“Thank you for your warning.”

  “May God keep you safe,” Simon added.

  “May the Light guide you, as well,” the man replied. It felt like a blessing.

  With a faint smile, Simon headed down the stairs. Out of the corner of his eye he saw another figure to his left. When she turned and looked up at him, so much was written on that face—sadness, pain, worry.

  Another lost soul.

  “Are you Simon Adler?” the young woman asked, voice rough as if she was getting over a cold. Her black hair clung to her forehead in the heat. It was cut shorter on one side, a little longer on the other. A trapping bag sat at her feet next to a suitcase.

  “I’m Simon. Are you Katia Breman?”

  “Yes. Master Blackthorne said she left you a message about me. She had to go check on an injured trapper.”

  Ori knew exactly what Simon faced, and so did Riley. Had Heaven sent someone to help him, or was that just wishful thinking?

  “I got her message. Did she tell you what I’m facing?” he asked, eyeing the young woman.

  “Yes.”

  “That doesn’t frighten you?” She shook her head. “It should. I don’t need someone who is suicidal.”

  “I don’t see you have much choice,” was the curt reply.

  That was brutally to the point. “Riley said you just arrived this morning.”

  “Yeah. I’m from Lawrence, Kansas. I was a problem child for the Guild there so they sent me here.”

  He couldn’t hold back the laugh, rude though it was. “We’re all problem children here, so you’ll fit right in.”

  “Master Blackthorne said that after we talked, if you had time, she hoped you could take me to some grand master’s house. He has a room for me. She said the guy is Scottish and that he’s cool.”

  “That would be Grand Master Stewart, and he is cool. You’ll be fine there.”

  Simon’s phone buzzed again. Checking it, he sighed in relief at the text message. “The trapper who was hurt is going to be okay. Thank God,” he said, then looked up to see the journeyman watching him closely. “Riley wanted us to know,” he added.

  “She was really worried. She felt bad leaving me here on my own, but that was okay. It worked out, and I got to pet the dog again.”

  Again? He decided not to ask about that as they started down the stairs. When he offered to take her suitcase, she shook her head.

  “Katia. That’s a different first name,” he said.

  “I was named after my grandmother. She was amazing.”

  Which suggested that others in Katia Breman’s life had not been.

  She frowned now. “You really wagered your soul with a demon?”

  Simon winced. “I didn’t intend that to happen, but the fiend was smarter than me. Now I have to make sure those kids get back home safe.”

  She thought on that. “Us.”

  “Pardon?”

  “It’s up to us to get those kids back home safe,” she said, her voice stronger now.

  There was steel in those words. Perhaps the Fallen was right and Katia Breman was the ally he so desperately needed.

  I’ll know soon enough.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  Ori’s fingers tightened around the demon’s neck as it flailed in vain. He’d found the fiend stalking an oblivious college student who’d had his head stuck in his phone as he texted his way to an early grave. Intent on its prey, the Grade Four demon had been equally oblivious until Ori had grabbed onto it and hauled it down a nearby alley.

  “Answer me, Hellspawn!” he ordered.

  “Azagar! It’s Azagar!”

  Now he had the name of the fiend who’d taken advantage of the exorcist’s humanity, and that name rang a faint bell. He knew many of the stronger fiends in Lucifer’s kingdom, but not all of them. Recently his informants had mentioned this Azagar who had been stirring up trouble down in the Pit.

  “Does it have a demi-lord?”

  The fiend flailed more frantically now. “I say no more or they will kill me.”

  “They won’t get the chance,” Ori said, scowling.

  The Hellspawn’s body vanished in a swirl of still smoldering ashes, destroyed by Ori’s blade. A second later he felt the presence of another Divine, followed by the soft rustle of wings. He turned to study the newcomer, the sword still burning in his hand. For a moment he’d thought it might be one of Lucifer’s executioners—but this one was from the Upper Realm.

  It was a female, tall, covered in a stark white robe. Her hair was as strikingly blonde as the exorcist’s, and it spiraled down in curls to well below her shoulders. The eyes were a deep crystal blue, and her wings were pure white.

  “Ori the Fallen,” she said, her voice lower and deeper than he’d expected.

  “Obviously,” he replied, letting his sword vanish. Until he knew her purpose there was no reason to antagonize her with a weapon. Words were another matter.

  She frowned at him. “You are well shielded.” Meaning she couldn’t read his thoughts.

  It went both ways, as her mind was as closed as his. “Some reason you’re lurking in a dirty alley?”

  “Divines do not lurk. At least I don’t,” she snapped.

  “Nonsense. You are in an alley in the heart of what the mortals call Demon Central.”

  “I am here to observe you.”

  “Why? I have nothing to do with your realm.”

  “You don’t, but you do. I know that makes little sense, but that’s how it was explained to me,” the angel replied. “Our Creator is why you’re no longer on top of that tomb trapped inside a gargoyle. A fitting place for you, if it was my choice, but then I’m not in charge of those punishments.”

  Their Creator had bigger things to worry about than one Fallen angel, which meant someone else had sent her. Who had he annoyed recently? Hell, of course, but this one was from the other sphere. Of those in Heaven who despised him a single name always rose to the top.

  “Michael sent you,” he said.

  “Why would you think the Archangel would bother with one such as you? Why would he care?”

  “Because I refuse to bow to him. We have always disagreed about the mortals, which he dislikes because our Creator favors them over us.”

  “That doesn’t bother you?” she asked. “The mortals, that is.”

  “At one time it did,” he said. It had been one of the reasons he’d fled Heaven with the Prince. “Now it doesn’t.”

  Now he knew what strength they held in their fragile bodies, the hopes they held deep in their hearts. The sacrifices they would make to save the world. How they could be incredibly full of love and then equally full of hate. He believed them to be the most complex of the Creator’s designs. That thought alone would be considered sacrilege by the Archangel, and many of the other Divines.

  “The mortals serve a purpose,” Ori continued, “and though I don’t know what that is, I trust it will eventually make sense. Michael would cast them aside because they insist on being themselves. What he cannot understand, he either subjugates, or destroys.”

  There was silence on the other side as the Divine thought that through. Then she shook her head as if to clear it. “I see now why the Adversary found you of value. You spin lies like a web weaver, Fallen.”

  “I speak the truth, which is why Michael wants my head separated from my body. Is that why he sent you? Are you to be my executioner?”

  “No! I was told to observe and report your activities. That is all.”

  Ori could live with that, at least for the short term. It was curious that the Prince had sent his demon to tempt Simon Adler and now Michael the Archangel had ordered this Divine to follow Ori’s every move. The stakes were higher than even he had imagined.

  “Your name?” he asked.

  “Serrah.”

  “Well then, Serrah the Observer, do try to keep up.”

  Ori promptly vanished. If he’d stayed a moment longer, he would have heard her tortured sigh, followed by an un-angelic curse.

  FIVE

  As the exorcist walked her to his car, Katia held her silence, taking that time to regroup. Her head still spun with all that had happened since she’d arrived at the bus station. As instructed, she’d called the number the National Guild had given her and someone named Jackson answered. He’d been surprisingly polite even though in the middle of a trapping run and had sent her to the coffee shop. With angelic help she’d found the right bus to take her downtown. Then she’d met the Riley Blackthorne.

  The rumors within the Lawrence Guild claimed there was a lot that hadn’t been reported in the news media. Despite all that, the online videos she’d watched proved that Riley Blackthorne was seriously badass. Nothing about her journey from apprentice to master had been easy, a trapper who had killed three ArchFiends on her own. Meeting her should have been a total fangirl moment, but Katia’d been too tired and worried to react. Now it was all hitting home.

  According to her former master, Blackthorne had been given credit for other trappers’ efforts because Atlanta had no idea how to control her. When Katia had argued with him about that—there were those YouTube® videos after all—he’d decided it was time to ship her off to Georgia’s capitol. A phone call to the national headquarters had set it all in motion. She’d bet Kelly told the Guild she wanted to make the move, not that he was forcing her to do so.

  “You’ll fit in fine with those Southern crazies,” he’d said. “They’ll just love you.”

  Katia didn’t need love, she needed to trap demons. Nothing else mattered—not even family, at least the few who still spoke to her after her brother’s attack. Most still blamed her for his injuries. Now she was stuck with some guy named Simon who looked like he’d escaped from the 1950s with his white shirt, black slacks and that wooden cross. Could it get any weirder?

  Once in the car, they immediately rolled down the windows to let the heat escape.

  “Is it this hot in Kansas?” he asked, wincing as he snapped the metal seatbelt buckle into place, then blew on his fingers to cool them.

  “Yeah. It’s humid back home, but this is ridiculous. How do you stand this?” she asked as beads of sweat rolled down her face.

  “You don’t.”

  Once the car was moving, he rolled up the windows and turned on the air conditioning. Katia repositioned the vents on her side to aim directly at her, though at present it felt like a blow torch.

  “How long have you been trapping?” he asked.

  “A little over a year.”

  “Did you just become a journeyman?”

  “Yeah, I passed the exam in February.”

  “Why’d you decide to become a trapper?” he asked.

  This more personal question struck a nerve. “Why’d you become an exorcist?” she shot back.

  He gave her a quick look, then turned a corner onto a busy four-lane street. “Sorry, I was just curious.”

  She noted he didn’t answer her question. Increasingly chilly air poured out of the vents. Katia wanted to unbutton her shirt and pull it off, letting that air hit the sleeveless tee beneath, but then he’d see the scars. It’d been hard enough to reveal some of those to the masters.

  She turned her attention to the city teeming with people. No matter where she looked there seemed to be no end to the skyscrapers. It wasn’t that Lawrence didn’t have their own, but Atlanta’s seemed different.

  As they passed a park, something caught her notice, something small and oddly shaped. She blinked, then turned to see exactly what it was, but there was nothing there. “Bus lag,” she muttered, but luckily her driver didn’t hear her.

  Simon finally spoke a few minutes later. “I asked about why you became a trapper because I’m a journeyman, too.”

  What would make him change jobs? Katia wanted to ask, but then he’d expect her to talk about her life and that was a no-go.

  The next lengthy, and increasingly awkward silence ended when her chauffeur pulled the car into a long driveway. The house in front of them was one of those stately Victorian mansions, done up in various shades of blue, with all those fiddly things they liked to put on those old places. This one even had a turret.

  Her hometown had a few of these houses, and she remembered visiting one with her mom when she was a little kid. The high ceilings had seemed miles away when she was six. To her mother’s horror, the walnut bannister had proved to be a fantastic slide when Katia had zipped down it from the second to the first floor. Luckily, she hadn’t broken anything.

  “Man, that’s a big place,” she said.

  “It even has a ballroom. Riley had her wedding reception here,” Simon announced as a genuine smile appeared. “It was a wonderful day.”

  Katia looked over at him. “She married a grand master, right?” When he nodded, she added, “I’ve heard about them, the grand masters, but I’ve never met one.”

  “You’re about to. You’ll like Grand Master Stewart. Everyone does. Well, unless you’ve gotten on his bad side then he’ll put the fear of God in you. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  Katia got out of the car, taking her trapping bag and her lone piece of luggage with her. “Why did Master Blackthorne send me here? Why not one of the bolt holes?”

  That’s how her last master would have handled it—stuck the newcomer in some sanctified place so the demons couldn’t get to them until the trapper found a place to stay, however long that would take. He certainly wouldn’t have gone to all this effort.

  “You’re here because Stewart is a good ally to have, his housekeeper is a great cook, and there will be fresh cookies on the counter in the kitchen.”

  The food especially sounded promising. “Always?”

  “The cookies? No. Might be brownies or something else. The grand master has a sweet tooth.” Simon paused. “Do you need some time to get settled?”

  “Do we need to go somewhere?”

  “Not until the demon starts sending fiends after me. I’m surprised it hasn’t done that already.”

  He couldn’t hide the worry, and she wasn’t sure if that worry was about the Hellspawn, or her.

  “I’d like a shower. I’ve been on a bus since forever and I feel yucky.”

  The front door opened even before they climbed the stairs and the man who met them was in his sixties, as best as Katia could guess. White hair, broad shoulders and a brace on one leg. His eyes seemed to sparkle in greeting.

  “Grand Master Stewart,” Simon said politely. “This is Journeyman Katia Breman.”

  “Lassie, welcome! Good ta see again, lad,” the grand master replied, actually sounding like he meant it. “Come on in.”

  Stewart wasn’t what she’d expected, but pretty much everything in Atlanta had been different from the moment she’d stepped off the bus. His big house was equally surprising. Pretty blue floral wallpaper greeted them in the entryway, along with dark oak wainscoting. To her right, a wooden staircase led to the next floor. The interior smelled of fresh lemons.

  “Welcome ta my house,” Stewart said, gesturing. He handed Katia a set of keys. “We have a room all ready for ya.”

  For a half a second, she was speechless, then her brain kicked in. “Thank you! Can I . . . I’d like to get a quick shower and change my clothes.”

  “Of course.” Stewart pointed up the stairs. “Second floor, ta the right. It’s the room with the yellow bedspread. There’s a bathroom right next door. Should have all the towels and such ya need. When yer done, ya can find us in the kitchen. If ya get lost, just call out.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said and hustled up the stairs, her luggage in hand. Behind her, she heard Simon say he needed to talk about what was going on. Part of her wanted to be in on that conversation. Part of her knew it was best that she wasn’t.

  As they walked down the hall toward the kitchen, Stewart lowered his voice. “She’s skittish. Riley said she has reason ta be.”

  “The Fallen claims she’s here to help me.”

  “Ah, yes, the Fallen. Now there’s one that’s hard ta read. I will admit ta bein’ damned pleased that Ori was given a second chance. From what I’m hearin’ he’s doin’ serious damage ta the demon population, and not only in Atlanta. But he’s choosy, doesn’t kill every fiend he meets. I’m thinkin’ he’s bein’ canny, buildin’ himself a network of informers.”

  “For what purpose?” Simon asked.

  As they entered the kitchen, the grand master grabbed onto a white ceramic plate loaded with lemon bars and set it on the table next to three glasses. Apparently, their host had told his housekeeper about his guests, but then Scottish hospitality was always first rate.

  “That’s what bothers me,” the grand master continued. “Is Ori just stickin’ it ta the Prince, or does he have some other plan? Like replacin’ his old boss, maybe?”

  “He says no.”

  “Ya asked him?” Stewart said, surprised.

  “I did. I think it’s a sore point for him.”

  “No doubt. It canna be an easy existence, neither part of Heaven nor Hell.” He hesitated, then chuckled. “Much like bein’ a grand master, perhaps.”

  “There’s a pitcher of iced tea in the refrigerator if ya’d be so good as ta fetch it.”

  Simon collected it and took a seat.

  His host settled into a chair, moving his braced leg into a more comfortable position. “So, what’s goin’ on with ya, lad?” the man asked after taking a long sip of the tea. Two lemon bars had already made the trip to his plate.

  There were times Simon had kept certain subjects secret, but this wasn’t one of them. He recounted precisely what had happened from the moment Ori had offered his assistance at the house, to the encounter with the demon, and then the so-called “bargain”.

  “Three boys, huh?” Stewart said, shaking his head. “Hell is uppin’ the stakes on this one. That means they’re either after ya, or the Fallen, and are usin’ ya as bait.”