Demon Marked by Meljean Brook

her music collection.
    “Like? That doesn’t matter. Only ‘familiar’ does—and I don’t know this song.”
    “You knew the others that have been playing?”
    “Yes. Most of them. And when I didn’t, I could find another station playing something else that I knew.” Her eyes began to glow faintly red. “I can’t find anything now.”
    “But you remember the music.”
    “As soon as I hear it, yes. I didn’t know it before that—or didn’t know that I knew it. But as soon as the song starts, I remember the lyrics, the singer. And I don’t forget again.” She pressed “seek” again, this time with less force. “But sometimes, it’s more than just knowing the words. Some songs, it’s like there’s more there, some other memory attached, and I can almost . . . touch it.”
    All right. Nicholas understood that. He couldn’t hear the Rolling Stones without remembering his mother dancing in the kitchen. Not Madelyn, but his mother. After the demon had wormed her way into their family, it had been all classical, all the time—to soothe his father’s nerves, she’d said. Now, Nicholas recognized a thousand changes that she’d wrought when she’d taken his mother’s place, claiming that everything she’d done had been to help his father. The demon bitch.
    The Stones sure as hell couldn’t tell him where his mother’s body lay now. “You’ve spent the whole night listening for familiar songs?”
    The crimson faded from her eyes. “Yes.”
    Strange. He didn’t know what to make of that—or of her. Her every response seemed wiped of any emotion, yet she was actively searching for those connections?
    “I should have spent the night plotting against you, I know,” she added.
    He laughed, damn it.
    The demon didn’t even crack a smile. Peering ahead through the snow, she said, “The road sign says gas and food at the next exit. I know you’re hungry.”
    Had she been listening to his stomach? “Not hungry enough to eat the shit they pass through a drive-up window.”
    He’d spent the past few years training—learning to fight, making himself strong, preparing himself to face Madelyn. Now wasn’t the time to start shoving crap into his body.
    “Maybe we can find a grocery. Or if you can hang on a few hours, there’s an all-organic diner at a truck stop north of Chicago that serves—” She cut herself off. Her mouth remained open, as if in surprise. When she continued, her voice barely rose above a whisper. “Great omelets. They serve great omelets. And before you ask, I don’t know how I know that.”
    Nicholas hadn’t been going to ask. He was too damn unsettled. This demon wasn’t Rachel . . . but he’d heard about that diner before.
    The demon stared ahead. “This part of the highway isn’t familiar, but I can almost picture the road from Chicago to Duluth, the same way I can remember a scene from a book or a movie after I think about it. But I don’t remember being there. And no, I can’t explain it.”
    Nicholas couldn’t, either—at least, he couldn’t explain why this demon would know that stretch of highway. He knew why Rachel would, though.
    “Rachel finished her masters’ degree at The Kellogg School,” he said. “She drove back to her parents’ house during breaks, on some weekends.”
    “Oh.” That was all she said for several seconds. Then, “Kellogg has a good program. One of the best in the country.”
    Frustration exploded through him. That was her response? About a fucking business school? And how the hell did she know that ?
    “You remember the school’s goddamn ranking?”
    She didn’t seem to feel the blast of his anger. “Some facts are easy to recall. Other things are familiar, but I don’t realize they are until I think about them . . . and now I’m finding out that Rachel was familiar with them, too.”
    “You’re not Rachel.”
    “I know. Oh—and this one is familiar. ‘Friends in Low Places.’” Her gaze flicked to the radio. Unable