“You are useless,” Zylas added pitilessly. “You walk loud and talk loud and breathe loud—”

“I do not breathe loud.” I sat forward, getting off his stupid tail, and crawled for the gap between chairs.

He seized the hem of my sweater and yanked. I flopped backward and landed in his lap with a muffled thump. He clamped a warm hand over my mouth.

A pair of men’s leather shoes came into view, near silent on the tile floor compared to the woman’s clicking heels. The man strode past our hiding spot and disappeared into an aisle.

Zylas exhaled against my cheek—then pushed his nose into the spot under my ear. I squealed into his hand and twisted away from his face. His husky laugh was more vibration than sound. He shoved me off his lap, crawled over my legs with more grace than should’ve been possible, and slipped between the chairs.

Muttering nasty things under my breath, I rushed out after him. As I wobbled to my feet, he was already ghosting down the aisle—not back into the Demonica corner, but toward the front of the library.

“Zylas!” I hurried to his side, quietly this time. “Where are you going?”

He paused, crimson gaze sweeping the aisles. “This way.”

“Which way? What are you—”

Feet silent on the floor, he entered a short hall. A door marked with a bathroom sign waited at the end, but Zylas was interested in a door with a Guild Members Only plaque on it.

“We’re not allowed in there,” I told him.

He grasped the handle. White light sparked across it—some kind of Arcane spell. The pale sizzle ran over his knuckles and up his wrist. He narrowed his eyes, then rammed his shoulder into the door. The frame split and the door swung open, the sorcery imbued into the handle useless.

Crap, he’d broken the door. How would I explain that?

“Zylas, we can’t—”

He ignored me and walked in. Why was I not surprised?

The interior was dark, the air heavy with dust. I felt along the wall, found a light switch, and pressed it. Fluorescent bulbs buzzed awake.

Familiarity hit me in the gut. A long table was stacked with books in various states of disassembly. Tools I’d seen my mother use daily lay across the work surface—blades and cutting tools, glue, string, leather presses, pens and ink. A large magnifying glass on an adjustable arm was positioned above the book restorer’s current project.

Zylas glided toward the table, paused to inhale, then angled toward the cabinets along the wall. He homed in on the corner one, the metal doors secured with a heavy padlock.

I minced to his side. The lock had no keyhole and its face was marked with a set of runes. “What is it?”

He sniffed the air. “I smell blood.”

My stomach performed an adrenaline-fueled flip. “Blood” wasn’t even on the list of answers I’d expected.

“Old. Faint.” His tail snapped sideways. “The scent of demon blood and magic.”

He reached for the padlock but I grabbed his wrist. I didn’t doubt he could break it with either pure strength or magic, but that was the problem.

“Don’t,” I whispered urgently.

His jaw tightened with stubbornness. I knew that look—the “I’m about to do the opposite of what you want just to prove I can” look.

If he broke that lock, I’d be in so much trouble.

I pulled on his arm, straining to bring up that page of commands in my mind’s eye. His mouth twisted and he again reached for the padlock, dragging me across the floor.

With a shot of panic, the Ancient Greek popped into my head. “Daimon, hesychaze!”

Crimson power lit up his extremities. I caught a glimpse of his glowing eyes, wide and furious, just before his body dissolved into light and streaked back into my infernus. I shoved the pendant under my jacket, breathing faster than the situation warranted.

I’d forced Zylas into the infernus. It was the first time I’d ever forced him to do anything.

Heels clacked in the hallway outside. I spun around, my elation shriveling into dread. The footsteps snapped loudly, then the librarian stepped into the open doorway, shock and anger stamped across her face.

Damn that demon.

Chapter Two

Sometimes, being a shrimpy waif of a twenty-year-old girl came in handy. My acting skills weren’t great, but I hadn’t needed to fake my tearful, hand-wringing apologies to the librarian. Nor had it been much of a stretch to insist that I hadn’t broken the door. I’d been on my way to the bathroom when I noticed it was open. That’s all.

Deciding I was too young, innocent, and wimpy to break through magically locked doors, she’d sighed, told me to leave, and started inspecting the restoration room for anything missing. Thank goodness I’d stopped Zylas from breaking the cabinet’s padlock.

Thirty minutes later, I was getting off a bus in the shabby Downtown Eastside. The chill air threatened rain and I pulled my jacket tighter against the December wind. With no desire to linger, I hurried past a rundown bike repair shop and a tattoo parlor with barred windows.

Twenty yards ahead, a three-story, cube-shaped building squatted between a small parking lot and a construction site, its shadowed doorway almost lost in its blank façade. Pulling out my phone, I checked for messages—none—then sent a quick text to Amalia, reminding her not to be late.

Steeling myself—this was my guild and I shouldn’t be afraid of it—I approached the door, a faded crow and mallet painted on the black wood. Above it, Old English lettering spelled out, “The Crow and Hammer.” It’d been over a month since I’d first set foot inside, and I’d only been back a few times. Partly because I’d caught the worst flu of my life—probably a result of all the preceding stress—and partly because … well …

With an unsteady breath, I reminded myself I was a badass demon contractor and pushed the door open. Sound rolled out, chattering voices welcoming me into the warmth and light. I slipped inside.

The pub was both cozy and spacious. Wooden chairs surrounded the polished tables, and dark beams crossed the ceiling. Opposite the door, a bar stretched across the pub’s back wall, stools lined up in front of it. A huge steel war hammer was affixed to the wall above the liquor cabinets.

I moved toward the nearest table, keeping well away from the small groups of mythics around the bar. Everyone was busy catching up, laughter peppering the exuberant conversations. Tonight was the guild’s monthly meeting, and every member was gathering for a solid hour of updates, presentations, and group training.

Rubbing my hands together to warm them, I allowed myself to relax. This wasn’t so bad. The atmosphere was a thousand times better than at my last guild. I even dared to unzip my coat and hang it on the back of a chair.

No one had noticed me, and I was perfectly okay with that. Being noticed was one of my least favorite things, especially when everyone here knew everyone else—and I knew no one.

The guild door swung open with the cheerful jingle of a bell. A tall, willowy woman a bit older than me and an even taller, ruggedly built man waltzed in. Her dark hair hung loose around her, and his was pulled into a shaggy topknot.

“We’re here!” the guy called. “Not even late this time!”