City of Thorns (The Demon Queen Trials #1)(12)

And now it was time for me to present my case.

“I don’t suppose I get a trial?” I asked.

He shook his head slowly.

“You mentioned she hadn’t aged in two hundred years,” I began. “How long has it been since you’ve actually seen Mortana?”

Curiosity sparked in his eyes, “Is this your defense?”

Lead him to the conclusion. The problem was that this was hard to do when he was hardly saying anything. I needed to use his own words. “You’re certain that you want revenge by killing Mortana? And that your memory couldn’t be wrong after all that time?”

He just stared at me for a moment with that unnerving stillness. I wasn’t sure this was going well.

Then he replied, “When I say you look like her, I mean you look exactly like her. My memory isn’t faulty. I haven’t forgotten a single contour of her face. I do not forget things,” he said in a clipped tone.

My heart started pounding, but with hope. He was now referring to her as a separate person. “You haven’t forgotten a contour of her face. Did you notice how you spoke about her in the third person?”

Without another word, he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked my cell. Looming over me, with magic that brushed over my skin, he stepped inside.

I found myself moving away, cold dread skittering up my spine. In the days before mortals had weapons to fight back, we were simply the demons’ prey. When they weren’t seducing mortals, they’d drink our blood. Tens of thousands of years of evolution were telling me to get the fuck away from him.

A million terrible thoughts flitted through my mind, and I stood with my back pressed against the wall. “The Osborne police are very good,” I lied. “If you killed me, they’d find out.”

He cocked his head and spoke in a velvety murmur. “Oh, I doubt that very much.”





Chapter 8





My breath caught in my throat. “Do you still think I’m Mortana?”

He studied me so intensely that I felt he was seeing right into my very soul. “I listened to everything you said last night.”

I stared at him. God, what had I said to him? “That was you in the next cell?”

“You’ve managed to plant a seed of doubt in my mind. Mortana had far too much dignity to engage in a charade like that. The prom situation. Crying alone in your basement apartment at night. The fear of ladybugs. Having a lucky pen that you hold to feel a sense of security.”

“I’d like my pen back, please,” I whispered.

“Practicing karaoke songs alone in your room even though no one has ever invited you out. I don’t think I ever understood the desire some mortals have to end their lives until I listened to the details of yours last night.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Look, I might be a bit of a weirdo, but I’ve never wanted to end my life.”

“Not you. I mean me. I have seen darkness that you couldn’t imagine, horrors that would twist your soul. And yet, never before in my several hundred years of existence have I been so ready to shuffle off this mortal coil as I was listening to your sad monologue.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “I think it was the bit about the yogurt pouches you keep in your purse because you have no one to eat lunch with. Even though they’re meant to be consumed by infants.”

This was just insulting. “At least I don’t kidnap people like some kind of Buffalo Bill psychopath. Call me crazy, but I’d say that’s a worse flaw than purse yogurt. And by the way, they have probiotics, so my microbiome is fucking pristine.”

He stared at me, shadows thickening around him.

“My point is, you’re not perfect, either,” I added. “And you’re weirdly obsessed with Mortana.”

A ruthless look slid through his eyes. “I never said I was perfect. Frankly, I’m an absolute arsehole with an unhealthy revenge obsession. I’m not depressing, though, and I have never made my shirt into a bowl for dry cereal to eat alone on a Saturday night.”

Revenge. I’d managed to keep him talking, and he’d brought me back again to what he wanted. This was what I could use. And as it would happen, an unhealthy obsession with revenge was something I understood very well. It seemed this demon arsehole and I had something in common.

Dr. Omer’s teaching played in my mind. Build rapport by reflecting back your client’s words to him.

“Okay, so you have a seed of doubt,” I started. What would Dr. Omer say? “Let’s explore that.”

He shook his head slowly. “I admit you might not be a demon. You do look exactly like her, though, which is perplexing.”

“Maybe she’s a distant ancestor.”

He shook his head. “Demons rarely procreate. And when we do, we only sire other demons. You can’t be a mortal and a descendant of Mortana.”

I bit my lip. “Coincidence?”

He considered the notion. “Every now and then, a demon has a mortal doppelg?nger. It’s rare but possible.”

I sighed, relief unclenching my chest. “Good. Yes. That must be it.”

“But to prove it, I require two pieces of evidence.”

A little spark of hope. “Whatever you need.”

His gaze swept down my body. “To start, Mortana had a small scar on her upper thigh. I will need to see your legs.”