Theo sat up. “Wait. She’s not even an aristocrat—just some demon schlub slumming it in Chicago—and she can bring down buildings?”

“Unfortunately.”

“So we need her sigil,” I said, “but the Guardians didn’t know it, and it’s not written down anywhere that we’ve been able to translate, and we can’t find anyone alive who knew anything about it.”

“Hey,” Petra said. “The Guardians didn’t have the Internet. Hope springs eternal.”

“Do all the demons have assigned traits—like chaos or whatever?” I asked.

“She wants to know if there’s a coffee demon,” Theo said with a grin.

“I mean . . . is there?”

“There’s a demon for every desire,” she said. “And demons of desire. At least, that’s according to the texts. It’s hard to tell how much is folktale versus actual documentation.”

I flicked an errant doughnut sprinkle off my sleeve. I’d paired a short, fitted black jacket with fitted jeans, a white fitted tee, and black booties for the dinner with my parents, and I shouldn’t show up covered in doughnut castoffs. “This conversation is depressing.”

“So, let’s think of her like a superhero,” Theo said, rising from his seat and lifting his hands like he was pumping up the team before a big game. “Just like superheroes, supernaturals have their strengths, their weaknesses. If we figure out her kryptonite, maybe we’ll get closer to stopping her.”

“Good thought,” Petra said, and added a “Strengths” column to her on-screen presentation. “Elisa, this is your territory since you’ve seen her in action.”

“She’s fast, strong. Typical supernatural stuff. Except that she makes chaos happen.”

“What’s her mechanism?” Petra asked.

“Her mechanism?”

“What does she do to make this happen? You said no fireballs, so we talking verbal spells, or is she drawing symbols on the ground, or what?”

I closed my eyes, tried to remember what I’d seen of her. And given the aforementioned chaos, that hadn’t been much. “Hand flicks?”

“Hand flicks,” Petra said. “Like, just . . .” She flicked a hand in the air like she was dismissing something.

“Yes?”

Petra just looked at me.

“I was trying not to get hit by magical lightning and flying cars.”

“Did she look supernaturally constipated?”

I just stared at her. “What?”

“You know, when Sups doing magic squinch up their faces.” She gave me an example, tensing her eyes, lips, and cheeks into an expression that did look . . . frustrated.

“No. It looked . . . easier than that.”

She turned back, added “Creates chaos with hand flick” to the screen. Which sounded like very good observational reporting to my mind.

“Weaknesses,” she said, turning back to us.

“Canines,” I said. “Patience said demons don’t like dogs, and she seemed very nervous when Connor joined the fight.”

“Inferior coffee, sunlight, Eleanor of Aquitaine.”

I looked at Theo, brows raised.

“Oh, sorry. Those are your weaknesses. I got confused.”

I gave him my blandest stare. “Is that cast itchy?”

“Snap,” Petra said with quiet awe as Theo he grabbed a pencil and started scratching.