Thomas looked at Micah and made the question plain in his expression.

“Some of my research seems to point to that, yes,” answered Micah. “A demon’s reaction to aggression is different than ours. They don’t have fight or flight. They don’t run; they turn around and stalk. This one is probably crazy from exile to boot.”

“Great.”

A sly expression stole over Stefan’s face. “First, they shoot you full of venom, rendering you paralyzed and mute, yet aware. After that, they take your magick, drinking it from the center of your body. Then, they peel your skin off and slice you open to consume the juicy parts—the liver, kidneys, and heart. Last, they crack your bones for the marrow.”

Yes, he’d seen the remains twice, up close and personal.

So had Isabelle.

Thomas glanced at her. She’d gone sheet white and stood stock straight with her arms crossed over her chest. “Are you all right?” he asked her.

She nodded once, her body tense. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot,” Stefan said in a sugary-sweet tone. “Our lovely Isabelle has already seen a demon’s handiwork for herself. It was your sister, yes?”

“This demon will die,” she shot back.

“Such bravado! You’re so sexy when you’re being stupid. Nice sentiment, ma cherie, but I look forward to the news of your demise.”

“As I look forward to the news of your sentence being rendered, Stefan. Until then it heartens me to know just how much you’re suffering here in Gribben.” Her lips parted in a wide, sincere smile, though her face was still pale as parchment. “In fact, that knowledge makes me happier than killing you.”

“Great,” Micah put in. “Well, that’s established, then. Thomas, I can take it from here. I’ll set Stefan up with a computer and obtain the texts. Why don’t you get Isabelle out of here? She talks tough but looks like she’s about to hurl on her pretty red boots.”

“Good idea,” Thomas answered.

Micah, as the Coven archivist and researcher, had the most business trying to get information from Stefan anyway. Micah would pass what he learned on to him.

Isabelle protested, but Thomas took her by the upper arm and led her toward the door. Her face was now a pale shade of green, but the woman didn’t seem to know when to stop.

“It’s been a pleasure, Stefan,” muttered Thomas as the guard opened the door for them. “As always.”

The door shut with a metallic thump behind them.

Isabelle stumbled. He caught her and guided her to a nearby wall where she splayed an open hand to brace herself.

“I’m fine,” she snarled, pressing her forehead to the wall.

“You’re not fine.”