“This is why you survived, Simon Michael David Adler, so the innocents would have someone to protect them,” Ori said quietly. “Azagar cannot win this battle against you or much will be lost.”

  Azagar. That must be the Hellspawn who had trapped him in this nightmare. Now he had a name for his enemy.

  “She is really good with them,” he said, his eyes still on the angel and the children.

  “Serrah is pure Light. Not like me.”

  Simon looked over at the Fallen. “You might not be pure Light, but every time you help us, you shed more of your darkness.”

  Ori shook his head. “If only it was that easy.”

  Katia watched the female Divine, all white light and glowing wings. A glance at Simon told her he couldn’t see any of that. Had he known the guy at the church was an angel? Probably not.

  A quick glance down at the demon reminded her it wasn’t smart to be distracted. She trotted back to the car and collected the wire mesh bag. Judging from the fiend’s size there was going to be a lot of cramming involved, hopefully before the Holy Water wore off.

  She’d just begun the process when there was the slam of car doors. Master Blackthorne—Riley—and a thin, wiry man with a ponytail joined them.

  “And we missed all the action.” He didn’t sound sad about that. As he approached her, he added, “You must be Journeyman Breman. I’m Master Jackson. We talked on the phone.”

  “Sir,” she said politely.

  He shook his head. “Oh, no, don’t start that crap. I’m Jackson.”

  “Anyone hurt?” Riley asked. She spied the blood on Katia’s arm. “Like you?”

  “It’s not from the Three so it doesn’t need treated,” Katia replied. She kept eyeing the demon and the bag. “We got a chunky one here. I’m going to need some help.”

  Jackson laughed. “Hold on. I got just the thing. Brand new. You’re gonna love it.” He took off at a jog back toward the parking lot.

  As the angel rose from the children, the protective circle vanished. A moment later the side door to the daycare center opened and more staff rushed out. With cries of joy the kids were scooped up, hugged, kissed, then carried back inside. The Divine was speaking with the two aides now, and she could tell from their faces their own fears were beginning to ease.

  Riley looked over at the Fallen. “Two of you now? Is there some special angel thing going on in town?”

  “I have apparently rated an ‘observer,’” Ori replied.

  She smirked. “Lucky you.”

  His scowl said otherwise.

  Jackson returned at that moment, carrying a piece of mesh. “Here you go—the latest in Grade Three Hellspawn containment. No stuffing or jamming required,” he said, dropping the item at Katia’s feet. “When we’re done, I’ve got a First Aid kit for your arm.”

  “Thanks!”

  There wasn’t the tension she’d always felt between the trappers in Lawrence. If anything, these people acted as if they were friends. Good friends. Was this all an act for the newbie?

  With some colorful running commentary, Jackson showed her how the piece of mesh worked. It was straightforward: Lay it on a flat surface, roll the demon onto it, then clip the two long sides together. The top and bottom portions flipped over, then snapped in place, securing the fiend completely.

  “Those clips will hold?” she asked, dubious at something this easy.

  “Have so far. They’re enchanted by the witches so you have to know how to open them.” He paused and tested all the connections anyway. “National sent us a few to give them a test run.”

  “This is sweet!” Katia said. “No more getting clawed when the thing wakes up before you’ve got them secured.”

  “Exactly!”

  Jackson dragged the Three out the gate and into the parking lot, leaving it to lie in the sun. Which would do nothing for its epic stench.

  Simon’s stare remained locked on the demon as it began to stir in its mesh prison. He’d reacted instinctively, protecting the kids but not getting in her way. Like they’d been trapping together before.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  In lieu of a reply, he headed toward the daycare center entrance.

  Apparently not.

  When she turned back toward the others, the two angels were gone. Riley and Jackson were talking quietly to each other, glancing at her every now and then. The conversation ended when he waved her over. Sitting on top of the picnic table was the First Aid kit. Katia rolled up her sleeve, knowing he would see the other scars. The cut was about two inches long and still weeping blood.

  Jackson carefully cleaned the wound, then applied a bandage.

  “I wouldn’t do that too often if I was you,” he suggested. “We get enough scars from this job without adding our own. You know that as well as anyone.”

  “It just seemed the best way.”

  “It worked, that’s for sure. Ori said you did exactly the right thing, and he’s not known to hand out praise to anyone. Glad to have you onboard.”

  She blinked a few times. “My master in Kansas would disagree.”

  Jackson huffed. “Then your former master is a dumbshit. But then you already know that.”

  Laughter burst from Katia’s lips, laughter she didn’t even know she had in her. “You guys are the real deal, aren’t you?”

  “In all our very messy glory,” Riley said. “Emphasis on the messy part.”

  “All I ever heard was rumors about you guys. And I watched all those videos.”

  Riley groaned. “Yeah, those. There are days I wish the internet hadn’t been invented.”

  “Do you usually have angels just hanging around?”

  The two masters traded looks.

  “Off and on,” Riley replied. “But certainly not one from Heaven tagging along with a Fallen. That’s a new one.”

  “Any idea why that’s happening?” Jackson asked as he shut the kit and snapped the lid closed.

  “Since Ori’s no longer working for Hell, I think that makes Heaven nervous. My guess is that the Angel in White is watching him so she can file a report with her boss. Or bosses. You never know what’s going on upstairs,” Riley said, pointing toward the blue sky. The other master nodded.

  Simon had returned during this whole exchange. When he looked over at Katia, there was worry in his blue eyes.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I am.” Not so sure about you, though.

  “We can take the Three to Fireman Jack for you,” Riley offered.

  “That would be great. Thank you,” Simon replied.

  Fireman Jack? What kind of name was that?

  Since Simon didn’t look that inclined to chat at the moment, she filed that name away for later. After they collected their gear, they tucked everything away in his car. Katia noticed something stuck under one of the windshield wipers and a tug revealed a glossy postcard. Once inside the vehicle, she skimmed the info, then read it again in case she’d gotten it wrong.

  Are you a fan of the Demon Trappers?

  The Demon Hunters?

  Or are you rooting for the Other Side?

  You’ll find them all at Atlanta’s first annual TrapperCon

  May 25-26th, 2019

  Spirit of Atlanta Hotel & Convention Center

  Visit our Website for more Details!

  www.TrapperCon.com

  This thing must be a big deal because Blaze, Jess Storm and Raphael Montoya, the leads from the hit TV show Demonland, were going to be there. They’d even be signing autographs.

  Only in Atlanta. Katia smirked as she stashed the postcard inside her trapping bag. Except, now that she checked, only their car had one of these ads. Maybe Master Blackthorne had left it, just to mess with them. That had to be it.

  As they drove away, it was clear her companion wasn’t going to talk her to death, so she let that silence ride. Something was bothering him, and she hoped it had nothing to do with her.

  It was a long time before Simon spoke. “Every fiend from now until midnight has to be stopped for those kids to be freed.”

  It sounded like he was talking things through, trying to get a handle on the situation.

  “If I don’t do everything right, those kids are gone. Eternity in Hell,” he continued.

  “Then we do what we have to. If it’s a trapping, we do it together. If it’s an exorcism, I’ll back you up. Between us, we’re not going to give in to these monsters.”

  He looked over at her now, then delivered a thin smile. “You hungry?”

  “Always,” she said, caught off guard with his abrupt change of subject.

  “My mom and my sisters are convinced I’m going to starve to death, so I have a refrigerator full of food. How’s about we go to my place, eat some lasagna, and work out some sort of strategy?”

  That sounded good. What she really needed was some sleep. Even a quick nap would help. It’d been impossible on the bus. She thought back to the creeper sitting next to her with his roaming hands. It’d taken her nearly breaking one of his fingers for him to leave her alone. When he’d switched seats, a chatty grandmother of seven delightful grandkids got on the bus in Des Moines and insisted on educating Katia about her precious darlings. The lengthy lecture had included cell phone images and videos for every one of them. It’d taken all of Katia’s patience just to be polite. Somewhere in Heaven her own grandmother would be immensely proud.

  “I’d like a nap. Is that possible?”

  “You got it. Food, nap, strategy,” Simon replied, then focused on his driving.

  Her caution kicked in, again. She barely knew this guy and he was taking her to his house. She’d just have to trust that Master Blackthorne was right about him. If not, this would be the shortest job she’d ever had.

  SEVEN

  Serrah had journeyed to this place because Oakland Cemetery had its own Divine. From what she’d heard, Rahmiel had been sent here because she’d defied the Archangel Michael. Few dared make that transgression. Perhaps Rahmiel might know more about the feud between the Archangel and Ori the Fallen. At this point any information would be of value.

  Serrah never understood the mortal need for graveyards for they housed the bodies of the dead even though the spirits of the deceased had long fled this realm. Perhaps it was because they gave grieving survivors a location to visit, a chance to place tokens of their affection on the graves of their loved ones. And yet, it still seemed odd when your lifespan encompassed millennia.

  Most cemeteries were simple, while others were more elaborate. The one Serrah had come to was much the latter. Here, along with old gravestones, solid stone buildings housed the mortal remains, some from centuries before. There were tall statues and stone-lined pathways, fountains, and so many flowers. Which only increased her confusion. Perhaps this wasn’t merely a place for bones, though it was set in the shadow of the mortals’ great city.

  As Serrah stood under one of the massive trees, the smell of its large white flowers scented the air. She inhaled deeply, savoring the perfume. It was almost . . . heavenly. Here the noise of the city was muted, and the vegetation bloomed with an exuberance she’d not expected. Even the heat didn’t seem as oppressive as she walked along a tree-shaded path, not knowing exactly where she was headed.

  A bell tinkled behind her, then a cyclist offered up a wave as he rode past. Without thinking, she returned the wave, then felt embarrassed. That was a mortal gesture, not one for Divines.

  Serrah’d been warned that the longer you were among them, the more you became like them. That was often said in derision, but she could see the truth in it. Mortals had a certain way about them that was both charming, and naïve. The Fallen was at home here, as if he were more mortal than angelic, but then to successfully steal their souls he would have had to appear that way. From what she’d heard, Ori had been very successful. A curious mix of seducer and executioner, one of the Prince’s most prized warriors. At least until he fell afoul of The Adversary.

  Serrah’s unhurried walk brought her to one of the mausoleums, as the mortals called them. The name on the front of the structure said her instincts had been correct as this was the final resting place of the bones of Riley Anora Blackthorne’s ancestors. Serrah had heard the tale of Paul Arthur Blackthorne, how he’d lost his soul, then regained it. A tale that had begun, and ended, with Ori the Fallen.

  She sent her gaze to the top of the building, then to the stone creatures at the four corners of the roof. Gargoyles. What would it have been like to roost up there, encased in stone, watching the sun rise each morning knowing you would never be part of this world again? Such had been the fate of the Fallen until he’d been brought back to life by their Creator.

  “It was just petty revenge,” a voice said.

  The Divine who walked up the path toward her looked like a mortal, clad in the type of clothes the old might wear. Yet, there was power in this one, more than Serrah would have expected.

  “Are you Rahmiel, she who guards this cemetery?

  “I am,” the angel answered. “The mortals call me Martha, though. You are Serrah, the one watching over the Fallen.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I hear things,” was the reply. “I also know that Michael can be very single minded.”

  Such candor was unexpected, though perhaps this was common for her.

  “It is,” was the other angel’s response, because once again she’d heard Serrah’s thoughts as clearly as if she’d spoken them.

  If that was the case . . . “Do you trust the Fallen?” Serrah asked.

  The other Divine frowned as she used her shoe to nudge a dried leaf off the path that led to the mausoleum. “That is not a question that can be answered with a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’. We are a sum of our experiences. The Fallen has been in Heaven, then in Hell. He has seen the best and worst of both.”

  “There is good in Hell?” Serrah asked, confused.

  “Not to hear some tell it. However, even evil things can have a small measure of good in them, though I will grant you there is little of the Light in the Pit or in those who dwell there.”

  “But do you trust him? Ori, that is.”

  There was further deep thought. “I have watched his journey from the moment he came to this city. How he claimed souls, how he came to hate his master. I watched as he gave his life to save others. I felt his agony at every sunrise when he was trapped here, first as a statue, then as a gargoyle. I felt his fear for Riley Anora Blackthorne.” She paused. “Ori never said it, but I know he felt that Blackthorne’s Daughter was his Light until he could reclaim his own.”

  “You think he has done so?”

  A shrug returned. “We are all judged by our deeds, both mortal and Divine. We can speak of many things, and some may believe our words. It is our actions that reveal what dwells in our hearts.”

  Rahmiel walked to the steps that led to the mausoleum and took a seat.

  “Ori the Fallen has undertaken a journey that few would survive. Now he fights for those who cannot save themselves. Is he ‘for real’, as the mortals would say? I do not know. What I do know is that he could remain alive, and free, after he slew The Destroyer.” Rahmiel gave her a long look. “Who made that decision? I can tell you it was not the Archangel.”

  Serrah pondered on that. “What of you? How did you come to be in this place?”

  Her fellow Divine grinned now. “I spoke the truth to one who did not want to hear it.”

  Michael. “Do you miss our realm?”

  Rahmiel arched an eyebrow, a truly human gesture. “I miss others of my kind, but I am at my best here. Watching over this place is a task I love, one that shows reverence for the dead and concern for the living, both mortal and Divine.”

  Serrah turned away for a time, letting her thoughts roam even as her eyes did the same. Bright flowers, clean paths, birds on the wing. Peace. So much peace here.

  “How do I walk this path between the Fallen and the Archangel and not be sent somewhere . . . less peaceful?”

  “Truth is the only path worth walking,” Rahmiel replied. “If you fail to cherish and protect it, you will fail to protect what truly matters. It took me a long time to learn that lesson. I pray your lesson will be easier.”

  After giving her a final sympathetic look, the angel vanished.

  Serrah sighed. She had come here to find answers, but now she had even more questions. A mistake would cost her dearly, cost the mortals even more. That was the problem with the truth—not everyone wanted to hear it.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  Simon parked in the driveway of an older white house nestled in a quiet neighborhood. The lawn of the one-story residence was mowed, the windows clean. Still, it lacked any extra touches, like a bed of flowers around the large oak tree that sat in front, or a few comfortable chairs on the porch.

  “This was my great uncle’s house,” Simon explained. “He’d already updated the kitchen, put in new windows and a new roof, so there wasn’t much for me to do. He wanted to move to Phoenix, so he gave me a chance to buy it before it was listed with a realtor.”

  “Must be cool living in your own place.”

  “It is. Since I’m an exorcist, if I live in an apartment complex it puts others at risk from Hellspawn. Here it’s just me.” He smiled at the house like it held special memories. “It’s a 1921 Craftsman bungalow. They built them solid back then.”

  Still trying to grasp a house that was almost a hundred years old, Katia followed him up the walk and across the broad porch. Simon unlocked the emerald green front door and dealt with the alarm. As she stepped inside the first thing that hit her, besides the refreshing chill of the air conditioning, was the lack of any particular scent, like the house had been empty for some time. She gave another quick sniff and found no hint of a recently cooked meal.