“Why did you free it?” Serrah asked from behind him.

  Ori rose. “I freed it because it was trapped. Helpless. I am surprised a gull did not make a meal of it.”

  Serrah pondered on that reply. “What would have the Archangel done?”

  She meant Michael. “He probably would have let it perish. He would not have seen it as important.”

  The other angel nodded, then sighed. “The small gesture you just made to an insignificant creature, even one that does not truly exist, tells me you are more honorable than some in the Upper Realm.”

  “Is that why we’re here?” he asked, perplexed.

  “No. We’re here because I am about to take a step across a line, as the mortals say. But before I do, what did you see at the house where the exorcist was given the challenge by the demon?”

  That wasn’t a question he’d expected. “I witnessed Simon Adler being forced into risking his very soul for those mortals.”

  “But nothing more?”

  He frowned, not sure what she meant. A quick glance told him that the small crab had made it to the ocean now, hustling into the safety of the water. Had she set up that test on purpose?

  “Yes, I did.”

  Serrah had heard his thoughts, something she’d not been able to do in the past. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

  “What did I miss at the house?” he asked.

  “Another Divine, one who was hidden from you.”

  “Who?”

  “Zareth.”

  Ori’s mind reeled. “Why would Michael’s . . . ” he struggled for the proper mortal word, “toady be there? Why did he not intervene to save the captives?”

  “You seem to sense things I don’t, yet you did not know that Zareth was present. How did that happen? Why involve Simon Michael David Adler in this?”

  Ori strode away from her now, angry at how blind he’d been. He’d known something was odd about that whole setup. Had it been a trap for him, or one for the exorcist?

  He spun around to find Serrah had followed him. “What is your assignment in regard to me?”

  “I was to observe Ori the Fallen and report back on his activities, in particular those in regard to the mortals.”

  “Michael gave you that assignment?”

  She hesitated a moment. “Yes, but Zareth was there when I received the task. He seemed far too pleased that I was chosen for it.”

  “He has always been an ambitious one. Is he currying favor with the Archangel, or is there some other purpose for his involvement?”

  “I honestly do not know.”

  Ori took a deep inhalation, letting the scent of crisp ocean air fill his lungs and calm his emotions. He could see why Serrah chose this illusion—it was restful. “You risk much telling me this.”

  A half shrug returned, though he could still feel her worry. “I will pay whatever penance is given for aiding a Fallen.”

  “Hopefully not,” he said, still unsure. “Since you have been honest with me, I will tell you that there is unusual demonic movement in the city of Atlanta. I do not understand what that means. It may be related to the exorcist, it may not. If we are done here, I need to return to the top of that building to continue my surveillance.”

  After one last look at the waves, Serrah gestured and once again they were on top of the structure overlooking the sprawling city. Ori resumed his perch but made sure to allow room for her to join him. It took Serrah some time, but she finally did, carefully ensuring their bodies did not touch. Because no matter how much good he did in this life, he would always be Fallen.

  Always.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  Riley felt the trapping had gone remarkably well for having two newbies along, but then Biblio-Fiends were not that dangerous unless you were Paul Blackthorne’s daughter. She rolled her eyes at her own library disaster memory, ensuring the two apprentices didn’t see it. Her history with the foul-mouthed, book-destroying Grade Ones was not pretty. Eventually these two would hear the tale of how she allowed a demon to trash a section of the law library, but that was for another time.

  Now that her first trio of apprentices were mostly out from under her wings, she’d been assigned these two who were as different as humanly possible. Mickey Rivers was in his mid-twenties, dark-haired, dark-eyed and built like an NFL linebacker. She had no doubt, if given the chance, he could flip a car on its side with little effort. He was from Utah, and not inclined to take crap from anyone. Tim Darling was a local, shorter in stature, wore round glasses and had brown, curly hair. Sort of like a Harry Potter clone, though she wouldn’t dare mention that. No major muscles except in his brain, which was far sharper than most apprentices.

  There’d initially been friction between the two and Riley had allowed it to play out, hoping she didn’t have to intervene. In the end, she was saved that step. The reconciliation had something to do with Tim fixing Mickey’s ‘bricked’ cell phone and from that point on they’d been best buds. Now they joked back and forth about muscles vs. brains and which was better for a trapper. Soon enough they’d learn they needed both to remain alive.

  As they walked back to her car, the apprentices replaying how the trapping had gone, Riley’s phone buzzed. She smiled when she saw who it was.

  “Hey, guy, how’s it going?”

  “Pretty good,” Beck replied. “How about you?”

  His voice sounded off. “Something up?”

  “I’m thinkin’ so. You outside the library?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “When you get to your car, let me know,” he replied.

  “You’re being way too mysterious.”

  “I’m just seein’ if my hunch is right. Remember that guy who called you about a month ago? The one who wanted us to go to that new convention here in town?”

  Riley remembered it all too well. Atlanta was known for conventions, especially the science fiction, fantasy and multi-media variety. Some were small, others medium sized, and one was massive, clocking in at over eighty-five thousand attendees every year.

  The conference call had been about a new event called TrapperCon and even though Riley was impressed someone had thought of the idea, she worried. The Prince loved any opportunity to wreak havoc so what could possibly go wrong at a convention dedicated to Demon Trappers and Hellspawn?

  Absolutely everything.

  The organizer had invited her and Beck to be on a panel and sign autographs. Autographs. Maybe even judge the costume contest.

  When Riley had become speechless at that point, her mind reeling in horror, Beck had smoothly stepped in and taken over the conversation. He politely declined the offer, wished them a great convention, and hung up. Then listened to her fret about exactly how totally batshit crazy such a thing might be.

  “What does this have to do with my car?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

  “Just check it out and call me back.”

  “Ohh . . . kay.”

  Riley ended the call and picked up the pace, her apprentices trailing behind. When she came to where she’d parked her car, she stalled in her tracks. Every inch of the vehicle, from front bumper to rear, was covered in rectangular squares of paper. Even the tires.

  “Cool,” Tim said. “I love what you’ve done with your ride.”

  Riley shot him a frown, then marched up to the vehicle. The instant she grabbed one of the pieces of paper off the rear bumper, the faint tingle of magic nipped at her fingers. She flipped it over, suspecting what she’d find.

  Bold graphics and a rather cool logo told her the rest.

  “TrapperCon,” she said, shaking her head. “How did they know this was my car?”

  She dropped the rectangle and it floated back to the vehicle and re-attached itself.

  “Guys, don’t touch those things,” she warned as her apprentices moved closer.

  “Bad stuff?” Mickey asked.

  “Not sure, so it’s better to be cautious.” She called her favorite grand master. “Hey. There’s TrapperCon postcards all over my car. Hundreds of them. How did you know something was going on?”

  “My truck was covered in them after that meetin’ this mornin’. As soon as I began pullin’ them off, they all disappeared. Well, except for one.”

  “I’m not liking this,” she said.

  “Yeah, same here. You checked in with Ori recently?” Beck asked. “He’d have a better idea if there’s somethin’ Hellish goin’ on or not.”

  That made her raise an eyebrow. “I’ll ask him, then.”

  “You know what this means.”

  “No. No. I’m not going to this . . . thing. No way.”

  There was a faint chuckle. “Uh huh. Just keep tellin’ yerself that.”

  She frowned. “Don’t you have someone else to harass, Grand Master?”

  “Yeah, I do. I’ll catch you later. Love you, Princess!”

  Riley returned the love part, then pocketed the phone, still frowning. She pulled a few of the ads off, but they just flew right back to the car.

  “You want to play that game? Okay, then.” She motioned to her apprentices. “You two should stand back.” Mickey and Tim immediately complied, whispering to each other as they did.

  So far Riley had not performed any magic in front of them, but that was about to change. After a quick look around, she was pleased there wasn’t anyone else nearby. Spying a security camera, a quick gesture changed what it would see. She followed that up with a pale flash of light and a brief dose of heat, just enough to turn all the ads on her car to fine ash, while being careful not to damage the paint. She swirled that ash around in the air and then dumped it down the nearest storm drain. If this were Hell’s prank, they’d get the message.

  Another gesture reinstated the security camera. She hoped whoever was watching the footage had enjoyed the brief interlude with the frolicking sea otters. Had to be better than watching a parking lot for eight hours at a time.

  “Woooow,” Tim said, his eyes wide.

  “Yeah, what he said,” Mickey added. “I’d heard you could do stuff like that, but man, that’s wicked.”

  “Thank you,” she said, executing a short bow. “Now let’s get out of here.

  If she was lucky, that’d be the end of it.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  The destruction of the exorcised Grade Four had gone smoothly, as it always did. The process still awed Simon, but then much of his job was like that. When he’d first began destroying the demons there’d been a monk to assist him, but that help was no longer needed. He knew the code to the building’s keypad, knew exactly how to handle the fiend’s remains after the fact, so it was a solo job now.

  The structure itself was separate from the monastery, some distance away in the woods, and was sanctified as holy ground. It was pretty out here, peaceful, and it reminded him of the week he’d spent at Pluscarden Abbey in Scotland. Maybe it was time for another sabbatical, something Father Rosetti had been very tactfully suggesting for the last couple of months.

  After placing the metal box into its proper place, he stepped just outside and waited. The Light always destroyed the Hellspawn, and did it quickly, turning it to ashes. It never failed, not with the walls and floor covered with crosses. Removing the box, he locked up the building. Once he’d dumped the ashes on the bare earth, along with the remains in the trash bags, his task was complete.

  A few minutes later, after another deep breath of the country air, Simon headed for his car, the empty metal box and bundled up bags in hand. He’d purposely parked the vehicle under a shade tree to cut down on the scorching seatbelt problem.

  As he neared, he found someone standing near it, someone he didn’t know. The newcomer had short pale hair, a nondescript face, and equally unremarkable clothing, as if he was trying hard to blend in but not quite sure how to do that. No matter what, he was unable to hide the arrogance that seemed to flow off him in waves. Not one of the monks.

  A demon? Possibly. This part of the monastery’s grounds was not sanctified, only the building and the field where the ashes were dumped. Was this a Fallen? Maybe a witch or necromancer? The first was a possibility, the last two less likely.

  “Simon Michael David Adler,” the figure said, straightening up. As he did, the faint impression of white wings flared out behind him.

  Simon halted a good distance away, his right hand automatically going to the wooden cross on his chest. “And you are?”

  “Zareth. I serve Michael, the Archangel.”

  “I figured you were going to say you were the Archangel Gabriel.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “It’s not important. Something you want to tell me?”

  “I was sent to warn you about the treacherous Fallen.”

  “Any Fallen in particular?” Simon asked, though he suspected where this conversation was headed.

  “Ori the Fallen,” the newcomer replied, frowning as if he were particularly dense.

  “What has he done recently that’s treacherous?”

  From the glower, the Divine didn’t appreciate the question. “That one serves the Prince.”

  “Not anymore, at least that’s what I hear.”

  “He lies.”

  “That’s possible. Why give me a warning? Why do I rate your Divine presence?”

  “You are a very important mortal.”

  “Am I really,” Simon replied flatly. “If I’m so important why didn’t you warn me about Sartael when he was trying to claim my soul?”

  “That was not important. The traitor Ori is.”

  “I see. So, keeping my soul safe and stopping Armageddon didn’t matter? But now that it’s all about Ori, I should heed your warning?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Not buying it.”

  “You dare to argue with me?” the Divine asked. His wings were clearly visible now, the angelic equivalent of a threat display.

  “No, I’m not arguing with you because that would be a waste of my time. What’s the real agenda here, because it has jack to do with my soul?”

  That got him another glower. “The Fallen will betray you. You must stop him from doing so. You must find a way to destroy him.”

  “If I do, what do I get in return?”

  “Your soul will remain yours, and those of the mortals the fiend Azagar has taken.”

  There it was, the ultimate bribe. Play our game, destroy the rogue Fallen for us, and we’ll do all sorts of good things for you because you’re just such an awesome little exorcist. It sounded so much like something Sartael would have said.

  “You guys use the same playbook, you know that?” Simon grumbled.

  “I do not understand.”

  “No, you probably don’t,” he replied. He walked past the Divine, and then opened the car door. A wave of heat poured out, despite having the windows cracked.

  Turning back to the being, he added, “I’ll think about your offer.”

  “Do more than think about it,” the angel insisted. “Do not trust the Fallen for he always lies.”

  “There’s a lot of that going around.”

  “You dare to challenge me?”

  “You have told me nothing worthy of my interest,” Simon replied.

  “I will tell you what I know—Katia Allyson Breman will betray you to the demon. If you fail to destroy the Fallen, you and those young mortals are lost. Doing as I demand will be your only chance of survival.” At that, Heaven’s most surly messenger promptly disappeared.

  Simon ground his teeth. He’d have to report this to the Vatican, and he could just imagine Father Rosetti’s thoughts about this conversation. The priest had once said that Simon’s reports were always enlightening, which was a polite way of saying that they were always odd.

  Riley had once said that the schemes of the Upper and Lower Realms were much like a multi-level chess tournament. You never knew what would happen next, and you would never be permitted to leave the game.

  Simon had learned much at the hands of the liar, Sartael. Despite this latest angel’s warning, he would judge Ori by the Fallen’s actions. The same with Katia. If that risked his soul, so be it. It was already on the line anyway.

  THIRTEEN

  Katia sat on the front steps of Grand Master Stewart’s house, waiting for Simon to arrive. He’d said he was about fifteen minutes away, depending on traffic. Being outside in the heat seemed to help clear her nap-fogged brain. It’d been an epic one brought on by sheer exhaustion and stress. She executed another yawn and more fog cleared. Maybe by the time Simon arrived, she’d be back in the game.

  She was also procrastinating. A few times a week, Katia sent a text to her sister to check on Kevin’s condition. The problem was that the answer was always the same: NO CHANGE. It was like a knife to her heart.

  She turned as the door behind her opened, expecting it to be Grand Master Stewart. It wasn’t.

  Oh my God, it’s him. No wonder the truck in the driveway had so many demon decals.

  Denver Beck was a legend among the trappers, just like his wife. He’d killed an Archangel, and though gravely wounded, he’d somehow survived. Now he was a grand master, one of the few in the world. And he’d just sat down on the same set of stairs as an insubordinate journeyman from Kansas.

  Grand Master Beck was more handsome in person than in the videos, but then most of those had him fighting some fiend or another and that almost guaranteed you were covered in something disgusting. He was muscled, with blond hair and a striking set of brown eyes. Though a few years younger than her, those eyes told a story of death, grief and unexpected survival.

  “Hi, I’m Beck. Yer Journeyman Breman, right?” he said. His Southern drawl came through, light and easy on the ears.

  She nodded, unable to form any sensible words.