I found Rohan in the library, one of those massive floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall, book-filled rooms found only in Victorian mansions and Hollywood movies. It even had rolling ladders to reach high shelves, Persian carpets on the floor, and comfortable seating to curl up in. A long wood table with sturdy chairs ran along the bank of windows on the far side of the room.

I sank onto the leather club chair, a match to Rohan’s that was grouped next to a large unlit fireplace, sneaking glances to gauge his mood. Tough to do since he was slumped on the sofa next to me, head bowed.

Neither of us said anything for a good long while.

I sniffed my T-shirt to make sure I didn’t smell too disgusting. Not bad. Casting around for something else to do, I studied the pile of history texts left on the low mahogany coffee table, then got bored and just watched Rohan, waiting for his hands to unclench from the padded arm rest before I spoke.

“Why’d you quit singing?”

His head jerked up. “What?”

“It was around the time when you became Rasha, and maybe touring or being in the band might have been tough, but you could have kept singing. Writing music. You left the biz entirely.”

“Yup,” he replied in a “leave it alone” voice.

I’d only raised the topic trying to forge some kind of connection between us. I’d had my dancing, he’d had his singing, and I’d thought maybe there’d be some common ground we could bond over. After meeting Drio, having Rohan on my side was imperative. But his reticence made me actively curious.

“Was it a vocal chord thing? Did potential permanent damage end it?” In about three seconds, I wove an entire tale of the doors closing on Rohan’s musical dreams, finishing up with him staring up at his doctor with impossibly sad eyes and asking à la Oliver Twist, “Please sir, may I sing another?”

Rohan glared at me.

“All right. Sheesh.” I slouched back against my chair. “I’m sorry you got stuck with me,” I said in a sincere voice. ”I’ll try not to die on your watch.”

“Drio was right. You’re the shiny prize. The demons are going to want bragging rights of killing the first female Rasha. And your head. They’ll want that too.”

“So they re-assigned you boys here to keep it attached to my body. Was this a demotion for you?”

“You’d think so.”

I stopped fidgeting and met his eyes. Unimpressed. “Gee, thanks.”

Rohan nudged my knee with his. “No. Until consensus among the Executive is reached on your status, they want the best around you.”

I tried to ignore my queasiness at what would happen if consensus wasn’t reached in my favor. Also, the tingle running up my leg from his touch.

“I appreciate it.” I hoped I sounded suitably grateful. These guys were right about needing them to keep me safe and help me find my footing, especially if Asmodeus figured out it was me who’d offed his spawn. Much as I wished this would go away, I was a Rasha until death do us part.

“What happens if the Brotherhood decides they don’t want a sister after all?”

Rohan took his sweet time answering. “I think if push came to shove, they’d decommission you.”

My stomach squicked. “Is that a euphemism for ‘bullet to the head?’”

Another long pause. Seriously? I drowned my apprehension in a tidal wave of positive sentiment but my apprehension broke free and bobbed to the surface, shooting me the finger for my efforts.

“Not murder,” he finally said. “You already have too public a profile within the Brotherhood.”

“Knowing I’m only going to stay alive because they might get caught is hardly reassuring.” I grimaced. “What about a timely unfortunate accident? I mean, Rasha die.”

“They’d try to quietly retire you. Alive,” he reassured me.

“Would that be so bad?” I sat up, intrigued. “Hey, could we transfer my powers to Ari?”

Exasperation on his face, Rohan got up.

I grabbed the side of his jeans, his quad muscle tensing under my palm as I pushed him back onto the couch. “Fine. Maybe it doesn’t work that way. But I refuse to believe that simply re-running the ceremony was the final proof that I’m the sole Rasha twin. Ari is still an initiate and I’m going to prove it.”

“Good luck with that.”

“I’ll train hard. In return,” I continued, “you help me petition the Executive on Ari’s behalf.”

“Me? No. Not interested in getting involved.”

Why were all of them so block-headed about helping me with this? “You don’t want to be here. The faster I get up to speed, the faster you get to go home.”

“I have a mission here other than you, you know.”

“Yeah, but if you’re as good as Kane says you are, then I bet you’ll wrap that up soon. Come on, what could it hurt to try? At best, Demon Club gets the Rasha it wanted. At worst, my training schedule is accelerated and you go on your merry way. Deal?” I held out my hand to shake.

“No deal. I wrap up the primary mission, and I’ll be on my merry way regardless. There’s enough other people to watch you.”

I leaned back, arms crossed. “Then let’s negotiate.” I’d spent a lifetime listening to my lawyer father.

“You’ve got nothing of value to offer me,” Rohan said.

“What’s the mission?” What if I could help Rohan complete this mission his way?

“Look, the gig that brought me to Vancouver is…” Rohan rubbed his hand roughly through his hair, sending it into spiky disarray. “I’m getting a lot of pressure to take it in a direction I don’t agree with. Got enough of my own shit to deal with as far as the Executive is concerned. You’re on your own.”

“Now you’ve got me curious. What’s up?”

Rohan hesitated.

I raised my hands. “If I haven’t earned need-to-know clearance yet, I get it.”

“It’s not that. You’ll freak out.”

I picked up a pen left on top of the book pile and chucked it at him.

He caught it one-handed, studying me a moment, tapping the pen against his thigh.

I tried not to stare, my fingers twitching at the memory of his steely hard muscles. Or replace the pen with my tongue.

“First off, you understand now that you’re bound by all Rasha oaths of secrecy not to discuss what you’ve heard.” He shot me a wry look. “That includes not telling your brother.”

I totally met his eyes when I agreed but he stared me down until I squirmed. “All right, already,” I groused. “I won’t dish.”

“We suspect Samson King is a demon.”

Rohan winced as I smacked his arm.

“No way! He’s a celeb A-lister. I mean, yeah, he’s got that smug rich kid vibe, even though he’s got to be pushing thirty, but I figured someone that famous was just another overcompensating,” I wagged my pinky meaningfully, “asshole celeb.”

Rohan leaned in, his elbows braced on his knees, and a serious expression on his face. “I’m concerned about your fetish for the peen, Lolita. Do we need to have a talk?”

“Curiosity about celebrity genitalia is hardly fetish. It’s practically hardwired into Western society’s DNA.”

“Hence, the race to the bottom,” he muttered.

“Besides, I bet you fifty bucks there’s more than a few sites devoted to your particular width and girth, Mr. Mitra.”

“All of which would be staggeringly wrong.”

The twin desires to both smack the smug off his face and rip off his pants to see for myself should have negated each other and yet, there they were. “Seriously, his stupid reality show Live like a King hits douchebag territory, but a demon?”

Rohan spread his fingers three inches apart. “Our dossier on him is already that thick.” His hand clenched into a fist. “Trouble is, everything is circumstantial. Rumors and speculation. We don’t have the hard proof such as his name or true form that would allow me to sanction the kill.”

“Yet.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yet. The seven deadly sins are mother’s milk to demons and that show? It’s the ultimate in envy with those humiliating challenges contestants do to be part of King’s entourage.”

“It’s almost worse that he’s not around to witness most of it,” I said. “He just drops in with the occasional visit, a cocky smile, and a joke, and contestants redouble their efforts take each other out and get near him.”

“He incites jealousy, even though on the surface it seems like he’s inviting people along for the ride. In fact, if you deconstruct it, most of his brand is devoted to making people feel bad about themselves.”

“By reminding them they’re not him.” I nodded. “He has that other reality show too, all about his limitless wealth and partying and he’s always living large in his movies. The ultimate good-time dude and people love it. Love him.”

“That’s the problem.” Rohan braced one foot on the coffee table. “His public persona is funny and charming. He’s smart. Comes off as the guy most likely to buy a round, fly everyone to Vegas for a night out. No scandals, no rumors of deviant behavior. He’s a huge star with a huge social media presence–a huge reach–and that makes him very dangerous.” He stretched an arm out along the top of the sofa. “His brand has an adverse affect on people that’s way out of line with other celebs. More than people jealous or bummed out that they don’t get to live his lifestyle.”

“Like what? People quitting this cruel world because they don’t get to be him?” Had I known being Rasha meant getting all up in stars’ dirty business, I’d have signed up years ago.

“Yeah. After Live like a King aired, Drio and I started tracking down everyone affiliated with the show. A lot of contestants and crew had died.” He danced the pen over his knuckles as he spoke. “They all seemed like accidents: motorcycle crash, OD, that kind of thing, but given the mental state of the people, we believe they were suicides.” He white-knuckled the pen. “Then there was the disaster at Kingdom Come.”

Talk about a nightmare. Samson had invited a bunch of his rock star and hip hop friends to a concert in the desert. A couple hundred thousand people packed in all day with insufficient water and for the grand finale, when King himself took the stage for his singing debut, some scaffolding collapsed. Between that carnage and sunstroked dehydration, hundreds were left dead and wounded. And still people fell all over themselves to defend him and his shitty concert.

“Was the collapse deliberate?” I tugged the pen out of his hand because he was about to pulverize the poor thing. Had Rohan known any of the performers that had died?

He looked down in surprise, as if he’d forgotten he’d had the writing utensil in the first place. “We have questions about the mindset of the rigger in charge. He’d been tight with Samson. If King is feeding off the pain and misery he causes, he’s gaining incredible power, but to what end?”

I made a pffft noise. “World domination. You’re welcome.”

He failed to look impressed. “No shit. But how? What’s his final move and is there a specific trigger for it? Another disaster like Kingdom Come but on a bigger scale? Something else entirely? What’s the timeline?” Rohan blew out his cheeks in frustration. “That’s what we have yet to determine. It would help if we could figure out what type of demon he is. We need to crack someone in his inner circle, get in close to monitor him, but we’ve had no luck gaining entry.”

“So what’s causing the dissenting plans of attack?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Rohan said.

Nice blow off but I wasn’t that easily dissuaded. “You ended up here in Vancouver why?” I asked.

“King is shooting a movie and–”

“Hard Knock Strife!” I bolted upright in my seat.

Rohan ducked as the pen shattered in my grip, sending plastic shards flying.

“Josh, the lust demon that I–” I shot Rohan a warning look as I tossed pen remnants on the table. “Anyway, he’d been cast in that movie. I didn’t realize it was King’s.” I gnawed on my bottom lip. “How many of the other actors in the gang are demons? Samson is smart enough to cover his tracks. But what about the others? Josh didn’t strike me as the sharpest tool in the shed. Has King worked with other demons before?”

Rohan studied me with a coolly assessing look. “That’s a good idea.”

“Yeah, I get them when the moon lines up with Uranus.”

He didn’t appreciate my wit. “Except we already checked that avenue out. There was one demon that King worked with on a regular basis but my buddy Eyal took him out in Boston a couple of months ago. Probably how your boy Josh got the part.”

Rohan must have seen how bummed I was that I hadn’t provided the golden nugget needed to get close to Samson, because he added, “You’re off to a good start. Eventually, you’ll become a good fighter, too.”

“I have no idea how I specifically killed either Josh or his sister and I’m not thrilled about having to trial and error my way to survive every demon encounter.”

“Then learn about as many demons as possible and where their weak spot is located. That will keep you alive as much as your magic.” Rohan got up and walked over to one of the neatly arranged shelves where he extracted a thin, red, leather-bound book. He flipped through it. “All demons of the same type, say, all araculum, have the same weak spot,” he explained. “It gets trickier with the Uniques, the one-off demons like Lady Midday. In those cases we don’t have the multiple kills that have taught us where to aim for. Though if we’ve had a few encounters, then sometimes we’ve figured out the location for when we finally get close enough to make the kill.”

Rohan brought the open book over to me. He nudged my elbow away to perch on the arm of my chair, shoving the book under my nose.

I read the passage he pointed to. “Okay, this weak spot can be located anywhere in a demon’s body, ranging from the bottom of their foot to behind their eyes.” I scanned the rest of the page. “You know, I always thought that the way to kill a demon was through its heart.”

Rohan snorted. “What do you think a heart is?”

I twisted about half an inch to better face him. My arm skimmed his thigh, his muscles clenching in response. I could do this call and answer with his body part all day. “Does this weak spot have a name?” I asked.

He shifted his weight, his hip resting against my shoulder. “I told you, the heart.”

The words blurred meaninglessly on the page. I felt like I was back in ninth grade at the movie theater with Adam Kim, so focused on the minutiae of movements between our bodies that the entire screen had been a giant white blob.

My chest brushed his forearm. I was more than a bit curious if all this touching was a coincidence on his part or more of some endless game we seemed to be playing. “You aren’t being metaphoric, then.”

“It’s true on many levels.”

I ran my finger over the heart tattoo on his left bicep. “What baggage-laden break up led to this visual reminder, hmmm?”

“Focus.” His breath tickled the back of my neck as he leaned over me.

Dilemma. I was torn between prolonging any part of Rohan touching any part of me and giving in to being a curious kitten. I raised my eyes to his, unable to resist asking. “Come on, who was she?”

Rohan stood up abruptly, snapping the book shut.

Stupid curiosity.

“You can’t be buried in a Jewish cemetery,” I said, trying a different tack. “Not with tattoos.”

That got me a wry smile. “What gives you the impression I think there will be anything left of me to bury?”

Wow. These dudes were grim.

“How am I supposed to know which demon has which weak spot?”

Rohan replaced the book, waving a hand around the library. “You learn.”

Sure, Ari had shared some details of demons and hunting with me, but taking in the plethora of books now, I had a long way to go to even learn the basics. I sighed in resignation. “Where’s my Giles?”

Rohan stared blankly at me.

“You know,” I said, “the stuffy-yet-caring resident librarian mentor who provides helpful and timely info on a demon-by-demon basis?”

“There’s no librarian.” Rohan tapped his head. “You are your own librarian.”

Great. Initiates got a lifetime of mentoring in demonology but I was told to independent study my way through. “Right.”

I trolled the shelves, running my finger along the spines. Most of the books featured the same publisher’s imprint on their spine: the letters BD in white against a black square background. Made sense that the Brotherhood printed their material in-house. “How about a podcast?”

“No.”

“Cheat sheet?”

Rohan gave a slow, disbelieving shake of his head. “It’s called reading. Your commitment to apathy is impressive.”

I moved to the next bookshelf, tossing him a smile over my shoulder. “Why, Mr. Mitra, you say the sweetest things.”

In the window’s reflection, I caught Rohan massaging his temples. Taunting him was fun, however…“You’re wrong about my impressive commitment,” I said, turning to face him. “It’s not to apathy. You’ve had your entire life to learn this stuff. I’m not against reading. I’m against the amount of time I’d need to get up to speed. Time which, if demons are gunning for me? I don’t have.”

“Cheat sheets.” He looked glum.

“Twelve point Helvetica is fine. Start with the main bad guys, ranking from domain down through species. Or a Demons for Dummies book. With lots of pictures. That works too.”

He brightened. “We have that.” He jogged over to a far corner of the library.

I stared in amazement as he pulled out a fat primer entitled Most Common Demons and presented it to me. “That’s a kids’ book,” I said, frowning at the bright cover.

“Yup.” Rohan shoved it into my chest. I caught it with an unhappy thump. “None of our initiates are dummies,” he said, “but I’m guessing even you can keep up with a seven-year-old’s reading comprehension.” He patted my head.

Did people have weak spots? Or could I just aim for the actual heart with humans? I eyed Rohan, sizing him up.

Kane strolled into the library with a pile of books, whistling when he saw what I held. Seriously, did this guy ever wear proper clothes? “Hel-lo nightmares for days.” He dumped his books on a table, snatched mine out of my hands, and flipped through it. “This sucker frightened me out of my wits.”

I peered at the illustration. “It looks like an evil Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.”

His eyes lit up. “Exactly! It’s a kappa demon from Japan. I lived in terror of it coming after me.”

“Why? Some kind of connection to your heritage?”

He stared at me like I was stupid. “It sucks your entrails out through the ass. Do you know how scary that was to a chubby gay kid?” He gave an exaggerated shudder, handing the book back to me.

“I look forward to finding my own personal nightmare,” I said.

Speaking of Rohan, he rolled his eyes but before he could say anything, there was an unsettling high-pitched whistle from the woods out back.

Kane peered out the window. “Demon.”

I hugged the book to my chest. “Asmodeus?”

“Nope. That was the cry of the curupira.” Kane shot me an odd look. “Why would you think that?”

I sank into a chair, weak-kneed in relief. “You better go kill it.”

“Wrong pronoun, Lolita.” Rohan tugged me to my feet. “Show time.”