When he finally reached her table, he smiled. “Journeyman,” he said, keeping his voice low. She was sitting on her own, so she smiled and removed her cap. So much for the disguise.

  “How did you know?”

  He sat across from her, a beer in hand. “You have a trapping bag,” he said, pointing at the item at her feet. Then he grinned. “And I was at the meeting the other night.”

  “You got me,” she said, smiling back. “I notice you don’t take the group to Oakland Cemetery.”

  He shook his head. “There might be questions I wouldn’t be able to answer.”

  Katia nodded in return, knowing exactly what kind of questions those might be. Was it true that both the Prince of Hell and the Archangel Michael had been there? Why were demons on holy ground? Did Master Blackthorne really stop Armageddon like folks claim?

  “You enjoying the tour?” he asked after another sip of his beer.

  “I am. I needed to get an idea of the city’s trapping history. You’re helping me do that. And Master Blackthorne recommended your tour.”

  “Bless her. Hope I’ve helped. Well, better get back to it.”

  A few minutes later Gary gathered up his flock and they headed out the door. The next stop was in front of an abandoned building. According to the guide this is where the local trappers and the Vatican’s elite Demon Hunters had fought with Hellspawn. To escape they’d had to jump off the roof of the building, landing on a tarp a few stories below.

  Katia looked up at the roof then let her eyes follow the path down.

  “No way,” she muttered, shaking her head.

  But it was for real. She’d seen a video online, one with Riley, Beck, and the Vatican’s guys leaping off that very same building.

  “No way,” she repeated.

  The final stop on the tour was a place called The Gulch, a large parking lot located near the huge Mercedes Benz stadium. Katia listened intently as Gary explained what had happened here, and to what he didn’t say.

  How to do you admit that one of Heaven’s angels had gone batshit crazy and decided to destroy a major city? You didn’t, at least not without getting into big trouble with the religious authorities.

  That meant the actual story had been spun in a more acceptable direction: Vicious Fallen angel comes to destroy Atlanta; two trappers and another angel take it on. Bad angel destroyed and city saved. High fives all around. It sounded like a made-for-TV movie. From what she’d heard someone was already working on a screenplay. She bet Riley just loved that.

  As more questions came from the tour group, Katia tuned them out. Instead, she studied the location. She’d watched the YouTube and news station videos, replaying the battle. Battles plural, because Grand Master Beck and Ori the Fallen had taken on a bunch of big-assed demons, a kind she’d never seen before. At least not until she’d been in Hell.

  A shiver from that memory rolled through her. She still couldn’t believe they’d survived that journey. Simon felt the same way.

  The tour wrapped up and Gary called out his thanks. Katia waited until all the tourists were gone then offered him a ten-dollar bill for a tip and thanked him for his time.

  He waved off the money. “No tip needed from a fellow trapper. Glad you came on the tour.”

  “Can you give it to the orphans for me?” Gary nodded his agreement and pocketed the bill. He paused for a moment and then asked, “You regret coming here to Atlanta now that you know what it’s like?”

  That wasn’t a question she’d been expecting.

  “No,” Katia said, shaking her head. “It’s been . . . unreal, but no. I belong here. I didn’t do well in Lawrence. You probably heard about that.”

  “I heard you had a bad master who stole from you and the others. And now he’s getting nailed for it.”

  “He is. Gotta love it,” Katia replied, grinning.

  The guide laughed. “Works for me. So, I’ll see you at one of the trapper meetings,” he said. “I like to go and catch up with my buddies.”

  “Sounds good. And thanks, Gary. This was great.”

  With a smile he trudged off toward the city, his limp more pronounced now.

  This area had a different vibe so she wanted to figure out what that meant. Turning back to the battle site, Katia closed her eyes and let her senses loose. Concentrating proved hard to do because of the city’s background noise. People chatted on cell phones, car doors closed and engines started, followed by the sound of the vehicle headed elsewhere.

  Despite the heat radiating off the pavement Katia wandered around until she was at a part of the lot that had more sensations than the rest. Here the pavement appeared newer than the surrounding area.

  Then she felt the Divine. She looked over her shoulder to find Ori walking toward her. He was still wearing all black, which somehow didn’t feel right.

  “Katia Allyson Breman,” he said as he joined her. Angels were always big with the full name thing.

  “Ori the Divine,” she replied.

  His gaze shifted to her in an instant as if waiting for something more, something judgmental.

  “Riley told me you were no longer Fallen. That’s as it should be. When I look at you now, you are brighter. Not as gleaming white as Serrah, but not as grayish as before.”

  He studied her for some time, then gave a nod. “Your inner sight is true.”

  “Congratulations for giving the Pit Boss the middle finger.”

  A shrug returned, though he seemed pleased by her enthusiasm. “There are downsides.”

  “Ha! Always skeptical. You sound like me.”

  “We are much alike in that way.”

  Katia gestured at the area around them. “This place feels strange.”

  “It has changed since the Angel of Death was here.”

  “Ha mashhit.” That’s what Riley had called it, its name in Hebrew. “The Destroyer. But why did it choose to come here?” she asked, pointing down.

  “At one time this was the heart of the city.”

  “Alright. What about those big demons that came after you? What were they?”

  “Retrievers. They’re the Prince’s personal guard. He sends him to bring his enemies back to the Pit for torture.”

  “Enemies like you?”

  “Yes. And now, you and the exorcist as well.”

  “Go us,” she muttered, and Katia swore she heard him chuckle.

  In front of them was a stained section of pavement. A couple bouquets of wilted flowers sat in the middle of it. “Is this where it died?”

  Ori’s expression turned to one of sadness. “Yes.”

  There was gray, grainy material that glistened in the sunlight.

  “Are those The Destroyer’s ashes?”

  “No, it was returned to Heaven.” He stepped closer, examining them, then frowned. “These are the ashes of the beings it sent against Riley Anora Blackthorne and the grand master. She destroyed them.”

  Katia moved closer, then knelt to study the particles. When she reached out to touch them Ori was instantly at her side, his hand catching hers. “Not a good idea.”

  “Why?” she asked, looking over at him.

  “Because those should not be here.”

  “Okay, then I won’t touch them.”

  His hand reluctantly retreated as she left hers above the stained bit of pavement, palm down. There was life in those particles, she could feel it. Life where there should be none.

  “These cannot stay,” Ori said, and with a wave of his hand they vanished. Then he was gone, just like the ashes, as if their presence offended him.

  Katia shook her head as she rose. “Sure, don’t mind me. I was just trying to figure out what’s happening here.” She huffed. “Let me guess, you had to go press your wings or something.”

  No reply. But then she hadn’t expected one.

  She gave a quick look around, but no one seemed to care what she and Ori had been doing. At least in a big city if you did something strange people just ignored you. Not like that in her hometown.

  Her phone rang. It was Riley. “Hey, Boss, what’s up?”

  “Sorry, I know it’s your day off but some of the missing reanimates just showed up at a police station. They said they were told to go there by the summoner who stole them.”

  “He set them free?” she asked, incredulous.

  “He did. I need you to go there and make sure no one walks off with those dead folks until we talk to them. Mort and I will be there as quickly as possible.”

  “Got it.”

  “Thanks. Sending the address now.”

  After one last look around, Katia headed for her car.

  Why would a necro steal a bunch of corpses, then turn them loose?

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  Katia hadn’t spent much time in police stations, though a few of the pranks she’d pulled as a teen should have rated a lengthy stay in one of Lawrence’s jails. She’d been lucky.

  This precinct was bustling, but that wasn’t a surprise. After getting herself through the front door past two young ladies complaining about a parking ticket, she made her way to the desk. The older woman behind the barrier looked tired and Katia felt for her already. She laid her trapping license on the ledge between them, pushed it toward her, then smiled.

  “Hi. I’m Journeyman Breman. Master Blackthorne said some reanimates showed up at this precinct. She has asked me to stay with the Deaders until she and the Summoner Advocate can get here.”

  The cop eyed her. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because we need to know who stole them.”

  “You the trapper that was at that grave robbery the other night?”

  “I am. Now you know why we want to nail this bastard, hard.”

  A hint of a smile came her way. “Give me a moment.”

  “Thank you.”

  A phone call was made, her license returned, and finally a young detective made his way up to the front desk. He was probably in his late thirties, wearing a navy suit, though his tie was loosened in deference to the heat. He looked as tired as the lady at the front desk.

  “I’m Detective Brighton,” he said.

  “Journeyman Breman.”

  “Come this way, then.”

  The reanimates were seated in a tidy row of folding chairs in a room at the back of the station. They each held a plastic mug full of a liquid that glowed, something like a necro might give them. There were four of them, so five were still missing. Mr. Means was not in the room and Katia kept the groan to herself. More fuel for The Widow’s lawsuit.

  “They just showed up,” the detective said, rubbing a hand through his short brown hair. He sounded frustrated. “They said they’d been told to come here.”

  “Was someone with them?”

  “We didn’t see anyone. Probably dropped them off a block or two away, but I can’t say for sure. They just walked in the front door.”

  “Okay. Once Master Blackthorne and the Summoner Advocate get here, we’ll start questioning the reanimates.”

  “Good luck with that. I’ve tried but got nothing back. I’m not sure how you’ll do any better.”

  She shrugged, feeling sorry for this guy. “We’ll give it our best. We’ll let you know if we learn anything.”

  “You do this every day?”

  “No, usually I’m trapping demons. This isn’t my thing.”

  “Not mine either.” He looked back at the sad faces. “God, that has to be hard for them and their families.”

  “It is,” a voice replied.

  It was Mortimer, and he was in his black robe looking exactly like a senior summoner. Riley was at his side, in trapper garb.

  Introductions were made and then one of the reanimates was taken to a separate room to be questioned with the detective present. To her surprise, Riley stayed with the others, insisting that Katia help Mort.

  The questioning went quickly because it was clear they had little knowledge of what was going on. Each had been bespelled which pretty much wiped out their memories after the point of reanimation.

  “Can you break it?” Katia asked as they waited for one reanimate to shuffle out and another take his place.

  “I could, but it will harm them even more,” Mort replied. “They’ve been through enough.”

  “That’s for damned sure,” the detective added.

  They lucked out on the next-to-last reanimate, a lady named Alice Laine. She clutched her drink as if it was a lifeline, and it probably was. Ms. Laine remembered an old factory, a summoner, and a shimmering wall. What did all that mean?

  “Thank you, Ms. Laine. We will get you back to your family.”

  She nodded, then walked out, dragging one foot.

  “He did take care of them, but dammit he shouldn’t have stolen them in the first place,” Mort said, shaking his head. “I just don’t get why he did this.”

  After a call to the Summoners Society, plans were made for the reanimates to be returned to their individual funeral homes. There a summoner would reverse the reanimation, which apparently took a good bit of magic. Then the dead would be consigned to their graves as their families grieved once more.

  A while later Riley and Katia walked out of the precinct barely missing being ploughed into by a drunk under arrest. A low stream of Hellspeak curse words came from her boss.

  “You okay?” Katia asked, giving her a worried look.

  Riley shook her head. “Too many memories of my dad’s reanimation.”

  “This had to be really hard for you.”

  The master trapper’s eyes reflected her inner turmoil. “Someday when I’m not so angry I’ll tell you the whole story. But not now.”

  Then Riley headed off on her own. There hadn’t been the usual “good night” or anything like that as she trudged up the sidewalk to where her car was parked.

  Yet another reminder that Master Blackthorne had been through things that would have broken Katia. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  Her phone pinged and she found it was Reynolds, checking to see if she wanted to go trapping with him. This she could do, despite all the drama tonight. She told him to count her in and then headed to her car. The dead would have to sort themselves out on their own.

  TWELVE

  The Evil never slept. It was the kind that knew it held more power than those who dwelt in this world, knew it held their lives in its blood-stained claws.

  It appeared to be female, but Mathias wasn’t sure about that. Despite his many magical talents he’d never been good at seeing through glamour spells. It was well over six feet tall, and his gut told him that was not glamour.

  The face looked human, but not quite. The eyes were too wide and the cheekbones too sharp. Its hands weren’t human, not with those claws. It had hair, but it was coarse and gray. No matter what it was, it was far too powerful. How else could it have made its way into another realm and taken control of this world?

  He called it the Unholy Terror, though he dare not say that aloud or someone would die. He’d seen it kill once. The death had been astoundingly cruel, a slow torture as the victim’s life force was ripped out of each cell of its body. When it was over only a dried husk remained.

  All the while the other beings in this realm had mourned and pleaded for mercy. It had made no difference. And then the Unholy Terror had licked its lips and smiled. It was then he knew it had to die.

  The other inhabitants of this world were dangerous, but they were outclassed. And dammit so was he. The only reason he was here was because of the one with the bright red hair, the one he had grown to love.

  Once again, he stood in front of the monster, for this was one realm he could enter without difficulty. Yet again he’d been summoned as if he were a pet on a leash.

  The Unholy Terror’s eyes studied him as if deciding just how much skin could be flailed off his bones and still keep him alive.

  “You are a disappointment,” it said, the voice like the bone-chilling cold that drifts across a grave at the stroke of midnight. “You have a task. Why are you not fulfilling it?”

  Part of him wanted to shout, demand to know why the hell it couldn’t go into the other realm and get the damned thing itself. But if he did someone would die. Someone his own love cared for. So, he bowed his head, seemingly contrite, though murder was in his heart.

  “I cannot get into that world. The dead I’ve summoned can’t get into it. The thing that guards the doorway refuses to let us in.”

  “I do not care for your excuses. You will retrieve the ring. You will deliver it to me or I will kill again. And again.” Its crimson eyes went toward the beings nearest to it, all on their knees in obeisance. Most shivered in fear. “Who should I choose?” it said. “Perhaps the one that you care for? The one with the flaming hair?”

  No, not her!

  The one who held his heart was fading, he could see it. Her eyes had dulled, her usually white skin now a pale gray. The ferns in her hair were dead, falling away every time she moved. But the fear in her eyes is what drove him forward, for her kind weren’t weak. He had to find a way to kill the Unholy Terror and make things right again. He still didn’t know how this evil knew about the ring or why it wanted it so badly. Something told him not to ask.

  “You don’t have to hurt anyone,” he insisted. “I will send another into the realm. Someone who is still alive. Perhaps she can get what you need.”

  “Who is this?”

  “She has experience with the fiends in the Pit. She is a demon trapper.”

  The creature tensed now. “This one is not welcome here.”

  “She doesn’t have to come here. She’ll get what you want and bring it to me,” he replied. He was unsure if Breman could pull this off, but knew he was out of options.