Beck leaned back, then stood. “I need to see to the wounded. Will ya be okay?”

  She nodded in reply. Don’t let anyone else die.

  Pulling the blanket over her head, Riley closed her eyes. The sounds of battle still rang in her ears, and she felt the burning flames of Sartael’s sword close to her face. She had been able to stop Armageddon, but what about her dad? Was he still in Hell? If so, it was a bitter victory.

  “Riley?” She peeled back the blanket and found Ayden sitting next to her now.

  The witch placed Riley’s backpack near her feet. “Figured you’d want this.” She handed over the key to the mausoleum. “You left it in the lock. I put the sleeping bag away, but I didn’t see the claw. I’m sorry.”

  Maybe it was gone, like the demon it came from.

  “The knife’s inside the backpack,” the witch said. “You blooded it, so it’s yours now. When you’re ready, come by the shop. We’ll sit in sunlight and talk of what happened today.”

  “I owe you so much.”

  “The owing goes both ways.” They shared a lengthy hug, then the witch limped down the road. Along the way, she encountered Father Rosetti. They paused, studying each other, then he nodded in her direction, and she returned it. They parted company as equals.

  Peter. He’d be pacing his room fearing the worst. Riley dug around to find her cell phone inside the pack. To her surprise, the self-inflicted knife wound on her left hand had healed with only a faint scar to indicate there’d ever been a wound there, and her cell phone worked despite all the magic that had been thrown around. Maybe it had something to do with being inside the protective circle. She pushed the speed dial for her friend. No way could she remember his number right now.

  “Riley? Please tell me that you’re okay and that the demons are history.”

  “Yes to both.”

  He whooped in her ear. Then he sobered. “You sound totally wiped. You at home?”

  “No. Give me until … tomorrow … and I’ll call you.” This time she’d tell him all of it.

  “It was really bad, wasn’t it? I can tell from your voice,” he asked.

  “Yeah. It was total hell. I’ll talk to you later, guy. ” She disconnected the call and let the phone fall into the pack.

  When she looked up, Simon stood in front of her. He clenched a bloody sword like it had been fused to his arm. His usually tidy hair was streaked with sweat, and dark circles underscored his troubled blue eyes.

  “I was right. Your father was working with the necromancer, making those undead demons.”

  “No, my dad was one who broke the spell. It was Sartael who was behind all this. Weren’t you paying attention?”

  “That isn’t what I saw,” Simon retorted.

  “Of course not. You just can’t admit a Fallen got to you. Well, it happened, and now you have to live with that like the rest of us.”

  “Why did you did stop Armageddon? Was that Lucifer’s order?”

  “No. It was Heaven’s.”

  “How dare you lie to me after so many died,” he said, eyes flaring. His hand tightened on the sword, threatening violence.

  Martha glided up, looking first at Riley, then at Simon. The patron angel of Oakland Cemetery was still sporting her wings, and she wore her tough love expression. Someone was up for a lecture, and Riley didn’t think it was her.

  Simon’s jaw dropped as he made the connection. “It was you, in the hospital. You touched my chest and…”

  “Healed you. Yes, I plead guilty,” Martha replied, her eyes narrowing. “What did you do with that second chance at life, Simon Michael David Adler?”

  He cringed at tone of her voice. “I, ah…”

  “Did you stand by the one who sacrificed her future to give you that chance?” Martha chided. “When the Fallen came to you with his lies, did you resist him?”

  “She—”

  “No, you embraced the dark whispers because it was easier than admitting that your faith had been tested and found wanting. You betrayed your girlfriend to the Demon Hunters to put your own soul at ease.”

  “But Riley—”

  “Agreed to prevent Armageddon in exchange for your life,” Martha said. She shook her head in disappointment. “If I were her, I’d be wondering if you were worth all the trouble.”

  Simon’s face blanched as pale as his hair. “I didn’t know,” he said in a coarse whisper. “I thought … Oh, dear God.” He was on his knees in an instant, his head bowed in contrition. “What have I done?”

  With a tortured sigh, the angel knelt next to the stricken man. “It is not the end of your world,” she said, patting his arm. “You’ll survive.” When he looked up, his eyes teemed with tears. “You’ve learned a lesson—a soul is forged in the fires of adversity, not comfort.”

  He swiped away the tears. When his eyes met Riley’s, she saw the unrelenting agony within his heart.

  “I’m … sorry,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

  “So am I, Simon,” she replied.

  “Saint!” Harper called out. “Get your ass over here.” The young man staggered to his feet, then hurried away.

  “Go in peace, child,” Martha murmured.

  “Will he find his faith again?” Riley asked.

  “Perhaps. If he does, he will remember when he was weak and that will give him compassion for those who fall short of perfection.”

  “What would have happened if I hadn’t freed Ori?”

  The angel puzzled on that. “It’s my guess that you wouldn’t been allowed to stand between the two hosts to plead humanity’s case.”

  “It’s all about sacrifice for you people, isn’t it?”

  “Of course,” Martha said with a wry smile. “Which is why your father is no longer one of Lucifer’s.”

  “What? He’s in Heaven?”

  “It’s getting sorted out. The odds are in his favor.” Martha smiled broadly. “Very good odds indeed.”

  “Oh, God,” Riley cried, nearly collapsing in relief. “He’ll be able to see Mom and…” Her eyes brimmed with tears.

  “Maybe it was worth it after all,” Martha replied. She turned her head at the sound of wings. “Ah, good, they’ve arrived.”

  She marched toward a small knot of angels who’d appeared near the Blackthorne mausoleum and began issuing orders like a general. The angels scattered, righting headstones, replanting uprooted trees, filling in the holes the Fives had created. A supernatural cleanup crew. When one Divine walked past a paramedic, the guy didn’t even see it.

  I wonder why they’re doing this. They didn’t fix the place after that tornado went through.

  Riley let her eyes skim over the cemetery, past the industrious angels, the mounds of demon ashes, the bodies covered with blankets. Ori’s plinth stood empty, lit by sunlight.

  Eventually she’d know if he was still alive. When that day came she’d either be mourning the loss of the angel or her immortal soul.

  One would be as life-changing as the other.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Beck wiped the blood on his jeans, then tied off the bandage with a firm tug.

  “Ya’ll keep the leg, Remmers,” he said. “Be sure to have Father Rosetti bless the Holy Water so ya know it’s real fresh.”

  The injured man nodded grimly, his back up against a tree. “It’s better than I hoped for.” He swallowed and looked around. “I don’t know about you, but there’s no way I’m saying a word about this. No one will believe me. Not a chance.”

  “I hear ya.”

  “Thanks, Den.”

  “Thanks for watchin’ my back, dude. I owe ya.”

  Beck found Master Stewart leaning against a flame-scorched tree, flask in hand. The Scotch came his way, and after a tilt of the container, the liquid ran red-hot down his parched throat. He handed it back to its owner.

  “How’s Riley doin’?” the master asked.

  “She’s … talkin’ at least. I asked Carmela to check on her.”

  “She stood her ground today. If she hadn’t, it would have been the end of us all.”

  Beck rolled his right shoulder in an effort to stop it from cramping, though that did nothing to prevent the muscle twitches: Wielding a sword wasn’t for wimps.

  “I always thought Armageddon was some story they dreamed up to scare kids. I never expected to be right in the middle of it.”

  When the flask came his way again, he took another long swig. Stewart still owed him an answer to a question that had been plaguing him ever since the Vatican’s team arrived.

  “Back when we first met with the hunters, the priest said he knew who we served. When I asked ya about that, ya didn’t answer me.”

  Stewart remained silent.

  Beck lowered his voice. “We serve Hell, don’t we? The hunters are Heaven’s favorites, and we’re Lucifer’s. Am I right?”

  “It’s not that simple, lad,” Stewart remarked. “It’s not so much a matter of whether we serve the Prince but that we are the opposite of the hunters. The other side of the coin. Everythin’ in this world balances between the light and dark.”

  “That doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.”

  “It’s not an easy concept. Even the origins of the demons isn’t clear. Some think Lucifer created them as a mockery of God’s work. Others claim that they’re damned souls, sent to Hell ta learn their lesson.”

  “Yer sayin’ that if I kill a demon, it might be someone I knew?”

  Stewart hitched a shoulder. “I don’t know for sure. I still don’t understand it, and I’ve been trappin’ for over fifty years.”

  Which meant Beck had little chance of grasping it today.

  “Don’t let it trouble ya, lad. Yer not a servant of the dark, that’s for sure.” The master laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m very proud of ya. Ya showed great courage.”

  “I did okay,” Beck replied, shrugging off the praise.

  “Ya took on an Archfiend,” the master replied, reclaiming his liquor at the same time he removed his hand. “That’s better’n okay.”

  “I didn’t kill it,” Beck said. He remembered Riley stabbing it in the butt and laughed, because it felt good. “Damn it’s good to be alive.”

  “Aye. Now get Riley out of here. Take her ta my place if she’ll go. This will hit her hard soon enough.”

  Beck hesitated, not sure if he should ask the question. “What happens to a Fallen when it dies?”

  “Some say that Heaven takes them back if their souls have been cleansed. Others believe they become demons and start all over again.”

  Which meant no one really knew the truth.

  There’s a lot of that in this job.

  * * *

  Beck found Paul’s daughter sitting where he’d left her, the blanket still around her shoulders. Her tangled hair rested on dirt-smeared clothes, her skin unnaturally pale. He sat next to her, waiting for her to speak first.

  “How many did we lose?”

  “Twelve,” he replied. “The hunters lost ten. We’ve got a lot of injuries, but I think most of them are gonna live.”

  Riley searched across the stretch of ground around them, looking for someone. Her attention paused on one hunter and she sighed in relief. “Müller’s alive,” she said. “He has a little boy at home.” Then her face saddened. “Corsini won’t ever get to see his new baby.”

  She’s in shock. Beck put his arm around her. “Stewart wants me to take you to his place.”

  Riley instantly shook her head. “No, I want to go home.” She took her time rising from the step, telling him she was in pain.

  “The doc seen you yet?”

  “I wasn’t bleeding to death, so she’ll check me over later.”

  Beck suspected that Carmela had said more than that.

  Riley looked up at him, her eyes glistening. “The angel said Dad isn’t in Hell anymore,” she murmured. “He’s free of the demons.”

  Not in … “Yes!” Beck shot a fist in the air. “Way to go, Paul.” Then he sobered. “Come on, let’s get ya out of here.”

  As they walked down the asphalt road past the others, Riley kept her eyes on the path. He knew how that went after a battle. You focused on what you could handle, which was damned little.

  She paused only when she found Mort sitting on a curbstone. He had a bottle of water in his hand, and there was a giant red mark on his left cheek. His summoner’s robe was destined for the trash.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “I’m just tired,” he mumbled. “I’ve never done that much magic before.”

  “Did you know that my dad was going to be here?” When there was no reply, she stepped closer, her body taut. “Did you know what he was going to do?”

  Beck gently touched her arm. “Later. I’m sure Mort will be happy to talk to you, but not right now.” He gave the necromancer a look that told him that conversation would be happening, or Beck would make it a personal issue.

  “I’ll tell you all of it. Come to my house tomorrow, after we’ve both gotten some sleep,” Mort said.

  Riley swung away and moved down the road at a pace she wouldn’t be able to sustain. She flagged near the front gate, stopping to catch her breath. Stretchers rolled by them on the way to a street crowded with ambulances and cops.

  “Yer hurtin’, aren’t ya?” A nod. “Can you make it to the truck?”

  “Yes.” Then her eyes flared, and she shoved him away. “What were you doing, you idiot? That Archfiend could have ripped you in half.”

  “I didn’t want it to hurt you,” he said honestly.

  “Why do you have this insane need to get yourself killed?”

  He smirked. “I’m still alive, and it isn’t.”

  “Only because Ori killed it.”

  “Don’t remind me. Were ya really tryin’ to stab that demon in the ass?”

  Riley groaned. “No, I was aiming for its leg, and it moved. I looked like a total dork.”

  Not to me.

  Beck slipped his arm around her waist, and they continued on to the truck. So far the press hadn’t been allowed near the scene. That would end soon, and he wanted her out of there before that happened.

  “I’m sorry about yer angel,” he said, meaning it. “I figured he was as evil as they come, but now I think he was tryin’ to make it right in his own way.”

  Riley swallowed hard. “Why didn’t Lucifer take out Sartael himself? Why let it go this far?”

  “A leader sends his best man to challenge the enemy. The top dog only gets involved when it goes wrong. Or to claim victory. Been that way forever.”

  “It cost Ori his life.”

  “Maybe.”

  She looked up at him. “You don’t think he’s dead?”

  “Not sure. Lucifer’s a tricky bastard, and if keepin’ that angel alive is a way to play with yer head, he’ll do it.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  Riley woke to the comfort of her own bed in that muzzy sort of haze that didn’t tell her what day it was, how long she’d slept, or whether the nightmares she’d had were real or not.

  Had to be a dream. That would be good. No rampaging necromancers, revolting Archfiends, or epic battles. No dead Ori.

  Her eyes opened. The warm light in the room hinted at late afternoon. She rolled her head on the pillow and studied the clock—it was past four. Memories rushed to fill the empty spaces: Beck walking her to her apartment, her heading for the shower, scrubbing herself until the water ran cold. Finding out that Ori had been right once again—she was not pregnant. Never had a period been so welcome. One thing had changed: The inscriptions on her palms were visible now and looked likely to remain that way.

  Carmela had zipped in about noon and pronounced her bruised but alive, which seemed pointlessly obvious. Mrs. Litinsky had followed on her heels, hot chicken soup in hand. Then Max had joined her in bed for feline-purring therapy. After all that care and feeding, Riley hadn’t been able to keep her eyes open.

  Hauling herself out of bed, she let Max out and curled up on the couch, wrapped in a thick comforter. Though she really didn’t want to go there, she began methodically reviewing the events at the cemetery. Some of the memories made her so sad, like Corsini’s death and her father’s sacrifice. Paul Blackthorne had been the hero, not her. As she gazed up at her parents’ wedding photograph on the bookshelves, Riley whispered a prayer that her dad was with her mom now. That they’d be together forever.

  “I love you guys, and I’ll never forget you,” she whispered.

  Then she buried her head in the comforter and wept until there were no more tears.

  * * *

  It was close to ten that night when Riley’s cell phone rang. It vibrated across the nightstand, making an unholy racket. She retrieved it, half-awake. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Riley, how’s it goin’?” Beck asked, his voice louder than normal.

  She pulled herself up in bed. “What is all that noise?” Singing, she thought, and bar sounds.

  “Me and Elias are gettin’ ripped,” he explained.

  “It’s not only the captain,” she said. Too much noise for two guys.

  “Nah, it’s a whole bunch of us.” Someone asked him a question, and he called out, “Put me in for five. No way Jackson can balance a pint on his forehead. What do you take me for, some dumbass hick?”

  “Hey!” she called out, smiling now. He sounded happy, and it was contagious.

  “What?” he asked, then she heard a long slurp through the phone.

  “I thought the hunters didn’t do that kind of stuff.”

  “Tonight, the rules are bein’ ignored. We’re having a wake at the Six Feet Under. Everybody’s here, even the priest. Well, except Simon and that jerk Amundson. Too good to hang with us, I guess.”

  She didn’t know about Amundson, but she was willing to bet Simon was in church, on his knees, praying for all he was worth.

  “Do not get yourself arrested, you hear?” she urged. “I am not going to bail your butt out of jail, mister.”

  “Now who’s goin’ all old geezer, huh?” He snorted. “I’m gonna get drunk and pass out on my bed at home. Haven’t done that for so long I can’t remember.”