Page 106 of A City of Smoke and Demons
‘Jem,’ Tobias said softly. He closed his hand over Jem’s shoulder. ‘Ezra and I will deal with him. Take Lira back to the club.’ He paused, looking up at Hernan, whose face was blank with shock. ‘We’ll deal with this, I promise,’ Tobias said again, then pressed his lips to Jem’s forehead.
The devastation on Jem’s face ripped Ezra’s guts out. His friend was always so stoic, so strong and serious. Now, to see him with his shoulders slumped and his skin as pale as milk, his dead sister cradled in his arms … Ezra wasn’t sure what to say. Whatever words he could offer wouldn’t change anything. They wouldn’t bring Lira back.
This changed everything. Slowly, Ezra stood, casting his eyes around, waiting, but he wasn’t sure for what. A clue. Anything that might indicate which way John had taken Analise. As his eyes snagged on a building down the street, he saw it: a glimmer of gold mist, clinging desperately to the brickwork.
He looked down at Jem, his words caught somewhere in the back of his throat.
Jem’s whole body shook as he took a deep breath and met Ezra’s eyes. ‘Find Analise,’ he whispered, ‘and come back—all of you.’
Ezra took off down the street, not waiting to see if Tobias was following him. Analise’s magic led them around one corner, then another, before it stopped again, and he realised what she’d done—left a trail for him to follow. He tried to shut out thesmells and sounds of the city and concentrate. The magic she left inside pulled at him, like it wanted to burst from his chest, and he saw a faint smear of gold on the corner of a building—as if she dragged her hand along it.
Her trail led them away from the slum of the Devil’s Credges and Ezra found himself back in his old neighbourhood. Tobias, silent, followed him along the street, the neat houses of the middle-class looking down at them as they passed. No curtains twitched behind windows. No one called out. This part of London was tucked up in its comfortable bed.
Ezra followed a speck of gold mist around another corner and stopped as the trail went cold.
No introductions were necessary. Analise knew that alluring, beguiling smile. The perfectly sculpted cheekbones and a jaw that could cut glass. The long, supine limbs.
Just like in her dreams, the Devil was wearing a tailored white suit, so pristine he glowed. John nudged Analise in the back, urging her forward. She could feel his eagerness, his pride in what he’d done. Brought her to meet the Fallen One in a lavishly furnished house with floral wallpaper in the nice part of town.
If she wasn’t so terrified, Analise would have laughed, or made a polite remark about the colour of the curtains.
Or told the Devil to get fucked.
Asmael smiled at her, a graceful curving of a beautiful mouth. ‘Analise.’
He knew her name. Dread crawled down her spine, heavy as lead, almost forcing her to her knees. She swallowed and remained silent.
Do not speak to him.
Another nudge, forced her further into the room. Did he live here? Did the Devil go about life in London like a normal person? Her head was spinning. The parlour was furnished with armchairs in grey and white striped fabric, a round table with ornately curved legs and chairs with burgundy cloth. The room was dimly lit, shadows clustering in the corners.
Asmael indicated the table near the window. ‘No?’ he said when she didn’t move. ‘Perhaps you’d prefer the armchair. It’s a pity there’s no moon. I like the moon. On a clear night, light pours through that window. It’s rather beautiful. Tea?’
Analise shook her head.
He chuckled, and it sounded like music. ‘You’re wondering why you’re here. How I know your name. Why your magic didn’t work on John here, and,’ Asmael paused, that honey-toned voice momentarily arrested, ‘you’re wondering if he’ll save you.’
Analise was wondering all of those things.
He gestured to the table again. ‘Sit, please.’
It wasn’t an invitation, but an order and, as polite as it was, Analise could hear the power in his tone, the promise that if she didn’t do as he asked, he’d make her. As she sat, a teapot and two cups on dainty saucers appeared. The china was white, delicate, and expensive, with a floral design rimmed in gold. She watched stupidly as Asmael poured them both a cup, shook her head at the offer of milk and sugar, unable to believe what was happening.
She was having tea with a fallen angel. Analise accepted her cup with a curt nod of thanks. If she could keep him talking, it would give Ezra time to find her. She’d left as many scraps of magic as she could while John led her at gunpoint through the city. She hadn’t tried to use her magic on him, believing him when he said he’d shoot her, like he shot Lira. Analise bit her lip, worry for her friend knotting in her stomach.
John wouldn’t have killed her, she understood that now, because this meeting between her and the Devil was carefully orchestrated. John let her believe, let the Order believe, that she saved him so this could happen.
Analise studied Asmael as much as she dared. She could never see him clearly in her dreams, but now, she took note of the eyes, shaped like almonds, black all the way through. The high cheekbones, perfectly sculpted jawline, strong brow and aquiline nose. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, but then she reminded herself he wasn’t a man at all.
He was a monster.
‘Twenty-five years ago, a man made a bargain with me,’ the Devil said, breaking the silence. ‘The price was not his life, like he assumed it would be, but yours.’
Analise nearly dropped her cup. ‘Mine?’
He nodded. ‘Your parents wanted you badly.’
She swallowed. ‘My parents … asked you …’
