I had a good idea why May was the strongest. Tapping into real supernatural blood. As for what kind…

"These rumors," I said. "About May Donovan-"

"They're coming."

The raspy voice made the hairs on my neck rise. It came from Hope's direction, but didn't sound like her.

When I looked over, she'd twisted onto her side, her hair tumbling over her face. In the dim lighting, her expression seemed to be fear, but as I bent to reassure her, I saw she was smiling. Her amber eyes glittered. Her lips were drawn back, white teeth glowing in the darkness.

"Hope?"

She blinked and that smile wavered, but returned, less feral, more… blissful, eyes rolling back. Her lips parted and she let out a hissing sigh of pleasure.

The sound raked down my spine. I recognized that look, that sigh. When I'd made my deal with a demon, he'd taken human form for the summoning. As I'd squirmed, listening to the killer describe his crimes, I'd seen that same look on the demon's face as he drank in the chaos.

But half-demons weren't deinonic. Like every other supernatural, evil was a choice, not a blood destiny. I remembered Hope's words: "Other half-demons get a special power without a demon's attraction to chaos. That attraction is all I get," and I understood. All those times she'd looked away, guilty, embarrassed, when I'd offered sympathy for the horrors she had to endure.

Horror, yes. Horrible? Horrifying? Not for her.

Now, hearing our would-be murderers approaching, she felt not fear but-

I turned away from Hope. I had to think…

"Jaime?"

I steeled myself not to look at her. I remembered the demon I'd dealt with, how seductive he'd been, how easy to trust… and how much I'd paid for it.

"Jaime?" Her voice quavered, but that hoarse bloodlust was gone. "Help me. Please."

Still I resisted. But did enjoying chaos make Hope demonic? She had helped us find this group. Never once had she led us into trouble, double-crossed us or done anything to cause chaos. She'd honestly seemed to want to help-to find some balance for the impulses she hid.

I turned. We'd been in this room long enough that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I could make out Hope's face, slick with sweat, her eyes still glowing, but filled with fear, even despair.

"They're outside," she said. "Talking. I can hear their thoughts. This place-all the chaos-it must be boosting my power. I'm getting all these thoughts, every bad things-" She inhaled. "May's the key. Tricking them. Lying to them. You can use that."

"How?"

Frustration flared in her eyes. "Just… use it. Somehow. Not much time."

I leaned in to listen. She talked fast, throwing out snippets of information about May and the others. Random thoughts, out of context, left to me to interpret.

Then she gasped. "They're getting ready. Gas. Matches."

Her face contorted, excitement warring with true fear. She grabbed my arm.

"Knock me out again," she rasped.

I took her other arm and drew closer. "They won't hurt you. I'm going to get you out of here."

"You don't-" She bit off a snarl and took a deep breath. "You need to knock me out."

"I really need you awake, Hope. I might need your help-"

"To kill you?" Her gaze met mine, hard and sharp. "If they want to kill you, I might not try to stop them. I might even help them."

I didn't believe that, but I could see that she did.

"Grab my hair and hit my head against the floor."

"What if I accidentally-"

She flew at me. Seeing that snarling face, those glowing demonic eyes, I reacted instinctively and flung my arms out, knocking her back. As I hit her, she veered, as if launching off my hands, twisting to fly, headfirst, into the nearest wall. She hit it and slumped to the floor.

DEMONS AND WEREWOLVES

I RUSHED OVER and dropped to check Hope's pulse. There was a muted jangle at the door, as if someone was turning a lock.

I sprang to my feet.

Light filled the tiny room. I stumbled back, blinking after straining so long in the dark. Then I followed the light up and saw a panel inset in the high ceiling.

Ringed around the room was a high shelf dotted with what looked like stuffed animals. The taxidermy types, not the toys. That caught me off guard and I stared at a crow for a moment before yanking my gaze away.

Another click. The door was opening. I looked around frantically, hoping I'd see some weapon missed in the darkness. There was nothing. Shoes! My heels. I could use them as I'd planned to with Botnick, to stab or-

I stared down at my sneakers. Oh, goddamn it!

"Hello, Jaime."

May Donovan walked in, dressed in a blazer and skirt, as calmly professional as if we were meeting in her office. Even smiled and extended her hand.

"I trust I won't need to use that spell again," she said, stopping before me. "You're a bright woman. You know when you're outnumbered."

Her gaze dropped to Hope. "Still unconscious? I suppose that's just as well."

A click as the door closed. I looked past May and saw four others crowding into the tiny room. Three men, one woman, all on the far side of forty. At a gesture from May, two of the men walked to Hope and carried her into the middle of the room.

Something was etched into the concrete-a symbol they'd found in a book, presumably. As the men laid Hope on it, her hand flopped onto the stainless steel drain, sparkling and spotless, no sign of its purpose evident. Of course there wasn't-the point of having a concrete room with a drain was to wash away all the evidence.

I swallowed.

One of the men retrieved the gas can he'd left by the door and set it down on a lock of Hope's hair. The other woman held the matches, flipping them in her fingers, not nervous, just toying with them. I glanced at their faces, relaxed, unworried and unhurried, as if they were preparing the room for yet another dull but necessary business meeting.

I opened my mouth to stall them, but my mind and gaze stayed caught on Hope, on that gas can carelessly laid on her hair, on her graceful fingers and chewed nails stretched over that immaculate drain.

"You really can talk to the dead, can't you, Jaime?"

I jumped, startled, and looked at May. Her face was impassive, but her eyes were fever-bright. The eyes of a fanatic spotting proof of the divine.

The other woman harrumphed. "She's a good actress, that's all. Just like the rest of them."

"I don't think so. Someone-or something-led her to those bodies."

In her voice was the longing I'd heard so often from the bereaved, those desperate to believe. In May, it was magnified a hundredfold.

"I can," I said. "I see them, hear them, speak to them."

"May, don't let her-"

"You don't believe me? There's a ghost right next to you. A seventeen-year-old named Brendan, though you may not have bothered asking his name before you downsed him with gas and set him on fire. May, you picked him up at-" I glanced at Brendan, who told me the place and I relayed it. "You tricked him into your car, you and Don-" Another look at Brendan, who pointed to a tall balding man with a cleft chin. I nodded to him. "Over there."

Expressions ranged from May's exultation to incredulity to grudging acceptance.

May smiled. "You and I have a lot to talk about, Jaime."

In other words, I'd just bought myself a temporary pass. I tried not to let my relief show.

"First, though…" May continued.

She waved to Don, who held the gas. He uncapped it and stepped over Hope's body.

"No!"

I leapt forward, but May grabbed my arm.

"Please don't make us restrain you, Jaime. You know we can't let her live. She knows-"

"But she's one of us. Magical."

May shook her head. "Don't-"

"She's a half-demon. That's what we call them. Demons take human form and impregnate women. The children look human, but they have special powers. The ability to control an element or improved senses or-"