he couldn’t “hear” lies through my inner relay of the conversation.

“Certain sources and witnesses,” Tori told an unenthusiastic Naim, “have suggested a summoner is creating demon mages using an artifact imbued with demon magic.”

Wait … did she say demon mages?

“What do you know about demonic artifacts?” she asked the ex-summoner, oblivious to my arrested stare.

“I’ve never created a demon mage. I don’t know how it’s done, or if it requires artifacts.”

“Yes, of course. I’m just looking for information.”

She flipped through a few papers in her folder. Black-and-white documents flashed past until she paused on an old photo of two men, one facing the camera and one in profile.

I gasped.

Tori glanced at me. I tore my attention off the photo.

“S-sorry,” I mumbled. “Go on.”

I scarcely heard her as she prodded Naim for more information about demon mages. My gaze dropped to the photo again, on display in her open folder.

The young man, maybe twenty-five, who faced the camera was a stranger. His skin and hair were equally pale, giving him a washed-out, almost phantomlike look. Speaking to him was another young man, and with his face in profile, his only defining characteristic was his dark hair.

I wouldn’t have recognized him if not for the scar distorting his lower lip, the deep indent permanently twisting his mouth.

Claude.

It had to be him, twenty years younger. How likely was it that more than one person had a scar like that—or more than one person involved in Demonica?

With effort, I refocused on the conversation. Tori had just asked a question—which I’d completely missed—and Naim was considering her as though unsure whether he cared to answer.

“In regular summoning,” he began, measuring each word, “the demon is summoned into a circle, the boundary of which is impenetrable to the demon. In demon-mage creation, the demon is summoned into a human body.”

Thoughts of Claude evaporated from my head, replaced by disbelieving revulsion.

“The human body—or, some say, their soul—is the cage that traps the demon. It will either assimilate into its host or keep fighting to escape until it kills the fool that offered himself up for the ritual. When the human dies, so does the demon.”

“That’s horrible.” As the words slipped out, I realized I had my hand pressed to my mouth.

“Wait.” Tori leaned forward. “If the demon is summoned right into the human, is there even a contract? Or is the demon simply trapped and it just … goes along with everything so it doesn’t die?”

“I assume there’s a contract, or at least binding magic involved.” Naim shrugged dismissively. “As I said, if you want specifics, you need the summoner. No two demon mages are exactly the same—though they all meet the same end.”

I swallowed my stomach down. Demon mages. I’d heard of them, of course, but they were a myth—the kind that spawned nightmares. They were the most illegal magic of all, according to the MPD, and unlike many other magical bans, I’d never seen a single complaint or argument against MagiPol’s harsh treatment of demon mages and those who created them.

The snap of Tori’s folder closing startled me out of my contemplation.

“’Kay, well,” she told Naim, “thanks for nothing.”

Sneering, he turned to me. “Now, girl, where did you get your demon?”

I shoved to my feet, my head spinning, stomach twisting, and patience gone. “If you learn anything about the artifact I’m interested in, or the demonic artifacts Tori asked about, let us know. You can reach us through the Crow and Hammer.”

“Wait!” He scooted forward on his chair. “You agreed to tell me if I answered your questions!”

“You didn’t have any answers, did you?” I gave him the same cutting stare Zylas gave me whenever I did something particularly zh’ūltis. “I expected more from a so-called expert.”

Stepping past Tori’s knees, I speed-walked across the room. As I pushed open the stairwell door, I replayed that last exchange in my head. Slow heat built in my cheeks.

Tori stepped through the door, letting it swing shut behind her.

“Was I too rude?” I blurted anxiously. “I should’ve been nicer. He was sort of helpful. I shouldn’t have—”

She grinned. “That was perfect. He was a dick. You’re one tough cookie, Robin.”

“Me?” No way she was talking about me. I was the opposite of tough.

“You didn’t let him intimidate you for a second.”

“Was he intimidating?”

“Kind of, yeah. But still.”

My brow wrinkled. Compared to Zylas in a temper, Naim was as intimidating as a toothless dog.

Tori started down the stairs. “So, what’s that ancient infernus thing you’re researching? It looked interesting.”

“I ran across it in an old grimoire,” I revealed, going with a version of the truth. “What about your demon-mage case? What got you started on an investigation?”

“I’m just doing some legwork for Aaron and Kai. It’s their job.”

Except it wasn’t for a job; Zylas had already exposed that lie.

“Oh, I see,” I murmured as we reached the bottom of the stairs.

She hesitated, glancing at me, and I returned the look, wishing I knew what she was thinking. She’d seen the amulet, probably on Tahēsh. Maybe she knew what had happened to it. On top of that, she was seeking rare Demonica knowledge likely connected to her mage friends’ secret.

Giving nothing away, Tori shrugged and stepped into the hall.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Hi, Izzah.”

As I squeezed into the hall with her, I spotted the group of people she’d almost collided with, headed by a vaguely familiar woman—the dark-haired one I’d seen leaving the Crow and Hammer on Wednesday evening.

“Tori?” The woman frowned. “Wei, what are you doing here?”