She settled into one of the overly comfortable chairs, placing her backpack at her feet.

  “Good evenin’, lass.”

  “Master Stewart,” she said politely. “Is there some reason you told Beck to drive me home?”

  “The Guild received a death threat today.”

  If it’d been against the entire Atlanta Guild, Stewart wouldn’t have called Beck. “It was for me, wasn’t it?”

  “Aye.”

  What could she say to that? Someone hated her enough to threaten to kill her, all because she’d stood between the armies of Heaven and Hell and talked them out of the Big War.

  “A few folks have figured out what happened, and they’re talkin’. Some still believe ya helped those demons attack the Tabernacle. Yer just too high profile right now.”

  “I won’t hide,” Riley protested. “I have to work to pay my bills.”

  “I know. We’ve gave the letter ta the police and hopefully they’ll find whoever is behind it.” Stewart loaded his pipe with tobacco and then tamped it down. “Give me the run report,” he added. “Harper’s at an AA meetin’, so I’ll pass it on ta him.”

  It wouldn’t do her any good to freak out about the threat, so she delivered her report.

  “It wasn’t a clean capture,” she explained, “but we did trap that Pyro at the Five Points MARTA station.”

  “How did Simon do?”

  “Okay. He didn’t freeze up or anything.”

  “How about Beck? Is he still bein’ a bear with a sore bum?”

  He’d totally pegged Backwoods Boy. “Definitely.”

  “Are ya willin’ ta tell me what happened between the two of ya ta make him that way?”

  I swear this guy is psychic. “How’d you know it was about us?” she asked, puzzled.

  “I’m good at readin’ people. It’s part of bein’ a grand master.”

  Riley could try to avoid the question, but that wouldn’t work because Stewart would get the answer out of her eventually. Maybe he could help her figure out how to break through Beck’s defenses.

  “We had a huge argument the morning after the wake. I thought everything was fine between us after we . . . ” Riley’s cheeks warmed at the memory. “We kissed at the cemetery.”

  Sure they were both going to die, Beck had let down his guard, admitted he couldn’t live without her, and delivered a heart-melting kiss that had completely rocked Riley’s world.

  “I was the one who told him not ta let the moment pass,” Stewart said. “I told him he might not have that chance again.”

  “Oh, so that’s why he did it,” she said, disappointment welling up inside her.

  “He took that bold step because he’s verra fond for ya, lass. That wasn’t a kiss between friends and ya know it.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” It had been epic. Everything she’d ever hoped for.

  Her host was still waiting for an explanation. “The morning after the wake, I went to see him. When I got to his house that skank of a reporter chick was just leaving. Whatever she said to him set him off. He was furious.”

  “Ah, Justine Armando again. Do ya know why she was there?”

  “Beck said she’s writing another article about him and he was really worried about it.” Riley shook her head in dismay. “Then suddenly he tells me to leave, says that he doesn’t want to see me ever again. At first, I thought it was something I’d done. Then he said I deserved someone better than the bastard son of a drunk who couldn’t read or wr—”

  Crap. She’d let one of Beck’s biggest secrets loose in front of a master. That was very bad. “Oh, man, you didn’t hear that.”

  “I know he’s semiliterate, lass,” Stewart replied. “Yer father told me.”

  Riley sighed in relief. “He’d be way mad if he knew I said anything to you.” Then she rolled her eyes. “Like it matters. He’s pissed off at me anyway.”

  “Aye, and that troubles me. There’s somethin’ else goin’ on or Beck wouldn’t be treatin’ ya this way. Not when he was so keen with ya at the cemetery.”

  “Maybe it has something to do with his mom.”

  “I’m sure he’s upset about her illness, but it’s more than that. Beck’s a warrior at heart, and he will always protect those around him.” Stewart paused and took another puff on his pipe.

  “In yer case, it’s even more than that, which makes me think the reporter knows somethin’ he feels will harm ya. Or change yer opinion of him. Either way, his protective instincts would come inta play.”

  It was a shrewd analysis of the situation, and a lot freer of emotion than Riley could manage.

  “He won’t tell me anything about his life before he came to Atlanta. It’s like he’s embarrassed or something.”

  “Paul told me a bit, but even he never got the full story.” Stewart flicked his lighter and took a few puffs of the pipe. The sweet scent of caramel and lemon filled the air. “Anythin’ else?”

  Riley told him about the near exorcism outside the MARTA station. He didn’t seem surprised.

  “Yer too visible right now. What with the threat hangin’ in the air, I want ya out of sight for the next little bit. Beck’s mother is much worse and he’s leavin’ for his hometown tomorrow mornin’. Harper and I both agree—we’d like ya ta go ta Sadlersville with him.”

  Riley shook her head. “I’m not the best choice. He’s so mad at me I’ll only make it worse.”

  “Beck has confided in ya more than anyone else. Though he might be actin’ like a total arse, he truly cares for ya.” Stewart paused. “Even loves ya in his own way.”

  Riley’s breath caught. Maybe it hadn’t been her imagination.

  “He’s not real stable at present, and when his mother passes over it’ll be worse. He needs ya at his side, Riley, even if he denies it.”

  She knew the master was right. It’d be ugly, but she’d been through that before, and it’d get her out of Atlanta until things settled down.

  “All right, I’ll go.”

  Her black funeral dress was upstairs in the closet rather than at the apartment. There never seemed to be an end to the mourning.

  “Bless ya,” Stewart exclaimed. “That’ll ease my worries a notch. Keep an eye on things down south. I want ta know more about Beck’s background and what’s causin’ him so much anxiety.”

  Now I’m a spy. “He’ll go ballistic when I tell him I’m coming with him.”

  “That’s why I’ll be the one doin’ the tellin’.”

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  As he materialized in a pitch-black alley in Demon Central, the angel wept in despair.

  “No!” Ori cried, raising his fists in defiance. “Damn you, Lucifer! Why?”

  He was not supposed to be alive. He’d been ready to journey into the nothingness that awaited a Fallen when they took their last breath. He had even agreed to Riley Anora Blackthorne’s outrageous terms for her soul simply because he was convinced he would die that day, and she would be free of Hell’s chains.

  But his master had denied him that solace. Though Lucifer could not create new life, he could sustain those who were in his thrall, and he had healed Ori even as he’d begged to die. He could still hear the Prince’s voice as he woke from what was to be his final rest.

  You will die when I permit it and no sooner. Slay my enemies. Do not think to cross me again, for the peace of death will not be your reward.

  “How dare you?” Ori cried, his fists tightening. He had willingly followed Lucifer into exile, cut himself off from the Light and the love of Heaven, and now he was being treated as if that sacrifice was nothing.

  When Ori’s eyes opened, he lowered his arms and ensured that his wings were no longer visible. There were no mortals around to see him at present, but that would change. They were far too curious for their own good. If he encountered one now, one who challenged him, he may well have to kill it.

  Turning, he strode down the alley until he reached one of Atlanta’s main streets. The city’s populace flowed around him, unaware of what he was, whom he served, or the growing darkness within him. As he walked, he passed a necromancer bristling with magic, then a street preacher exhorting people to rid the city of its devils.

  He had no choice but to do his master’s bidding, hunting rogue Hellspawn who defied the Prince’s rule. Ori would never find the respite death offered as long as Lucifer reigned in Hell.

  Perhaps it’s time to change that.

  THREE

  Knowing Beck was an early riser, Riley pulled herself out of bed and hurried down to breakfast at seven. Mrs. Ayers, her host’s housekeeper, promptly filled her up with a cheese omelet, French toast, and bacon. Despite the woman’s prodigious efforts, Riley really didn’t enjoy the meal as much as she should have. She was too nervous.

  Beck was a lot like her—she didn’t like being told what to do even when it was in her best interest. He’d go supersonic when Stewart delivered the news, and she knew who he’d blame. It wouldn’t be the grand master.

  She tried to distract herself with the newspaper—the biggest article was reserved for Reverend Lopez, an exorcist, who claimed he was coming to Atlanta to rid them of their demon problem once and for all. From what she could tell he was the real deal, not one of the make-believe exorcists roaming around the city. If she was lucky he would do his thing before she returned from Sadlersville.

  It was a little before eight when Beck arrived and promptly complained to the housekeeper that he wasn’t pleased that Stewart had insisted on seeing him before he left town. Riley listened as his boots clomped down to the den and then began counting to twenty. It was at sixteen that Beck’s voice rose in surprised indignation—he’d just received the news that his trip to South Georgia wasn’t going to be solo.

  His outrage carried through the big house. “I sure as hell don’t need some little girl along on this trip. She’ll be nothin’ but trouble.”

  Riley winced. Time to go. She raced up the stairs, collected her small suitcase, and then hurried outside in the early morning sunlight. There was a topper on his pickup now, though it didn’t appear to be new. She hadn’t known he owned such a thing. The topper was locked so she set the luggage down and waited. A moment later a crimson-faced Beck barreled out of the house, and for a second it looked as if he were going to slam the front door, then thought better of it. As he thundered down the front stairs to his Ford he scowled at her all the way.

  Without a word he unlocked the topper, picked up her small suitcase, and then tossed it into the bed of the pickup where it landed with a jarring thud. She suspected he would have done the same to her if he could have gotten away with it.

  Riley climbed into the truck and then they were off, peeling rubber as he backed out of the drive like all of Hell’s demons were on his tail. She hastily fastened her seat belt, then gritted her teeth as she was forced back in the seat by the sudden sharp acceleration.

  “Dude, you’re serious cop bait,” she complained.

  A short time later he screeched to a halt at a stop sign, glowered at her, then turned the corner at a more reasonable speed.

  “How long does it take to get there?”

  Deafening silence. She knew this drill and it didn’t bug her as much as it used to. Beck was having one of his snits and he’d work through it eventually, hopefully before it was time to return to Atlanta.

  To fill the time, Riley texted her best friend, Peter, told him of her trip, and asked him the how long before we’re there? question. The answer came back quickly because he was in front of his computer. Sadlersville, population barely nudging above two thousand souls, was about five and a half hours from Atlanta. Not all of it was on the interstate.

  HOW’S IT GOING? he asked.

  BECK IS ACTING LIKE I DON’T EXIST

  THAT COULD BE A BLESSING

  She laughed at that, which immediately earned her a glare from the driver.

  HEY, WATCH OUT FOR FIRE ANT MOUNDS, COTTON FIELDS & VIDALIA ONIONS

  Peter was surfing again.

  THX! CHAT WITH YOU LATER

  GOOD LUCK. U WILL NEED IT

  Once they were on Dekalb Avenue headed toward the interstate, Beck finally released his death grip on the steering wheel. He shot her a frown and then turned back to watch the traffic.

  “I told Stewart I didn’t want ya along. This is too close to yer daddy’s funeral and all.”

  Riley let his rationalization slide. Though she’d asked Peter about their destination, she tried to jump-start the conversation again. “Where is Sadlersville?”

  This time she got a reply. “A few hours south and east of Macon. It’s near Okefenokee Swamp.”

  “What did you do with Rennie?” she asked, wondering who was watching Beck’s rabbit.

  “I took her to the neighbor’s place. Mrs. Merton will keep an eye on her for me.”

  Then he went quiet again, buried deep in his own thoughts. Once they’d passed the airport on I-75, the truck picked up speed. She wondered how much the trip was going to cost with gas hovering at nine dollars a gallon. Better than the ten it’d been for so long, but still, a truck burned a lot of fuel.

  She put in her earbuds and clicked on her decrepit audio player. It worked most of the time, and when it didn’t she’d give it a sharp slap against her palm and it’d start again. Now that she had access to her dad’s life insurance money she could have bought a new one, but somehow it didn’t seem right. The thing was like an old friend and you never ditched a buddy just because he got wacky on you. If that had been the case, Beck would have been gone a long time ago.

  Riley checked her backpack again to ensure her envelope of cash was where she’d stashed it. Soon she’d have her own debit card, because they’d opened a joint checking account using her dad’s life insurance money as seed. Also tucked in the backpack was the new laptop Peter had helped her find. It wasn’t as fancy as his, but it was the best she could buy for under three hundred dollars. It was still so new she wasn’t sure exactly how it all worked, even though he’d set up the e-mail account for her. Step by step her life was changing, and some of it was positive.

  Beck clicked on the radio and the cab of the truck filled with a country song, which was all he listened to. To avoid a horrific mashup of Carrie Underwood and the Gnarly Scalenes, Riley clicked off her player and stowed it in her backpack.

  It was time to get him talking again. “What’s this going to be like?” she asked.

  To her surprise, he lowered the radio. “Not good.”

  “Not good like hordes of rampaging demons or . . . ”

  He frowned at her. “Folks in Sadlersville don’t remember me kindly and they’re gonna figure we’re, well—”

  “Hooking up?” A nod. “So we’ll tell them we’re not.”

  “Tellin’ them and havin’ them believe it is two different things.”

  “Are we staying at your mom’s place?”

  He shook his head immediately. “No. We’ll be at the motel. It’s okay. I always stay there when I visit.”

  That was interesting. “Any other relatives down here?”

  “Just me and her.”

  The radio’s volume went back up, ending the conversation.

  Other than a quick stop for a restroom and gas, Beck remained in silent mode from that point on. Eventually he pulled off the interstate and headed south on a state road. Riley found the scenery more interesting as Peter’s prediction of fire ant mounds and cotton fields came to pass. She even spied a peach orchard, but no fields of Vidalia onions.

  The homes on either side of the highway were either really nice or totally run-down. There didn’t seem to be much in the middle. For some reason folks stored their old stuff in their front yards, including dilapidated cars, broken lawn chairs, kids’ toys, a garden tractor, bedsprings, you name it.

  “Why do they do that?’ Riley asked, gesturing toward one yard packed with items.

  “All that metal is like a bank account. Might need it someday so the best place to keep an eye on it is in the front yard.”

  Ohhhkay . . .

  She had hoped there might be a meal somewhere along the way and when they drove through a town called Waycross, she figured Beck would do a quick turn into a burger joint. It didn’t happen. Fortunately, she’d had a big breakfast.

  “How soon are we there?” she asked, fidgeting.

  “Too soon,” he replied, his fingers bleaching white as he gripped the steering wheel.

  He’s afraid. But of what? He’s coming home.

  Maybe that didn’t mean the same thing to him.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  When Riley saw Sadlersville’s city limit sign, she braced herself. She was about to learn more about Beck’s past. As they swung into the motel’s driveway and then under the canopy, she knew she’d entered another world. The place looked decent enough, one long white brick building with flaming red doors dotted along its length. The roof was red as well. Apparently, the owner had a thing for the color.

  Only a few moments after Beck disappeared into the small motel office his phone chimed on the truck seat. Riley checked the display and then wrinkled her nose in disgust. The reporter chick had sent Beck a text warning him that she intended to submit her article in the next day or two and if he wanted to offer any input, now was the time. The jealous beast that lived inside of Riley demanded she delete the message.

  Not. Your. Call. She forced herself to behave.

  When Beck climbed back into the truck he noticed her sour expression. “What’s wrong?”

  Riley pointed at his phone. “Justine. She’s missing you.”