It hadn’t hurt that when he’d been tested with Holy Water, Simon Michael David Adler’s soul was still his own. Rome would make note of that as well. Still, he knew his report would be shuffled around the Holy See and there might be repercussions down the line. No matter what, he had no regrets.

  Two weeks sabbatical. That edict had been dropped on him right before he and Rosetti ended their conversation. As soon as Rome could line up a replacement exorcist to cover the city, Simon was off duty. He didn’t bother to argue like he had in the past. He needed a rest, one that would rejuvenate not only his body, but his soul. The time off would allow him to recharge and get his head straight. As his superior had put it, “A tired exorcist is likely to become a dead one.”

  As Simon exited the church, he found an angel sitting on the steps, though this one did not have a dog at his feet. He paused near Ori, then smiled down at the Divine who had risked his life for him and Katia.

  “We saved three young souls and defeated a powerful demon,” he said. “I had much to give thanks for this morning.”

  Ori nodded. “Will you continue to work with Katia Allyson Breman?”

  “Yes. The Vatican was pleased at how well we did together.” Simon hesitated, then added, “How all of us worked together.”

  One of Ori’s eyebrows lifted. “You told them about me?”

  “I did. You served the Light, even though some think that’s not possible. I know better. Katia’s brother is alive because of you.”

  It took the angel some time before he murmured, “Thank you.”

  “Stay well, Ori. I have no doubt I’ll see you again. Our paths do seem to cross more frequently now.”

  There was no reply, but then Simon hadn’t anticipated one. He set off down the stairs and then along the street. It was a nice day and he needed to walk and think. And he had a vacation to plan.

  Ori had begun his day in the heart of the city, where he often sat on these church stairs watching the mortals pass by. Most of the time he was invisible to them, but not today. He liked this place. It was close to Demon Central and the abominations that deserved his wrath. Yet somehow this morning felt different, though he couldn’t quite fathom why.

  He had known the exorcist was inside the church, and that had pleased him. Simon had learned much during his fight with Azagar and he had grown strong over the last year. It was a good outcome for all. Well, except for the Hellspawn.

  What Ori hadn’t anticipated was a visitor arriving right after Simon’s departure. The moment Michael appeared he’d almost manifested his sword, but held himself in check. If the Creator had decided his time was done on this earthly plane, there was nowhere he could hide from that judgment. Was the Archangel to be his executioner?

  Michael walked up the church steps and sat a few feet away from Ori, as if unsure if his presence was appreciated. He was dressed as any mortal might be, clearly wishing to blend in. That was also unusual.

  “Fallen.”

  “Archangel.”

  A homeless man made his way down the street in front of them. The mortal had in his possession one of the tiny demonic thieves. Earlier he’d used that fiend to steal coins from one of the donation boxes, but rather than keeping the money, he’d patiently distributed it among the other impoverish mortals who lived on the streets.

  A sin, followed by penance. Ori understood that all too well.

  “A new guardian has been assigned to this city,” Michael announced.

  That was why Atlanta felt different.

  “Serrah?” he guessed. A curt nod returned. “Your way of punishing her?” An angelic version of a shrug was the reply. “I will not interfere with her task as long as she does not side with the Prince in any way. If she does, she will pay a heavy price.”

  “I know.”

  Of course, he’d know that. He knew about everything. Or at least he acted like he did.

  “You interfered in a mortal’s life,” Michael asked, then gestured.

  It was like one of the moving images that humans were so fond of. This one showed Ori walking down the hallway of the Kansas care home, then slipping inside the room that held the comatose young boy. He’d almost been too late. As he’d entered the room, there was a demon at the boy’s bedside, hand over his forehead siphoning out the mortal’s life essence.

  There had been no battle, Ori too quick for the thing. He’d snapped its neck and then held it just long enough for the body to turn to ash. A quick gesture opened the closest window and the ash trailed outside, and then the window shut.

  Leaning close, Ori traced a pattern on the boy’s forehead, a warning to any other demon who might try to harm this mortal. The mark would fade quickly, but for now it was needed. As he stepped back, the boy opened his eyes and stared at him.

  “Yes, I’m an angel. Yes, you’re going to heal, Kevin Damian Breman. You have your sister Katia to thank for that.” Ori began to turn away, then hesitated. “No more summoning Hellspawn. That was just stupid. Do you understand?”

  A faint nod came from the boy.

  “Be well, mortal.”

  The scene faded away leaving Ori and the Archangel on the street once more.

  “Well?” Michael asked.

  Some explanation was apparently required. “Katia Allyson Breman was given an impossible choice: save her brother by betraying the exorcist or refuse and have her brother die. She chose the latter, even while in Hell within feet of the Prince’s throne. That took immense courage. I chose to ensure that Kevin Damian Breman did not die because she made that most difficult choice.”

  “Why did you think you had that right?”

  “I’ve had it since the moment I was created,” Ori replied. “I was not always Fallen, Michael.”

  A low sigh returned. “You continue to confuse me,” the Archangel admitted.

  That was also unexpected.

  Abruptly Michael surged to his feet and strode away, only to swivel around, glaring at him. “Why?” he demanded.

  “Why . . . what?” Ori asked, confused.

  “Why did you follow Lucifer into the Pit? Why would you do that?”

  It had never occurred to him that anyone, especially Michael, would ask that question.

  “Because of you.”

  The Divine did not seem surprised at that response. “Serrah was correct, then.”

  Apparently, there had been some discussion on this subject.

  “I was angry at you for being such a . . . ” How would the mortals say it? “A stuck-up bastard. You never praised anyone for their work, never spoke with any kindness. You are a cold being, Michael, and that chill permeates all you touch.”

  The Archangel’s shocked expression almost made him regret his outburst, no matter how much it was deserved.

  “Yet, I was still to blame no matter your behavior,” Ori admitted. “I was angry and stubborn. It was so easy to cast the blame on you, make you the reason why I listened to Lucifer’s lies. And by our Creator, did he lie. He fed me everything I wanted to hear, grooming me like one would a pet dog.” Bile rose in his throat even now and he forced himself to swallow it down. “It took me a long time to realize just how much I’d lost by leaving Heaven. Still, in the end, it was my decision, and mine alone.”

  Michael quietly returned to the steps and sat, pensive.

  “He offered me similar lies, did you know?” he said. “How I was not valued by our Creator. How I would do so much better as his second-in-command.” He looked down at his hands now. “I admit, I was tempted.”

  “Yet you did not give in! For all your arrogance, you were far wiser than me,” Ori said honestly.

  “You have changed.” The angel shook his head. “We both have. I often berate mortals for their poor decisions. I can point to any one of them and say, ‘Why are you so ignorant?’ And yet, if fate had been different, I would have made the same damning choice as you.”

  It was an admission Ori never thought he’d hear.

  “Such is the power of the Prince’s tongue,” Michael added. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Do you like guarding the mortals in this city?”

  Ori gratefully grasped hold of this change of topic. “Yes, I do. In some ways, it helps to heal my soul. I have much to atone for, as well you know. I shall do whatever I can to stop Lucifer.” He pulled up the quote that had sustained him since his rebirth. “‘Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to the light.’”

  The other Divine puzzled on that for a moment. “That was written by Milton, wasn’t it? Paradise Lost, I think.”

  Ori stared. He would never have believed Michael would trouble himself with mortal writings. “Yes, it was.”

  There was silence now as they brooded on what they’d discovered about each other. Another parishioner left the church, unaware that she had passed two Divines.

  Finally, Michael spoke. “Please . . . continue to do what you can to help these mortals, for they desperately need your aid,” he insisted. “Lucifer will never cease his efforts to control this city, as it refuses to bow to him.”

  “I shall do what I can.”

  “I have no doubt that your stubbornness will prove to be a valuable weapon against the Chief of the Fallen. Even arrogant Divines such as myself would agree.”

  Was that humor he heard? Surely not.

  When Michael rose from the steps now, preparing to depart, Ori added, “Thank you for speaking the truth to me. Be of the Light, Archangel.”

  “Be of the Light, Ori.” The Divine studied him for some time, his expression changing, even as his voice deepened. “For though once you were Fallen, you are no longer.”

  It was an unexpected blessing, one that came not only from Michael, but from their Creator. It sank into Ori’s heart, and then deep into his soul, burning away the remaining darkness.

  He had truly been forgiven.

  When he looked up, the Archangel was gone, though the blessing still resounded in his ears. Ori closed his eyes, barely holding back the tears as he offered a prayer of thanks.

  He was free.

  Throughout the millennia he had not been broken, despite Lucifer’s best efforts. Through all the tortures, and the horrors, he had survived. Now he had shed his darkness and reclaimed his own Light. He would ensure that Serrah remained safe so the city, and its mortals, would prosper.

  In his own way, Ori would deny Lucifer what the Prince so desperately craved—to rule Atlanta as he ruled in Hell.

  “This I vow, for eternity.”

  From Hell with Love

  A Demon Trappers® Short Story

  by Jana Oliver

  May 2019

  Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport

  Atlanta, Georgia

  It’d been a day from Hell. Literally.

  Even for a seasoned demon trapper like Riley Blackthorne, today had been one for the books—four Hellspawn trapped before lunch, followed by an exorcism at a private girls’ school. She certainly had a few tales to tell her husband, Denver Beck, when he flew back into Atlanta this afternoon.

  My husband. That was a new thing, just six weeks in the making. Their wedding had been a media free-for-all because only a few days before the happy event, the bride and groom had saved the city from becoming a mass graveyard.

  Again.

  How often did a Master Demon Trapper (Riley) get hitched to a Grand Master of the International Guild (Beck)? Truly a rare event. As one reporter had blithely explained, it was almost like a royal wedding, except that their matchmaker had been the Prince of Hell himself.

  That observation still made Riley’s skin crawl.

  The newsies had eventually moved on, leaving Beck and her in relative peace, which was why no one noticed when she tucked her car into a slot in the airport parking garage. After a quick application of lipstick and a brush through her hair—at least her gold and auburn highlights were still making her brown hair look cool—she was ready to meet the man she loved. She’d even swapped out her usual trapping clothes—the stained and ripped blue jeans and an equally dilapidated T-shirt—for a bright blue shirt and new jeans.

  After double-checking her phone for Beck’s flight arrival details, only to find that the plane was delayed by thirty minutes, Riley hauled herself out of the car. She automatically retrieved her worn bag full of trapping supplies and slung it over her shoulder. For a moment, she considered putting it back in the car because it seemed like overkill. As she debated, her late father’s voice filled her mind, as clear as if he were standing next to her: Plan for demons, because they always plan for you. She took the bag with her.

  Riley had just exited the parking garage into the hot Atlanta sun and was about to cross to Hartsfield-Jackson’s South Terminal when her phone buzzed with a message. It was Master Harper, her superior, and since he knew she was picking up Beck, this had to be something urgent. Moving out of the flow of foot traffic, she stared at the message—and then read it again just to be sure.

  DEMON @AIRPORT. SEE CHAPLAIN @TSA SOUTH TERMINAL. KIDS ON TRAIN AS BACKUP.

  “You have got to be kidding me.” Riley eyed the huge building in front of her, crowded with passengers, all intent on their own journeys.

  A demon here? They always avoided the place. Was this a coincidence?

  “Nope.” Not with the way the day had gone so far.

  She reread the message—unfortunately, Master Harper hadn’t indicated the type of Hellspawn—and smirked at the word “kids.” In this case, he meant her two apprentices, Kurt Pelligrino and Jaye Lynn. Her year with them was about over, as Kurt would soon be sitting his journeyman exam. Jaye, her training delayed because of family issues, would do so in late June. Riley had no doubt that both would pass, as had her third apprentice, Richard Bonafont. He was currently getting a tan on a Florida beach before returning to Atlanta to start his new job as a journeyman trapper.

  Riley muttered to herself as she hiked across the pedestrian crossing, trying not to get her feet clipped by weary travelers and their rolling suitcases. If there really was a fiend at the airport, the actual trapping operation could get ugly. Anytime you put a dense concentration of untrained mortals near Hellspawn, the chance of injuries and deaths rose dramatically.

  Since this airport handled over one hundred million passengers every year—her math-adept mind obligingly did the calculation—there’d be an average of a quarter million people through here every day.

  Please let this be a hoax. Not that she planned on laughing about it if it was.

  Continuing to grumble to herself, Riley was surprised to spy Jaye’s red hair near a shoeshine stand. Next to her, Kurt was checking his smartphone, per usual. Their trapping bags sat near their feet.

  “Hey, ‘kids,’” she said, smirking as she joined them.

  Jaye rolled her eyes. “Harper, right?”

  Riley nodded in return. Both of them were a bit older than her eighteen years—but then, they’d not faced down the forces of Heaven and Hell on more than one occasion.

  “Huh. According to Facebook, we’re not at the airport,” Kurt reported.

  “Then where are we?” Jaye asked.

  “The Hartsfield-LaToya Jackson Intergalactic Space Bar and Nail Emporium,” he replied. “Who knew?”

  “Riiight. Please tell me you didn’t check in,” Riley said. “I really don’t want the entire city freaking out because they know we’re here.”

  “Nope, running in stealth mode, as usual,” he replied, looking hurt. “I know better than that.”

  “Sorry. You do know better. I’m just a little skittish right now.”

  “Only fair,” he replied. “Those trappings this morning were anything but pretty. At least not the one at the brewery.”

  “That’s a nice way to say, ‘Thank God we got the damage waiver signed before we trashed the place,’” Jaye replied.

  Riley groaned. “Technically, the demon trashed the place, but I’m thinking that the time it’ll take to mop up all that beer is going to count against us.”

  “Yup,” Kurt replied. He eyed her nice clothes. “You think the fiend is here because you’re here to pick up your dude?”

  “I fear so.” She looked around, pleased there were no signs of panic in the departing passengers. At least not yet. “You got here quick.”

  “Mass transit rocks,” he said, giving her a thumbs-up.

  “Sure faster than I-85. Let’s go find out what’s up,” Riley said. “Pray that someone made a mistake.”

  If this were for real, a trapping here would be the kind of real-world experience her apprentices needed. Riley shifted to training mode. “How do you suggest we go about this, Oh-journeypersons-to-be?”

  It was Jaye’s turn to groan, as she was all too familiar with Riley’s “teaching” voice. She eyed Kurt, who promptly gestured for her to take the lead.

  “Thanks, I’ll remember that,” she said. Taking a deep breath, she dove in. “Okay, if it were me, I’d locate the reporting authority figure, show them my credentials, try to determine what type of fiend I’m facing, and then get directions to said fiend.”

  “And if the person in authority has no clue?” Riley pressed.

  “Then I’d wait until another legit report came in, because there’s no way I’d go through this entire airport, gate by gate.”

  “There’re a hundred fifty-two of them in the domestic terminal alone. That’d take forever,” Kurt said. When Riley gave him a look, he added, “I checked Google on the way down.”

  Of course he did. “Yet that’s exactly what might happen.”