It wasn’t until they were several miles down the road that Katia asked the question that had been on her mind ever since she’d arrived. If anyone would tell her, it’d be Simon. Now maybe she could get the truth.

  “What really happened in Atlanta?”

  “Which time?”

  Apparently, she would have to be more specific. “Last April.”

  Simon shot her a quick look and then returned his eyes to the road. “You mean the Fallen angel that came to destroy the city?”

  “Nope, I’m not buying that. Not when there were other cities destroyed. Why would a Fallen bother? It’s not their style.”

  “The real story is far scarier,” he added. “You sure you want to hear it?”

  “Yes, I do. I’m here now, so I need to know what happened. Why it seemed like such a big deal, but the Guild kept playing it down.”

  “Okay, then. You asked.”

  As they headed toward Stewart’s house, Simon told her the tale of how the Angel of Death had come to Atlanta. How it had been responsible for other decimated cities around the world.

  “The Angel of Death?” she sputtered. “You mean the one that killed the first born of Egypt? That Angel of Death?”

  “Yes. Ori killed it,” he said.

  “Get out! Really?” He nodded. “Wow. No wonder Heaven is pissed at him.”

  “He actually did them a favor because The Destroyer had lost its mind. Centuries of killing people finally made it snap.”

  “Huh. I’ll be damned.”

  “Not tonight, at least,” he said, then grinned. “You might think you’re weird because you can see angels and such, but you’re in a city full of weird. Remember that.”

  Katia would. She would also wait to talk to Master Blackthorne about the strange fae-like creature who had vanished into a wall at the convention. But not yet. There was no reason to push her luck, not when she might have finally found a home.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  It was close to two in the morning when they finally reached Atlanta. Simon dropped his companion at Stewart’s house and waited until she was safely inside. A light eventually came on in a room two stories up, and then he saw her at the window. She gave him a wave and he returned it.

  Katia Allyson Breman was a blessing. She had destroyed the Big Mouth demon, and her plan to trip Azagar so he’d tumble onto Holy ground had worked perfectly. She was strong of mind and spirit, and she had held her own in Hell. Even more, she was fun. Her former master was an idiot. As Ori had said, she was heaven sent, and Simon would be sure to offer his thanks the next time he went to Mass.

  After he’d arrived home, Simon powered up his computer and started writing his report, even before he’d taken a shower. A sensible person would do this in the morning when he wasn’t so exhausted, but he felt driven to get it out of the way. Even though it was now the Sabbath and Father Rosetti wouldn’t likely see it until Monday.

  He added details, deleted them, added and erased paragraphs, put some of those back in, but finally close to four in the morning he had the final draft, complete with pictures of the new Hellspawn from the apartment building. He made sure to describe Azagar’s escape in detail, and state who he felt was behind it, a shocking indictment that would ricochet around the Vatican. It might also come back to nail him, but at least he’d told them the truth.

  Simon wrote a quick email to Father Rosetti and attached the report. Not the usual procedure, but this was an unusual exorcism. He hit the Send button, then crossed himself. It was out of his hands now.

  When he finally climbed out of the shower and re-bandaged his leg, he was surprised to find a text from Rosetti, though it was early in the day in Rome. Simon headed to his bed, fearing that his superior might call into question his ability to perform this sacred task. How many exorcists met the Prince or visited Hell? None that he knew of. He took a deep breath and began to read the message, his heart in his throat.

  Simon,

  You were mightily tested, my son. You kept strong in your faith and prevailed, saving the lives of three young men, as well as yours and the demon trapper’s. Few would have survived such a dangerous situation.

  As you indicated, you will need the Atlanta Archdiocese to verify that you are still in possession of your soul. We both know that is the case, but others may have doubts given your most remarkable encounter with the Enemy, and the accusation you have made against one of Heaven’s Divines. We’ll discuss the “particulars” later today. Well done. Now rest.

  Fr. Mateo Rosetti

  “Amen,” Simon murmured. He placed the phone on its charger, clicked off the lamp on his nightstand, and was asleep within minutes.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  To Beck, the line never seemed to end. He realized right off it wouldn’t be polite to just autograph something without trading a few words, or have his picture taken with someone’s cute little kid, giggling teenager, or the entire family. Those who’d come to see them truly loved everything to do with the trappers. Some had even come from out of state. Others wore T-shirts honoring the men lost in the Tabernacle massacre. Those really made his chest clench. Almost all of the people in line had dropped a donation into the box sitting between him and Riley, whatever they could afford.

  He’d signed convention program books, pictures, T-shirts, you name it. He’d been especially happy to autograph the cast of the young boy who’d been in the front row at the panel. It was mind blowing. There had been a few awkward moments, like when members of the Demons Have Rights group had gone through the line. Beck nodded to them, taken their pamphlets, and then they’d moved on. They had a right to their opinion, even if he thought it was complete bullshit.

  By the time they reached the last few people in line—the convention staff—it was well after three in the morning. The box for the donations had been emptied regularly into a canvas bag that one of the con’s security guys kept hold of for the entire time. The dude was big, serious, and likely to bust heads if anyone tried to steal it. What he didn’t know is that Riley had put a spell on it to keep it safe.

  “And that’s a wrap!” Susan called out, rising from her seat. She looked a lot less tired than he and Riley.

  “That was really fun,” Jess said, then yawned, barely covering his mouth. “Did really well, too.”

  “Enough for that new refrigerator and mattress you’ve been jonesing for?” Raphael asked.

  “Definitely. Or it’ll cover a couple months’ rent. Always a good thing.”

  It appeared that the Hollywood folks didn’t get paid any better than trappers.

  “How’d we do?” Riley asked, followed by her own yawn that had been triggered by Jess’s.

  “No clue, but it’s a damned big pile of cash, that’s for sure.” Beck stood, stretched, felt something pop in his back. Once the tightness was gone, he felt better.

  “Group photo,” one of the con staff announced and so they all got together, in a line, and smiled for the photographer, including the big dude with the bag of cash. The staff member said the photo would go up on the con’s website, along with the total of the donations received. Which meant someone, probably Beck, would need to count it all. And he would, grateful for every dollar they’d been given.

  Once he had his gear packed, he claimed the bag of loot from the security dude and added in the remaining wad of bills and coins that were still in the box.

  “Thanks for watchin’ over this. We appreciate it.”

  “Happy to help,” the guy said. “My brother-in-law’s a trapper in Memphis. You guys did him proud.”

  They high fived, and then after promises to email the others he and his missus headed for the hotel’s front entrance. Right behind them was the burly security guy who informed them he was escorting them to their car. Beck didn’t have the heart to tell the guy that the most dangerous one in this trio was his very pretty, and very tired, wife.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  There was much to be thankful for on this sunny May morning, Katia’s second in Atlanta. The boys—Adrian, Paulo and Scott—were home with their families. They had sworn off camping, for life. Their friendship was even stronger now because how many of your buds could claim to have been kidnapped by a demon? Holy Water had confirmed their souls were still their own, and time spent with Serrah had helped mitigate the horror of their captivity.

  There were three more things to be thankful for—her own brother had already texted her twice, despite the time difference. They were due for a phone call later in the afternoon. He’d warned her he couldn’t talk long because it was hard, but he was looking forward to it anyway.

  Then there was the grand master across the table from her, and the huge brunch in laid out front of them. It’d been ages since Katia’s had seen this much food.

  “Go on, lass, dig in. Mrs. Ayers was up early plannin’ this feast and I, for one, am glad of it,” Stewart said. He seemed to be in a merry mood this morning, and she suspected it was because today didn’t involve planning any funerals.

  Mrs. Ayer’s offering certainly was a feast: blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausages, and huge cinnamon rolls. The orange juice tasted freshly squeezed. Heaven, without all the winged ones flapping about. Though, to be honest, Katia actually liked the Divines she’d met so far.

  Once she’d finally crawled out of bed close to ten, she’d given her report to a sleepy Riley, who’d also just woken up. Grand Master Stewart had listened in on that call. When Katia had completed her tale, she’d awaited the verdict, and to her surprise both her master and Stewart had been full of praise. Hearing “well done, Katia!” and “ya did a damned fine job, lass” was like sunshine after a long, frigid Kansas winter.

  Then she’d received a call from Simon, who’d also just finished talking to his boss at the Vatican. He’d announced that his demon bite was healing well, that Father Rosetti hadn’t fired him, at least not yet, and that his next stop, after a lot of coffee, was to be tested with Holy Water by one of the local priests. Then he was off to church, and finally his parents’ church social later this afternoon. Also, would she like to go to Waffle House for breakfast on Tuesday?

  His barely awake monologue had made her like him even more. She’d congratulated him, agreed on the Waffle House run, and wished him well at the luncheon. It’d felt like a routine call between old friends, even though that friendship was barely twenty-four hours old.

  When the call ended, she turned her attention back to her plate.

  “Ya thinkin’ of stayin’ in Atlanta for a time?” Stewart asked after demolishing his cinnamon roll, then turning to the rest of his meal. He really did have a sweet tooth.

  Katia took a sip of her juice, then nodded. “I will, if the local Guild is good with that.”

  “Ya heard Riley. She’s really happy how it all turned out, so yer golden, lass.”

  “Everyone has been so nice. I honestly didn’t expect that,” she admitted.

  “Well, we do have our share of arseholes, ya just haven’t met them yet. For the most part we’re a team and watch each other’s backs.”

  “I can see that. Some of the guys in Lawrence were okay, but some were just foul. Didn’t matter if you were male or female, they liked being jerks.”

  “Happens in every Guild,” he replied.

  “How long can I stay here?”

  Stewart shook his head. “As long as ya need. Yer good company. If ya weren’t, the answer would be different.”

  “Oh great!” she said, relieved. “I need to save up some money for a deposit on an apartment. Can I pay you something while I’m here?” She gestured at the meal in front of her. “I eat a lot and that’s going to cost you more for groceries.”

  The grand master thought about that as the rest of his sausage disappeared.

  “If ya stay longer than a few months, maybe then. Ya need all the cash ya can save back. Also, ya should know that the local Guild has a fund that helps trappers in case of need. If ya find yer a little short for a rental deposit, talk ta Riley. She’ll see what they can do. Ya’d pay it back ta the Guild, bit by bit.”

  That was great news. “Okay! I don’t think we had that in Lawrence.” Then she frowned. “Or if we did, nobody bothered to tell me.” That was probably the case.

  “Are ya good workin’ with Simon?” was the next question.

  “Yes! He’s amazing. He was so calm when we were in Hell. I was scared out of my freaking mind.”

  “He was too, have no doubt.”

  “Then he hid it really well. Why isn’t he a master? He killed an Archfiend last year. I saw it on one of the videos at the convention.”

  The grand master grew pensive. “I don’t know why he didn’t take the master’s exam. Personally, I think it would be smart. Some of the trappers are leery of the exorcists, and it’s only because of Simon that they’ll give them the time of day. If he were a master, that would make it a bit easier for the trappers ta accept them.” There was a pause, a slight smile, and then, “Perhaps ya could give it a mention, if ya get a chance.”

  Katia chuckled. “That was very smoothly done, sir.”

  “That’s the kinda thing we grand masters do. Still, it’s a sound idea and perhaps now Simon will be willin’ ta consider it. If it came from ya, that is.”

  “I’ll give it a try.”

  Katia had just started working on her fluffy eggs when her phone rang. A glance at the screen told her it was someone she’d hoped was out of her life, permanently.

  “It’s Master Kelly in Lawrence. Probably wants to yell at me. He left like four voicemail messages since yesterday.”

  “Feel free to ignore the man,” Stewart advised.

  “Better not. He’ll just keep calling.” She took a deep breath and answered the call. “Journeyman Breman.”

  “What in the hell are you doing over there?” the man bellowed. “I have had three calls about you. One of those was from some asshole named Harper, and the others were the National Guild. Dammit, Breman, they’re threatening to audit our books!”

  That made her smile. “If you didn’t screw over your trappers, then National wouldn’t need to audit you. It’s kinda elementary stuff there, Master Kelly.”

  A barely stifled laugh came from across the table.

  “Now look here, I’m not taking any of this sh—”

  She switched the phone to her left hand and held it out from her ear. The voice on the other end of the phone kept shouting, so Katia took a sip of orange juice and waited him out. He’d have to breathe eventually. A week ago, this rant would have upset her. Now? Master Kelly was a lightweight after the horrors she’d faced with the exorcist.

  When the bully finally sucked in a breath, Katia jumped in. “I’ve spent one day in Atlanta and I’m already part of their team. These people are for real, Master Kelly, not just b.s.’ing their way through their jobs and cutting other people down.”

  “You are a flake! They have no idea what you’re like. Wait until they find out about your brother and what he did.”

  “They already know. Oh, did you hear that Kevin is out of his coma and is just fine? An angel did it. I met three Divines yesterday. Isn’t that a kick?” And that wasn’t even counting Hell’s Chief Dickhead.

  Absolute silence. Master Kelly usually had a pattern to his abuse: bellow, then berate, then bellow again. She’d managed to jam his brain, but it was time to move on.

  Katia looked down at her plate. “I’ve gotta go. My eggs are getting cold. Have a nice life and don’t call again.”

  She disconnected the call and set the phone aside. Looking up at the grand master, she wondered if she’d gone too far. “Too heavy handed?”

  “Not on yer life, lass,” Stewart replied. “Harper told me what was goin’ on with ya there and that arse deserved all of that.”

  The phone rang, Kelly again. With a sigh she set down her fork, blocked him for eternity, and then went back to her eggs. A low chuckle came from her brunch companion.

  “Yer gonna do right fine here, no mistake. Probably butt heads with people, but sometimes that’s the best way to get the job done.” Stewart raised his glass of orange juice. “Welcome ta the Atlanta Demon Trappers Guild, Journeyman Breman.”

  They clinked glasses. “Thank you.” And while they were at it . . . “Any chance we can split that last cinnamon roll?”

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  Despite Serrah’s incandescent anger, protocol demanded she wait for a summons from the Archangel to deliver her report. By the time that happened, her patience was gone. Tempting as it was to ask Rahmiel for advice, she had to do this on her own. She knew exactly what was at stake, and now she needed Michael to understand that as well.

  As she arrived in his presence, she gathered her courage around her, much like her wings. Good or bad, she was committed to see this through. To her annoyance Zerath was present, and his condescending expression told her exactly what kind of fool he thought her to be. She made sure to shield her thoughts from him, which led to even more doubts. What if he had acted on the Archangel’s orders? Had she read this whole situation wrong?

  “I have come to submit my report,” she said, careful to look only at her superior.

  “And what is it?” Zareth urged, though it was not his place to do so.

  She ignored him, addressing Michael. “During my time in the mortal city of Atlanta, I have found a Divine who is cunning and bent on his own enrichment. He has lied, put mortal souls in danger, and, in his own way, advanced the goals of our adversaries. He is a danger to that which we hold sacred.”

  “As I have often said,” Zareth replied. “Ori the Fallen has not changed in any way. He is still in thrall to the Prince though he claims otherwise. He deserves to be destroyed.”