Mid-Week Words

from the Sigil of Azazel, chapter 12:
If Kochbiel was considered kind, and Azazel was being summoned for his lack of progress with Abaddon and the girl herself, she did not want to imagine what her teacher would do to her if he returned tomorrow to no further progress.
But what if Azazel did not come back tomorrow? Phenex had warned her that Azazel was rarely ever given explicit orders at all, if this was so, what would stop them from simply reassigning to her a different master? One who did not care at all about making sure Eve ate a decent meal or healing her wounds or taking blows for her poor mortal body so she wouldn't have to worry about slowly healing while trying to fight off would be mates and saving the world from Abaddon's destruction of it?
This did not stop her from taking the blood that had begun to flow from her nose to gather on her thumb and press into the small black glass of her golden compact, and telling the demon exactly what had happened and how he had damn well better have some answers for her when they would meet next, or so help her.
She wondered as she wrote out the Latin, whispering it to herself in English as she went to force the knowledge to take root in her mind and stop it from coming free, if demons were just as flammable as the Preta.

Or perhaps they were even more so.