Sadie abruptly halted. The area in front of them held . . . nothing. No faces, no walls or ceiling. Oblivion. She pointed into that endless nothingness. “Go there.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “Yer not dead, boy. If ya fight hard enough, ya might make it back alive.”

  That was the one thing he did know how to do. He’d fought all his life.

  “Come with me,” he said, tugging on her hand.

  She pulled herself free. “I can’t, Denver. I belong here.”

  This might be the last time he’d see her. “I love ya,” he said. “I know ya never loved me, but that didn’t matter.”

  Her face tightened. “I know. I see what it all means now. I’m sorry, Denver. I truly am.”

  Then the shade that was Sadie Beck faded away.

  “Goodbye, Momma,” he said.

  It seemed colder now, and Beck shivered from head to toe. With uneasy steps he moved forward, his hand clasping Paul’s ring so tightly it dug into his skin.

  He just had to trust his mother one last time.

  Maybe this time it wouldn’t be a lie.

  THIRTY-SIX

  When Beck’s eyes jerked open, a soft light touched them. He blinked a few times and the scene became clearer. It was morning and he was in his own bedroom. Someone was sitting in a chair near the bed, reading aloud. The words were from the Bible, he thought. Psalms. When he cleared his throat to try to speak the man looked up.

  “Lad?” Stewart said, dark, heavy bags under his eyes. “Oh, thank God.” The master placed the book on the nightstand and leaned closer. “How are ya feelin’?”

  “I hurt like hell,” Beck said. He cautiously shifted his left arm and was pleased to find it was no longer numb.

  Someone was missing. Panicking, he tried to rise off the mattress and failed. “Riley? Where is she? Is she hurt?” If she’s dead . . .

  “Riley’s friends are tryin’ ta force some food down her. She’s barely left yer side since ya were wounded.”

  She’s alive. Oh, thank God. Beck took a deep breath to calm himself. “It was so weird. I . . . was in Hell, for real.”

  “Aye, ya would have been. We’ll talk of that when yer stronger.” Stewart gently placed his hand on Beck’s uninjured shoulder. “I’m verra proud of ya, lad. Well done. Now I’d best go tell yer lady the good news or she’ll have my head.”

  When the master reached the kitchen, Beck heard voices, one of them Riley’s. She was telling someone exactly where they could put the sandwich they’d made for her.

  Yeah, that’s my girl.

  Stewart announced the news, and for a moment there was profound silence, then a whoop of joy followed by someone racing down the hall. Riley didn’t launch herself onto the bed like he’d figured, but carefully sat next to him, looking the worse for wear. Her face was blotchy, crimson in places, and she wore a pair of sunglasses inside the house.

  She pulled off the glasses and set them aside, revealing swollen eyes and puffy cheeks.

  “You okay?” he asked. “Yer eyes—”

  “Are getting better,” she replied, her voice huskier than usual. “That’ll teach me to get close to a fiery sword.”

  Still troubled, he gestured with his uninjured arm for her to lay her head on his chest. It wasn’t comfortable, but he didn’t care. He heard her sigh as he stroked her hair, savoring that simple pleasure.

  Sartael is dead. He’ll never hurt us again. And I killed him.

  Beck couldn’t suppress the well-earned grin.

  There was a shuffling in the doorway and he discovered four smiling faces watching them. One belonged to Jackson, his arm in a cast, then Riley’s friends Peter and Simi, as well as Stewart. Eight thumbs shot upward in unison.

  “Thanks, guys,” he said, overwhelmed.

  There were congratulations, then Stewart shooed them off. “All right the lot of ya, out! They need their privacy. We can celebrate later.”

  The instant the front door closed, Riley raised her head, blinking her eyes repeatedly. “I thought I’d lost you,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.

  “We Georgia boys are . . . hard to kill.” His mind flashed back to his mother. How she’d led him out of Hell and that she’d had to stay behind. “Sadie helped.”

  “What?”

  He shook his head. There was no way he could explain that.

  “Thank you for coming back to me,” she murmured.

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said.

  Beck raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if somehow he could see Heaven.

  You never listened to me before, but this time you did. I won’t ever forget that.

  Then the tears he’d been holding back began to trickle down his face as he wept along with the woman he loved.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  The next three days proved harder than Riley had expected. Though he was regaining his strength, Beck’s mood would veer from morose to jubilant and back into depression in a fraction of a second. One minute he wanted to hold her, the next he wanted his space. That irrationality made for a few tense scenes.

  Stewart insisted the patient’s behavior was normal, but after the love of her life had snarled at her about the taste of the meal she’d lovingly made for him, Riley’s patience snapped. She retreated and called in reinforcements. The grand master took over, tactfully suggesting she catch up on her homework while he tried to maneuver the patient back on an even keel. Riley decamped from Beck’s house and left the grump behind with few regrets.

  Beck wasn’t in the mood for a social call, his nerves as brittle as a thin sheet of pond ice in the spring. He was on the couch now, tired of the bed, but the change of location hadn’t helped his mood.

  “I don’t need you here,” he grumbled, eyeing Stewart as the man eased himself into a chair.

  “Ya need ta talk about what’s goin’ on in yer head. Yer the kind who bottles things up. That’s not healthy.”

  “No reason to talk about it,” Beck replied. How could he ever explain what had happened with his mother down in Hell?

  “Come on, lad, tell me what ya saw while ya were ill.”

  “Just dreams,” Beck said dismissively. “Nightmares.”

  “Of Hell, am I right?”

  He cautiously straightened up, mindful of his sore shoulder. The sling only did so much to reduce the discomfort. “Why are you really here?”

  A thoughtful smile appeared on his guest. “I’m here ta see that ya keep yer sanity after all ya’ve been through. It would be a damned waste ta have ya go crazy now.”

  “You tell me what happened.” Why Sadie saved me.

  “Yer wound exposed ya ta the power of the Divine. Because Sartael was a Fallen, ya were sent ta Hell to pay the price for slayin’ an angel.”

  “But I didn’t stay there.”

  “Aye. So . . . who showed ya the way out?”

  Beck stared at the master in profound shock. “How did you know that?”

  “I think the best way ta answer that is with a wee story.” Stewart eased back in his chair. “A few decades back a master trapper managed ta kill a Geo-Fiend. He was feelin’ pretty damned proud of himself until a Fallen angel showed up. It was the Five’s demi-lord, ya see, and it was angry at losin’ such a powerful servant. The angel and the master fought, and by the grace of God, this lad killed the Fallen, though he was badly injured.”

  “This guy went to Hell like I did?”

  “Aye. He wandered in this endless maze of thorns, teeterin’ on the edge between life and death. When he cried out for help, one of the damned souls came ta him. It was an old friend who’d gone down the wrong path many years before. That friend helped the trapper find his way out of the maze and back ta the Light.”

  My God.

  “It was . . . Sadie, my momma,” Beck admitted. “She took my hand and showed me the way out. There was no way I could save her. She’s there until—”

  “God decides she isn’t.”

  Beck searched the master’s face. “Why did she do that? She could have left me down there to burn with her.”

  “She may not have been able ta show ya love in this life, but once we cross over we see things more clearly. All the lies we wrap ourselves in are stripped away.” Stewart paused. “Yer mother came through when it really counted. If for nothin’ more, remember her kindly for that.”

  “I will.” Beck slowly pieced together the connections. “That leg wound of yers. It wasn’t from an Archfiend, was it?” The master shook his head. “You killed a Fallen, that’s how you know about Hell, about bein’ lost there.”

  “Aye.”

  There was something more here, Beck could feel it. The final connection snapped into place.

  “To be a master demon trapper, the Guild says you have to kill or capture an Archfiend. To be a grand master . . . you have to take down an angel?” Beck asked.

  “Aye. There’s no capturin’ those things,” Stewart replied. “There are only a handful of us grand masters in the world.” The Scotsman smiled broadly. “And now there’s one more.”

  Beck could barely comprehend what he’d just heard.

  “There will be extensive trainin’ and a lot of bookwork, but ya have what it takes ta be one of us. I knew ya had the talent ta become a damned fine master. But now, lad, yer much more than that.”

  “A grand master,” Beck whispered.

  “It’s not an easy life. We have duties that are so verra painful sometimes, but we do what we can ta maintain the balance between the Dark and Light. That will be yer job too, if ya care ta join us.”

  “But . . . ” He had to come clean. “I can’t read and write that good.”

  “That’s somethin’ ya can learn. What’s important is that yer wise beyond yer years. Ya’ve seen death close up, ya’ve killed others and know the toll it takes. Ya know what true love is. That’s as much of the job as anythin’.”

  “A grand master,” Beck repeated. Then he frowned. “How will this all happen?”

  “Once ya’ve made master here in the States, ya’ll go ta Scotland for a few months’ trainin’. Then every year after that ya’ll return for more education, sometimes there, sometimes in other parts of the world.”

  He’d have to leave Riley behind. “How long would I be gone?”

  “I know where yer headed. Ya’ll not want ta be away from yer pretty lass for that long, so we’ll have her come visit ya as needed. I can tell ya, there’s nothin’ more romantic than a walk in the hills of my homeland, especially if ya have a certain question ya might want ta ask.”

  Beck’s eyes rose and he found himself smiling at that. “I might have one of those. Does Riley know any of this?”

  “Nay, but I’ll be tellin’ her soon enough. I believe she’ll be as proud of ya as I am.”

  He shook his head in amazement. “I can’t believe it. This all happened because one crazy Archangel decided he wanted to rule in Hell.”

  “That was a bit of it, but not the most important part,” Stewart replied. “This all happened because one poor and abused lad refused ta accept that was his lot in life. Ya sought somethin’ better. Now ya’ll have it.”

  My God.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  While Stewart jousted with her grouchy boyfriend, Riley took refuge in paradise. Or at least the coffee shop. Her favorite booth was empty, so she spread out her homework and started working. Memories kept intruding, especially those that involved Ori. She found she missed him more than she’d anticipated.

  Her eyes were still bugging her so she put in more drops and those seemed to help. Digging into both the hot chocolate and the homework, she found it hard to concentrate. How was Beck doing? Had the Scotsman set him straight?

  She’d just finished her sociology assignment about the Maori when Stewart’s call came through.

  “Lass? Beck’s doin’ better. We got some things settled and now he knows the lay of the land. He said he’d call ya when he was ready ta talk.”

  “Oh good. He was so bitchy and I didn’t know what to do.”

  “There is one more thing.”

  As she listened in increasing astonishment, Stewart explained exactly where Beck’s future lay, that her boyfriend had qualified to join the ranks of the grand masters.

  Riley’s mind reeled. “He knows this?”

  “Aye. He’s still tryin’ ta handle the news. I thought ya should know.”

  “Ohmigod. That’s like really big.”

  “That it is. Beck will need yer help with the readin’ and the studyin’, but I have no doubt he’ll do just fine. He’s a smart lad, even if he claims not ta be.”

  “This is so awesome.” He has to be blown away.

  “As for yer situation, I chatted with Rome this mornin’,” Stewart continued. “They’re comfortable with the way things are now. They’ve lifted yer restrictions so ya can live wherever ya wish. They do recommend that ya don’t mess around with any Fallen in the future.”

  “That I can live with.”

  “When things settle down, we should talk about ya compilin’ the history of Atlanta’s Demon Trappers. We don’t have a historian, and it’s time we did. The job would pay a small stipend, enough ta help ya with some of yer expenses.”

  Riley’s dad, the history teacher, would have jumped at that chance. “I’ll do it. Thank you, sir.”

  “It’s Angus. We know each other well enough ya should call me by my first name.”

  “Thanks, Angus. You rock. I mean that.”

  It proved really hard not to call Beck and celebrate his incredible news, but she took Stewart’s advice and curbed her impatience. Her guy would call when he was ready.

  She’d moved on to her history homework with an occasional ohmigod, I can’t believe it moment thrown in, when Simon entered the coffee shop. When he saw her he walked to the booth.

  “Hey,” she said, unsure of where they stood.

  “I’d like to talk. Is that okay?” he said, more solemn than usual.

  “Sure.” Riley closed the book in front of her, wondering what was on his mind.

  “Would you like some more hot chocolate?”

  She nodded, if nothing more than to gain time to prepare for what was to come. He didn’t seem angry or hostile, so maybe this would be a good talk rather than one that they’d both regret.

  As Simon waited at the counter to place their order, he appeared so much older now, though only a short time had passed since that night they’d met at the Tabernacle. He was stronger, more scarred. She felt the same way.

  Her ex-boyfriend slid into the booth after handing over her drink. When he didn’t speak right off, she savored the chocolate curls on the top of the abundant whipped cream.

  Finally, he cleared his throat and asked her about her eyes. They both agreed she looked as if she’d fallen asleep in a tanning bed. Then he asked about Beck and she let him know everything was good there as well, without revealing her boyfriend’s latest news. That was his to announce.

  The pleasantries over, Simon moved on to what was really on his mind. “I passed my journeyman’s exam. I heard this morning.”

  “That’s great, Simon. Congratulations,” she said, meaning every word.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “Ah, you don’t sound happy.”

  “It’s all changed now. It’s an accomplishment, but not like it once would have been.” His slender fingers wrapped around the ceramic cup. “I . . . will be here for another couple weeks and then I’m leaving Atlanta. I need to spend some time away. I need to get my head right.”

  “Oh,” Riley replied, caught off guard. “Where are you going?”

  “I want to visit some holy sites. Rome, for sure. Lourdes. I’ll go to Israel and then . . . ” He hesitated, though his eyes were alight now. “India. I want to talk to some of their holy men. And Tibet, maybe. The monks might have some insights.” He paused to take a sip of the coffee. “Ayden suggested I spend some time at a couple of stone circles while I’m in Ireland.”

  The old Simon would have never listened to the witch, or been willing to go near places or people that didn’t share his faith. This was a huge step.

  “While you’re at it, spend some time with a rabbi and an imam,” Riley suggested. “Maybe they will help put things into perspective. If I didn’t have a reason to stay here, I’d join you.”

  “That reason is Beck, isn’t it?” Simon asked, their eyes meeting now.

  “Yes. We’re in love. It’s . . . good.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that,” he replied. “We never got a chance.”

  “No, we never did.” It took a bit of work, but she extracted his charred cross from the bottom of her pack. “I found this at the Tabernacle the other day. I thought you’d want it.”

  Simon reached for it, then pulled his hand back. “Keep it for me, will you? Maybe someday I can take it back and have it mean what it once did.”

  “No, if you ever wear it again, it’ll mean something completely new. Then you will have passed your test.”

  When she took his hand, he gently flipped hers over. “The mark from Hell is gone,” he observed. “What about your soul?”

  “It’s mine again.” Riley turned over her left hand. “The one from Heaven is still here. Guess they’re not finished with me yet.” They clasped hands. “When you’re on the road, write to me, will you? I want to know how it’s going for you. I’m serious.”

  “I will. You understand better than anyone else.”

  They held hands for a little longer before Simon left her behind, pensive as always.

  If you regain your faith, you’re going to be one awesome weapon against the darkness. You know how they play their games. They will never defeat you again.