I licked my lips, eyeing the girl warily.

"This is what you let live, Lily. This is what would have killed you."

He held out my knife. The one I had lost in the fight. The one that she had cut me with. The one I'd killed him with. "Come," he said. "Finish the job."

I hesitated only a moment, then took the knife from him. He took a step back. "Now," he said, pressing a button on the remote.

The demon girl howled, then stood tall. Her skin rippled, as if something were living beneath it, moving around, disfiguring her, but when she looked at me, her eyes still belonged to Rose.

"The hell you are," I said, and I lunged. She countered, but I was ready, and I tackled her, sending us both to the ground. I could feel the new strength in me, burning through me, filling me. And damned if I didn't put it to good use.

I had one hand on her neck, holding her down. Those eyes opened, but I looked away. "You're not her," I said, even as I slashed my blade straight across her neck.

An unearthly yowl split the air as the black goo oozed from the wound. I jumped back, then watched, fascinated, as the body shifted into a bottomless pit of slime that seemed to suck her out of this dimension and into some other unknown space, leaving nothing behind but a slight greasy mark on the mat, and me, suddenly broodish and dark.

I looked over the rest of the mat and noticed that it was stained in a number of places. The blood of demons and humans tainted the place, and there I was standing in the middle, the heir to it all. "I did it," I said.

"Indeed you did," Zane responded, with a small nod.

I frowned, thinking back to the Hell Beast. He'd also turned to goo, but his wound had been to the heart. "I sliced her throat," I said, only now recognizing the incongruity. "And she turned to goo. It doesn't have to be a heart wound?"

Zane looked between me and Clarence, clearly perplexed by my question.

"Earlier. When the Grykon-" I stopped myself, eyes on Clarence, unaware if I could share the fact that I'd actually encountered two demons-and that I'd let one walk away scot-free.

"Deacon Camphire has been up to his tricks," Clarence explained. "He took out the demon with his own blade in a rather obvious attempt to win Lily's trust."

I bit my cheek, forcing myself to stand there silently and accept the dressing-down.

"I see," Zane said. He lifted the short blade and showed it to me. "It is the blade, ma chere, not the nature of the killing blow. A demon taken out by a proper blade wielded by the blade's owner will not come back."

"Oh. So why didn't I have a proper blade before you guys sent me to the pub? I mean, I'm this kick-butt assassin chick and I had to grab something from the trash."

"Your test was fitting into Alice's life," Clarence said. "We didn't expect-"

"No," Zane said, interrupting. "She is right." He nodded to my hand, where I still held my knife. "A hunter makes a knife his own by spilling his own blood on the blade. She cut you across the palm with your own blade." I glanced at my hand, fascinated to see that the wound was already healing. "It is now yours, as you have seen. Use it well."

I licked my lips, unsure. "So this is all I need? A knife?"

"Do what you were made for and you cannot fail. Utilize your skill; take advantage of the element of surprise. Do that, and you will prevail."

I looked between him and Clarence, torn between going with the mystical assassin-chick flow, or diverting over to earthly practicality.

I chose the practical. "How about a gun, too? Just in case skill and surprise don't cut it."

"And what would you do with that?"

"Shooting between the eyes when the creature charges me leaps to mind."

"That would do you no good, ma chere. A bullet will not harm demon flesh. For that you need a blade."

I nodded to one of the many weapons cabinets. "Crossbows?"

"Slow them down, no doubt about that. And yes, perhaps a gun would do the same. But when it's time for the killing blow, that must come from your blade. Your blade, ma chere."

"Or else they come back," I said.

"Indeed."

I licked my lips. "So, they just stand up and come back to life?"

Zane shook his head. "It is not the body that returns, but the demonic essence. Use your own blade, and you kill that as well. It cannot find a new home. If you do not, the demon will find a way to return."

"Oh." I started to slide my new blade between my jeans and my belt, but Zane stepped forward. "Here," he said, removing the sheath from his thigh. He leaned over and strapped it to mine, his touch practical and economical, yet arousing nonetheless.

The transfer complete, he stepped back and nodded approval of my appearance. Then he returned to the ring and moved with a cat's grace to the place where I'd killed the girl demon. He rubbed the ball of his foot on the last bit of stain, then looked up at me, the import of what he was about to say telegraphed in his expression.

"You're here to eliminate demons," he said. "That is what you do now. If you don't do it, you're useless to us. And that," he added, returning to stand before me, "would be a shame." His eyes met mine, fierce, but with something buried deep that made me shiver, a reaction that only intensified as his eyes moved purposefully over me, taking measure of this tight new body I was coming to call home. "That really would be a damn shame," he added, as I instinctively reached for the knife sheathed on my thigh.

I closed my fingers tight around it, even as I fought the urge to move closer, to press my body against him and abandon all my responsibilities to the drunken frenzy of being lost in his arms. It wasn't real, though. That longing. I knew that, and I fought it. Like a virus, Zane had infected me, and instead of giving in to the fever, I backed off, crossing my arms over my chest and hugging myself. Whatever it took to feel less vulnerable. Less exposed.

Less goddamned horny.

If I wanted to survive, I needed to keep my focus. Most important, I needed to learn the rules of my new world.

And, I thought, glancing back at the barely discernible oily black stain, I needed to learn them fast.

FIFTEEN.

I trained for another hour and killed three more demons that night-each one delivered to me in a cage and set loose in the ring. They came at me like feral beasts, some with blades, some fighting with only their hands. Some could toss me across the room with the power of their mind, and others leaped upon me, mouth open, trying to steal my soul. Zane taught me how to fight them all, how to protect myself. And most of all, how to handle myself with my knife. I can't say that my skill was elegant or refined. Mostly, I was scrapping, albeit with more skill and strength after each kill.

And the bottom line was that I survived.

Between sessions, I'd regroup on the sidelines, and Clarence would run me through Introduction to Demons. Showing me pictures of various types, telling me what type of mischief each was famous for, and relaying various bits of history. Tons of information, actually, and way more than my already overloaded brain could handle.

Honestly, it was easier to just fight, and that was what I did the most of, with Zane coaching me (or berating my skills, depending on your politeness factor) from the sidelines.

As for me, I thrust, parried, kicked, and lunged, all with an eye toward keeping myself alive and turning the demons into oily memories.

If that was the ultimate goal, I'd have to say I succeeded.

Which raised the question of why my mood was so black when Zane called for an end to the night's training. Truth was, I didn't want to stop. I wanted to pummel something. I wanted to rage against everything, to wail and beat and scream until the world shifted back to the way I wanted it to be. I wanted what I wanted and didn't much give a shit about anyone or anything else. I wanted to lash out against anyone who stood against me, and at the same time I wanted to curl up and let the darkness cover and console me.

I didn't like the mishmash of feelings, and I sure as hell didn't understand where they'd come from. I wanted this life. And dammit, I liked that I'd been handpicked. Liked even more that I'd survived the testing.

But it was there, this sinister, moldering mood. Like one of those dark cartoon clouds following just above my head. And try as I might, I couldn't shake it.

And that, of course, made me even pissier.

"Come on, pet," Clarence said as we walked toward my bike. "Lighten up. This too shall pass."

I squinted at him, trying to decide if he'd been poking around inside my dark mood. I'm certain I'd been broadcasting it loudly enough.

"Didn't have to poke," he said. "You're like that Peanuts character. What's his name? The one with the dust that follows him everywhere? That's you, only it's a funk that's surrounding you."

"Thanks," I said. "You're a big help. I feel so much better now."

He stopped walking, then turned and really looked at me, his expression managing to be both serious and compassionate. Quite a feat, really, when you factored in his overall amphibian-like countenance. "It's gonna pass, kid. Don't let it drag you down."

"And by it you mean the Pig Pen-like cloud that's making me want to curl up inside a blanket for the next millennium? Either that or go out and beat a perfect stranger to death."

"Yeah," he said. "That's the it I mean."

I made a noise. I didn't actually tell him to fuck off, but I think the sentiment was there in my tone.

He chuckled, apparently not put out by either my attitude or my actions. "It's the change, kid. I mean, what'sit? You've crammed a month's worth of living into less than a day's worth of hours. Got yourself a new bod, a new career, and one damn serious mission. So don't go blaming yourself if everything up here starts misfiring." He tapped his head and gave me a knowing look. "Go home. Get some sleep."

"I thought I didn't need sleep," I countered, feeling surly and not inclined to give an inch.

"I said you needed it to heal. You think you came through that transition unscathed?"

My frown deepened, because I was certain that he was right. My body ached like a bastard, though I wasn't particularly inclined to admit that little fact.

"Gonna take time, kid. So don't wig out on me just cause you're feeling a little premenstrual."

"Hello! Crude much?" Honestly, he was the freakiest little heavenly messenger. But he'd made his point. And, yeah, I was grateful.

"So give me an honest answer," I said as I settled on the Tiger. My hands tightened on the handlebars, and I realized my palm had completely healed. Nice. "What's the overall deal? The big picture, I mean. Are we gonna be making this trek to Zane's for training every day until that symbol on my arm does its thing?"

"I'd say that sums it up. You and Zane on a regular schedule. Side by side, getting all hot and sweaty and down with the kick-ass mojo."

I glanced sideways at him, my cheeks heating. He chuckled.

"Nice," I said, realizing Clarence had picked up on all my lust-filled thoughts. "And to think I thought you couldn't get any more crude."

"I'm just saying."

I sighed. "What's his story, anyway?"

"I guess the teenage girls would say he's got the pheromones from hell. Hard to resist, you know?"

"Yeah," I said. "I know."

He chuckled, clearly amused by my discomfiture. "This is where I leave you," he said, taking a step away from my bike. "I'll find my own way home."

"What? Wait! That's it? Don't I need an assignment? A document that will self-destruct? A password to a secret website?"

"I'll be in touch," he said, and then he tipped his hat, turned ninety degrees on his heel, and started burning up the pavement toward the end of the alley.

I grimaced, my anticipation for my upcoming assignment fading as I started the bike. I was going to be fighting some decidedly nasty demons in a battle that could decide the fate of the world. And I would wager that none of those demons was going to be particularly keen on rolling over for my blade when I came calling.

No pressure. No pressure at all.

The dark gloom still clung to me as I arrived back on Alice's street and squeezed the bike in between two parked cars. At after two A.M., the street was eerily silent, and the weight of the night pressed down on me. I could hardly believe all that had happened in less than twenty-four hours. I was literally a different person, and though I knew I should slow down and try to take it all in, I couldn't shake the buzz. I had a feeling sleep was going to elude me.

I climbed off, then mounted the steps toward the door, the key to the building in my hand. I'd just unlocked the door and was pushing it open when a piercing scream shredded the night, and I turned toward the sound, my heart pounding with a sick thrill at someone else's pain. Shame crashed over me, and I told myself to move. To go.

To save them.

I went. Running toward the noise and hoping desperately that my decision to get my ass in gear meant that the darkness bubbling inside me wasn't as vile as it felt. Maybe it truly had a purpose: Kill the demons. Save the world.

With a cacophony of thoughts swirling in my mind, I ran across the street, a welcome power surging through me as I urged my body to move.

I couldn't pinpoint the sound, but there weren't many options. Narrow passages separated the gray buildings on the far side of Alice's street. Once large homes, the houses had been converted to apartments, the grassy area between the homes paved, creating instant alleys leading to off-street parking, where children once played in grassy backyards.

I couldn't see anything as I rounded the corner of the closest alleyway, but I distinctly heard the muffled moans of a woman, most likely with a male hand clenched tight over her mouth. I edged closer, peering into shadows, ready for anything.

Hell, I welcomed it.

I didn't, however, expect what I saw: a dark creature-his eyes flooded bloodred-with one hand over a petite blonde's mouth, her neck gouged and pulsing blood directly into his gaping mouth.

I was on the move even before my mind finished processing. As I raced forward, he lifted his head, his lips curling up to reveal a bloody mouth feasting on living flesh.

His expression held no urgency, no fear. In fact, it was almost as if he were welcoming me to the party.

And it was that-even more than the freakish reality of meeting this creature in a dark alley-that made the tiny hairs on the back of my neck tingle with dread.

SIXTEEN.

I saw all of that, analyzed it, and tucked away the oddity without slowing my approach. I saw the beast's eyes widen, surprise flashing behind blood-tinged irises as I hauled back and hit him-blam-in the nose with the heel of my hand. And damned if that didn't feel good. Like a release. All that dark stored up within me like a taut rubber band, bursting out with the full weight of my power behind it.

Man. Ya gotta love it. I know I did. Even when we got into it-when the demon snapped back to his feet and let me have it. We went at it down, dirty, and mean.

Our bodies collided, and I was knocked backward, landing on my ass before he leaped on me, bloody teeth bared. "You arrogant fool," he hissed, and then, remarkably, he stalled his attack, looking at me with something like kinship.

Revolted, I grabbed for the hilt of the knife, still strapped to my thigh. At the same time, I pushed my body up so as to free my arm for full movement. With all of my newfound power behind the motion, I brought the blade to the beast's neck, slicing through the skin, then the tendons and, yes, even bone. Not as easy as it sounds, but I was no longer your run-of-the-mill mortal, and I might as well have been slicing through butter. "Who's foolish now, you son of a bitch?"