“No, I know what they are. I’m just surprised, that’s all.” Aside from seeming like a mundane place for a Satanists’ meeting, Canadians going to Tim Hortons was like the biggest stereotype ever.

“Are you kidding? Their coffee’s the best.”

I left after that, my head reeling. These weren’t Satanists. These were frat boys doing hazing pranks. They probably smashed beer cans on their foreheads at their dark ceremonies.

Kristin wasn’t at her desk when I returned to Cedric’s office across town. Presumably she was off doing imp things. Or maybe she was at lunch. His door was closed, making me think he must be busy, but honestly, I didn’t have time to pay much attention to that. Something else immediately caught my attention.

There was a demoness in his waiting room.

A full-fledged archdemoness, actually. I recognized her, even though we’d never formally met. Nanette, Portland’s archdemoness.

“Hi,” I said, too stunned for much more than that. I might backtalk Jerome, but other demons were an entirely different matter.

She glanced up from her magazine like she’d just noticed me, though I knew she’d sensed me long before this. “Hello. Georgina, right?”

I nodded, wondering if I should shake her hand or something. She didn’t seem like she was keen to get up, so I simply sat in another chair. Why was Portland’s archdemoness waiting to see Cedric? And why was she waiting, period? That wasn’t in demonic nature at all. They were too impatient.

Nanette wore a short, peach-colored shift dress that showed off long, shapely legs. Her blond hair fell just over her shoulders, smooth and sleek from a flat iron—or, well, from demonic magic. She was beautiful, but it was edged in the cold fierceness demons so often had, like the way a cobra or a katana is beautiful.

I wasn’t afraid to talk to people. Striking up conversation was part of what I did. But I wasn’t entirely sure what to say to her. Demons were prickly about how they interacted with lesser immortals. Some were quite snobby about it. I didn’t know too much about Nanette or how she might react. I knew she was less powerful than Jerome and that the two didn’t have much contact. I’d never heard of her being particularly bitchy or trigger-happy, so I took that as a good sign.

My concerns about what to say were put to rest when she spoke first.

“Boy,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to be you for the world.”

“I—I beg your pardon?”

“This.” She gestured toward Cedric’s closed door with a French manicured hand. “All of this. I presume you’ve been out to see his little Army of the Night?”

“Darkness,” I corrected. “Army of Darkness.”

“Whatever. Those nuisances. Jerome sent you here to ‘help’ because Cedric wanted an infiltrator?”

“Something like that.” I wondered how this news had spread so fast.

Nanette shook her head in mock sympathy. “You’re going to be the one to take the fall if something goes wrong. If things go bad between Jerome and Cedric or if that cult won’t play ball . . . well, like I said, I wouldn’t want to be you. You’re being played from every angle and don’t even realize it.”