“Oh, shut the hell up,” Beck said, aiming a blow at the demon’s chest. He was slung back by a wing, his shoulder bleeding where the slicing edge caught it.

  The Archdemon was in the air before Riley could draw a breath, and it dove at Beck like an owl does at a wounded squirrel. The trapper delivered a deep cut to one of its wings, earning him a string of hellish obscenities. Steaming black blood drained from the wound, and when it touched the ground, it burned in a bright fire.

  “No wonder Lucifer doesn’t want ya…” Beck taunted.

  The demon roared its fury and slashed at its opponent, flattening the trapper to the ground with a clawed foot. It stood over him, sword poised for the kill as Beck struggled to free himself.

  Without thinking, Riley threw herself at the monster, aiming the knife at the leg pinning the trapper. The flap of a wing deflected the thrust and instead of hitting its thigh, she nailed the fiend in a rock-hard butt cheek. Bellowing, it reared around and batted at her, dislodging the knife. To avoid having her throat slit by its claws, Riley threw herself to the ground and rolled out of reach. When she pulled herself up, spitting dirt, the fiend was motionless, its mouth open as a strange gurgling noise came from its throat. As it slowly turned, a fiery sword came into view, buried to the hilt inside its chest.

  Ori deftly extracted the blade, and the demon crumpled.

  “That’s twice I’ve saved your life, trapper,” he observed. “I really don’t know why I bother.”

  Beck swore, scrambled to his feet, sword ready. A feral light filled his eyes. “No way ya touch her again.”

  The angel looked over Riley, his face an unreadable mask. “So she told me.”

  Then Ori abruptly spun on his heels and strode across the battlefield toward the other Fallen. “What is all this chaos, Sartael?” he said, gesturing expansively.

  “I have challenged Heaven. Today the war begins,” the other Fallen replied. He gazed upward. “Can you not hear them scurrying around like rats in an attic? They’re frantic. They did not see this coming.”

  “Of course they did,” Ori replied, drawing closer. “Surely Lucifer has not given you permission for such a campaign.”

  “He is in hiding, fearing my wrath,” Sartael boasted. “He was always a coward.”

  Ori halted about fifteen feet from the other angel. Whenever his eyes swept over a demon, it retreated, even the Archfiends.

  “I expected you to be smarter than that, Sartael. Our Prince was testing you, as he did me. I failed, but now I have paid my penance. As has Blackthorne’s daughter.”

  Sartael’s expression went from insane to cunning. “Then let us form a truce,” he said, his eyes straying to Riley.

  You promised, Ori. You cannot give up my soul.

  But what if he did? Is that what Ori had intended all along, his way of reestablishing his status in Hell?

  You have so little trust, Riley.

  Ori raised his sword in a fighting stance. “I name you traitor, Sartael. You have renounced the Eternal One and turned against our master. My commission is to destroy those who would threaten the Eternal Balance. That would include you.”

  “You would side with our enemies?”

  “With pleasure, old friend.”

  With twin cries of rage, the angels soared high into the air like exploding stars. Slashing at each other, wings snapping, they began a battle for supremacy that had festered for countless millennia.

  THIRTY-SIX

  With a barked order, Salvatore and the hunters pushed forward, leaving only a few behind to guard the wounded. Sensing an advantage, the trappers joined in the fray, attacking demons without mercy.

  A tremor shook the ground, tossing men and Hellspawn in all directions. A few feet away from Riley, a hole broke open and tree roots twisted out of the soil, seeking anything they could ensnare and drag deep into the earth.

  A coarse cry came from above. Splashes of blue blood fell like a morning drizzle. Ori wasn’t moving as fast now, only reacting a few seconds before each strike, his wounds slowing him. Sartael wasn’t much better. A blow went wide, opening him to Ori’s counterthrust. Ori rammed his blade deep into one of Sartael’s wings, and the rogue angel spiraled to the earth, trailing blood and feathers.

  The moment the archangel struck the ground, a bolt of lightning sheared out of the sky, following immediately by a deafening clap of thunder. As it faded away, an armor-clad figure marched across the battlefield, stepping over the dead as if they didn’t exist.

  Sartael crawled to his feet, one wing hanging awkwardly. He scowled up at the Prince of Hell.

  “Traitor,” Lucifer said simply.

  “You dare to call me that?” Sartael retorted, spitting blue blood onto the grass at his former master’s feet.

  “I have that right,” the Prince replied. “I have borne the weight of that word and know how it devours you over the ages. I, of all creation, know the price it demands. Now you will as well.” He gestured, and something began to slither across the prisoner’s body, loop after thick loop. The chains seemed impossibly heavy, forged of an alloy Riley had never seen. No doubt it had to be strong to hold a Fallen in bondage.

  Sartael sagged under the weight as the coils shifted, like a python seeking to strangle its prey. Tightening, re-forming, always on the move. The chains did not rest, which meant their prisoner would not as well.

  “Those are yours for eternity. Do not think I am as merciful as the One who created us.”

  The Prince swept his gaze over the demons, the abominations that were no longer his servants. Then his eyes rested on the circle that held her father.

  “Make an end to it, Paul Arthur Blackthorne,” he commanded.

  In the split second after the order was given, the shell around Riley’s father began to disintegrate. Cracks appeared, and, through the gaps, the magic began to buckle. Her father seemed at peace, tears on his cheeks, though he shouldn’t have been able to weep. As he smiled at Riley one last time, the light in his eyes died.

  “Dad!” Riley called out, stumbling forward in a futile effort to reach him. It was too late. The bubble collapsed in on itself, folding and bending, and its wake left only a bald patch of earth behind.

  “No!” No. No. She fell to her knees. The paper underneath her shirt crinkled. Now his note made sense: He’d known he was going to destroy himself to save them all. He’d known it from the very beginning.

  “Hellspawn,” Lucifer called out. “This is a holy place. Die as you were meant to.”

  A great cry rose around them as the fiends suddenly came in contact with the ground. Gouts of flame rose from each as the sacred soil cleansed itself of the unholy taint.

  Sartael began to rave and fight his chains. Then he fell quiet, though his lips kept moving.

  “Silence is indeed golden, especially when it comes to you,” Lucifer remarked.

  The moment Ori’s feet touched down, he went to his knees, bent over in agony. Riley shook away her grief and hurried to him, not caring if anyone saw her. When she knelt next to the injured angel and touched his arm, his head slowly rose. The wound in the left side of his chest pulsed blue fluid. Pressing her injured hand against it made no difference.

  “Heal yourself!” she urged. “You did it the last time.”

  “Can’t … not a wound from … a Divine.”

  Lucifer stomped over, scowling. “You are a fool, Ori. You know how to heal yourself. Stop being a martyr.”

  “No. Not that way,” Ori said. “I refuse.”

  He’d kept his word and not given up her soul. You saved Beck’s life. Ori deserved to live.

  “Hey, listen to your boss, will you?” Riley pleaded, though she had no idea what they were talking about. “Do whatever you’re supposed to do. You can’t give up now.”

  The corners of her angel’s mouth curved up ever so slightly. “Riley Anora Blackthorne. My Valiant Light.” He swallowed hard. “I release your—”

  Lucifer waved a hand, and Ori’s body vanished, leaving only a pool of luminescent blue blood on the dried leaves.

  “What did you do with him?” Riley demanded. “Is he—”

  A sound burst forth, like the note from a single trumpet magnified a thousand times. Others joined it until it seemed to come from everywhere, even the ground beneath them. High above, the air split open, and radiant white figures dropped toward the earth like missiles. Their wings unfurled, slowing their descent. Angels. Their unearthly beauty marked them as being Heaven’s team.

  Oh crap. Maybe she hadn’t stopped the war after all.

  One angel in particular seemed to be brighter than the others, clothed not in white armor but in silver and gold, which shone like a supernova. More unnerving, his hair was the color of Simon’s white-gold locks.

  “It’s the Archangel Michael,” one of the hunters murmured, falling to his knees and crossing himself. Others quickly followed his lead.

  Michael was God’s holy warrior, the one the Bible said would slay the dragon. The dragon that just happened to be standing nearby.

  As the Heaven’s forces assembled behind their leader, both on the ground and in the air, more Fallen angels appeared on Hell’s side. Those were clad in dark silver armor.

  Riley stood between two immense armies.

  Her palms no longer itched but burned with a searing heat that spread up her arms into her chest and to her very core. She caught Stewart’s eyes. He nodded in return.

  This is it.

  “Morning Star,” Michael said brusquely. His voice was harsh, hard on the ears, like it held more power than her mind could ever comprehend. “Your realm is in chaos.” He shot a contemptuous glare at Sartael. “You have traitors in your midst.”

  “My realm is not your concern, Michael,” the Prince replied evenly.

  “It is now. We grow weary of your pathetic efforts to purify the souls of these mortals. They do not care. They are arrogant and useless.”

  “They are His creation. Do you challenge that wisdom?” Lucifer asked smoothly.

  Michael’s brilliant blue eyes turned flinty. “Do not put words in my mouth, Fallen.”

  “Then do not dictate how I should rule my kingdom, nor how I handle the mortals.”

  Michael’s sword began to crackle as the legions grew restless. There were murmurs in a tongue she could not understand. The unease rose on Hell’s side, as well.

  The cosmos was a heartbeat away from total war.

  “Oh, no, you’re so not doing this,” Riley said, stepping up to the pair. “I didn’t lose my dad to have you guys toast this planet like a marshmallow.”

  The moment Michael’s eyes touched her, she shuddered. Now she knew why people in the Bible always averted their eyes.

  “You are Blackthorne’s daughter, the mortal designee.” He shook his head in disgust. “This time it’s a child. I have no idea why He bothers.”

  Wings or not, this guy was pissing her off. Sure, she wasn’t a high-and-mighty angel, but still …

  “Look, I know you guys hate each other, but don’t bring your war here. We’ve got enough troubles of our own.”

  “So self-absorbed, yet Lucifer argues that your kind is worth saving,” the archangel chided.

  “We are worth saving.”

  “Have you done all the tasks He has asked of you?”

  “No,” she said, her head spinning so viciously it was hard to keep upright. Standing between the angelic hosts, she felt like a small moon caught in the gravitational pull of two massive planets. Positive. Negative. Light. Dark. All surging through every cell in her body.

  Riley steadied herself against a headstone, and the dizziness eased. She tried to ignore the fact that the stone glowed at the point where her hand touched it.

  “I’ll admit we’re arrogant, and we don’t learn really fast,” she said, forcing herself to concentrate on each word, “but we’re getting there. At least we’re trying.”

  “How many wars plague your planet, mortal? How many die this day from starvation? You call that progress?” Michael challenged.

  This was like being up in the front of a classroom and knowing your whole year’s grade depended on your next answer. In this case, the future of mankind.

  “It’s not your call to tell us our time is up,” Riley said through gritted teeth.

  “Ah, child, but it is.”

  Riley swore that her blood was thickening, boiling off inside her veins. Sweat rolled off her face, down her back into the waistband of her jeans. She could not stay between the armies for much longer and remain alive.

  “What happens if he wins?” she said, angling her head toward Lucifer. “Then what?”

  Michael’s sharp bark of laughter was more derision than humor. “That is not possible.”

  “But what if he does? What if you have your infernal war, and the only thing that happens is that all us mortals die? Then what? How are you going to explain that to your boss?”

  No reply. Maybe she was getting somewhere.

  Speak from yer heart. That had been Stewart’s advice.

  “You don’t have a clue what it’s like for us,” she insisted. “You’re supposed to be all-perfect, and you’re no better than we are. Maybe that’s what God wanted when He made us humans—a chance to do it right the second time.”

  The blade blazed hotter. “Careful, mortal, you blaspheme.”

  “I’m not dissing God. I’m saying maybe you don’t have the big picture. I know I don’t.”

  “She has a point, Michael,” Lucifer replied. “We threaten to destroy everything He’s built. Is that what He wishes, or is this another one of those tests He is so fond of?”

  “He would not allow it if was not foretold.”

  “Perhaps.” Lucifer frowned. “It occurs to me that those in Heaven stand so close to the Light, you must turn away, or it will blind you. For some in the darkness”—he looked over to where Ori’s body had been—“they crave that same Light because they remember how warm and loving it was, forgetting His power could scorch as well as heal.”

  “And we’re in right in the middle,” Riley said, understanding now. “The angels in Heaven are too close, those in Hell are too far away. That’s why we were created, because we balance the Light and Dark.”

  There was a muffled rustle of wings on both sides. Then utter silence, the universe holding its breath.

  “Please, we’ve been given a chance to get it right,” she pleaded. “All we need is time to find our own way.”

  The archangel shifted uncomfortably. “You think them worthy of His attention, Morning Star?”

  Lucifer shrugged. “It remains to be seen.”

  “You will continue the Great Task as He has set forth?”

  “Until I am no longer needed.”

  “Even if it keeps you from the Light?”

  A solemn nod. “It is my penance.”

  “Not all penance, I think,” Michael said archly. “You enjoy your freedom overly much.”

  “My freedom exacts a price beyond your imagining, Archangel.”

  Michael’s bottomless blue eyes alighted on Riley. “A mere child,” he muttered, shaking his head. With a wave, Heaven’s angels began to disappear in swirling eddies of light, two at a time.

  Lucifer nodded his approval and a corresponding number of his Fallen rose in a black mist, then vanished.

  Michael unfurled his huge wings as he scrutinized his rival. “We shall still meet at the End of Days, Morning Star. That shall come to pass.”

  “So it shall, Michael. Until then.”

  Without another word, God’s warrior shot into the sky, twirled once, and vanished in a flash of silver and gold. When she looked over, Lucifer was already gone, taking the remainder of his troops with him.

  “Wait! What about my dad?” Riley shouted.

  Lucifer’s voice filled her head. He has paid his debt.

  But—

  You still owe me a favor, Blackthorne’s daughter. When that is fulfilled, we will talk. Until then, stop whining.

  “Whining?” she shouted aloud. After all she’d been through?

  Then it hit her. There would be no war today. The earth would continue to turn on its axis while all its inhabitants went about their lives on this sunny morning in midwinter.

  Oh. My. God. I actually did it!

  Riley draped herself over a headstone and wept in profound relief.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  “Don’t touch her!” someone commanded. “Let the angelic essence bleed off first.”

  Ayden. At least her witch friend had survived.

  “Look at it flow out of her. It’s like a river. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  Mort. He’d made it, too.

  It took time, but Riley finally opened her eyes. She was still slumped over the headstone, the granite digging painfully into her ribs. At all points of contact golden yellow light poured out of her body, sheeting down the weathered stone and into the ground just like a battery discharging.

  “Ouch,” she said, sliding to the ground and landing hard on her butt. Every cell of her body throbbed, from her toenails to the ends of her hair.

  “Now you can touch her,” the witch advised.

  It was Beck who did the honors, gently stroking her arm so her eyes moved in his direction. Black demon blood coated his clothes and splattered his cheek. “Yer alive,” he said, smiling.

  “You, too.” Go figure.

  Beck scooped her up in his arms. She was going to protest, but realized it was wasted breath. She was too weak to walk anyway. He carried her only a short distance and set her on the stairs to the Bell Tower. A scratchy wool blanket was tucked around her.

  When she raised her eyes, she found the trapper kneeling in front of her. The wound on his face continued to weep, trailing blood down his neck and into his shirt. He leaned so close, their foreheads touched, like he had before.

  “Paul loved us both,” he whispered. “I’ll never forget that.”

  Neither would Riley. Those last few seconds when her father’s brown eyes had met hers, she’d seen his endless love, his deep compassion, the boundless pride he felt for her. Those scant few moments were enough to last her a lifetime.