A Mystery of Light
Ash Angels Book 3

BOOK 3 of 3

Brian K. Fuller

briankfullerbooks@gmail.com

It is better to light a candle

Than to curse the darkness.

—Eleanor Roosevelt

Copyright 2019 © by Brian K. Fuller

All Rights Reserved

In gratitude for the inescapable gravity of Grace

Prologue

Avadan

Not even Rapture freed him.

He’d been trapped in a prison with no walls, standing alone on the dilapidated floor of an abandoned stage. With the dawn, enough light slipped through a crack in the ceiling that his eyes could register the theater’s dusty, busted seats stretching into a gloomy abyss he couldn’t make out day or night. Did Avadan know that he knew this place?

Archus Ramis. That name had meant something once. Efficiency. Capability. Results. Once the Ash Angel Organization discovered the depth of his failure, his reputation would sink into the same disrepair as the building in which he now stood, a mute actor waiting to deliver lines to an invisible audience.

He tried to step forward and couldn’t so much as lift a toe to feel the top of his boot. He opened his mouth to scream and couldn’t pry his lips even a millimeter apart. He tried to resist the pendant’s power but hadn’t found anything the Bone of First Avarice couldn’t control. From the moment he had slung it over his neck in the reliquarium, he couldn’t so much as blink without its say-so.

Why had he been such a fool? Half of him hadn’t believed the pendant could do what Helo and Aclima said it could. Half of him hoped it could. But from the time Aclima confirmed Helo’s speculation about the pendant, an idea had wormed its way into Ramis’s mind. If Cain had used the pendant to control the Dreads, could anyone who wore it do the same? Could the endless war with the Dreads end with a single thought, a forceful command to every Dread to burn their own hearts? It would be so efficient, so quick.

He had toyed with the idea over and over. He had dismissed the idea over and over. He had engaged in heated conversations with himself about the idea’s merits and risks. Time and time again he found himself in the reliquarium in the bowels of Deep 7 gazing at Abel’s extracted rib sitting innocently on the shelf surrounded by a red glow.

Now that same glow burned just below his line of sight from where it hung by the thong around his neck. The moment it had slipped over his head so many months ago, he’d learned the awful truth: the pendant wouldn’t allow him to control a single Dread. It wouldn’t even let him control himself. A disembodied voice whose identity he tried not to think about whispered commands to him.

The familiar whine and bang of a door split the silence; Avadan again, no doubt, coming in from a noisy door somewhere backstage. What could the mad Loremaster possibly want? Ramis’s stomach clenched. Avadan knew everything about the AAO now, thanks to him.

He knew the location of Deep 7. He knew the location of as many of the Gabriel deep-cover operatives Ramis could personally remember, and that was most of them. He knew every manufacturing, training, command, and operations facility. There was nothing left to divulge. Avadan had drained him. The mad Loremaster often came alone, sometimes with a Sheid, and was eagerly attentive to every secret that fell from his captive’s lips.

And here he was again. Why had the pendant led him to Avadan instead of Cain? The Loremaster approached from the left, a flickering, warm glow growing stronger with each footstep across the squeaking stage. Ramis tried to grit his teeth but couldn’t.

And then Avadan minced into view holding a candle, wax dripping over and crusting on his hands. The only variety to Ramis’s drab days was conjecturing about what maniacal costume the Dread Loremaster would wear when he came. Today was as mismatched as ever—but more disturbing. Who wore four-inch red heels, a hockey uniform—complete with goalie mask—and a velvet top hat? An evil, insane Loremaster, that was who. Ramis wanted to burn him so badly he could almost taste it.

Avadan approached and stuck the candle in Ramis’s face, the Loremaster’s dark eyes roving around in the eye holes of the mask. “Good morning, Archus Ramis. I see the audiences aren’t getting any bigger. You must work on your stage presence. And your voice, well, it is a bit pitchy for a lead in a musical production. Should I have you sing for me today? No? You look so drab. Smile for me, please?”

Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Ramis dumped every ounce of will into resisting, but the voice of the pendant was his master now. Smile. A confident voice. A voice used to obedience. A voice that couldn’t be denied. A full-toothed smile bloomed on his face.

“Much better,” Avadan said. “I promise you that our interrogations are nearly at an end. Soon I will be ready for the pendant myself and I will set you free . . . after a fashion, of course. So, this is the very last question. Where is the Pit?”

Answer him, said the pendant.

Ramis couldn’t lie. He’d tried so many times. Only two people were supposed to know the location where the Ash Angels stored the evil spirits that had been trapped in objects by those with the Exorcism Bestowal. But he knew. He knew because he had dug for it when he wasn’t supposed to. So he told Avadan, shuddering at what the Loremaster could do if he found the place.

Avadan ripped the hockey mask off his face, eyes wide. “At last! This is wonderful. So is the Legion Stone really there?”

Horror filled Ramis’s breast, but not even that emotion could lock his lips. “Yes.”

“And who else knows the location?”

Oh, how he wished he could cut his own tongue out. Why was the pendant’s control so total? “Archus Simeon and his underling, Archon Anvil, both of the Sanctus.”

“And where might they be?” Avadan pressed.

“Deep 7, if they aren’t out in the field,” Ramis answered. Deep 7 was where he should have been, where he would be if he hadn’t donned the accursed pendant.

“I suspected as much,” Avadan said. He turned and strutted back and forth across the stage, the thunk of his heels echoing across the empty theater. “Excuse me while I think for a moment. You’ve been so very helpful, but I must consider if there is anything else I need from you before I reward you for your service.”

This was it, then. Ramis had no doubt his “reward” was an end to his afterlife. A shameful end. Would the Ash Angel Organization even know it was him who had failed them? Would they even find the pile of ash Avadan would leave behind? Ramis willed his feet to move, willed a finger to flinch. Nothing. There had to be an escape! His only paltry redemption would be to get away from this madman and at least let the Ash Angel Organization know how deeply they had been compromised. Maybe redemption was the wrong word. There was no redemption from what he had done. Warning the AAO was just what had to be done.

Avadan paced a bit more and then donned the hockey mask again, leveling his creepy stare at him. “One last question comes to mind. If Helo were to, say, leave the Ash Angel Organization and hide, where would he go?”

Helo. The Ash Angel who had stolen Cassandra from him. His beautiful Cassandra. Ramis was glad Avadan hadn’t thought to ask if he knew the place where he stood prisoner. This was the very theater where he had awakened Cassandra. If it weren’t for Helo, she would still live. Her sacrificial death to save Helo from Cain’s clutches was a waste. It should have been the other way around, but Helo was only good at aggrandizing himself, at doing what he wanted at the expense of protocol and good sense. Cassandra was ten times more valuable to the AAO and to the world than Helo was, and now she was nothing more than scattered ash on Lake Michigan.

Answer him.

“The last time Helo left, he went to a place called the Redemption Motorcycle Club in Arizona. If he’s not there, I don’t know where he is. If I knew where to find him, believe me, I would tell you.”

Avadan cocked his head so far to the side his top hat should have tumbled to the dusty floor. But it stayed perched on his head. Were those staples circling the brim?

Avadan brought the candle up to eye level. “An interesting answer! You are personally acquainted with Helo, then? Trace Daniel Evans, correct?”

“Yes,” Ramis answered.

“And you dislike him?”

“Yes.”

Avadan nodded. “More than dislike, I think. After all my studies, it is quite apparent that one doesn’t need a passenger jet to cover the emotional distance between Ash Angels and Dreads. A sustained walk after breakfast would bridge the gap. It is certainly no surprise to me that Ash Angels can hate. Would it surprise you that Dreads can love? More Dreads than you might think could be tipped across the line. And more Ash Angels than you know have tipped. You hate him, yes?”

“Yes,” Ramis said. That he would have admitted without the pendant.

“Wonderful,” Avadan said. The Loremaster reached down to the waistband of his hockey pants and pulled out a pair of orange-handled pruners. “And yourself. You hate yourself for what you’ve done?”

“Yes,” Ramis said.

Avadan nodded. “Good. This will be much easier than I thought.”

Ramis eyed the pruners, or, rather, the pendant let him eye them. What did Avadan think would be easier? He’d already ruined the Ash Angel Organization. What was left to be done?

He was worthless.

The thought came unbidden, the smothering, cankering invitation to self-loathing already drowning him. Avadan’s Sheid was approaching. It had stood idly by during some of Avadan’s previous interrogations, and the thing was so powerful Ramis could feel it coming a long way off. It came now, but something told him the Sheid wouldn’t be a mute visitor this time.

Avadan raised the pruners, and they snapped open. “Stick out your tongue, please.”

Chapter 1

Good Deeds

The man barged through the door of the women’s shelter like he’d been thrown at it. Judging by the odor of sour whiskey that invaded the foyer with him, Helo guessed he’d spent the afternoon nursing a bottle and an attitude. The half-smoked cigarette pinched between his lips dripped a little ash as he glanced around, eyes settling on Aclima behind the front desk. Aclima’s eyes narrowed, and Helo grimaced. This was not going to go well. Not at all.

It had taken a mountain of persuasion to get the Angels of Mercy—an Ash Angel aid group not affiliated with the Ash Angel Organization—to give Aclima a shot. When speaking with them, Helo had conveniently left out that Aclima had been a Dread Loremaster. The Angels of Mercy had finally agreed to help them, and he and Aclima had volunteered at the women’s shelter for two weeks.

By the set of Aclima’s jaw, he could tell that today they would have to pack up and move on to find another way for the Dread Loremaster-turned-Ash-Angel-turned-Dread-Loremaster to get her Ash Angelhood back.

“You can’t smoke in here,” Aclima said flatly. The name tag pinned to her white blouse said Stacy. She’d been acting as a receptionist, and it had gone fairly well so far. The women at the shelter liked her. But all of Aclima’s good service to the abused and addicted women of Bozeman, Montana, hadn’t erased her red aura. Six months of good deeds hadn’t done it. How long would it take?

“I’ll smoke where I want!” the man growled. “Where’s that bitch, Daley? I know she’s here.”

Helo leaned the broom he’d been sweeping the gray tile floor with against the wall. Daley Pickering had come in two weeks ago running from this guy and a meth habit. She had been a strung-out mess then and wasn’t much better now.

“I’m sorry,” Aclima said evenly. “We are going to have to ask you to leave.” She was really doing a bang-up job of keeping a lid on her anger. Maybe she was getting better. No. That light was in her eye. Not the good kind of light. It was the pilot-light-in-a-room-full-of-natural-gas kind of light.

The man blew out a long puff of smoke. “Her name’s Daley Pickering. Look it up! She stole from me!”

Aclima smiled. It was tight, the varnish peeling off her friendly demeanor. Helo angled toward her. This guy was going to be too much. The location of the women’s shelter was confidential, and if this guy had gone to the work of tracking it down, he was a jackass and then some. He was so far gone he hadn’t even given Aclima the once-over like every guy gave her the once-over.

“Listen here,” the man said, thrusting his cigarette at her. “You drag her out here right now and tell her to give back the $300 she stole from me.”

Aclima didn’t flinch. “If you have a criminal complaint, please contact the police. I’ll call them right now if you don’t leave the premises immediately.”

The man glowered, his dark eyes shining from beneath a worn blue ball cap. For a moment, Helo thought he might come to his senses and actually leave, that they wouldn’t have to pack up and head somewhere else. Aclima stared the guy down, unbending and unintimidated. If the abusive jerk had only known what he was dealing with, he would have run out of there like the building was on fire.

“She’s back there, isn’t she?” he said, pointing down the hallway to Aclima’s left. Then he bolted toward it. “Daley! Get out here!”

Aclima shot from her chair and hockey-checked the guy into the wall. The drywall got a good dent, the cigarette a trip to the floor, and the man a stumbling dance to keep his balance. He rounded on Aclima, eyes alight with fury.

“So that’s how you want to play it?” he growled, circling Aclima like a punk kid ready to bump chests with a rival in the street.

Helo snaked his arm around his neck from behind and put him in a sleeper hold.

“Night, night,” Aclima said, then kicked the defenseless man square in the groin. He didn’t suffer too long before his body went slack.

Helo flared his Strength and hoisted the drunkard over his shoulder.

“Had to destroy the groin?” he said

“He deserved it.”

Hard to argue with that, but he didn’t think roughing up a drunken, abusive idiot would earn her any points toward becoming an Ash Angel again. Or maybe it would. He really had no idea what the rules for converting a Dread to an Ash Angel were. He knew the Sanctus had run a program to do it for a year with little success.

Aclima followed him outside, down the walk, and over to the driveway. A worn, sky-blue Mazda with a missing bumper idled in the weak light of a November afternoon. The car looked about right for an addict—as pitted and rough as the man himself. Aclima pulled open the squealing driver’s side door, a fast-food napkin stained with fry sauce fluttering out. Helo dumped the man in the seat. After shutting the car off, he yanked the keys out of the ignition. No way was he going to let this guy drive anywhere.

“I’m sorry, Helo,” Aclima said, tone sad. “We’re going to have to move, aren’t we?”

“I think so,” he said. “Linda wasn’t keen on letting you do this in the first place, so . . .”

Aclima put her hands on her hips and exhaled. “I really don’t feel like I did anything wrong.”

“You didn’t,” Helo said. “But Linda won’t see it that way. Why don’t you go talk to her, and I’ll handle this guy.”

Aclima nodded and headed back inside. Helo lightly smacked the man’s face until his eyes fluttered open. He didn’t look so good. His crotch apparently didn’t feel great, either, his hands immediately searching out the fork in his legs. Helo wanted to bash him in the face. Wanted to shout at him to leave Daley alone. But Dolorem’s training took over. This was one of God’s children, Dolorem would have said. A very lost one.

“What do you want?” the man said, face pinched.

Helo grabbed his shoulder, letting his Inspire gift flow into him. “You can do better than this,” he said. “Leave Daley alone. Get some help. Forget the money. It’s not important. Getting your life back together is.”

“Can I go?” he said. Helo doubted he had done any good and ended the Inspire.

“I’m calling you a cab.” Helo stepped back and shut the door, wondering if he should call the cops. Whoever this guy was, he didn’t seem the type to just let things go. Helo would tell Linda, and she could decide. She had experience with these things.

He walked back to the shelter. The Haven of Angels. Aptly named. It was a big brick home that had been converted by the Angels of Mercy. Goliath had known about the group and suggested it. That reminded him that he had to call her to tell her to pack up their stuff and make good with their landlord.

Where would they go next? They had worked soup kitchens until a Dread had wandered by and tried to get friendly with Aclima. She’d broken him down in front of a crowd of hungry, stunned onlookers. They’d helped muck out homes after a flood in Missouri. That had gone really well until two looters arrived at the house where they were working. Aclima had put them both in the hospital. Neither one would walk right again.

Then there was the animal shelter. Working with cute, fluffy animals had seemed a nice change from troublesome humans. But when someone dropped off a cat some kids had intentionally burned with fireworks, Aclima didn’t rest until she found the punk teenagers who had done it, and it was all Helo could do to keep her from burning their houses down.

Anger. That’s what it always came down to. Cain had bred it into her, and purging it seemed more impossible with every passing month. Something inside Aclima clung to her hatred and resentment like they were the last bullets in a gun she wanted to fire at Cain. But Cain was dead. Helo had no idea what to do to heal her, but he was going to try. He would try until his ascendancy in six months.

He slipped inside the darkly stained oak door. Two women with white auras spoke with Aclima, her red aura all the redder for the contrast. One of the Ash Angel women was Linda, a slender Hispanic with a hard face but compassionate eyes. She was no-nonsense. And attacking a client’s jerk ex-boyfriend was nonsense, even if it was well deserved nonsense. The other was Korina, one of the crisis-center counselors.

Linda eyed him as he approached. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” Helo said. “He’ll need a cab, though. Smells like he hit the bottle hard before coming here.”

Linda nodded. “Korina, can you take care of that, please?”

Korina nodded and headed to the receptionist’s desk Aclima had occupied a few minutes before.

“Anyway,” Linda said, “I’m not angry, Aclima. It’s not the first time something like this has happened. But I think it’s time for you to move on now, okay?”

Aclima closed her eyes for a moment. “I understand. Thank you for giving me a chance.”

Linda eyed her piercingly. “You’re welcome. I respect what you’re trying to do. I hope you find what you need.”

Aclima lay in the back seat of the used gray pickup truck Helo had bought with some of Dolorem’s money. Anytime they drove through populated areas, she stayed low to minimize the chance an Ash Angel would spot her red aura. And the Ash Angels were around. White auras popped up unexpectedly on street corners or in parking lots, sending a jolt down Helo’s spine every time.

Somewhere out there, Sicarius Nox was probably hunting them. Helo was sure of it. One day Argyle or Faramir or Shujaa would show up and the bullets would fly. Even if Aclima got rid of her red aura, there was no guarantee she couldn’t be turned to a Dread again. The Ash Angels wanted all of the Dread Loremasters dead. A world without Dread Loremasters meant the extinction of Shedim, so they believed Aclima had to die whether she was an Ash Angel or not, just to make sure.

Stuck at a stoplight, Helo gripped the wheel and glanced over his shoulder. Aclima’s gaze was pegged to the roof of the truck, eyes distant. How could he give her hope? Six months ago she had seemed eager to make the change. Now? She was frustrated, and with each passing day her resentment festered. Maybe it was time to take a break from the “good deeds” plan and go somewhere enjoyable without any kind of agenda. With the weather forecast hinting at snow to come, south seemed like a good direction.

His phone rang. Goliath. “Yeah?”

“Heya, Helo. Got your text. How’s she doing?”

“You can guess,” he said. “All packed?”

“Yep,” she said. “It’s all out on the curb. Paid up with the property manager. We’re good to go.”

“Be there in ten.”

Helo hung up the phone and put the truck’s visor down to block the falling sun. Goliath had been great through the whole thing. She had opted to spend her last year of Ash Angelhood helping Aclima, and Helo owed her big-time. It was a thankless job and a lot more boring than the former Michael commander had probably thought it would be.

“What are we going to do now?” Aclima said, voice flat.

“A vacation,” Helo said. “Time to relax a little. Head for a remote beach somewhere. Maybe Texas or Alabama. Sun, surf, margaritas. We’ll find you a nice bikini . . .”

He looked at her in the rearview mirror. She stink-eyed him the way she did whenever he said anything remotely flirtatious. He’d tried a pickup line on her once like he used to, and she hadn’t talked to him for two days. It stabbed him. He could understand why she wouldn’t consider a relationship in her current state, but Helo couldn’t help but think that if she would just let him into her heart a little, it would do her good. And him good. In the days leading up to Cain’s disastrous party, they’d been close. He missed it, missed her like she was then.

“Tankini, then?” he joked. Something had to break the frown on her face. “Tasteful one piece? No? Swim shorts and a T-shirt? Burkini? Come on! The beach doesn’t sound good?”

“The light’s green,” she said just before the Ford Explorer behind them expressed the same thing with a blast from its horn.

He pressed the gas pedal, traffic keeping the speed modest. “Look,” he said, keeping half an eye on her in the rearview mirror. “I think we’ve been trying too hard. Time to kill a little stress and then we’ll hit it fresh, okay?”

She exhaled and lay there, eyes still a thousand miles away. Then her head turned toward him. “You know that you’re one of the most powerful Ash Angels who has ever lived, right? So what are you doing, Helo?”

“You know what I’m—”

“You’re wasting your gifts,” she said. “That’s what you’re doing. You’re wasting your time babysitting me. The Ash Angel Organization needs you.”

“I am not going back there,” Helo said. “You know that.”

“You have to,” she said. “You know you do. Avadan is out there. Jumelia is out there. Ashakaz might be imprisoned, but she’ll pull something, trust me. You can’t tell me that someone who can kill Shedim with his bare hands and blast holy fire from his palms isn’t needed right now.”

“Cain’s gone,” Helo said, slamming on the brakes to keep from rear-ending the car in front of him. “The AAO can handle the rest just fine without me. I can help you. We can do this. I believe it.”

Aclima turned her gaze back to the truck ceiling. She was giving up. He’d preached hope and redemption to her for months, wishing he had Dolorem’s way with sermons. This was the first time she’d ever suggested he return to the AAO—like he’d want to return to an organization trying to hunt her down and kill her. They didn’t know her like he did.

Helo turned onto Galloway Street. Goliath stood on the sidewalk in front of the Sundance apartments next to three duffel bags. She’d morphed and dressed teenager, her short pixie cuts left behind for long dark hair. Helo pulled up beside her. She tossed the duffels in the truck bed and put the katanas on the floor in the back before hopping in the front seat.

“Heya, guys,” she said.

“Hey, Goliath,” Helo said. “We all set?”

“Yep.”

Goliath had supported them for months. Helo couldn’t help but think she was sick of it. She said she believed in what he was doing to help Aclima, but Helo found Goliath’s eyes pegged to the distant horizon more and more. He was afraid her faraway gaze meant the former Michael had her mind on the same questions Aclima did: Was all the effort worth it? Would it even work?

But whatever Goliath decided to do, he wasn’t going to give up. They would take a little R & R and then get back to the good deeds.

“Hey, Goliath,” Aclima said. “Why don’t you spend the rest of your afterlife touring Europe or something? We haven’t seen any signs that the AAO knows where we are. We could drop you off somewhere. Give you some cash.”

Goliath glanced over her shoulder at Aclima and then back out the windshield. “She’s bad today. You two fight?”

“No,” Helo answered, punching the truck forward to get in front of a semi before it got to the on-ramp for I-90. “Just a setback.”

“This isn’t working, Helo,” Aclima said. It sounded like she was talking to someone else, someone only she could see on the truck ceiling. “It may take decades for me to change—if I can keep the AAO from killing me for that long. Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I can’t let you two keep this up.”

Helo pressed the pedal to the floor, truck lurching up the on-ramp. “We get to decide what we want to do with our afterlives. Remember how pissed you got when I tried to keep you from going into the field? Well, you’re doing the same thing to me. I’m going to help you. You don’t have to like it, but I’m going to stick with it until I ascend, no matter what. Understand?”

Aclima kept staring at the ceiling. Goliath put headphones in her ears, leaned her head back against the seat, and closed her eyes. Helo gritted his teeth and set the cruise control to exactly seventy-five; getting pulled over would be a major inconvenience. The license plates didn’t technically belong to the truck. He changed them out in Walmart parking lots every few weeks or so.

The pavement hummed by, sun dipping so low the visor did little good now. He fished for some sunglasses in the glove box and put them on, adjusting the seat back a fraction. Movement in the rearview mirror caught his attention—Aclima sitting up and checking her watch. Then she stared down the road with those six-thousand-year-old eyes, seeing something he couldn’t.

The sun had almost disappeared behind the horizon when she leaned into the space above the center console, her hair swishing across his cheek.

“Helo?”

“Yeah?” he said.

“You have been more than good to me.” Her hand ran along his arm. It had been so long since she had touched him in a familiar way. “I wanted . . . well . . .” Her voice caught for a moment. “Just, thank you. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no reason . . . Wait. Sorry for what?” She’d done something.

She kissed his cheek. “Get the rest of the Loremasters for me. When it comes time for you to ascend, go to the river where Dolorem ascended. I’ll be there.”

“What have you—”

The sun slipped below the low hills in the distance like a swimmer ducking beneath a wave, and she was gone. Her empty shirt slipping down across the console.

Chapter 2

Sparks

Helo slammed the steering wheel with his palms and angled over to the median, slowing. He hoped the cops were on a holiday. He was not going to wait for the next exit to turn around.

Goliath pulled her headphones out. “Did she—”

“Yep,” he said. Unbelievable. How could she do this to him? “She probably left the heart in the apartment. Or at the shelter. Call Linda and see if they’ve spotted her.”

Goliath didn’t move. The truck shook and bumped as it plowed through the median’s uneven ground and brown grass.

“Do it!” Helo said. Two cars honked at him as he pulled back onto the highway heading east.

“Helo,” Goliath said softly.

“Don’t say it, Goliath.”

She turned toward him. “Someone’s got to. You’ve got to let her go, Helo. It’s a fool’s errand. She doesn’t want your help anymore, and you’ve got better things to do.”

“You two been talking? You help her do this?”

Goliath’s eyes turned flinty. “No, Helo, I didn’t, and I think I’ve earned a bit more respect than that.”

She was right. “Look, I’m sorry. You’ve been great through this whole mess. But if you don’t want to do this anymore, I’m not keeping you here. I . . . I’ve got to do this. I think I can help.”

The speedometer read ninety, and he backed it down.

“I know you care for her,” Goliath said. “But like it or not, I think you being with her is part of the problem.”

“How do you figure?”

Goliath folded her arms and leaned back. “Look. You’re a big reason why she changed into an Ash Angel in the first place. But being with you now, as a Dread . . . it’s hard on her.”

“She told you that?”

“No, Helo. Remember I’ve lived for over eighty years, okay? I see things. She’s doing all of this . . . stuff . . . for you. Because you want her to. That’s the problem. She’s got to find out who she is on her own. It’s like parents kicking kids out of the house to force them to grow up and find themselves. That’s what she needs. You can’t do this for her, and as long as you keep leading her around, she’ll never figure it out. Make sense?”

Make sense? He had thought he and Aclima were together on the plan. Spend time helping people. Focus on the positive. Why couldn’t that work? Terissa had turned from a Dread back to an Ash Angel within hours of getting away from Cain, and she hadn’t done a thing besides reunite with Corinth. But maybe whatever Cain had done to torture Aclima back into being a Dread would take another six thousand years to undo. His stomach clenched. It couldn’t be that way. He wouldn’t feel compelled to help her if it was impossible to do it.

“We made this plan together,” he said. “I haven’t been leading her around.”

“The plan needed to change,” Goliath said. “And . . . those were a couple of Michaels who just passed us on the other side.”

Helo glanced up at the rearview mirror. Yep. Ash Angel auras in the gray sedan fading away toward the west.

“How can you tell they’re Michaels?”

Goliath twisted in her seat. “Michaels aren’t Gabriels. They don’t think much about blending in. Aaaaand . . . yep. They just crossed the median like you did. You up for a little run and gun?”

Helo gripped the wheel tighter and pushed on the accelerator. “BBR’s on the floor in the back.” How had they found them? It couldn’t be coincidence that Aclima had disappeared minutes before the Ash Angel cavalry showed up to rope them in.

Goliath clambered over the seat and grabbed the gun.

The gray sedan lingered a half mile back. Helo kept the speed steady, but the sedan seemed content to keep its distance.

“They’re just spotting us,” he said. “Probably waiting for reinforcements to show up.”

“Yep,” Goliath said. “We can’t stop and look around for Aclima, Helo. We do and we’re done.”

He pounded the steering wheel and set his jaw. They had two choices. Get into some very public place to keep the Ash Angels from doing anything too crazy and hope they could get away and hole up for a while or ditch the car and head out into the vast Montana wilderness. The first would make it easier for the Ash Angels to guess their location, and the second would only work well if the Ash Angels on their tail didn’t have Speed. He didn’t.

“What are they doing?” Helo asked with another look in the rearview.

“Just hanging out back there,” Goliath said. “We’ll know it when they’re ready to grab us.”

Or not.

A semi crossed the median in a cloud of dust. Helo’s jaw dropped. No! He jerked the wheel to the right and floored it, trying to escape its path. The white aura of the driver registered a moment before the semi’s front bumper slammed into the truck bed. Shattered glass, bending metal, and cracking plastic all combined into one ear blasting crunch. Goliath screamed and then flew free of the cabin. The whirling, whipping force of the tumbling truck bashed Helo all over the car. The airbags might as well have been party balloons. This was like the night he’d died, the night he’d driven his truck into a forest. That had ended his mortal life; if he couldn’t get out of this wreck and get away, his afterlife might as well be over.

Helo squirmed as the truck settled upside down. Broken arm. Probably the shoulder too. The left leg didn’t seem quite put together either. There was no pain. He could manage. He unclipped the seat belt and tumbled in a heap onto the truck ceiling, glass from the windshield crunching under his weight. He one-arm crawled to the passenger-side window. The truck had come to rest in the brown grass to the side of the road. A clump of trees squatted at the base of a low, bare hill. Not much cover.

A car’s brakes screeched, and two doors opened. Their tail had caught them.

“Get her in the boot before anyone sees,” said a man with a British accent. “I’ll get what’s left of Helo.”

Helo wedged his way out of the busted window and belly crawled into the tall grass until he slipped into the trees.

“We got a rabbit!” the British man said, tone delighted.

Helo grabbed a branch with his good arm and pulled himself up, knee making an unsettling popping noise. Still functional but not fast. His best chance was to ambush this guy, use Strength to incapacitate him.

“Come on, Helo,” the man said. “You know you’re not going to be able to scamper off into the hills. Just come out and save me the trouble of shooting your sorry ass.”

Helo pinned himself to the tree, a scrubby cottonwood not nearly as thick as he would like it to be.

“Fine, have it your way,” the man said.

Three shots rang out. Splinters and chunks of wood flew everywhere. The wicked force of a bullet threw him to the ground. His hip. He had to move. It couldn’t end like this. He had to get to Aclima. Make her right again. He flared his Strength and goofy walked his way out of the trees, then scrambled up the hill.

Another shot rang out. The force of the hit blasted him to the ground. Dust kicked up around him, and he didn’t have to look to know he had a hole high up on the center of his back. One arm worked. Sort of.

Boots swished through the grass behind him. “Settle down there, Helo,” the man said. “The name’s Sparks. Nice to finally catch up with you.”

Helo opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The hole in his body must’ve taken out his lungs or his nerves.

Sparks shouldered his rifle and grabbed him by the belt, but instead of dragging him back toward the accident, he hefted him over the top of the hill and behind it, out of sight of the chaos on the road.

After hiking down the other side about halfway, Sparks dumped Helo on the ground and used his booted foot to flip him over on his back. Sparks had the Michaels military look Goliath had noticed when she had spotted him and the other Ash Angel in the sedan. His light-brown hair was just long enough to comb down, and his morph projected a seasoned look, a soldier old enough to earn a desk job but still in the field. A lean, stubbled face punctuated with dead, gray eyes regarded him with a dash of skepticism.

“Congratulations, my new friend. You just experienced a little Dread catching technique we Brits call the Gory Lorry. Love the look on the Dreads’ faces when they eat semi. Your face was pretty good too. One minute.” Sparks pressed the comm unit in his hear. “Got Helo up here behind the hill. Let’s pull him out in a chopper.”

The rest of Sparks’s sitrep was a series of “roger thats” from a conversation Helo couldn’t hear the other side of. After a moment, Sparks dug a pack of cigarettes out of a cargo pocket in his pants and lit up.

“Helo,” he said after a couple thoughtful puffs. “I thought you would be . . . bigger . . . you know? I mean, the stories! The most brilliant load of bunk I have ever heard. Killing Shedim without a sanctified weapon? Using Bestowals in desecration fields? Shooting holy fire out of your hands? I mean, come on. You Yanks do love to exaggerate.”

Angling his one good arm, Helo turned his palm toward Sparks and let loose a jet of the white fire Cassandra had gifted him with as his last Bestowal. It washed over Sparks, and he took a step back. It did nothing to Ash Angels. Helo knew it wouldn’t. He and Goliath had experimented with it.

“Brilliant,” Sparks said. “You knew that wouldn’t hurt me, right? Well, doesn’t matter. I’d steal it from you if I could so it could actually get put to good use.” He sat on a low rock nearby and leaned his elbows on his knees. “You’ve killed, what, three Shedim according to your file? That’s what I do, by the way, across the pond. I’m sort of on loan to your Sicarius Nox over here, me and Finny. Old World used to have all the action, but you Americans are stealing all of it, as usual.”

So Sicarius Nox was still active and recruiting from out of country. The AAO had branches across the world, but from what Helo understood, they were independent within their own borders. Why would the AAO need to hop the pond to grab this guy? He wished he could talk so he could get information.

“What I don’t get,” Sparks continued, “is you protecting this Aclima Loremaster. I mean, I’ve seen pictures of her so I get it, but I don’t get it. We have a real chance here to rid the world of Shedim forever. You get that, right? I mean, you killed Cain, so you have to get it. I’ve spent twenty years hunting Shedim. Twenty. I’ve seen what they do to people, to Ash Angels. So I’ve got to say straight out that I’m a bit pissed I’m here blowing a hole in the back of an Ash Angel who should know better. There’s important stuff going on in this war. It’s not all about you and the pretty little Dread missus.”

Sparks stood and took a few steps away, staring out to a horizon of low rolling hills blanketed in dying grass and shadow. If Sparks had hunted Shedim for twenty years, he was either really good at it or hadn’t run into many Shedim.

But the Brit clearly thought about Aclima like everyone else did. It was like none of them remembered she had converted to an Ash Angel once, that Cain had tortured her until she had become a Dread again. She deserved a chance to turn back before her afterlife ended, but all anyone could see was the red aura and the symbols on her arms that marked her as a Loremaster.

The whine of sirens blared across empty terrain, and Helo relaxed his body and took in the deep blue-black sky. He and Goliath had crossed the Ash Angel Organization big-time, but what could they do to him? It wasn’t like the AAO was a government. They had no right to lock him up or end his afterlife for what he had done. And he had to hope he still had friends there. Archus Ramis and Archus Ebenezer had never liked him, but Grand Archus Gideon had been friendly, and Diarchus Joan had sided with him when Archus Ebenezer had disbelieved every word he had said. If the top two members of the Archai supported him, maybe he could talk his way out of this.

Sparks eventually wandered back to the rock and sat back down. The sun had nearly completed its retreat. The British Ash Angel smoked a couple more cigarettes and got lost in his phone for time uncounted before Helo heard the first beat of chopper blades thumping on the night air.

“Ride’s almost here,” Sparks said, gathering his rifle. “Might have some friends of yours. Sort of.”

Lear was the only person in the AAO Helo thought might still treat him like a sane person. Even Corinth and Scarlet had to have their doubts by now. The members of Sicarius Nox probably wanted to pull out his heart and dump him in a river. Sparks hefted his rifle over his shoulder and grabbed Helo by the ankle, dragging him down the hill, not sparing him any rocks on the way by. The Bell helicopter’s turbine whine drowned out the highway noise behind them, a searchlight blinding him until it settled on the flattened grass.

The door opened. “Get the subject in here.” That was Argyle. Great. At least the mission was being done by the book, though causing a horrible traffic accident seemed a bit extreme.

Sparks’s aura flared, and he lifted Helo straight up, hands from within the chopper grabbing Helo’s legs and yanking him inside. Sparks hopped in next and closed the door, dulling the sound of the rotors.

“It is good to see you, Angel Born,” Shujaa said, his deep voice resonating throughout the cabin. He sounded sincere. The big African pulled him upright and buckled him in. Argyle sat next to Shujaa, Sparks next to Helo, two seats on each side facing each other.

“The subject is on board,” Argyle said into his comms unit. “Take us up, Finnegan.”

“Call him Finny,” Sparks said. “He hates Finnegan.”

“His official Ash Angel name is Finnegan,” Argyle said, and Helo got the feeling this wasn’t the first time this conversation had taken place.

The chopper powered into the air like they were trying to escape a live fire zone, twisting around and tipping forward.

“Heal him, Sparks,” Argyle said. “We need intel.”

“Maybe wait till we get a bit higher,” Sparks said. “To discourage him from busting out the door.”

Argyle nodded. “Good thinking, Sparks.”

“Aww, thanks, Argyle,” Sparks said.

About a minute later, Sparks laid his hand on Helo’s arm and the wounds closed up, a slug falling out of his hip and onto the floor.

“Do not think of escape, Angel Born,” Shujaa said. “I will follow you.”

“Escape if you want,” Sparks added. “It’s been a while since I’ve taken a shot from a chopper.”

“That’s enough,” Argyle said, eyes burning. His trademark flat top was as sharp as ever. “We need to know where Aclima is. Now.”

“I don’t know where she is,” Helo answered. “We were looking for her when you rammed us with a semi. Whose idea was that?”

“Mine, of course,” Sparks said.

“Gory Lorry,” Finny chuckled. “Works every time.”

“Where is she likely to run?” Argyle said.

“I don’t know,” Helo said. “She ditched us. She’s six thousand years old and as devious as hell. Even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you. You know that.”

Argyle glared at him. Helo couldn’t blame him. The last time he’d seen Argyle, he’d caved his head in just before Goliath blew Faramir’s head off.

Argyle tapped the comms unit in his ear. “The subject claims not to know Aclima’s location. Proceeding to primary transfer location. We’ll get him to Deep 7 in thirty-six hours.”

Helo scrunched his forehead. “Deep 7?” He thought they would take him back to Zion Alpha for questioning or to answer to Archus Mars.

“Deep 7,” Argyle said. “A lot of important folks want to figure out what you are and what you’ve been doing. You know, Faramir was right about you. You’re just a cowboy whose vision doesn’t go much beyond the end of his nose.”

Helo ignored the barb. Argyle was a color-inside-the-lines kind of guy who couldn’t see beyond rules, regulations, and his superior’s kissable backside.

“How is Faramir these days?” Helo chanced.

“Doing an excellent job for Sicarius Nox,” Argyle answered. “Now, I think we’d all like it if you kept your mouth shut. I can’t wait to get you out of my sight.”

Was Argyle really so bitter about having his head caved in? “How’d you find us?” Helo asked Shujaa. “Did Goliath call it in?”

“No, Angel Born,” Shujaa said.

“Can you stop calling him that?” Sparks said. “It makes it sound like he’s the leader of some cult.”

“He is Angel Born,” Shujaa said. “He is a weapon against darkness who only needs reminding of his purpose.”

Sparks snorted. “He’s a delusional Marine who needs a good conk on the head. Maybe several good conks. This might surprise you, Helo, but it wasn’t Goliath or detective work that got you caught. It was a phone call, a tip from a concerned citizen.”

“One of the Angels of Mercy?” Helo asked.

“No,” Sparks said. “Aclima.”

Chapter 3

Tribunal

“Welcome to Deep 7, a state-of-the-art facility housing command and control for the Ash Angel Organization. My name is Anna—”

“Skip!” Helo said before the automated assistant could get too far into her introductory speech.

The attractive Ash Angel avatar on the screen stopped midsentence, and then red bars surrounded the screen. “You have been placed on high-security detention. This room will remain locked until the proper security personnel can escort you to your destination.”

The first time he’d come to Deep 7, he’d been treated like a prisoner. He supposed this time he deserved it a little. Could they force him to stay here? He had no idea where Deep 7 actually was. Few Ash Angels did. But the place had to have a lid somewhere he could pop open and crawl out of.

He donned the blue jumpsuit and regulation boots and sat on the table where he had appeared a few minutes before. Goliath was probably in another room nearby. His stomach knotted a little every time he thought about how she had supported him and Aclima for the last few months only to get captured and detained by the organization she had served so faithfully for decades. It wasn’t fair.

Just when he started to wonder how long they would keep him in the room, the door slid open and four beefy Michaels in black fatigues greeted him with Big Blessed Guns pointed at his face. So his reputation had grown.

The lead guard pulled a pair of black restraints out of a holster and held them out. “Put these on.”

“Really, guys? Same team, here,” Helo said.

“Put them on or we’ll put them on you,” the guard replied.

Helo snatched them away and affixed them, using his teeth to pull the straps tight. He could Strength Bestowal his way out in a heartbeat, but the guards probably wanted that heartbeat so they could blast him to bits before he could try anything.

“Move out,” the lead guard ordered.

“You can stand down with the weapons,” Helo said as he crossed through the middle of them. “I’m not going anywhere.”

No one listened.

“Follow me,” the lead guard said, marching out front. After a couple of turns, they emerged into the common area. The glassy floors of the reception area gave way to the brown tile floors of the lobby, a gathering place straight out of an upscale hotel. About ten Ash Angels loitered around. All talk stopped, the news reports on the TV filling the silence. Helo kept his eyes forward; he didn’t need the weight of curious and accusing stares. Which brought up another question: What did the average Ash Angel know about what was going on with him and Aclima?

Helo crammed into the tube elevator with all his guards. The doors closed, and they all shot down to the main council chamber a level up from the bottom floor and the reliquarium where he had met with Rachel the Unascended so many months ago. The elevator doors opened, revealing the majestic statue of Michael the Archangel battling a dragon. The guards led him around the left side and into the opulent, domed room constructed of white marble, nickel-gilded walls etched with designs, and dark-walnut accents.

Goliath sat front and center on the first row at the bottom of a small incline, two guards seated in the row behind her. She twisted in her seat, face hard, lips in a line. She managed a half smile as the guards marched him down the ramp.

“Front and center,” the lead guard said.

Helo took a seat next to Goliath while the guards filled in around him.

“Heya, Helo,” Goliath said. “Fine mess, huh?”

“Sorry about this,” he said. “You should have stayed with Sicarius Nox. This was my mission.”

She ran a hand through her hair, which she had returned to her trademark pixie cut. “I’m a big girl, Helo. I do what I want to do, and I believe in what you’re trying to do. I understand the AAO’s position, though.”

Helo nodded. He did too, but it was wrong. They wanted to kill her when it was perfectly within their power to give her a chance to change. That’s what bugged him. With an angry yank, he flared his Strength and the restraints snapped apart.

He glanced over his shoulder at the guards behind him. “Oops.” Dead stares and guns pointed at his back was all the reply he got. Goliath patted his arm and grinned.

The door between two purple banners at the back of the dais opened, and the entire Archai filed out. Helo stood, as did Goliath and the guards. Grand Archus Gideon, Diarchus Joan, Archus Mars of the Michaels, Archus Ebenezer of the Scholus, Archus Lux of the Occulum, Archus Simeon of the Sanctus, and Archus Magdelene of the Gabriels.

What had happened to Archus Ramis? Archus Magdelene had been filling in for him in his absence when he, Aclima, and Goliath had gone on the run. Had they not found him, or had he been assigned elsewhere?

Grand Archus Gideon sat down, then everyone else took their seats. “Primus,” he said, “secure the room and create a tribunal record for Helo and Goliath.”

The door lock popped. “Room sealed. Tribunal records created,” Primus reported.

Helo scanned the faces of the Archai, trying to judge how much trouble he was in. With the exception of Archus Ebenezer, everyone before him had supported him during his early days as an Ash Angel. Now only Archus Simeon’s thoughtful expression lacked malice. Even Archus Magdelene and Archus Mars, the two who had seemed the most supportive, had eyes as hard as flint. Archus Lux looked ready to tear heads off—or cry. Had his running off with Aclima in an attempt to save her soul really inspired all this drama?

Grand Archus Gideon leaned forward, his penetrating gaze taking them both in. “I’ll just get right to it. Helo, Goliath, you have lost our trust. We’re used to giving a little latitude to Ash Angels, but the two of you have flouted discipline and command in matters that have grave consequences not only for Ash Angels but for the entire world. The Ash Angel Organization to which you have belonged has accomplished more in the scant decades of its existence to eradicate evil and increase the reach and effectiveness of Ash Angels than at any other point in history. This success has depended on the good faith and cooperation of those Ash Angels who join it. To say we are disappointed in what you have done is an understatement. Diarchus Joan, could you review our grievances, please?”

Helo cocked his head. Something about this whole thing seemed off.

Diarchus Joan lifted her tablet. “Disobeying command and killing Cain, depriving us of the opportunity to interrogate him. Disobeying command to detain the Dread Loremaster, Aclima. Assaulting members of Sicarius Nox in order to aid the escape of the Dread Loremaster Aclima. Aiding a Dread Loremaster in escaping the Ash Angel Organization.”

Archus Ebenezer’s sharp face bobbed up and down with each charge read. He and Archus Simeon had both morphed to an older age, Archus Ebenezer’s close-cropped beard and full head of gray hair lending him a seasoned, professorial look.

“Let’s not forget,” Ebenezer said, “that both Goliath and Helo neglected to inform command when Helo acquired the Visionary Bestowal. Or Helo’s penchant for going against the commands and wishes of his superiors in the field.”

“Thank you, Ebenezer,” Grand Archus Gideon said flatly. “Do you have anything to say in your defense, Helo? Goliath?”

Helo had plenty to say, but he had to know something first. “Look, I know you’re all pissed about me helping Aclima. But I’m not sorry for it. And I’ve got to ask, what’s happened?”

Archus Gideon cast a meaningful sideways glance at Diarchus Joan, but Archus Ebenezer jumped in before either could say anything. “You’ve got no right to know.”

Helo shrugged. “Have it your way. I don’t regret helping Aclima. She was an Ash Angel. She can be an Ash Angel again. I don’t regret killing Cain, either. I’m sure your interrogators are all top-notch, but they weren’t going to get anything useful out of Cain, and you know it.”

“What about you, Goliath? Do you wish to make any defense?” the Grand Archus asked.

“I think Helo’s trying to do the right thing,” she said. “He and Aclima grew close during their time together. To expect him to stand by while you exterminate her is ridiculous. He thinks Aclima’s worth saving. So do I. I’ve been with the AAO for decades, and I can’t figure out when doing the right thing became a crime.”

“We are doing the right thing,” Archus Ebenezer said. “Ending the Loremasters is absolutely the right thing. It will save countless lives.”

“Look,” Helo said. “Aclima’s not out to kill anyone or make Shedim. You can disagree with me. That’s fine. But are we done? Just kick me out of the AAO, and let’s all get on with our afterlives.”

“You can’t just walk out of here, son,” Archus Mars said. “You know that.”

The hell he couldn’t. “No, I don’t know that. You’ve got no right to keep me here.”

“I’m going to give it to you straight, soldier,” Mars said, brown eyes cold. “You’re the most powerful Ash Angel alive, maybe one of the most powerful who has ever lived. If you’re going to help us do what we need to do, kill Dreads, then we’re all square. But if you’re going to waste your time and your Bestowals on helping a Dread Loremaster, then, no, you aren’t going to leave here. We need someone who will help us do our job, not interfere with it. Things are bad enough without rogue Ash Angels getting in the way. I want to help you, Helo, but the mission comes first. Either help us, or we keep you in here until Aclima is dealt with.”

Were they serious? They were actually going to imprison him? The nagging feeling bit him again. Something about the tone of this tribunal felt off, like there was some monster hiding in a closet and they wouldn’t let him see it.

“I’m going to ask this again,” Helo said. “What happened?”

The Archuses all glanced at Grand Archus Gideon. “Very well,” he said. “While I agree that you have placed yourselves outside of the concerns of this organization, I can’t see that withholding this information will aid us in any way. You remember the Blank Massacre that occurred shortly before you awakened?”

“Yes,” Helo said.

“That was Cain plucking out one of our eyes,” Gideon continued. “There’s been another incident, this one directed against our Visionaries. You know we keep them in specific places, hidden and protected. We lost over half of them in one day and more Blanks in the same attack only two weeks ago. We suspect Avadan is behind it, but just as Goldbow was the source behind the first Blank Massacre, we suspect a highly placed source was behind this one.”

It wasn’t a hard leap to make. “Archus Ramis,” Helo said. “You haven’t found him. He walked out of here with Cain’s pendant, and no one’s seen him since.”

“As far as we can tell,” Magdelene said, “the Dreads aren’t being controlled, though we’re not sure what to look for. We’ve captured a handful for interrogation, and they seemed in possession of their wills.”

Ebenezer shook his head. “I am still not convinced the pendant can exert that kind of control.”

“It can,” Helo said. Ebenezer seemed so reluctant to believe what was right in front of his face.

“That’s not the most pressing mystery,” Archus Lux said. “Why Ramis left and took the pendant is the key to all of this. He must have been blackmailed to do it.”

“We’ve kicked this dead horse over and over,” Archus Mars said. “What’s done is done. It’s time to take it to the Dreads hard. That’s what we can do. We may never find Ramis, and it doesn’t matter. The mission is still the same.”

Avadan. Helo had only met the warped Dread Loremaster a few times, and then only for brief interviews. He was crazy, and that was a fact. But there was a scheming snake in there, too. It was plausible that he could have taken a page out of Cain’s playbook and found some relative or friend of Ramis’s to hold over his head. Maybe it had been Athena, who had disappeared a few weeks before him. But Ramis didn’t seem the type to sell out the Ash Angel Organization no matter what the cost.

Grand Archus Gideon raised his hands. “This discussion is not the reason we’re here. This is a tribunal, and there is only one matter left for consideration. Helo, is it accurate to say you would continue to search for and aid Aclima if released?”

“Yes,” he said. “She deserves a chance.”

“And Goliath?” Gideon asked.

“I would not,” she said, grabbing Helo’s arm and turning toward him. “I’m sorry, Helo, but she made it clear she doesn’t want our help, and I think it’s best to leave her to her own fate.”

It stung a little, but he was relieved, too. Maybe she could make better use of the last six months of her afterlife. He nodded to her.

Archus Gideon folded his arms. “Then here is the judgment. Goliath, we will allow you to rejoin the Michaels as a soldier if you wish. If not, you are free to leave and pass the rest of your afterlife as you will. We could use your help, though.

“Helo, until such time as we have captured and eliminated the Dread Loremaster, Aclima, you will be confined to Deep 7 and have access to the public areas of this installation. We will not imprison you unless you show us you need to be. I am sorry. If at any time you change your mind concerning Aclima, we will reconvene and reconsider your status here. Meeting adjourned. Primus, unlock the doors and finalize the tribunal records.”

The door locks popped. “Records finalized,” Primus reported.

Helo put his hands behind his head and slumped in his chair. He wasn’t going to let them keep him in this tin can for the rest of his afterlife. There had to be a way out, and he was going to find it.

As the Archai stood and walked toward the door at the back of the dais, Archus Mars looked at him and then shook his head. The man did like to kill Dreads. Of all the Archuses, his anger made the most sense.

Goliath stood and shoved her hands into her pockets.

“What are you going to do?” Helo asked her.

“Fight,” she said. “No offense, but six months of babysitting you and Aclima has me itching for a straight-up bullet party. A good slice and dice at Zion Alpha sounds like fun too. Not being in command will suck, but I’ll live.”

“Can’t blame you,” Helo chuckled. “Thanks for everything, Goliath.”

She smiled. “Well, if you get out, let’s have an Ascension party.”

“Sure thing. May first,” Helo said. “I’ll be there.”

Archus Simeon’s approach held up their conversation. The quiet head of the Sanctus looked a bit like a skinny Santa Claus with red cheeks and deep-blue eyes.

“Excuse me, Helo,” he said. “I’d like to ask you a couple of questions, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Goliath said. “Catch you later, Helo.”

“Yeah,” he said.

Simeon sat a chair away and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth for a few moments before he spoke. “If you remember, I once spoke about a program the Ash Angels ran to attempt to convert Dreads into Ash Angels.”

“Yeah,” Helo said. Mars had thought it was the stupidest thing ever. “I remember it didn’t work very well.”

“Statistically speaking, no,” Simeon said. “But we were able to help three of them, and I’m getting the feeling you see the world more like I do. I was a pastor before my death. I died protecting a junkie from a dealer who owed him money. My death straightened him out. So I understand what it means to sacrifice yourself for someone others don’t consider worthy. And I think I understand the worth of souls. There are few people who can see beyond the red aura, Helo.”

Helo straightened in his seat. Maybe he had an ally here. “I can’t believe they’ve all forgotten she was an Ash Angel just six months ago.”

Simeon nodded. “It’s even more extraordinary that she was able to convert at all. Six thousand years as a Dread and she turns! After that, I immediately asked for the funds and personnel to restart the Dread Recovery Program. I’d even hoped to use Aclima as a counselor.” Simeon’s eyes brightened. “Can you imagine how powerful it would be for a former Dread Loremaster to speak hope to a Dread?”

“And they shot it down?” Helo asked.

“Completely,” Simeon said. “They said they would reconsider it once we dealt with all the Dread Loremasters. That includes Aclima, as you know.”

“So, what are your questions?”

Simeon shifted in his chair, turning his body toward Helo. “What was your method for trying to convert her back into an Ash Angel?”

“Doing good things. Helping other people, mainly,” Helo said. For the first time, it struck him that this man could have the answers he needed to help Aclima. This was someone who had spent years trying to help Dreads convert. “How did your Dread Recovery Program approach it?”

“It had three main methods,” he said.

“Ramis must have loved it,” Helo said. Ramis had a three-pronged approach to everything.

Simeon looked at the floor for a moment. “He supported it for a time. But believe me when I say we did our research. We guided them to render service as you did, but we also employed cognitive behavioral therapy and a spiritual component tailored to beliefs they were familiar with before death. I’d hoped for a success rate of only 25 percent and didn’t even get close. Only three of the preliminary cohort of the hundred Dreads we captured converted.”

“Not good,” Helo said. Maybe he didn’t have answers after all.

“It wasn’t,” Simeon said. “They shut the program down after a year and burned the Dreads. Maybe I was delusional, as Mars says. Dreads are physically stuck, doomed to look like they did when they died. It almost seems like they are spiritually and emotionally stuck, too.

“But ever since Aclima turned and then turned back, I’ve been thinking. You see, the three we managed to convert to Ash Angels had something in common: they were friends. We captured them out of a gambling house in Nevada. They’d run around together for years. When I look back at it, I think the friendship between them was what made the difference. Dreads are often solitary and selfish, and most of them we couldn’t even put in the same room with each other without fights between them or fights with us. It was messy, but I think we could have had more success once we refined our methods.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Helo asked.

“Well, first, because I respect what you are trying to do. Nobody else will. Red means dead for most everyone around here. But I thought I would suggest something to you. When I was a pastor in my mortal life, I figured out that the people who kept coming back to church didn’t do it because they loved the church. They did it because they loved the people, because they made connections. They say that the word is more powerful than the sword. I think a friend is more powerful than both.”

“I’ve been a friend to Aclima,” Helo said. “Doesn’t seem to help.”

“Has she let you be her friend, I mean since she turned back into a Dread?”

Had she? When they were Ash Angels together, he could definitely feel it happening between them. Something good was growing, and Cain had killed it. Since then, she had kept him at arm’s length, both physically and emotionally. Everything she did—save what she did in anger—seemed almost mechanical, like someone assembling a cheap piece of furniture they didn’t like.

“She was distant,” he said.

Simeon nodded. “That is what I thought. I think the key to helping Aclima isn’t trying to help her even up some heavenly scorecard by piling up good deeds. If you want her back, you have to get her to let you back in. When you defended her against her fellow Dreads in the Hammer Bar and Grill, you managed to sneak into some window in her heart she had left half open. That’s what set her on the path to Ash Angelhood in the first place. I’m guessing there’s another open window in that old heart. You have to find it to find a way back in it again.”

Not the advice he had expected, but something rang true about it. Just before she had heart traveled, she had kissed him on the cheek, thanked him. That window had to be in there somewhere, but where? He leaned his head back and looked at the ornate nickel light fixtures of what was now his prison. He had to get out, find her, and take another run at it.

“Thanks,” Helo said. “Not sure I’ll ever get out of here and have a chance to try.”

Simeon stood and winked. “Where there’s a will, there is a way. Anyway, you should really get a look at Receiving here at Deep 7. Quite amazing, especially around dawn. Thank you for speaking with me. Godspeed.”

Chapter 4

Ashakaz

“Still can’t come in here,” the Michael Guard said for the sixth day in a row. “You keep coming around and Diarchus Joan’s going to hear about it.”

“At ease, soldier,” Helo said. “Just taking a walk.”

When Grand Archus Gideon had stranded him at Deep 7, Helo hadn’t given any thought to what he would do to pass the time. Sneaking into Reception to see what Archus Simeon wanted him to see seemed impossible. Sure, they let him wander down the hallway where all the heart-travel reception rooms were, the same place where he had appeared a week ago. But at the end of that hallway was a hardened door with two heavily armed Michaels on guard at all times. Even if he could drop the two massive men, the door behind it looked as thick as a bank vault and was biometrically secured.

He and the guards knew that behind that door was the hardened elevator leading to the outside world, and they were also likely aware of why he would be interested in it. Even if he had no other motivation to get free, after a week inside the impenetrable and inescapable Deep 7, he was longing for a window or a porthole or even a peephole so he could reassure himself the outside world still existed.

He still had no idea where Deep 7 was. Was it above ground? Below ground? It had to be centrally located in the United States to ensure that any heart ash in an envelope could make it there in twenty-four hours without difficulty. It had to be near a big airport, and therefore a big city. His current guess was Saint Louis, Missouri. Maybe below the famous St. Louis Arch in some underground complex.

After glancing over his shoulder at the two guards behind him, he walked back toward the lobby. His phone, which had no outside access, said 10:12 p.m. Maybe he could catch the news or find a basketball game on or something. A few Ash Angels lounged on the plush leather couches, their white auras reminding him of how he lacked one. A thin Ash Angel man from maintenance glanced up at him and quickly returned to his reading.

To his chagrin, the story circulating about him was that he was an unhinged, lovestruck Ash Angel out of his mind for a hot Dread Loremaster. And the looks he got ranged from disgust, like the one Archus Mars had thrown him, to sickened disappointment, like the time his mom had caught him and his brother shooting the robins in their backyard with a BB gun. He’d never looked at a bird the same way since her stern lecture.

Three TVs hung in the lobby. One permanently showed the news. Another two off to the side could be changed at anyone’s discretion. Both showed flashy holiday commercials, Santa Claus and Christmas trees, and attractive families in perfect sweaters cradling hot cocoa in their hands. He smiled wistfully. Life in the real world. A life he would never know again.

“Helo.”

The voice startled him. A female Michael had approached him from behind, her brown face all business.

“Yeah?”

“Diarchus Joan wants to meet you on the security level immediately,” she said. “Follow me.”

Helo nodded.

Well did Helo remember the security level. The first time he had come to Deep 7, he had busted one of their interrogation chairs when they’d tried to accuse him of collaborating with Aclima. Was this going to be another interrogation? Well, they could ask all the questions they wanted to. He really didn’t have anything to share that would do them any good.

But the moment the elevator door opened and Diarchus Joan turned toward him, he knew something was wrong. Her green eyes were brooding, her mouth turned down. She was a redhead, like Magdelene, but kept her hair short.

“Thank you for coming,” she said.

“They didn’t say I had a choice,” Helo answered, leaning his back against the nickel-plated walls.

“Dismissed,” Joan said to the guard, who retreated into the elevator.

“As you know,” Joan said, “I am in charge of the security of this station. For six months we have imprisoned a Dread Loremaster here, something we have never done before.”

“Ashakaz,” Helo said.

“Yes,” Joan confirmed. “She gave us intel in exchange for her continued existence. She has proved useful in filling in some missing lore about Dreads. But between you and me, her well is running dry, and we had planned to burn her soon.”

Helo folded his arms. “Why are you telling me this? You want me to do it?”

“No, no,” Joan said, face pinched. “It’s not that. Yesterday she began behaving . . . strangely.”

“How?”

“She practically stopped moving and talking,” Joan answered. “According to the guards, she usually won’t shut up or sit still. But after sunset this evening, she scrawled something on her arm with her fingernail and then started singing “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” nonstop.”

Helo’s eyes widened. “Really? What’d she write on her arm?”

Joan’s eyes met his. “Helo.”

Helo’s skin crawled. What did Ashakaz want with him? “You want me to talk to her?”

“Yes,” she said. “Everything will be recorded, of course. Did Aclima tell you anything about Ashakaz?”

“Aclima hates her,” Helo said. “Almost as much as she hated Cain. She told me never to trust her, that she was a liar to the core.”

Joan nodded. “She is a skilled actress. She can switch moods and personalities like people change clothes. Is that why Aclima hates her?”

“No,” Helo said. “She hates her because she seduced or killed every man Aclima tried to have a relationship with after she left Cain. On Cain’s orders.”

Joan shook her head. “I hadn’t expected that. Come on. I’ll show you where she is.”

He followed Diarchus Joan down the hallway, passing the entrance to the armory—a guarded door as thick as the one leading out to the hardened elevator. Deep 7 only had six detention rooms, and as they approached the last one at the end of the hall, the muffled strains of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” haunted the hallway. Ashakaz was no singer, her voice reminiscent of a tone-deaf cat.

Two guards stood sentry at Ashakaz’s door, a giant slab of metal with a wire-mesh porthole and door slit. Diarchus Joan stopped and faced him. “This is it. You want the guards in with you?”

“No,” Helo said. “Open it.”

The guards looked to Diarchus Joan, who nodded. One put his eyes to the iris scanner to the left of the door, and the locked popped. The singing continued unabated as the guard pulled the door open and let him in.

The twelve-by-twelve room had the same metallic walls and lighted floor as the rest of the level, a solitary recliner and side table the only furnishings. A rectangular recess in the back wall allowed for a place to lie down on a thin mattress. Ashakaz stood dead center in the room. Her arms hung loosely at her sides, her aura blazing red, face slack, and she was singing the song. She was like an animatronic exhibit at a museum. Seeing her in an Ash Angel jumpsuit was weird.

The door lock clicked shut behind him. Helo watched her for a moment. What had happened to her? Had she snapped? He doubted it. She’d been alive for six thousand years. Surely six months of imprisonment wouldn’t drive her crazy all of a sudden.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I looked over Jordan and what did I see? Comin’ for to carry me home!”

“What do—”

“I saw a band of angels coming after me. Comin’ for to carry me home!”

He snapped his fingers in her face. Slapped her lightly. Shook her shoulders. It was useless. It was like she didn’t even know he was there or even where she was.

“Swing low, sweet chariot. Comin’ for to carry me home!”

He reached down and took her left arm, turning the interior forearm toward him. Instead of Helo was scrawled hallow. She had used her fingernail to distress the flesh and then let it bleed a little to highlight the word. He took the other arm. It said Helo. Helo Hallow.

And so he did, the white pool of divine radiance spilling across the prison floor. The singing stopped, Ashakaz’s eyes regaining focus. She blinked and looked at him.

“Helo!” she said, grabbing one arm with the other. “Listen. You’ve got to protect me from him. He’s coming. He will kill me for what I’ve done.”

“How did you know I was here?” Helo asked.

“He knows,” she said. “He knows! You are angel born. You have to stop him before he finds me. You’re the only one who can!”

Helo extinguished the hallow.

“Swing low, sweet chariot. Comin’ for to carry me home.”

The pendant had to be active. Either that, or this was a first-rate acting job. At least he knew that hallowing canceled its effects, a tip he needed to pass on. He activated the hallow again, Ashakaz cutting off midchorus.

“He’s got the pendant?” he asked.

“He must,” she said. “He’s controlling me, just like Cain did before.” She stepped forward and melted into his body. “Please help me.”

Helo wasn’t buying it and pushed her away. “Deep 7 is the mo . . .” And then it hit him. Archus Ramis. If one of the remaining Loremasters—Jumelia or Avadan—had captured him, they would have control of the pendant. Even worse, if Ramis had cracked, they’d know almost everything about the AAO. Including where they were right now. The Archai must’ve realized the danger. And it had to be Avadan. Who else would be blasphemous and weird enough to have a Dread Loremaster sing “Swing Low”?

He dropped the hallow, and Ashakaz went zombie singer again, her discordant voice singing the old African spiritual with a hollow quality that turned it into a dirge. Before leaving, he scanned the room to see if Ashakaz had left any other clues or messages, but he came up empty.

He tapped the door, and it swung open to reveal Diarchus Joan standing against the wall, eyes closed and pinching her nose.

“What’s been done to protect Deep 7?” Helo asked. The door shut and the lock popped behind him, choking out the song. “You’ve known for six months that Ramis might have compromised you.”

She nodded and opened her eyes. “We’d hoped that Cain was the one who had orchestrated whatever scheme led Ramis out of here with the pendant. With Cain’s death, we thought the plot might have had an end. That’s the primary reason we wanted Cain alive for interrogation. We needed to know how compromised we were.

“Months passed with no word. No Ramis and no report of anything indicating that any of the Loremasters had any sensitive information about the AAO. Then the Visionary massacre turned everything on its head. We’ve been scrambling ever since, moving what Visionaries we have left to new locations, putting all of our facilities on alert. There are some here who still don’t believe the pendant has the control and reach you say it does, but I am a believer.”

“Ashakaz believes Avadan’s coming here,” he said. “She’s terrified.”

“Or is acting like it,” Joan said. “She is a pretty little liar. Everyone in the Archai agrees on that. She gives us information she wants to give, lies about knowing anything else.”

“Still,” Helo said, “I think the song choice is deliberate. If Avadan is controlling her, he is sending a message that he’s coming to take her. Or maybe he’s just screwing with us. Has there been any indication the Dreads are homing in on wherever we are?”

“No,” Joan said, “but we had two Visionaries this morning have some pretty disturbing visions. Everyone’s on edge. Well, I’ve said more than Grand Archus Gideon would like, I’m sure. Thank you for your help. I’ll walk you out.”

The security level was one of the places they’d denied him access to, probably afraid Ashakaz would seduce him and he’d stage a jailbreak to help her. He wished he had a way to explain to everyone why he wanted to help Aclima so they wouldn’t think him some sweaty-palmed teenager turned to goo by Aclima’s good looks. Dolorem had understood. Simeon did too.

As they approached the elevator, the lights in the floor and the ceiling flickered for a second.

“That normal?” Helo asked as the elevator door rotated open.

“When there’s a switch to internal power,” Diarchus Joan said. “There wasn’t one scheduled for today . . .” She pulled out her phone and they both climbed into the circular elevator. After a few taps, she put it up to her ear. “This is Joan. Did we just switch to internal power? Okay. Why did we do that?” A long pause. “Keep me posted.” She slid the phone into a pocket in her uniform. “Level 5, please.”

“What’s going on?” Helo asked.

The elevator door slid shut, and she looked at him as they descended. “Bad weather. Really bad.”

“A Sheid,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Let me help,” he said. “I can hit it before it even gets here.”

“We’re not defenseless, Helo,” she said. The elevator stopped at level 5—command and control. The female Michael who had retrieved him before waited at the landing. “Take him back to the lobby,” Joan said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Diarchus Joan and the Michael guard switched places and the door closed.

“Lobby,” the guard said.

The door slid shut, and the elevator hummed to life, a series of backlit numbers in the metal above the door counting down. Four. Three. Two.

Darkness.

The elevator shuddered to a stop, the vibration running up through Helo’s legs. Not a sliver of light leaked in from anywhere.

“They’ve killed the power,” the guard said, voice awed.

“They?” Helo said. “You mean Dreads or Ash Angels?”

“The internal power plant is protected,” she said. “It’s nuclear, like submarines. There’s no way Dreads could have gotten to it. No way.”

“Sounds safe,” Helo said sarcastically, feeling his way along the elevator wall with his fingers, searching for the door. “What’s your name?”

“Spice,” she said.

“Spice, does this thing have an emergency hatch or something?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Emergency lights should kick on. They should be kicking on.”

The crack at the center of the doors slid under Helo’s fingers. Not much to get a grip on. Wedging his fingers into the crease, he flared his Strength and pulled, the two curved doors sliding away with a shriek. Muffled rumbling—voices and the pounding of boots—filled the silence. All he could find by probing with his fingers was the smooth metallic wall of the shaft. He searched toward the top, but the elevator hadn’t ascended far enough to make the bottom of the first floor palpable.

Click.

Two small red lights bathed the elevator compartment, one from the ceiling and one from the floor. Spice’s hand rested on her gun hilt. Helo checked the ceiling for a hatch, but it was only white paneling that housed the lights. Had they really not built an escape hatch? He supposed safety regs for immortals might be a little lax.

“What’s the protocol if attacked?” Helo said.

Spice eyed him, expression uncertain.

“Come on, Spice,” he said. “We’re under attack, here. The time for keeping secrets is over. I’m on your side.”

She cleared her throat, hand rhythmically squeezing the handle of her BBG. “The reliquarium is on lockdown. That thing is Fort Knox. There’s no way they’re getting in there. The computers will erase themselves and dump all their data onto a single memory board, which will be given to Fox 1. All the members of the Archai should be removing their hearts right now. Those will be given to Fox 2.”

“What’s with the foxes?” he asked.

“Two teams of three—Fox 1 and Fox 2. There is a secret emergency exit on the seventh level. The Fox teams fight their way out with those two items. Everyone else is to fight to the death or disablement.”

Helo nodded, trying to figure out how to get out of the tin can they were in. Why would the Dreads—certainly with Avadan at the helm—attack Deep 7 besides to destroy it? While Ashakaz had feared that Avadan was coming specifically for her, he had to think the crazed Dread Loremaster had more up his sleeve than petty revenge for Ashakaz turning herself over to the Ash Angels.

But the shade of fear on the Archai’s faces he’d seen over the last week assured him that they had expected something like this, and, even worse, knew that Ramis might have given up secrets Helo knew nothing about.

“You say there’s an escape hatch on the bottom level—the council chamber.”

“Yep,” she said.

“Then that’s where we’re going,” he answered.

Spice’s eyes narrowed, and she pulled the gun from her holster. “You gonna use this chance to run?”

“No, we’ve got to—”

Everything shuddered and shook. Hard. The elevator compartment bucked back and forth, air dense with the groaning of stressed metal and the tinkling of shattered glass. Helo shouldered into the wall, knees buckling, Spice collapsing on top of him. Her gun skidded free.

The elevator fell.

Chapter 5

Shafts

In the brief moment of weightlessness, Helo’s hands scrabbled over the smooth elevator walls, hunting for a handhold, but the fall was short-lived, a clunking sound bringing their descent to an abrupt stop. Spice’s body slammed into his, then rolled off. The red lights were still on, glinting off the shattered pieces of glass. Helo rolled over onto his side and pushed himself up. The elevator had a safety mechanism after all.

“Is this the only elevator in this place?” he asked, getting to his feet and eyeing the gun at his feet. The elevator had stopped halfway past the second floor, about the bottom three feet of the second level’s exterior doors showing.

Spice pulled the gun to her and stood up. “No. There is a secure elevator on the opposite side of the compound that serves all eight floors, and another that only goes between levels three, four, and five. But they may all be out of commission.”

“Stairs?” he asked.

“No.”

The doors to the second level whined as someone pulled them apart, revealing Ash Angels running in their direction, boots and knees visible in the opening. A hallway lit with the same red emergency lights as the elevator filled with Ash Angels.

Helo shook his head. They really hadn’t planned for this contingency when they’d built the place. If the elevators weren’t functional, everyone was trapped on their own floor.

“Let’s get out of here. You first.”

She nodded. Then the muted booms of BBGs from a level above them reverberated into the elevator compartment. Yelling came next. Spice threw him a worried look.

“You okay in there?” a male with a light Hispanic accent said. A concerned brown face appeared in the gap. Three more pairs of boots waited behind.

“Help her out,” Helo said. “Fast.”

The sickly feeling of a Sheid’s presence washed over him. Aclima had told him you could know a Sheid by the feel, and this one Helo knew. This Sheid he had faced on a gravel road in the woods of Colorado. He hadn’t even gotten close to it. It brought with it a rainstorm that had practically crippled Sicarius Nox and a host of Michael soldiers.

Spice was only about halfway out, her eyes and those of the Latino helping her both closed as if remembering something. Helo understood how hard it was to resist the torching effect of such a powerful Sheid, but being angel born had its perks.

“Get her out!” he yelled.

Eyes fluttered and regained focus.

Boom!

Something landed on top of the elevator, rattling the loose glass and collapsing the opening six inches. Spice scrambled out, and Helo grasped the floor and hauled himself up, hands grabbing his arms and pulling.

Boom!

Metal whined, the gap in the elevator door small enough to press into his thighs.

Boom!

He slipped free into the hallway, elevator plunging, the Sheid and its swirling blackness following it down. It passed through the opening in the shaft too fast for Helo to see whose form it had taken. Moments later, an earsplitting crunch signaled the elevator’s demise, the floor vibrating with its impact.

Helo craned his neck to see down the shaft, but only an extra murk of black at the bottom hinted at the Sheid’s location. Spice and one other Ash Angel crawled to his side and peered over the side. The Sheid had fallen all the way to the bottom floor. That was the reliquarium. Was that where it wanted to go? Helo needed to get down there—in one piece. It was a long way down, and he didn’t have the Toughness Bestowal to do a brick jump. There looked to be a pipe he could shimmy down on the opposite side of the shaft.

A bullet tore off the left side of Spice’s head, and Helo flinched back into the hall along with the other Ash Angel as more bullets tore into the gap. He pulled the rest of Spice’s body farther back into the hall and took her BBG. Only one of the other Ash Angels around him was armed, a man holding a BBG. He looked like a Michael.

“What’s your name?” Helo asked.

“Arrow,” he said.

“Can you handle a weapon?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Anyone else?” Helo asked of the four others standing around.

The Latino who had helped him out of the shaft raised his hand. “I’m Cielo.”

Helo tossed him the gun. “I’ve got to get down there. I need you to keep the Dreads up there off my back while I climb down that pipe. Anyone got Glorious Presence?”

Blank stares all around.

“Okay. Arrow, Cielo, cover me.”

“You got it,” Arrow said. “Can you really kill Shedim with your bare hands?”

“Yep,” Helo said, eyeing the pipe barely illuminated by the red emergency lights from the hallway. He hoped it wasn’t greased, or he was going to have a very fast trip to the bottom. “The rest of you, go find a weapon.”

After a brief look at each other, the two armed Ash Angels sidled up to the side of the open elevator shaft. Helo backed up a few paces, eyes on the pipe. Just as he was about to run, two red auras flashed by, probably using Toughness to survive the jump to the bottom. Cielo and Arrow took potshots at them, but Dread gunfire from above drove them back.

“Ready?” Helo asked.

They nodded, leaned out into the shaft, and fired upward.

After a four-step jog, he leapt into the darkness of the shaft, eyes fixed on the steel pipe, which looked to be about four inches in diameter. It wasn’t oiled, but it wasn’t easy to hang on to, either. Flaring his Strength, he dug his fingers into the smooth surface, trying to get purchase on the wall with the tips of his boots. He slid about ten feet down before he got control. He was craning his head down, trying to figure the distance to the bottom of the shaft, when a spray of bullets exploded around him. He dropped farther down, grateful for his lack of aura. There were no lights in the shaft save for the single red glow from inside the crushed elevator compartment at the bottom.

The report of gunfire echoed through the shaft as he half slid, half shimmied down the pipe. A white aura fell past him. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought it might be Arrow, the BBG clanging at the bottom just before his body crunched into the ruined elevator. Bullets sparking off the shaft’s walls came less frequently and less accurately, and Helo quickened his pace. He did not want to be crippled by some lucky shot.

The greasy, dark feel of the Sheid strengthened the farther he descended. Would it be hunting the Fox teams? Had Ramis compromised those, too? If the Fox protocol had been invoked, then one team would be collecting the Archai’s hearts on level seven while the other would be grabbing the computer backup on level four or five.

The elevator doors to levels four, five, and six were still closed. Seven and eight were both open, eight’s opening half concealed by the elevator’s wreckage. The door to seven looked like it had been smashed inward. Yelling and gunshots echoed into the shaft from both floors, but it didn’t take any guessing to know that the Sheid was on level seven, the council chamber. It sounded like a hurricane had erupted somewhere inside, the wind ejected out the door rippling his Deep 7 uniform.

He bent his legs and pushed off the wall using his Strength, arcing across the shaft and down through the doorway into level seven. He tucked and rolled over his shoulder, using the momentum to come to his feet . . . right in front of a soldierly Dread holding one of their knockoff rifles. The Dread’s eyes widened as he spun in front of the statue of Michael and the Dragon, red emergency lights highlighting the gilded sculpture.

Helo melted the Dread’s head with a jet of Angel Fire before the guy could even get his rifle to bear. The body collapsed, and Helo grabbed the rifle off the floor. The banging and yelling were mixed with the howling wind storming out of the auditorium where the Archai had passed judgment on him a week before. Helo edged up to the arched entryway and angled his head around the side, the steady blast of air pulling at the skin on his face.

The faint glow of the emergency lights revealed the Sheid in a hellish hue of red and black. It walked at an even pace, now halfway down the center aisle, which was bordered with emergency lighting strips. Around it swirled auditorium chairs in a virtual tornado that had ripped the Ash Angel banners from the walls. The Sheid had taken the shape of Archus Ramis, a cruel but appropriate mockery. It was clear the Archus had probably spilled every last secret to Avadan.

Four Michaels maneuvered around the edges of the completely desecrated room, snapping off pointless shots at the Sheid. But just as the Sheid had done with the hail in Colorado, it blasted the swirling chairs outward with the force of missiles. Helo retreated behind the edge of the archway, a chair rocketing into the statue behind him and bouncing off. A moment later, he moved back around the arch and found two Michaels still standing. One held a sanctified sword in his hand and was limping as he looked for an opening, face twisted in agony in the desecration. Helo couldn’t spot the other two Michaels in the gloom.

If he could get close enough to the Sheid, he could surprise it with a hallow, but dodging the chair-nado would be tricky. The dark creature moved steadily toward the raised platform. The large double doors to the Archai’s secured chambers had been ripped from their hinges, three Ash Angels crouched in the hall beyond, geared up heavy, one with a backpack. That had to be Fox 2 with the backpack full of the Archai’s hearts. It was the prize the Sheid wanted. Helo shuddered. What could Avadan do if he had the entire Archai in his grasp in one of his torture chambers?

It was now or never. Helo stalked the Sheid down the center aisle, the wind pushing back at him. Once the Sheid got within twenty feet of the platform, Fox 2 turned and ran back into the Archai’s chambers. Where was the secret exit? If Fox 2 had been trying to get out of the chambers, the exit had to be out in the auditorium somewhere.

A chair whipped by, nearly taking Helo’s head off. He thought the Sheid would chase Fox team, but it stopped and turned, its expressionless eyes falling on him. Helo Hallowed. The Sheid Strength jumped a heartbeat before the hallow could overtake it, its disconnection from the ground ending the desecration. Helo tracked it as it arced through the maelstrom, nearly invisible in all the darkness and swirling debris. It wasn’t jumping at him. It was jumping backward onto the dais, above the level of the hallow.

As soon as its feet touched the ground, the wind stopped, all the swirling chairs tumbling out the of air and slamming to the floor. The Sheid’s desecration flowed out onto the dais. Helo gripped his rifle and Strength jumped after it.

But the Sheid had flashed inside the Archai’s offices in a blur before Helo even landed. The wind kicked up again, blasting out the doorway, a potted plant rolling out on its side like someone had tossed it down a bowling alley. Helo gripped his rifle. Shots and screams mixed with the wind, papers, wall paintings, and couch cushions flinging out like an angry wife was chucking her cheating husband’s belongings.

Helo put his hand in front of his face, pushing forward into the blast, trying to conserve his Virtus.

“You Helo?” a Michael said, stepping over a mangled chair frame. It was the Michael he’d seen with the sanctified sword and a limp. His Asian ancestry and battle armor gave him the look of a samurai.

“Yeah,” Helo said. “Let’s get in there. Anyone else good to go?”

“I’m here,” said a female Michael with ice-blue eyes coming up behind him. “I’m Silk. That’s Rivet.” Her arm was bent at the wrong angle at the elbow, her face pinched.

Helo Hallowed a small circle around them, and their faces relaxed, eyes wide with wonder.

“So it’s true,” Rivet said. “You can use Bestowals in a desecration field.”

Helo nodded. The gusting wind lessened as the Sheid moved farther inside. “Stay inside the hallow. If we can back it into a corner somewhere, we have a chance.” It couldn’t Strength jump away from a hallow in the cramped space of the hallway, and there wasn’t enough crap around for it to conjure up a crap-nado.

Through the doorway, the emergency lights left more shadows than illumination. Rifle up, Helo passed through the doors into a foyer now half destroyed. He pushed aside an upside-down coffee table with his boot. Ahead stretched a hallway of doors, some open, some closed, and some straight-up ripped off and lying on the travertine-tile floor. The Sheid’s desecration overspread everything except the small hallow around Helo and his companions.

“Where’s the Archai?” Helo asked.

“Opposite side in a panic room,” Silk answered. “These are all offices. Past this is the living quarters and then the secure reception area. The panic room is to the left of the elevator. It’s like a bank vault.”

“I bet this Sheid can crack it,” Rivet said. “I thought Shedim like this didn’t happen anymore.”

“Let’s get moving,” Helo said. “Stay in the hallow.”

He pushed forward at a jog. The wind abruptly stopped, the sound of gunshots and yelling echoing faintly down the hall. After passing through a destroyed double door, they crossed into another finely appointed lobby with cracked video screens and tossed furniture. The living quarters came next, an upscale area with oil-rubbed bronze sconces and plush brown carpet. The Sheid’s power had blown doors off hinges and torn paintings from the walls.

“We’re close now,” Silk said, voice taut.

Helo could feel it too, the Sheid’s torching effect strengthening with each step forward. After another sundered double door, they crossed a lobby. Beyond it awaited the secure landing area, bathed in emergency light red. The elevator shaft was exposed, the Sheid standing in front staring into the darkness of the shaft as if looking for something. Its wind filled the shaft, playing a hollow, howling note.

Time to try to catch it in a hallow again. Helo raised his hand to signal for his companions to stop, but the Sheid slipped inside the shaft, grasping something and pulling itself up and out of view. The desecration on the floor ended, and Helo extinguished his hallow.

He led the way forward, noting the huge metallic door to the panic room. It was still intact. He poked his head into the shaft. The Sheid had vaulted itself halfway up the shaft, its darkness and wind moving upward. Then it slipped inside one of the elevator doors. Third floor? That was the security and armory level. Maybe it was tracking Fox 2.

“I’m going up,” Helo said. Half a second later, the booming of gunfire turned the elevator shaft into an angry echo chamber. The Dread rifle Helo held didn’t have a sling, so he tossed it to the floor. He’d need both his hands for the climb. The armory had weapons.

“I’ll follow you up,” Rivet said.

“I’ll stay down and cover,” Silk added. “Arm’s busted.”

Helo backed up and jumped across the shaft, grasping the pipe and using his Strength to hang on. Hand over hand he rose, his feet propelling him upward. Hot lead banged into the shaft wall above him, the wind howling in fury. In mere seconds, the gunfire petered out and stopped altogether. Curse the Sheid! The thing was unstoppable. Helo quickened his pace. He had to get up there and Hallow the Sheid. The confined spaces of the corridor were an excellent place to trap it.

Below him, Rivet scrambled up, his rifle slung over his shoulder. The wind died down, probably as the Sheid moved farther into the structure again. When the door to level three was only a few feet above him, he Strength jumped across the shaft’s chasm and landed in the armory’s lobby area. The eerie light there cast a ghastly hue on six Ash Angels strewn about, blasted with Sheid fire and missing heads or lying motionless with holes the size of bowling balls burned through their chests.

Helo grabbed a discarded Big Blessed Shotgun just as Rivet landed in the lobby.

“Damn,” Rivet said.

“Yeah. Time to catch up.”

Helo Hallowed the small area around him and Rivet, then sprinted down the hallway in front of him, more wrecked Ash Angels littering the floor. He jumped one the Sheid had bent backward and powered into the detention area where he had met Ashakaz just minutes ago. She was gone, her door smashed open from the outside. Someone had sprung her.

More gunfire and howling wind ahead.

It wasn’t far to the elevator lobby. After hurdling three more bodies, he was there. And so was the Sheid, holding on to the backpack it had just yanked from the downed members of Fox 2. It had opened it and was staring at the contents.

Helo blasted it with Angel Fire as it turned toward them, driving it backward into the wall. The backpack tumbled out of its hand, air warping where darkness and light met. Ziploc bags with the hearts spilled out onto the floor.

Rivet limped forward with the sanctified sword, a yell on his lips. The Sheid angled for the open elevator door and dropped into the shaft, the sound of it crashing to the bottom echoing into the lobby. Helo clenched his teeth. Not again! It was always one step ahead. It was too fast. It was too powerful. And now it was back to where the chase had started.

“I can brick jump,” Rivet said.

Helo nodded. “Wait for me at the bottom.” The Sheid would eat him alive.

Rivet’s aura brightened as he flared his Toughness Bestowal and dropped into the shaft after the Sheid, crashing to the bottom moments later. Helo really wished he had Toughness sometimes. Speed would have been good too.

After slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he jumped the span of the elevator shaft again, grabbed the pipe, and shimmied down into the blackness. He was really getting the hang of elevator-shaft climbing. Fourth floor. Fifth floor.

A gunshot took his left hand off at the wrist. He hung on with his right with everything he had to keep from tumbling, his body twisting outward. There in the elevator doorway in front of a veritable mound of mangled Ash Angels stood Aclima, a BBG in one hand and a sword in the other. Helo’s heart leapt. She was here!

“Aclima! It’s—”

She pointed the gun at his head and fired.

Chapter 6

Deep 7 Down

No! He let go of the pipe, Aclima’s shot grazing his good arm as he fell. His Ash Angel body was tough, and he used Strength to help his legs absorb the impact. It might have worked if he’d had a smooth surface to land on, but the twisted wreckage of the elevator shanked him off at a weird angle, and he slammed into the side of the shaft before crashing to the bottom. It was hard to tell the difference between the snapping sound of elevator parts and the snapping sounds of his ribs and left arm. The shotgun over his shoulder caromed away into a mangled heap of metal and glass.

Aclima fell like a red star from above, no doubt doing a brick jump like Rivet. The pendant had to be active. Avadan was controlling her, just like he had been controlling Ashakaz and forcing her to sing that song. It had to be.

He prepared to Hallow, but as soon as Aclima landed at the bottom of the shaft, she Strength jumped back up to the seventh floor without even a glance at him. He couldn’t let her escape. He only need maim a leg or sever her head and snatch her heart out of her chest. Helo pushed a hunk of twisted metal away from his body and got to his feet, the left side of his torso grinding as the broken ribs rubbed against each other. He gaged the height and leapt after her, aiming for the landing platform of level seven.

He came down on something squishy, and his legs went out from under him, sending him hard onto his back. His head hung over the edge of the shaft, and he rolled left onto his belly, using his right hand to push himself up. Someone sang nearby, barely audible over the howling of wind filling the elevator lobby. The statue of Michael and the Dragon had rotated and moved, revealing a hole and steps descending downward—this had to be the secret exit for the two Fox teams. From the depths of the hole came a haunting note as the Sheid’s gale blew up from it, the sound and wind fading even as Helo stood there next to the severed arm he had landed on.

“Swing low, sweet chariot! Comin’ for to carry me home.”

Helo frowned. Ashakaz, singing again from somewhere inside the auditorium. He jogged to the archway leading into the hall. She stood in the wreckage of torn-up seats, right next to an emergency light, dead center in the room. Her body was strapped with C4 from the neck down to the waist, her vapid eyes unseeing.

Helo darted back to the escape hole. They were going to blow Deep 7 apart, and he didn’t want to be near Ashakaz when it happened. Thin stairs circled downward, spinning around and around, dropping straight down so far they had to have passed through the eighth floor and then dropped another thirty feet. Finally, they emptied out onto a circular landing barely big enough for four. A decapitated Rivet lay at the bottom, his sanctified sword bent and extinguished. Aclima’s work, he guessed.

A cramped tunnel, rough-hewn in solid rock, sloped steeply up before him, five feet wide and seven feet tall. Wires swooped down the sides, emergency red lights now replaced with a muted blue barely strong enough to illuminate the way forward and little else. Cursing his lack of Speed, Helo ran for all he was worth, trailing the distant, haunting sound of the wind.

A deep thump shook the ground, his feet fumbling. He stumbled into the wall as the floor beneath him quivered, blue lights flickering until they were extinguished for good. Chunks of rock crashed down around him, the air vibrating with the noise. He pressed forward slowly, his remaining hand on the wall to guide him. Then the rumbling and shuddering ceased. He couldn’t hear the wailing wind anymore. If the exit had collapsed, he might be stuck down . . . wherever he was . . . for days. Maybe weeks.

Rocks banged against his feet, and he considered Hallowing the floor to give him some idea of what lay before him but thought better of it. With Dread Loremasters and mega-Shedim on the loose, he’d need every shred of Virtus he had left. Thinking of Aclima, he gritted his teeth and increased his pace. Other Ash Angels wouldn’t think twice before burning her heart and sending her to hell.

He struck something with his knee and reached out. A railing. Shuffling his feet, he felt around. It was a ladder. He grasped the rungs, his bad arm not doing him any favors, and ascended, ladder groaning with every push upward. It didn’t feel straight, either, slanting slightly to the right. Halfway up, the sounds of the storm returned. Wind. Thunder. Hail. The ladder ended on a mesh metal platform of some kind, and the booming of guns added to the noise. Somewhere in the darkness, something metallic banged at irregular intervals. As he pulled himself up on the platform, a flash of lightning cut the night, revealing a long cinder-block hallway sloping up to a half-hinged door that banged against the wall in the fierce wind.

Fighting the Sheid in the day was hard enough. But at night? In the rain? Someone was trying, though. It sounded like World War III outside. Helo shook his head and sprinted forward. Maybe the Sheid would be sufficiently distracted for him to get close enough to punch his fist through it. At the very least, he hoped someone had dropped Aclima so he could get her heart.

The single hinge supporting the door gave out, and loose from its moorings, the door flew down the hall several feet before banging to a stop at Helo’s feet. Pressure from the windstorm outside pushed back at him. The closer he came to the opening, the more litter swirled about at his feet. A soup can. Plastic shopping bags. A dead potted plant on its side. A flurry of lightning burned his eyes, blanching the walls.

Helo slowed. The opening was just ahead. Something—a cereal box?—slapped his face on its way past. The sense of the Sheid’s presence flooded toward him but then rolled around him like water around a stone in a river.

The sound of gunfire boomed down the hall in chorus with the thunder. Angling his body against the wall, he peeked outside. In the snatches of clarity afforded by the lightning, he found what he had been hearing: a war. Red and white auras peppered the landscape. The Dreads and the Sheid were the closest to him, the Ash Angels surrounding them on all sides. Rain pounded down, slicking the opening. But as dark as that made it, the Sheid had conjured up a veritable tornado of debris around itself, which obscured a good view of anything around it for thirty feet.

It took him a moment to recognize the irregular mounds and low, artificial plateaus of dirt. He breathed in just to smell. Garbage. Wet garbage. This was a landfill. Deep 7 was underneath a landfill. It made a kind of clever sense.

A bullet shredding the doorframe to his right ended his ruminations. He couldn’t stay there. If he attacked the Dreads from the hallway, there was no cover. They would chase him down and destroy him.

Ahead of him, the Dreads trudged through mud and household waste, the Sheid’s deluge doing them no favors. Ash Angels popped up and fired at them, auras bleeding into the darkness. Some Ash Angel outside the Sheid’s circle of desecration unloaded Glorious Presence. But the Sheid’s swirling tornado of garbage muddled everything. Several Ash Angels and Dreads were down, but in the confusion, he couldn’t tell if one of them was Aclima.

Crouching, Helo stepped out onto a concrete stoop and took three steps down into mud. Four Dreads slogged behind the whirlwind of garbage, the storm hampering them as much as it did the Ash Angels. A handful of Dreads marched in front of the mess, but they were hard to make out. What was the end game? How did they plan to escape? Well, he would make sure a few of them didn’t.

He found a shuffling gait the best to get through mud that at one moment wanted to suck the boots right off his feet and at another acted like an ice skating rink, sending his feet off at wild angles. The range of his angel fire was limited, so he couldn’t be a sniper with it. But thanks to the racket of the storm, he got behind a shaved-head, hoop-earringed Dread and sent a blast right through his back, frying his heart and turning him to dust, dark shirt and cargo pants flapping past in the wind, his Dread rifle dropping into the muck.

A Dread to the left spun toward Helo, and he sent a blast of scorching Angel Fire his way. The Dread dodged left and lost his footing, rifle firing harmlessly into the night. The report of the weapon turned the other two around. Helo boosted his Strength and jumped. Mistake. The wind carried him backward, and he came down on his butt with a squelch of mud, bullets whizzing around him.

White fire erupted from his outstretched palm, incinerating a path through a Dread’s abdomen. Not lethal, but the Dread fell into the mud. The other two had a bead on him, and he rolled away to his right, mud, water, and bullets flinging everywhere before he hit something. It was a boot. Aclima’s boot. The bullets stopped. Lighting flashed, the blazing reflection turning her upraised katana into a blinding blade of the purest white. That katana was going to take his head off.

He Hallowed the ground, and the katana pulled up short. Aclima blinked at him, raised her pistol, and blasted away at the other two Dreads until they fell twitching into the muck. She was here! He had to help her, get her heart. He scrambled out of the mire and grabbed her arm with his remaining hand, pulling her back toward the structure he had emerged from.

They sloshed inside, and Helo led her down the dark hall far enough to keep any Dreads from noticing them. He didn’t know how much Virtus he had left to keep up the hallow, but it didn’t matter. For a moment, the lightning lit everything up enough that he could see her wiping at her almond eyes, her face the picture of sadness. Gently he pushed her wet hair away from her face. He should have been furious with her for ditching him, but all was forgiven now that he had her back.

“Your heart,” he said, lifting her black shirt.

“Gone,” she said, letting her weapons clunk to the floor.

There it was, the knife slit beneath her sternum. Curse Avadan. He took her in his arms, feeling cold even though he couldn’t feel cold.

“I’m going to find you,” he said. “Just tell me where you’re going.”

“We came in on train cars,” she said. “We’re supposed to return to the train when we’re done.”

“Where are we?” Helo asked. “I’ve been in Deep 7.”

“Missouri. Near Kansas City. Listen,” she said, pulling away and grabbing his wrists. “I don’t know a lot about what Avadan is trying to do, but he needed Archus Simeon so he could keep him from telling the AAO some secret. I don’t understand what it means. And he’s gathering Vexus. Not sure where he’s putting it, but he’s getting it from another prison of his somewhere. You’ve got to warn the Ash Angels. After tonight, there may not be much left of the organization.”

“Tell me where the train is,” he said. “I can get there.”

She shook her head. “You’d be destroyed, Helo. There’s another Sheid out there besides that one, just as powerful. There are more Dreads than you can count. You’ve got to let me go. You can’t keep up this hallow for much longer.”

She was right. He could feel it. Hallowing was one of the more draining Bestowals, but he wanted to keep her for as long as he could.

“Are there times when you are not being controlled?”

“Not really,” she said. “He’s up to something big. I just don’t know what. He’s much harder to read than Cain. You’ve got to forget about me now, Helo. The second I get my free will, I will burn my heart. I will not be used like this.”

His heart sank. “Don’t. Give me time.”

Her eyes drilled into his. “Get Avadan. That’s the only way I can be free. Now let me go. Save your strength.”

Helo gritted his teeth. This sucked. He pulled her in close again, and then she picked up her weapons and nodded. He led her back toward the opening. The gunfire had stopped, and the wind had fallen to a shade of its former strength.

“I’m going to get you back, Aclima,” he said. “You will be an Ash Angel again.”

She smiled wistfully. “Let me go, Helo.”

That wasn’t going to happen. He would find her and fix it.

After one last squeeze on her arm, he extended his hallow, the exhaustion overtaking him like the flu. Aclima raced to the edge of the hallow, looked back, and then crossed out into the black. He extinguished the hallow and shrank back into the dark hall, half expecting her to turn and finish him off. The Sheid’s maelstrom had moved farther forward, and she leapt toward it, red aura shrinking into the night until it disappeared over a sodden mound of dirt and refuse.

White and red auras littered the ground as far as he could see, most unmoving, some writhing slowly in the mud like worms stranded above ground. The Sheid’s storm dissipated, clouds hurrying away and fading, lightning and thunder ending their dramatic performance. All around him the sodden garbage the whirlwind had given wings plopped down to the earth. Somewhere to his left, a pair of car alarms wailed into the night.

He was free. All the Ash Angels who wanted him imprisoned lay broken on the field or were buried within the ruins of Deep 7. All the Dreads who’d sought his death had moved with Aclima and the Sheid to an unknown destination. He could stay and help the Ash Angels with recovery, or he could try to track Aclima, the Dreads, and the Shedim.

Not a hard decision. Low on Virtus, he settled for slogging his way through the muck, clawing his way over the same garbage mound where Aclima had disappeared moments before. At the top he met a rough-plowed road leading up to the edge of the mound. The landfill and its buildings were an island of darkness surrounded by trees gently rustling in what was left of the breeze. An airliner’s blinking lights signaled in the sky as it rushed away toward scattered clouds blushed by Kansas City’s nighttime glare.

Which way had they gone? There was no sign of red auras or Vexus. The ground was a quagmire of confusion. A battalion of tanks could have moved through and he wouldn’t have known the difference. Would they take to the roads or push through the foliage?

As he looked down toward the landfill’s buildings and gate and then toward the dark woods ahead, he remembered he had other senses than just the five. Sheid auras could be sensed, and the Sheid that had attacked them was one of the most powerful ever created. He closed his eyes and felt.

The trees. Just down the other side of the mound and past a squat, cinder-block building hunched in the gloom. He plowed forward. Running was impossible. Anything more dignified than a slipping, flailing, half slide, half out-of-control run was impossible. A metallic shred of a water heater gashed his left leg once he got to lower ground, but the mud was relentless. The ground finally firmed up as he approached the chain-link fence surrounding the compound. Some Dread or Sheid must have ripped it open. A ragged gap led into the thick darkness.

There was no moon. Without the lightning or stars or city glare to guide him, Helo plunged into a mess of unseen branches and saplings. While the ground was more solid, it was also a tangled mess. He went by feel, both of the Sheid’s general direction and of the woods around him, his good arm out in front of him like a blind man hunting for a wall to guide him.

The Sheid was outpacing him, the strength of its presence dwindling. Helo chanced a healthier stride only to shin his way into a fallen tree and take a header into the soft, leafy ground. Cursing his luck, he got upright and tried it again, stride after long stride, until the ground disappeared beneath his feet and he tumbled down a short hill and into a rock. He righted himself, splashing across a soggy puddle.

There was road noise ahead. Relief flooded over him. He had to be close. A road he could deal with, maybe make up some time.

A bullet drilled him right in the sternum, and he landed hard on his back, a flock of roosting birds scattering above him. He couldn’t control anything below his midback. He probed his wound with his good hand and found a capacious hole. Dread weaponry for sure. They had left a trailer to make sure they weren’t followed. Smart.

Helo lay perfectly still on the damp leaves and poking sticks. The Dread had the drop on him, probably some sort of night-vision equipment. Helo had no doubt there was a stream or pond somewhere out in the woods deep enough to drown him in. If he could make the Dread come to him, he had enough Virtus for a blast or two of Angel Fire. There was no catching Aclima or the Sheid now, but there had to be a way to track them. That many people couldn’t just move around undetected, especially when accompanied by freak storms and out-of-place earthquakes near a major city.

Senses alive, he waited perfectly still, drops from leaves plopping onto his face and body. The dripping slowed and stopped. Whoever had shot him hadn’t made a move either. How much time had passed, he couldn’t tell. The frightened night birds returned and warbled mournfully in the darkness. He wanted to retreat into his meditation to prepare for Rapture, to soak in every bit of Virtus he could, but he didn’t dare let his guard down.

It wasn’t until the patches of sky between the leaves lightened that he heard footsteps crunching through the foliage from behind him. He turned his palm up, ready to blast Angel Fire, but instead of a red aura, a white one hovered over him, a flashlight beam momentarily blinding him.

“Over here,” the Ash Angel said. Argyle. Of all the bad luck.

Chapter 7

Legion Stone

Helo stared at the ceiling in the predawn light. After dragging him back to the landfill complex, Argyle had dumped him in a mustard-colored utility building. His mind still had trouble accepting that the Ash Angel’s most important and technologically advanced command and control facility sat beneath mounds of garbage. It was brilliant, just for being so unexpected.

The lights still weren’t on, so the ceiling wasn’t much to look at—just exposed two-by-four trusses and dead fluorescent tubes. Beat-up metallic shelves holding what he supposed were tools and parts rendered nothing but incoherent lumps in what light made it through three thin rectangular windows with privacy glass like you would put in a bathroom to keep people from seeing in.

Dawn had to be close. He thought about meditating, but his mind couldn’t settle. He was sure they had stationed a guard outside the door to keep him from one-arm crawling away. And he wanted to be gone. Aclima’s trail grew colder every hour they detained him. As soon as he could run, he would run. Nobody was going to stop him. They had no right to.

Door hinges squealed, Argyle’s outline silhouetted in the opening for a moment. Helo groaned inwardly. He’d almost rather have an interview with Avadan. Goliath had told him how Argyle’s guilt over his past screwups was what drove him. The man dotted every i, crossed every t, and had a penchant for keeping every j dotted, too. Worse, he was an Ash Angel Organization company man through and through.

“I need to ask you some questions,” Argyle said, leaning against a metal shelf and folding his arms.

“Sure thing, Argyle,” Helo said. “What’s on your mind?”

“Where did the Dreads and the Shedim go?”

“I don’t know,” Helo said. “I was tracking them east when someone blew a hole through me.”

“You see who?” Argyle asked.

“No, sir.”

Argyle straightened and crouched down next to him. “Now answer this next question very carefully. Did you help the Dreads find this place?”

Helo tensed. Really? He was about to take Argyle down a notch but found he had a question of his own to ask instead. “You don’t know about Ramis, do you?”

Argyle frowned. “I know he is missing.”

“Not just missing. Captured,” Helo said. “The Archai’s known they’ve been compromised for a while now. So, no, Argyle, I didn’t help anyone find Deep 7. You know, maybe you should get out of my face and go figure out what they want with Archus Simeon.”

“What are you talking about?” Argyle said.

“The Sheid or one of the Dreads stole the hearts of the entire Archai. Aclima said Avadan wanted Simeon’s heart.”

“Aclima was here?”

“Yeah. She said Avadan wanted Simeon because he knew some secret.”

Argyle’s jaw came unhinged, and he stood abruptly, eyes wandering away with his brain.

“What?” Helo said.

“Simeon is one of two Ash Angels who know the location of the Pit—he and the Archon of the Sanctus. It’s to keep its location from . . . dammit!”

Argyle banged out the door like the building was falling in on him. The Pit. Goliath had told him the Pit was where they took all the objects into which they Exorcised evil spirits. If someone could de-form or damage those objects, the evil spirits inside them would be set free. From what Goliath had told him, their imprisonment drove them insane, and evil spirits were bad enough as it was.

Cain had used evil spirits and the people they possessed to wage a war against the Ash Angels. The Possessed were perfect soldiers to use—the Ash Angels had a policy against killing them. Looked like Avadan wanted to take a page out of Cain’s playbook and make it bigger and crazier—which sounded exactly like something the deranged Loremaster would do.

The door banged open again, Shujaa and Sparks coming in, each armed with a Big Blessed Rifle.

“Who put a slug through you, mate? Your Dread girlfriend?” Sparks asked, standing at Helo’s feet and staring down at him.

“Didn’t see who it was,” Helo said.

“Got the drop on ya, huh?” Sparks said.

“What do you want?”

Shujaa lumbered up. “Just here to make sure the Angel Born doesn’t leave.”

“Quit calling him that,” Sparks said. “Really. It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s who he is,” Shujaa countered, deep voice filling the small building with ease. “He is a weapon forged against the evil one.”

Sparks’s eyebrows raised. “Is there anyone else who’s a member of your little Helo the Angel Born cult, or is it just you?”

“You will see, faithless one,” Shujaa said.

Rapture intervened in the argument, and while refreshing and healing, its power paled in comparison to what he was used to. His mind was too full of what needed to be done, starting with getting away from the Ash Angels so he could track down Aclima. The soothing radiance suffused him for what seemed but a moment, a divine caress given and then gone.

Body put back together, Helo got to his feet, the cloth flaps from the bullet hole in his jumpsuit flopping around. Shujaa and Sparks backed up a couple of steps, rifles up. Helo raised his hands. The front door was the only way out of the building, and with Sparks and Shujaa at the ready, he wouldn’t make it two steps before they crippled him. If only he had Speed!

“So what’s the plan here, guys?” Helo asked. “We just going to sit here in this shed while the Shedim dance around? Seems like Sicarius Nox should be out hunting instead of babysitting me.”

“What we do is no concern of yours,” Sparks said, jaw tight. But Helo could tell he was itching to get out and fight something. Did he care about doing good, or was he the Ash Angel equivalent of an adrenaline junkie?

“So who is Argyle’s second in Sicarius Nox?” Helo asked.

“It is him,” Shujaa said, nodding toward Sparks. “The faithless one.”

“Faithless one?” Helo said.

“He does not believe in God,” Shujaa explained.

Helo chuckled, thinking for half a second that it was a joke, but Sparks stared him down, eyes unblinking. An Ash Angel atheist?

Sparks’s rifle dipped. “Don’t give me that bloody look. Just because we’re living in some sort of new state of existence doesn’t mean all that religious tripe is suddenly true.”

Helo squinted. He was serious. “But you fight Shedim. There’re white auras for the good guys, red for the bad.”

Sparks shrugged. “There’s good and evil and creatures we don’t understand, but have you seen God yet? Because I haven’t. You know how Shedim are made, right? That Dread woman you’ve got a flame for made one, you know. Killed someone to do it. Your loving God sleep through that? Of course not, because he isn’t real.”

“I’ve seen the devil,” Helo said. “He’s real.”

“Devil is just a name for something we don’t understand,” Sparks said.

Helo opened his mouth, not sure what would come out.

Shujaa raised a hand. “It is no use, Angel Born. We must only be happy he is on our side for now. You will help him find his faith.”

Sparks rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Look,” Helo said. “There a pack of Dreads and Shedim just a few hours ahead. Why aren’t you guys tracking them?”

“None of your business, Dread lover,” Sparks said.

Shujaa lowered his rifle. “We are to make sure the Archai are extracted safely and provide support in case the Shedim return for them.”

The door cracked open, and Argyle stuck his head in. “Bring Helo to the main building. Now.”

The door clacked shut.

Sparks waved Helo toward the door with his gun. “Please try to run,” he said. “I’m getting really bored with all this standing around.”

There wasn’t any malice in his words, more of a statement of fact. Helo crossed to the door and into a humid, garbage-strewn morning. The gray-blue sky felt heavy, like a cast-iron lid over the world, the sun hiding behind a stray wedge of cloud hovering over the top of the line of trees on the horizon. And mud. Argyle tromped through it some fifty feet ahead.

Helo glanced at Shujaa. “Argyle still like his sitreps?”

Shujaa grinned. “Early and often, though Sparks and Finny have, well, made them a bit more fun.”

Sparks lit a cigarette. “And by making them more fun, we have made them less frequent. Because if it’s fun, Argyle doesn’t like it. If you want Argyle to leave you alone, which is what most of us want, then just have fun. It’s his kryptonite.”

The main building waited a long slog from the shed where they had held him. It sat near the gated entrance to the dump, a tall, grungy cinderblock and metal-roof affair the same color as the dull sky. On the right side of the building, three tall garage doors covered entrances to what Helo assumed was a dumping area for the garbage. The top of one of the beat-up doors gapped at a bad angle. A cop car sat outside the first utility door. A set of two windows bracketed a scuffed white door with a sign announcing business hours.

Shujaa pulled open the door, and they followed several sets of muddy footprints through a drab office with computers from fifteen years ago and into a break room equally as depressing. A couple of Ash Angels dressed as cops stood outside a door to a utility closet, which expectedly turned out to be a disguised elevator that dropped into a complex beneath the building.

When the utility closet wall slid aside, they stepped into a hallway stretching some fifty feet in either direction. Ash Angels in standard-issue jumpsuits hustled by with flashlights to help illuminate a corridor bathed in the familiar red emergency lighting.

Argyle stepped out. “This way.”

They turned right down the hall. This was a utilitarian space that reminded him of the raw concrete-and-steel construction of Zion Alpha. Cracks zigzagged through the floor and walls, puddles of water cropping up in low spots.

“What is this place?” Sparks asked.

“Mechanical for Deep 7,” Argyle said. “Power station, mainly. The Sheid hit here first. Almost had a reactor meltdown. The Archai is through here.”

The hall ended in a gray metal door with the designation 1C painted on it in black letters. Argyle knocked, and someone from inside pulled it open. The entire Archai sat around what was probably a break room, furnished with couches, a TV, and an open space occupied by a pool table and a ping-pong table. Three lanterns sat on the ping-pong table at the center of the room, the light cutting harsh shadows against the wall. The Archai occupied the couches, all wrapped in blankets, expressions dark.

The door clanged shut.

“Helo,” Archus Gideon said. “I want you to repeat what you told Argyle. Tell us what happened and what Aclima said.”

After the way he’d been treated, Helo didn’t feel like saying much of anything about Aclima or anything else, but the leaden feeling of doom permeating the room convinced him that now wasn’t the time to stick it to the Archai. He told them everything that had happened, starting with visiting Ashakaz in the holding area all the way up to where a sniper had put a hole through his gut.

“So, yeah,” Helo concluded. “Archus Ramis folded. They want to know where the Pit is.”

“Without Simeon, only Archon Anvil should know,” Archus Ebenezer said. “We need to find him.”

Archus Mars leaned around Archus Magdelene to get a better look at Ebenezer. “And find him fast. If Ramis broke, Anvil will. If they grab Anvil before we do, we’re in trouble.”

Diarchus Joan pulled her blanket around herself more tightly. “Let’s pray Archon Anvil is safe, but for now, we need to get Legion Stone out of the Pit immediately and move the rest as soon as we can.”

Helo wanted to ask but Argyle got there first. “What’s the Legion Stone, ma’am, and how can Sicarius Nox help?”

“That is classified,” Archus Ebenezer said.

“We’re past that now,” Grand Archus Gideon said. “We’ll need their help, and they need to know what they’ll be transporting.”

“But, Helo . . .” Ebenezer sputtered.

“Tell them what it is,” Grand Archus Gideon said, voice weary.

Ebenezer drilled Helo with a crusty look until it got uncomfortable. “You may be familiar with the account in Mark chapter 5 of Christ encountering a man possessed of an evil spirit. When Christ asked the evil spirit its name—clearly for the purpose of exorcism—the spirit said its name was Legion, being many. Now, as the account goes in the New Testament, the evil spirits were cast into a herd of swine who then charged into the water and died. This account of the exorcism was fabricated.”

“By who?” Helo asked.

“By Ash Angels,” Ebenezer continued. “They altered the manuscripts and spread the revised version of the story. As is often the case with exorcism, Christ Exorcised Legion into a stone. Since damaging or destroying it would release Legion again, Ash Angels have protected it through the centuries.”

“Why not just bury the bloody thing out in the middle of nowhere?” Sparks asked.

“It’s . . . unusual,” Archus Ebenezer continued. “Even an object with a single evil spirit inside vibrates. While we don’t know the exact number, imagine a stone with thousands of evil spirits inside. It is quite active, to say the least, and that’s not all. It is said that such is the force and madness of the spirits inside, the stone can be felt and heard. Whispers. Screams. Cursing.”

A chill stole up Helo’s spine. “What would Avadan want with it? There are already thousands of Possessed he could use. Why would he need more?”

Ebenezer raised a finger. “That is the issue, and we can only speculate. The Biblical account gives the only clue. The man in the story could not be restrained. He had such strength he could snap shackles apart. The Possessed normally have no such enhancement to their physical abilities. And, like Dreads, evil spirits are normally solitary. That a group of thousands all came together to be called by one name is extraordinary. What they can do or why Avadan wants them is a mystery.”

“But,” Archus Mars butted in, “the fact that he wants it is all we need to know.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourselves,” Diarchus Joan said. “There is no indication Avadan knows about the existence of the Legion Stone. He may only want the location of the Pit so he can free the thousands of spirits trapped there, evil spirits as crazy and as violent as he is. With the pendant, he can control them.”

“And if he succeeds,” Mars said, “we will need to revisit our rules of engagement concerning the Possessed.”

“Absolutely not,” Archus Simeon said, nearly coming out of his seat. “Just because there are more of them doesn’t mean the people they inhabit are less worthy of exorcism and aid!”

And then an argument broke out, voices raising with each passing minute. Helo got the impression that shooting the Possessed was a lot like the abortion debate: two sides that could never come to an agreement.

“They’re as bad as the lot back in Great Britain,” Sparks whispered from behind Helo.

“Hey!” Helo said. And then said it again louder. They finally stopped after the third. “Maybe argue about this if Avadan succeeds. We need to find out about Archon Anvil and maybe get to the Pit. Where is it?”

Archus Ebenezer leaned back and clutched his blanket. “The Pit’s been around since before the formation of the Ash Angel Organization. The one in the United States isn’t the only one in the world, but for better or worse, the Legion Stone was brought here in the 1700s by those seeking to get it out of the crowded Old World and into the vast open spaces of the West. There may be some of the Old Masters still around who have the lore, but most who knew about it would be long gone by now. Archus Simeon will have to tell us.”

An urgent knock on the door ended the conversation, one of the sentries pulling it open. A female Michael came in holding a cell phone and pushed her way through to the front of the room.

“What is it?” Grand Archus Gideon said.

“It’s Archon Anvil,” she said. “He’s not been captured, but . . .”

“But what?” Archus Mars pressed.

She covered the mic on the phone. “He claims he’s being hunted. Faramir says the call is not from a secure phone. It might be a Sheid posing as Anvil.”

Grand Archus Gideon extended his hand, and the Michael placed the phone in it. He clicked the speaker-phone button and placed the phone on his lap.

“This is Gideon. Where are you?”

“Deep 6 is down. I’m at a gas station about ten miles away.”

At the mention of Deep 6’s destruction, Archus Lux let loose a gasp of dismay. The rest of the Archuses closed their eyes, lips in a line.

A pop, pop, pop came through the speaker followed by dead silence.

“Anvil?” Archus Gideon said.

A few moments later, the speaker crackled. “I’m back. Not much time. Is Archus Simeon safe?”

“Yes,” Archus Gideon said.

“Good. He can get you where you need to go. I’m going to end it. End it before they get me.”

The phone went dead.

A sober Archus Simeon sighed. “It’s latitude 37.4002584, longitude -113.1599183.”

“Where is that?” Archus Mars said. “My phone’s not working.”

“It’s Burnt Mountain in the Kolob Canyon backcountry, Southern Utah,” Archus Simeon said.

“Argyle,” Archus Mars said. “Get your team together. We’re going to get as many Michaels there as we can on short notice. We’ll bring supplies in from Zion Alpha.”

Argyle snapped to attention. “Yes, sir. Where do you want Helo?”

“Take him,” Diarchus Joan said.

“I don’t think that’s prudent, ma’am,” Argyle said, face barely keeping it together.

“Take him,” Archus Mars said. “If he gets out of line, shoot him and leave him for me.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Helo said.

Grand Archus Gideon stood, the blanket wrapped around him and his strong chin lending him the air of a Roman senator. “You were made to fight Shedim, Helo. And if you can’t see that we’re in need right now, I will end you right here.”

Helo hesitated for only a moment. They were right about the need. And if Avadan was going after the Pit, there was a good chance Aclima would be involved. This could be the opportunity he needed.

“I’ll do it.”

Chapter 8

Wilderness

Helo squinted into the morning sun. Ahead of him, Burnt Mountain was a towering hunk of orange rock cut by wind and weather. A storm had dusted the crest and cracks with a fine layer of snow before they had arrived, and a chill that would have numbed the ears of a normal had settled into the dry creek bed they had traversed for an hour. Currant Creek was its name, Faramir had said, and they would follow the drainage all the way up to the mountain.

Shujaa plodded away behind him, Big Blessed Rifle in his hands, sniper rifle strapped to his back. Argyle and Faramir took the front, Finny just behind. Sparks ranged ahead, scouting their surroundings so they could avoid any groups of normals who might wonder why a heavily armed group of men was prowling around the wilderness. The cover story was that they were a militia group on a training exercise, a story Helo thought would result in a call to the FBI.

Argyle carried two Big Blessed Rifles, one on his back and one in his hands. The one on his back was Helo’s, but Argyle stated flatly that he would keep possession of it unless the situation called for it. Helo leveled a death glare at the man’s back. If Argyle wanted to carry his gear, fine. But the crusty looks and incessant suspicion had already started to grind his patience down to nubs, and he had only been with Sicarius Nox two days. He missed Goliath and wondered where she had ended up.

Faramir had flatly ignored him since he’d rejoined the team, which didn’t seem fair since it was Goliath who had blown his head off when they had escaped. As for Finny, the other British Ash Angel hardly said a word to anyone besides Sparks, and Helo got the feeling the two had worked together for a long time. Finny was dark skinned, with cornrows striping his head, and besides being a weapons expert, he could apparently pilot anything that had wings, wheels, or tracks. One thing was for sure: keeping to himself was a way of life for Finny.

Sparks appeared on the lip of the gully. “We’re clear all the way to the base of the mountain. Can’t see normals in any direction.” He slid down the embankment into the dry creek bed. “The Michaels have a camp at the base of the ascent to the Pit. Another half hour and we’re there.”

“Fall in and move out,” Argyle ordered.

As soon as they were underway, Sparks took up position in front of Helo and behind Finny. He threw Helo an odd look and then turned away.

“Finny,” Sparks said. “Time for a little round of ‘Would You Rather.’”

Helo shook his head. Sparks and Finny had done this yesterday on the plane. The topic then had been “Would you rather live life with your hands as hooks or as grizzly bear paws?” An utterly pointless debate had ensued. Faramir tried to jump in, but they shut him out. This was their thing, and everyone else could just shut up and spectate.

“Are you sure it’s time for this?” Finny asked.

“I’m bloody bored,” Sparks returned. “So, yeah, it’s time. So here it is: Would you rather have a hot Dread girlfriend or an Ash Angel girlfriend who looked like a cow that’s been turned inside out?”

Finny kept his eyes on the unsteady rocks at his feet. “Not a good question, Sparks.”

Sparks glanced back at Helo. “Well, we all know what Helo there would choose, don’t we? I mean, that’s why you agreed to come, right, because you think she’ll show up here? Well, that and Gideon threatened to kill you.”

Finny grabbed Sparks’s shoulder. “Drop it, mate,” he said softly.

Helo wanted to pick up a rock and toss it at Sparks’s head. He couldn’t figure out why the man was so bent on making a big deal about Aclima. Or why Ash Angels USA had brought him all the way across the Atlantic to join Sicarius Nox.

“All right,” Sparks said, “but we see her, she goes down just like any other Dread, isn’t that right, Finny? You got that, Helo? She’s got to die.”

Would Sparks ever shut up? Helo glanced up at the mountain, its orange-red walls shaded with streaks of black rising over the gully’s lip. That was the goal. One foot in front of the other.

“You know, Helo,” Sparks yammered on. “We did a joint exercise with the U.S. Marines once. It was Operation Our Bestest Pals Across the Pond or something like that. You know what? Those guys were a lot of fun and would have kicked my ass by now. And that’s what bugs me. You don’t fit the Marine profile.”

“And most soldiers I know don’t talk this much unless they’re drunk,” Helo said.

“Believe me,” Sparks said. “When I’m good and smashed, I don’t say a word.”

Finny grinned as if at some memory and nodded.

They eventually clambered out of the gully and wound their way around squat firs, gaining altitude. To his left, one arm of the mountain gathered them into a cathedral of sandstone, cliff faces carved with long vertical gashes deepened by the morning’s shadows. The gully bank steepened to their right, taller trees clumping in the low spaces.

After a few more minutes, they walked into a camp full of Michaels on a flat stone shelf below where the cliff rose forbiddingly into the clear blue sky. Michaels milled about on the rocks, some snapping pictures with their phones, others standing watch. There had to be at least twenty that he could see. Not much hope for secrecy.

Argyle strode into the camp like he was in command of a heavenly legion far above the rest of the Michaels, and everyone watched Sicarius Nox file in. Helo couldn’t help but notice how he garnered more than his fair share of attention. A stack of ammunition crates sat close to a nearby rock, and next to it was Commander Crane, the man who had been in command of the Tela trap they had sprung at the remote cabin in Colorado. Commander Crane’s day had ended with Goliath blowing the cabin—and everyone in it—to bits with C4 in an attempt to stall a Sheid. Good times.

Crane, a skinny, no-nonsense Texan morphed to middle age, walked over. Argyle saluted. “Sicarius Nox reporting for duty, Commander. Give us the word. Have you found the entrance?”

“We have,” Crane said, eyes falling on Helo. “It’s a climb. There’s a notch about a hundred feet up. Cave’s deep inside it. Not sure how anyone ever found the damn hole to begin with. We’ve roped it.”

“Rope? That’s no fun,” Sparks complained. “This looks like a fun free solo.”

Commander Crane shook Sparks’s hand. “You must be Sparks. I’ve heard a lot about you. Glad you’re with us.”

“Thanks,” Sparks said. “Say, Helo, you think Aclima’s up there already?”

“Any sign of Dread activity in there?” Argyle added quickly.

“None,” Crane answered. “Our scout only got about fifty feet in before we pulled him out. It’s dark, and it . . . well, you’ll see soon enough. I’ll take you to the rope, and you can make your ascent. When you exit with the package, you will receive instructions on where to take it. We’ll relocate the rest.”

Crane ordered Faramir to set up a comms station in the camp, and Helo grabbed a comms unit from him. Faramir wouldn’t look him in the eye. He’d located a replacement for the knit hat he’d lost in the meth-house explosion, tassels swinging as he placed equipment and flipped knobs.

Once everyone had activated their comms units, Crane led Sicarius Nox out of the camp, ordering a grumpy Faramir to stay behind and monitor communications. They skirted a thick shelf of rock, the soles of their boots slipping against the orange-tinted sand. The rock face above loomed defiantly over them as they pushed through scrubby fir trees to get to its base. A rope snaked down the face. Finny kept his eyes to the ground, everyone else craning their necks back for the view.

“This is it,” Crane said. “Follow the rope up to the notch, and it will lead you right to it.”

Sparks slapped Finny on the back. “Follow me up, Fin. Just keep those eyes pegged on my big, beautiful buttocks, and you’ll be good. I’m taking point.”

Argyle, who was busy securing his equipment, opened his mouth, but Sparks had a hold of the rope and was pulling himself hand over hand upward. Finny did not go next, Argyle taking the spot and Shujaa following him. Helo sidled up to Finny, who seemed to be checking his gun for defects.

“Not a fan of heights?” Helo asked.

Finny exhaled. “Nope. Give me a plane and it’s all good. Give me a cliff, not so much. Not so much at all.” He swallowed and looked up. “I got this.”

Setting his jaw and adjusting his gloves one last time, Finny took the rope, squeezed his eyes shut, and began the climb.

Helo stepped forward, and Crane grabbed his arm. “You do anything stupid, I’ve got orders to put you down. Got it?”

Helo yanked his arm out of Crane’s grasp and grabbed the rope. Finny shot up the rope like a crazed gymnast, chewing up the distance. Helo followed, the sandy stone streaking his black pants with pockets chock-full of ammunition he had no weapon for. As he rose, the world opened up around him, and he twisted his head around for a look at the towering walls and the desert floor stretching away to the west, warm morning light lying like a lover upon them.

It wasn’t until he had almost reached the notch that he felt a discordant, sour twinge leave its impression in his mind, like someone pinching a flat piece of paper and leaving a mark that couldn’t quite be smoothed out. Had anyone else felt it? The Possessed didn’t have the torching aura of Shedim, but something about this place wanted to stick a thorn in his mind. He shrugged it off, powering up the last few feet.

The notch was a hunk of sandstone that looked like someone had chipped out a near-perfect wedge and removed it. About twenty feet along the notch, a gnarled, weather-wracked cedar had wormed its way into cracks in the wall, the rope they had climbed encircling its trunk. The four other members of Sicarius Nox leaned against the wedge’s wall, though Finny did so with a bit more conviction. Argyle and Shujaa slipped past a bored-faced Sparks and took the first two spots.

“Let’s move out,” Argyle said.

Traversing the notch’s base forced Helo to walk one booted foot straight in front of the other, hands sliding along the cool stone on either side. The cave entrance waited about ten feet beyond the cedar, little more than a slit in the cliff wall and hidden from view. The air here was cool, their boots disturbing a fine dusting of snow.

“Lights on,” Argyle ordered. Helo pulled the little handheld LED from one of his pants pockets and lit it up. The twinge in his mind struck again, but he shoved the odd sensation back, blinking his eyes to focus. Argyle wedged his way into the slit, the two BBR’s slung across his back scratching the walls of the narrow passage. One by one they followed, a draft of cool air trying to chill faces immune to its power.

Helo entered last, the cave swallowing the sunlight. Finny was hunched over as he walked, eyes pegged to the floor. Was he scared of caves, too?

“All right, Finny,” Sparks said as they walked. “Would you rather—and this is as a mortal, now—would you rather stick your head in a wasp nest for sixty seconds or stick your head in a crocodile-infested river for ten seconds?”

Finny’s shoulders straightened up. “Well, it’s hardly equal. Wasp nest, for sure. No chance of death.”

“Wrong there, mate,” Sparks said. “You get stung enough, it could kill. You will get stung. A lot. And it hurts. Tried to break down a big nest with a bat once. Face looked like I was a mutant potato for like a week.”

“But there isn’t enough information to make a decision,” Finny said as the cave suddenly slanted down, slowing their progress. “No one knows the statistical risk of sticking your head in crocodile-infested water.”

Argyle baby-stepped it down the incline, signaling for Shujaa to follow.

“I bet that Faramir guy does,” Sparks said, close on Shujaa’s heels. “Thinks he knows bloody everything. But—”

The conversation suddenly died, and Helo discovered why once he reached the bottom of the incline. From seemingly everywhere reverberated a low hum, like a lonely engine running somewhere in the distance. Not powerful, but loud enough to demand attention. It seemed to leak in through his boots and into his shoulder where it butted against the coarse wall. But it wasn’t the physical quality that demanded the attention. Like the twinge in his mind, the hum demanded an audience. It was like it wanted to speak.

“Come on,” a tight-lipped Argyle said, motioning the group forward. Another twinge. Helo pinched the bridge of his nose and shuffled his way behind Finny. The humming intensified, and so did the feeling that came with it: it was anticipation. It was a kid on Christmas. A reunion with a loved one. A prisoner about to be set free.

Then the first chamber opened around them, the ground leveling and smoothing out. Sparks whistled. Everyone else gawked, flashlights gashing over a multitude of recesses carved into the walls. Filling those recesses were small padded sacks, all vibrating like the bullet Goliath had cast the evil spirit into. The sacks muffled the sound of their movement, but the whole room felt like the wasp nest Sparks had talked about. Alive. Anxious. Dangerous.

Clink!

Twinge. Somewhere ahead of them, though still distant, something had cracked or broken open. Argyle raised his hand, signaling for silence, and unshouldered his rifle. Shujaa, Finny, and Sparks followed suit. Helo hoped Argyle would pass back his rifle now, but apparently the creepy hum and mysterious clinking sounds didn’t warrant the risk of Helo having a weapon.

Chamber after chamber they went, the scope of the centuries-old evil-spirit-storage project dawning on Helo. Thousands upon thousands of evil spirits were stashed away in the mountain. It was staggering. The low hum of their frantic, impatient vibrations was like the clawing of a hundred fingers grinding against a stone wall, trying to get out. Desperate to get out. It saturated him, creating a pit in his stomach he couldn’t ignore.

Clink!

Twinge. It was the second time the sound had echoed around them. It was close now. Some of the sacks, cloths, and other wooden containers that had housed the objects lay strewn about the floor, and the farther in they went, the more they carpeted the ground.

The last chamber they came to opened wide, so wide and tall it felt like stepping onto a stadium after the constraining chambers they had crossed. Shuffling steps echoed in the emptiness, adding to the uncomfortable din. A massive rock column slanted down from the ceiling. Row upon row of carved recesses rose about twenty feet high on the chamber’s walls. This was the oldest chamber. Very few of the vessels here were encased in the newer cushioned bags that were clearly the product of modernity, though some had been retrofitted. But a full third of the lower recesses were empty, the ground strewn with the bags, boxes, and contraptions that had housed the vessels.

Clink!

Twinge.

Guns snapped up. The sound had come from behind the massive rock pillar, and a few moments later, a red aura stepped out. Argyle snapped off a round at the Dread but missed, the bullets slamming into the sandstone and cratering one of the recesses.

Twinge.

The naked Dread didn’t react to the shot, its mangled head visible in the lights trained on it. Everyone with a gun had a bead on it, but Argyle had raised his hand to signal them to hold. The Dread seemed oblivious to their presence. His left hand had no fingers. His head was an egg with craters for ears. With his good right hand, he fumbled along the recesses until he found one still occupied. He pulled out a bundle of cloth, and it crumbled at his touch. A vibrating stone was left, and the Dread turned.

His eyes were gone. His nose was gone. He faced away and shuffled back toward the rock pillar one unsteady step at a time, feet feeling for what was in front of them as much as walking.

It took a moment for it to register. A moment longer to believe it. It was horrible.

“Holy hell,” Helo said. “That’s Archus Ramis.”

“The Archus who’s been missing?” Sparks said.

“Yeah,” Helo said.

Argyle froze. Helo jogged around him. If it really was Ramis, he was being controlled by the pendant, for sure. How had Avadan found this place? He circled the pillar just in time to watch Ramis place the twitching rock on a low shelf of stone. Ramis fished a sledgehammer off the floor, felt for the rock with the stumped wrist of his left arm, and then brought the hammer down. Clink! The rock shattered, pieces skittering to join the detritus from what looked like a hundred similar shatterings. The evil spirit was free.

Twinge.

The rest of Sicarius Nox filed in behind Helo. Like a senseless robot, Ramis stood, making his way back toward the recesses in the wall. Shujaa, face grim, raised his rifle. Helo pushed it down and Hallowed the ground around them. As soon as the hallow enveloped Ramis, he stopped, tottering before falling to his knees. His mouth fished open and closed, incoherent grunts issuing from a mouth devoid of teeth and tongue.

Argyle turned away and walked toward the wall, leaning against it. A fire rose in Helo’s belly. Avadan had mangled Ramis before turning him. This was malice. Malice without boundaries or rules.

“Where’s the Legion Stone?” Helo asked. It was no good. Ramis was deaf. He was blind. He couldn’t speak, though he tried.

“We’ve got to find the Legion Stone,” Argyle said from across the room, face still turned away.

“It’s not going to be here,” Helo said. “Avadan’s already got it. He might have already freed Legion, for all we know.”

“Impossible,” Argyle said, half turning toward them. “He couldn’t have gotten it this fast. There’s no way. Not even Ramis knew where this place was! We’ve got to look.”

“He’s been at this awhile,” Sparks said, kicking aside some of the detritus with his boot. “I say we put the man out of his misery.”

“It’s a trip to hell,” Argyle said, finally walking back toward them, eyes on everything but Ramis.

“He’s already there,” Finny said softly.

“No,” said Argyle. “We’ve got to try to rehabilitate him.”

“Really?” Helo said. “So you won’t even try to rehab Aclima, but you will Ramis?”

“Ramis isn’t a Loremaster,” Argyle said coldly. “I’m going back out to get instructions from command. Wait here. Do NOT touch him. And look for the Legion Stone. We have to look.”

Argyle marched out, the glow of his flashlight disappearing into the far chambers.

“Well, he’s lost it,” Sparks said. “If Ash Angels had to piss, there would be a puddle in his boots for sure.”

Helo couldn’t blame Argyle. Ramis’s visage was hard to stomach. Helo could only imagine the hell Avadan had put Ramis through.

“Well, guess I’m in charge,” Sparks said. “Helo, keep him in the hallow. We’ll see what we can find.”

It didn’t take long. On the far side of the chamber, Finny found a stone box banded with metal over the lid. The rusted lock lay at the base, busted apart. “This has got to be it,” Sparks said. “Look at the engravings on the metal.”

Helo edged over, making sure his hallow still enveloped the mutilated Ramis. The metal bands around the box crisscrossed in such a way as to form a metallic cross on the lid. Engraved into the longest band was a herd of pigs running for the edge of the box and then pictures of them falling continuing down the side.

“Clever,” Sparks said. He extended his boot and kicked the lid upward. Finny tried to stop him, mouth agape in the opening phases of a “No!”

There was a click that barely registered above the incessant, ever-increasing hum, the emotional weight of anticipation almost unbearable. Helo flinched in unison with Sparks and Finny, then waited until the dust settled. After a few moments, Sparks leaned over the open box to find it packed with explosives.

“That’s a lot of C4,” Sparks said. “Why aren’t we smoke, Fin?”

Finny shined his light in the box, revealing a wafer of circuit board and a lump Helo thought might be a battery. “I think it’s live. It just hasn’t gone off. Might just be shoddy work.”

“How long?” Helo asked, backing away toward Ramis.

“This isn’t the movies,” Finny said. “There isn’t a timer or some beep counting down. I might be able to defuse it. Everyone else get out.”

“I’m not going bloody anywhere,” Sparks said.

“Brilliant,” Finny said with a dose of sarcasm.

Shujaa grabbed Ramis by the arm and dragged him up, then looked at Helo. “Let’s go, Angel Born. I’ll carry the Archus.”

Shujaa set his gun down and hefted Ramis, who went rigid once lifted out of the hallow. Even though he’d never liked the former Archus, Helo pitied him. No one deserved the fate Avadan had fashioned for Ramis. Shujaa’s aura flared, probably Strength.

“This is not a standard explosives package,” Finny observed from behind them. Helo quickened his pace. “It’s hodgepodge. Some idiot messing around.”

“Um, there’s this light that’s turned on all of a sudden,” Sparks said.

“Yeah,” Finny said. “I see—”

Boom.

Chapter 9

Ramis

Rapture re-formed his body amongst a pile of the bits and pieces of vessels that had once held evil spirits, spirits now free to tempt and torment the addicted and the desperate. The explosion that had sent him into the White Room had enough power to blow the majority of his heart’s molecules almost all the way back to the slit in the cliff that was the cave entrance. Somewhere behind him, someone was hammering on stone.

Helo swatted the dust and shards of vessels off his body. Avadan. Cain was bad, but Avadan was worse. Why didn’t the psycho Loremaster blow up the Pit when he had come for the Legion Stone? Why had he set Ramis to the task of smashing the vessels one by one?

Helo had gone over all these questions while he floated in the nothingness of the White Room. For sure, Avadan’s appetite for theatrics surpassed Cain’s, but for both, a victory wasn’t a victory unless the enemy’s defeat was also a thorough demoralization. The Ash Angels had never been hit this hard, and Helo couldn’t imagine what the repercussions would be. Avadan had already taken down Deep7, Deep 6, and now the Pit. He had crippled the Occulum. What else was on his list?

Boots scuffing on stone from the direction of the cave entrance brought him to a crouch. Two friendly auras moved toward him, and he shielded his eyes as one of the Ash Angels blinded him with a flashlight.

“That’s one of them,” a man said. “Helo, right?”

“Yeah.”

A pile of clothes landed next to him, the black camo pants and shirt of the Michaels uniform. No boots.

Helo grabbed it. “Find anyone else yet?”

“You’re the first,” the Michael said. “Report to camp. Make way.”

Once Helo had pulled himself to the cave wall, the Michaels passed by, heading deeper into the gloom, boots crunching on the broken vessels. The pants and shirt they’d provided were a little small, and he began morphing his waistline and shoulders to accommodate the clothes.

Now dressed, he traversed the short distance to the cave entrance but found the outside only a couple of shades lighter than the inside. A brooding blanket of swollen clouds flurried down, double-sized snowflakes lazily working their way to the stone floor of the notch. Another Michael waited by the rope, and a brace of guards stood sentry at the bottom. After his descent, one escorted him back to camp where Commander Crane waited inside a canvas tent. Soldiers whispered around camp lights, no doubt wondering what had happened up there. Crane would get the news first.

Helo pushed the tent flap aside and went in. Crane sat in one of a handful of camp chairs around a folding table, an LED lantern harsh against his face. As usual, his expression held a slight edge of disdain.

Helo sank into a camp chair.

Crane studied him for a moment. “What happened after Argyle left?”

“We found what we think housed the Legion Stone. Sparks kicked the lid off, and it triggered an explosive. Finny said it didn’t look professionally done. He was trying to figure it out when it went off. Shujaa and I were carrying Ramis—”

“Archus Ramis,” Crane interjected.

Helo would give him that much respect. “We were carrying Archus Ramis out. We’d just made it out of the main chamber when the thing went off. Archus Ramis is probably a dust pile.”

Crane’s forehead tightened. “What did Archus Ramis look like? Argyle said he was a Dread.”

Helo straightened. “He didn’t tell you what Avadan did to him? Wait, where is Argyle?” He’d been acting weird before he left.

Crane’s mouth formed a straight line, and he leaned back in his chair. “He left. Resigned as commander of Sicarius Nox.”

Helo frowned. Argyle had left Sicarius Nox? “Because of Archus Ramis?”

“They were friends,” Crane said.

Helo could believe it. Ramis liked results and people who followed orders, and no one loved following orders more than Argyle. Still, to just up and resign his command?

“What did Avadan do to him?” Crane pressed.

“Cut off his ears, outside and inside. Cut out his tongue. Blinded him. Chopped off his left hand, left him his right. Had him up there smashing vessels one by one with a hammer. When I Hallowed around him, he was out of the pendant’s control, but . . .”

Crane slapped a palm down on the table and stood. “Hundreds of years of work trapping those bastards and it’s all blown to hell. Why did Ramis do it?”

“Archus Ramis,” Helo reminded him

Crane rose and paced the back of the tent. “Why did he take the pendant? Why did he sell us out? I don’t care how much you’re tortured, you don’t give up secrets like this!”

“Don’t judge till you’ve been there,” Helo said. “Avadan is the Dread equivalent of Micah, only Avadan’s been experimenting on Ash Angels for way longer than Micah studied Dreads.”

“And you’re sure the Legion Stone is gone?” Crane asked.

Helo described the markings on the box and what was inside. “If the Legion Stone was still in there, it’s destroyed and Legion is free. I don’t think it was. I think it was taken.”

And that was all he knew. He had no idea what the Ash Angels would do now, but he wasn’t going to stick around to find out. He couldn’t let them detain him indefinitely when he had to find Aclima and restore her to Ash Angelhood before the AAO exterminated her. But if the Ash Angels would leave him in the field, he had a better chance of learning about Dread movements and finding her.

“So who’s in charge of Sicarius Nox now?” Helo said casually. “Sparks?”

“I am,” Crane said, “until I can find someone I trust to put in the saddle.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Helo said. “You going to throw me in another box somewhere?”

Crane eyed him. “You and your wild-stallion routine might have charmed Goliath, but I’m with Archus Mars. You aren’t thinking straight. You’re more of a circus than a rodeo, and I don’t like the circus. But it’s not up to me.”

A Michael poked his head in. “Sir, it’s going to be at least an hour. They broke through into the first chamber, but the stone had collapsed again, not too far in.”

“Any sign of Archus Ramis?” Crane asked.

“No, sir,” he said.

“Report back on their progress in half an hour,” Crane said, returning to his seat.

“Anything else?” Helo asked, standing.

“Well, there is the matter of what to do with you right now,” Crane said. “Highland!”

A few moments later, a lanky Michael stepped into the tent. “Yes, sir?”

“You have the Speed Bestowal?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You watch Helo,” Crane said. “Make sure he doesn’t leave camp until we’ve got orders on what to do with him.”

Highland wasn’t much of a talker, and Helo didn’t mind. They’d scrounged up some oversized boots for Helo’s bare feet and he wandered the camp, waiting for news. After two hours, the Ash Angels pounding away at the collapsed stone still hadn’t managed to reach the main chamber of the Pit. Overhead, the brooding clouds slowly broke apart, and from time to time a spectacular ray of sunshine would splay against the dusting of snow and the red rock, creating scenes worthy of postcards and placemats.

It wasn’t until nearly noon that a commotion in the camp brought everyone toward the cliff face leading up to the Pit. There, dangling from a rope tied around his waist, was Archus Ramis the Dread. All eyes followed his descent, his body twitching like it wanted to scrabble back up to the Pit. It was like watching a spider slipping down a web. Helo couldn’t believe it. How had he survived? The fire should have incinerated his heart and sent him—and it was hard to think it—down to hell. His body did bear the burns of the explosion, but he had survived.

Crane waited at the bottom, and as soon as Ramis touched the ground, one of the sentries Hallowed the area around Ramis’s feet. Immediately, Ramis launched into his unintelligible grunting, mangled face earnest with whatever he so desperately wanted to convey.

“Out of the way,” Crane said, voice angry, face sour.

Helo stepped back. It was obvious Crane wasn’t prepared for the sight of Archus Ramis either, and even seasoned Michaels had a hard time looking. The clumped soldiers parted and stood almost unmoving as Ramis, Crane, and the Hallowing soldier marched through the middle of the throng and disappeared into Crane’s tent.

Highland finally spoke. “That Avadan’s work?”

Helo glanced at him. “Yeah. I think so.”

“You met him?”

“Avadan?” Helo said. “A couple times. Yeah. He’s a complete crazy bastard. Needs to be smoked and fast.”

Highland nodded, and that seemed to be enough information for him. The other members of Sicarius Nox roped down the cliff one at a time about twenty minutes later, Shujaa first, followed by Finny and Sparks. They hadn’t been so lucky finding more clothes. Only Finny was fully dressed but without boots. Shujaa and Sparks wrapped themselves in blankets, and Helo joined them.

Sparks eyed him narrowly. “Out first, eh?”

“Yeah,” Helo said. “Shujaa, how did Ramis survive that? I was blown halfway out of the cave.”

“I was using my Toughness,” Shujaa said. “I feared the blast would come. My body covered his.”

Helo nodded. Finny’s gaze was distant, like someone who’d just made a big mistake and was contemplating what to do with the rest of his life.

“Where’d they take this Ramis Dread?” Sparks said. “We ought to put him out of his misery.”

“He’s in the tent with Crane,” Helo said. “Been there for, like, half an hour.” Sparks did have a point. What would they do with Ramis? Would they burn him and call it done? Give him the chance they wouldn’t give Aclima?

“Well,” Sparks said, “bloody mess. All the Ghostpackers running loose now. If Legion is as crazy as they say, it’s gonna be hard not to kill a few normals.”

“Yes,” Shujaa said, a sudden light in his eyes. “We cannot hold back. We can no longer give mercy to the Possessed. More lives will be lost if we do.”

Sparks nodded. Helo saw their point, but the memory of his brother kept him from fully agreeing. Cain had addicted Brandon and turned him into a Possessed. Brandon had shot up a department store, forever tarnishing his family’s name. It wasn’t right that normals could be tools of evil. If only Exorcism were easier. From what he’d seen Goliath do, the process was taxing. Now there were literally thousands of insane evil spirits out hunting vulnerable normals, looking for permission to slip inside a body and do whatever they willed.

“Who’s this walking pole following you around?” Sparks said, glancing at Highland.

“Just someone to keep me from running off,” Helo said.

Sparks grunted. “We got it, Highland. You can run off.”

“I take orders from Crane,” Highland said, unmoving.

Sparks shrugged. “Your time to waste.”

“Helo!” someone yelled in the distance. “I’m looking for Helo!”

“Over here,” Helo replied, walking in the direction of the voice.

The Michael who had been Hallowing Ramis strode up. “Crane wants you in the tent. Now.”

Helo nodded and followed him across the camp to the tent where Crane had interrogated him earlier. Like a good soldier, Highland trailed behind until they got to the tent and Crane dismissed him.

Another soldier had taken over Hallowing the ground around Ramis. The mutilated Archus was hunched over the table in the middle of the tent, Crane standing next to him. A wandering scrawl covered the table, Ramis having used his one good hand and a Sharpie to cover the surface in sloppy notes and a few pictures. Helo leaned in to get a look. It was like something out of a movie where a confined serial killer had scrawled cryptic words and images all over a cell wall. Ramis wrote feverishly, and he was coming to the end of the available space. His frantic, obsessive writing and grunting made him seem like a madman. Maybe his mind was gone.

Crane folded his arms, eyes dark. “He keeps writing the same sentence and then pointing and grunting at it. Then your name came up. Look.”

In broken script, Ramis had written “Allison June Parker. The Red Angel. They’re there.” It looked like he had stabbed at the table with the Sharpie for emphasis after every iteration of the sentence. He’d also drawn a woman’s face, but in a crude fashion, like a kindergartner. There was also a weird shape Helo couldn’t place. But on the bottom fourth of the table, the former Archus had stopped writing the sentence and switched to “Helo knows” over and over.

“What do you make of it?” Crane asked. “The Ash Angel database is gone, so we can’t search it for clues.”

Allison June Parker he knew. It was Cassandra’s mortal name. Ramis had been her Ash Angel father. Helo suspected he had loved her. The Red Angel. That rang a bell, and it took a moment to recall when Goldbow had recounted Cassandra’s death. He had said she had died inside the Red Angel—an abandoned theater in Chicago. Then it struck him that the odd shape was roughly the same shape as Illinois.

“Well?” Crane said, his gaze impatient.

“He’s referring to Cassandra,” Helo explained. “My trainer. His Ash Angel daughter. Her mortal name was Allison June Parker. She died in Chicago in an old abandoned theater called the Red Angel. He awakened her there.”

Helo grabbed Ramis’s wrist, and he stopped writing and turned his face toward him. He was blind. He was deaf. He was mute. But Helo thought he knew who had taken his arm. Ramis’s hand shook, and the pen rolled off the table and onto the ground. Helo released him. After a shuddering heave, Ramis placed his forehead on the table and wept, a guttural, wrenching sound that swelled Helo’s pity more than the man’s tortured body.

“This is our chance,” Helo told Crane. “Avadan thought Ramis would get incinerated when that bomb went off. He didn’t know Ramis would be able to help us.”

Crane seemed lost in thought. “Yeah. I know that.”

“What are you going to do with him?” Helo asked.

“Not up to me,” Crane said, voice sober. “I’ve got to speak with command.”

Crane left, leaving Ramis and the Hallowing soldier in the tent with him. Helo walked out into the sunshine, the clouds that had once shuttered the sky now completely broken and fled. Allison June Parker. The Red Angel. They’re there. The message was simple enough. Ramis was giving them a clue. But who, exactly, was there? It had to be whoever had tortured and disfigured him. Or maybe he was referring to Legion. Probably both. Maybe Avadan was using the old theater as a base or as one of his sick prisons. And maybe, just maybe, Aclima would be there.

He stopped dead in his tracks. No one was watching him. A few Michaels wandered around, but no one seemed to think twice about his being unaccompanied. Crane, in his haste, had simply forgotten to order anyone to babysit him. He glanced around and casually wandered off to the west. There had to be sentries out there, but he could probably get by them.

He took a few steps toward a beckoning gully but held up again. Surely they would send Sicarius Nox to hit the Red Angel. The Ash Angels certainly had the means to get there more quickly than he could out on his own. Then again, would they even let him go? Crane disliked him. Mars didn’t trust him. Gideon had at least mandated they take him along on this mission, but would they allow him to go on another, or would they lock him up again?

“You’re just going off to take a piss, right?” Sparks said from behind him. “Not thinking of running off, of course. ’Cause if you’re thinking of running off, I’ll drop this blanket and chase you around the desert with nothing but my fists and my privates. I will. Just ask Finny.”

Helo glanced over his shoulder. Sparks’s cold gray eyes challenged him, dared him. Sparks would not only chase him naked across the desert but would have the time of his life doing it. The man was a hunter, and a bored one. But maybe he’d understand.

“There’s a mission coming,” Helo said. “An important one. I don’t want to be left out of it. I know where it is, and if the AAO is going to leave me behind or lock me up, I’m going to start running.”

Sparks’s expression brightened. “What mission?”

“Ramis gave us a clue,” Helo said. “It might be where Avadan is holed up.”

“Brilliant. When do we leave?”

“I don’t know,” Helo said. “Crane’s phoning it in. He’s commander of Sicarius Nox now.”

“Fine by me,” Sparks said. “Argyle is a prig. So what’s it going to be, mate? You going to run off into the desert and make me chase you or what?”

“I want in on this fight,” Helo said. “I need to be a part of this.”

“You want the girl,” Sparks said. “That’s it, isn’t it? You think she’ll be there.”

Why did this guy care so much about Aclima? “Look, I’ll kill every Dread and Sheid out there, just not her. I’m going to get her back, and I really don’t care what anyone thinks. So let me help you or don’t, but keep your damn mouth shut about it or I’ll shut it for you. Clear?”

Sparks’s mouth slid into a grin. “There we go,” he said. “I knew there was a Marine in there somewhere. How about we wander back to camp? If Crane lets you come, I’ll keep my gob shut about your Dread girlfriend for at least a solid hour; if he doesn’t, I’ll give you a fifteen-second head start into the desert. Deal?”

Helo nodded, though he couldn’t tell which outcome Sparks would enjoy more. They returned to camp, the Michaels clumping together around the tent where Ramis still wailed piteously. Would they burn him? Give him a chance to get his aura back? Helo wasn’t sure there was enough of his mind left to even attempt rehabilitation.

Crane returned from wherever he’d gone a few minutes later, phone in his hand, jaw set. “Sicarius Nox moves out now. The rest of you lot are to recover whatever vessels may have survived the blast. You’ll get orders on where to take them when someone decides where to take them. Let’s go.”

“Sir?” Sparks said. “What about Helo here?”

Crane paused. “He’s with us.”

Helo blinked. Crane hated him, so the order must have come from higher up.

“Yes, sir,” Sparks said, then sighed in sarcastic disappointment. “Well, Helo, no dance in the desert for us today.”

Helo turned toward him, finding his eyes roving over the desert landscape as if planning all the good spots for a kill box. Maybe his disappointment wasn’t sarcastic, after all.

Chapter 10

The Red Angel Theater

The Red Angel Theater hulked at the far side of a dilapidated parking lot shot through with weeds and cracked asphalt. It was about two hours from dawn. Not one street light in the parking lot worked, making the predawn stakeout difficult. Helo pulled down his binoculars, laying them on the console of the late-model Ford Escape he’d practically lived in for three days. So far, none of the business owners of the sleepy strip mall across the street from the abandoned theater had called the cops on some guy who had perma-parked in the lot for seventy-two hours staking out a ruined building. Since he was the only Blank with Sicarius Nox, Crane had posted him for the job.

Absolutely nothing of interest had happened at the theater in those seventy-two hours. Nothing. The circular, domed building was conspicuous in its lack of activity. Sure, there were condemned signs posted everywhere. Yes, the stained and cracked tan stucco didn’t exactly invite one to wander inside. The tall, vertical marquee vaguely shaped like an angel had long since lost the red neon lights of its namesake. Even the halo on top had been broken off at some point.

But even so, no homeless people seeking shelter inside? No drug dealers? No community of heroin addicts? At the very least a curious teenager or two should have ventured inside. But the building was as unvisited as the grave of a hated relative. Even the birds seemed to avoid it. Helo couldn’t blame them. There was something about it that said “Go away.” Maybe it was some sensibility he’d acquired from being Angel Born, but a dark weight sat on the Red Angel Theater, and he thought it had to be more than the edgy feeling abandoned buildings always seemed to inspire.

Allison June Parker had died in that building. It was where Ramis had awakened her and she had become Cassandra the Ash Angel, a woman forever haunted by the suicide of her sister and the betrayals of Goldbow. A woman who had become the angel Fleuramere and made him Angel Born.

“Sitrep,” Crane said through the earpiece. Crane liked sitreps too, but luckily not in the detail and quantity Argyle had demanded.

“All quiet,” Helo said. For all the foreboding, Helo itched to get inside, but Crane wanted to know the building and all activity around it as thoroughly as he reasonably could before urgency had its way. To Crane’s credit, he realized that this smelled like yet another trap set to destroy Ash Angels. But they were going in before dawn, and dawn was only an hour away.

“Fall back to the staging area,” Crane ordered.

Helo cranked the engine and drove off toward an equally abandoned office complex a half mile away. He drummed his fingers thoughtlessly on the steering wheel, body tense. It was hard to believe the theater was a trap. Could Avadan have predicted that Ramis would spill the clue he had and that they’d be able to figure it out? Doubtful. And as scary as the thought of another trap might be, what Helo feared more was busting inside and finding nothing but broken seats and an empty stage. After seventy hours of the most boring show on earth, it was rational to think there would be no Dreads, no Shedim, and no Aclima. But his gut said otherwise.

He turned the wheel over and shot into the back alley behind the low, one-story office complex. The sides and front of the offices were all dark brick, but the back wall was naked cinder block interrupted by heavy brown doors. About halfway down, he parked behind a sunshine-yellow dumpster that looked like it had been rolled down a rocky hill and then left to rust in the rain. A well-used Chevy suburban the color of sand and a new-ish Toyota Sequoia were parked on the other side, both team vehicles.

Helo crossed the alley. A cold breeze too weak to move the garbage strewn around the dumpster slipped through his hair. He yanked open the metal door and stepped inside. They had confined their operations to the back rooms of the office so as not to attract suspicion from anyone passing on the street. A contingent of eight Michaels had arrived over the last forty-eight hours, and they made way for him as he passed through the hall on his way to the conference room where Sicarius Nox and commander Crane had set up headquarters.

The door to the room was shut, but the argument was loud enough to get through.

“We drive through the front door,” Shujaa said, voice a rumble. “Surprise them. Burn them. All this sneaking around is a waste of time.”

“We don’t know what’s in there,” Faramir said. “If I could send a drone—”

“Not happening,” Crane piped in. “We can’t give them a hint we’re here.”

All this had been hashed out before. Helo opened the door, and the room went quiet. The electricity wasn’t on, so the room was lit with LED lanterns. The team lounged in chairs around the table, Sparks with his feet up. Their weapons and equipment ringed the room’s baseboards.

“If anyone wants my opinion,” Sparks said as Helo sat, “I say it’s not one or the other. We split. One team bounces in through the roof, does recon, and then if it’s good for an ambush, everyone else blows through the front door.”

“I agree,” Helo said. “We shouldn’t destroy the place and attract attention unless we have to. The advance team might have a chance to set the ambush up.”

Crane stood. “If anything’s in there at all.”

“Something’s in there,” Helo said. “I can feel it.”

Faramir rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing in there. We would have seen something by now. I hunted down the records on that place. It doesn’t seem to be one of Cain’s properties. It’s just creepy.”

“The Angel Born sees more clearly than you,” Shujaa said, rubbing at the 3:24 on his knuckles. “He has been chosen for this.”

Finny chuckled, and Sparks pulled his legs off the table. “How about we get this little game underway before Shujaa starts praying to Helo, here. What’s it going to be Crane? Smash and blast or sneak and peek first?”

“I want eyes on first,” Crane said. “We haven’t seen movement, but there might be normals or even Ash Angels in there. I want Helo and Sparks on the roof half an hour before dawn. Everyone else pack into the cars. Faramir, set up here for comms. We’ll take a drone in the field and launch it if it seems clear. Let’s load up.”

“About time,” Sparks said, slapping the table. “Been stuck in this hole too long. Sure hope I get a glimpse of this Dread girl of yours. I’ve seen the pics, but I’m sure she’s one a guy’s got to see in person.”

“Doubt she’s there,” Helo said as the rest of the group grabbed equipment.

“Is that something you can sense, O Mighty Angel Born?” Sparks said, grabbing a Kevlar vest.

“You should not disrespect the Angel Born,” Shujaa said.

Sparks stopped and folded his arms. “Really? What is it with you?”

Shujaa leveled a dead stare at Sparks. “You will see, faithless one.”

Helo shook his head. He was going to have to talk to Shujaa. It was nice that Shujaa supported him, but the Helo worship was getting a little awkward.

“Remember, gentlemen,” Crane said. “The goal is Dread destruction. There is no capture and interrogate on this op. You see a Dread, you burn him. Got it? No exceptions.”

Crane’s gaze seemed to linger on Helo for longer than anyone else while the rest of the team uttered a hearty “Yes, sir.”

Sparks patted Helo on the back, his gray eyes alight with a kind of malice. “No exceptions, Helo.”

Twenty minutes later, he and Sparks turned out of the alley in the Ford Escape, loaded with BBGs and BBSGs, Stingers, and bricks of C4. Getting pulled over by the cops was not an option, so Helo kept the speed modest and toed the line at the stop signs. The plan was to park in the back of the building so the vehicle wouldn’t be spotted from the street.

Sparks had a hungry look in his eye, but his posture was relaxed, like he was on the way to a rivalry game he knew his team would win. It didn’t seem like confidence or like he was cocky. He clearly enjoyed this stuff in a professional, barely-staying-inside-the-lines sort of way.

They turned into the parking lot, and Helo killed the headlights. The theater appeared all the more dead and foreboding in the dark, the early blush of oncoming dawn silhouetting it against the horizon. The rotting structure seemed to stare down at them, a tomb extending an invitation for a couple of fools to enter.

Helo could feel it now. The vague sensation he’d felt from across the street had matured into a full-fledged unease up close. The greasy torching effect of a Sheid was somewhere nearby.

“You feel it?” Sparks said, eyes tight.

“Yep. Call it in.”

“Looks like this trip will get hot after all,” Sparks said. “Crane, this is Sparks. There’s a Sheid in there for sure. No visual. Just the taint. We’ll be in there in two minutes. Bring the sanctified weapons, kids. I’ve got a sanctified knife and His Holiness, the Helo.”

Helo parked the car on the sidewalk at the rear of the theater, backing up into a weedy bed right next to the theater’s exterior wall. After killing the engine, he grabbed his gear and got out. The roof was a good thirty feet up. This was going to take some Virtus.

Sparks waved, flared his Strength, and bounded into the air, clearing the roof. Helo joined him a moment later, coming down on the roof with an audible crack. One of several exhaust vents still spun with a rusty squeak. Thirty feet away, a chained maintenance door waited.

“Approaching entry point,” Sparks said quietly into his comms unit as they approached the door, weapons up. The feel of the Sheid was weaker up here, back to the barely perceptible sensation he’d experienced during the stakeout.

Sparks pulled the rusty chain apart with his hands and turned the reluctant knob. “This door’s going to whine like Faramir.” And then he pushed. Helo had to catch it before it fell in, its rusted hinges giving out completely and noisily. He leaned it against the wall on the inside.

“So much for stealth,” Sparks said with a grin.

They risked a quick burst of illumination from gun-mounted tactical lights, finding nothing but an empty stairwell leading down into darkness. Sparks led the way, taking the steps slowly, feeling for each one. The air was dead and cool but somehow still stifling—the breath of a crypt just opened, a quiet reserved for churches at midnight.

The steps ended at a landing with a metal door that had a rectangular cut-out window. Sparks peered through it.

“Nothing,” he said. “This one’s going to scream too,” he said as he depressed the lever on the handle and pulled it open. And scream it did.

BBSG first, Helo snapped through the door and found himself face-to-face with a Dread who had his back pinned against the wall. He was about to blast him but held up. Something wasn’t right. Sparks came out directly after and froze, too.

The Dread, who had tats crawling up his neck, was dressed in dark slacks, a white shirt, and a red vest with the Red Angel Theater logo embroidered on it. His mouth was turned up in a customer-service smile, but his blank eyes took in nothing. Dust had settled on his shoulders.

“The hell?” Sparks said, waving his hand in front of the Dread’s eyes.

“Enjoy the show,” the Dread said, eyes unfocused, voice animated but devoid of warmth. “Concessions are in the lobby. No food or drink in the theater, please.”

Not wanting to raise an alarm with gunfire, Helo angel-fired his chest, the uniform collapsing onto a pile of dirt.

“I really want that Bestowal,” Sparks said. “It’s wasted on you. Control, one Dread down. No others in sight. We’re on the second-floor balcony.”

The balcony stretched away to their right, a wide-open space with dusty, broken tables and furniture. To their left yawned the opening of a wide stairwell leading downward.

Sparks took point, risking the tactical light to guide them down curved, red-carpeted stairs trimmed out with gold on the sides and edges of each step. Sparks held up his hand and then signaled for Helo to take a look. Helo craned his neck around and flicked on his light, finding a wide lobby with a ticket counter and concessions area, each occupied by two Dreads standing in the same dull stupor as the one they’d encountered by the upstairs door.

“Four reds,” Sparks reported to control.

“Say the word and we’ll breach the front door,” Crane said.

Helo shook his head, and Sparks nodded in agreement.

“Hold on that,” Sparks said. “This smells wrong. You’ve got to see this. Activating camera.”

Sparks activated his chest-mounted camera, and together they took the rest of the stairs into the lobby. Already Helo could sense the Sheid’s taint crawling up his back, distant yet present. They stepped over the stanchion rope leading up to the mahogany ticket counter. Two uniformed Dreads—these with bowties—had all the marks of ex-gangbangers. Helo kept his weapon on the two Dreads standing dumbly at concessions. Sparks approached the counter but then lowered his gun.

“This is mental,” he said, waving his hand in front of the Dreads’ eyes as he had with the one upstairs. “Makes no sense.”

“Avadan doesn’t,” Helo said. “I’ve seen Dreads controlled before, but not like this.”

“Welcome to the Red Angel Theater,” one of the Dreads intoned. “The cost for this evening’s show is twenty dollars per person.”

“Helo,” Sparks said. “I think I forgot my wallet. Can you get this one and I’ll pay you back?”

Helo crisped the Dread’s heart with Angel Fire. His companion at the counter didn’t even blink, even with Sparks’s light in his face.

The Dread extended his hand robotically toward the back. “The theater entrance is to your left and right. Enjoy the show.”

Helo turned him to dust with another blast.

Comms crackled. “Smells like a trap,” Crane said. “Your call, Sparks.”

“We’ll keep poking around,” Sparks said. “So far it’s been too easy. Helo, why don’t you go order some popcorn while I have a look at that door behind the counter?”

Helo nodded and jumped the stanchion rope, striding across the dusty carpet toward the remaining two Dreads. The dark concession stand had been stripped of all equipment, the Dreads’ red halos shining through the empty glass where rows of candy had once been displayed. These Dreads wore the same outfits as the others but without the bowties. Helo’s flesh crawled. This was weird, even by Avadan standards.

“Concessions may not be taken into the theater,” the female Dread said. “You may eat on the balcony just up those stairs. What can I get for you today?”

Helo dropped them both with quick blasts of Angel Fire. Sparks met him a few seconds later. “Just a dead security room back there. How ’bout we go see what’s showing in there?”

“Yeah, but not through the audience doors,” Helo said, shining his light around the lobby. “There’s an employee entrance by the door. It’s got to go backstage.”

“Oddly sensible for you,” Sparks said. “You know Shujaa’s going to be furious if he doesn’t get to drive a car through the doors.”

“Let’s go,” Helo said.

Sparks took point, and Helo followed him to the heavy wooden door with a sign that read “Red Angel Personnel Only.” The door was locked, but with a quick burst of Strength and a yank, it busted open, the clank of the breaking lock echoing throughout the place. If anyone was on watch at all, they had to know they’d been infiltrated. A hallway with offices stretched ahead and then turned right.

One by one they cleared the rooms, nothing but empty spaces with telephone wires and the occasional filing cabinet nobody had removed when the place had shut down. It was odd to think Ramis had been in this building at some point, coming to awaken Allison June Parker to become the Ash Angel Cassandra. This place had probably been one of Avadan’s lairs for years.

They turned right, and after a few feet found a door labeled “Actors Only.” The Sheid’s taint grew stronger the deeper they went into the theater. The quality was different than the wind-and-weather-slinging Sheid they’d faced at Deep 7. This wasn’t the Sheid everyone was starting to call Whirlwind.

“Can you feel it?” Sparks said.

“Haven’t stopped feeling it,” Helo said.

Sparks raised his eyebrows. “I lost it on the roof. One of those Angel Born things?”

“Probably,” Helo said. “We find the Sheid, we call in the cavalry.”

“Roger that,” Sparks said. He yanked on the door, and it opened obligingly but with the same whining protest as the rest of the doors in the place. Dressing room doors, some open, some closed, lined the left wall, empty racks and mannequins lying haphazardly around the room.

Someone was humming inside one of the dressing rooms. Sparks walked over, gun up, and pushed the door open. Helo came up behind. It was a female Dread, sitting in the darkness in front of a mirror with smashed-out light bulbs. Her dress was Egyptian, like Cleopatra’s. She absently hummed a song Helo didn’t recognize. She seemed as insensate as the rest of the Dreads.

For a horrifying moment, Helo thought it was Aclima. But it wasn’t. She had dark hair but was short and skinny.

Sparks looked at him. “Burn her before you fall in love with her.”

Helo raised a hand, but Crane came over comms. “Hallow her and interrogate. Finish her when you’re done.”

“Copy that,” Sparks said, eyes narrow, like he didn’t see the sense in it. “Helo, you Hallow. I’ll do the talking.”

Divine light spilled onto the floor, surrounding the Dread woman. She blinked and stood with a jerk, spinning, eyes wide.

“Careful there,” Sparks said.

“What . . . what do you want?” she said, seeming lost. Then she looked at her costume.

Sparks pushed her back to the wall, the barrel of his shotgun to her chest. “What in the bloody hell is going on in this place?”

“One of Avadan’s lairs,” she said. “He parks Dreads here until he needs them. And there’s a prison here. If you take me out of here, I’ll show you where it is.”

“Finish her and move on,” Crane said over comms.

“Wait!” she said, hands up. “There’s a trapdoor on the stage. There are . . . guards. I can help you get past them!”

“Sorry,” Helo said. He extinguished the hallow, and her face went slack. Then he shot Angel Fire through her heart, her costume falling to the ground.

“Time to enter stage right,” Sparks said, striding eagerly through the room. The Sheid’s taint strengthened, and Sparks shouldered his gun and pulled a sanctified bowie knife from the sheath at his belt.

“Go time, Helo,” he said. “You want to invite the rest of the boys in, or you think we can handle it?”

If Aclima was here, Helo did not want more Ash Angels crawling all over the place. “We got this.”

Chapter 11

The Show

Another slack-eyed Dread stood near the stage, headset on, a clipboard in his hand. A single red light shone down on center stage, and Helo wondered where its power came from.

“Break a leg,” the Dread said blankly as they approached.

Sparks pointed at him, and Helo fried his heart, the clipboard clattering noisily to the ground.

“Take a peek around and see what kind of audience we got,” Sparks said, motioning Helo forward.

It was odd for Sparks to give up the initiative, though it made sense. As a Blank, Helo was less noticeable to Dreads. And at some point a Dread would actually defend himself rather than just sit there and get massacred.

Helo crept up to the side of the dusty, dark curtains and angled his head so he could see into the auditorium. Dreads, probably fifty of them, sat clumped together in the first few center rows, all unmoving, eyes fixed on the empty stage. The Sheid’s taint was even stronger here. It was somewhere beneath them.

Helo backed away and relayed the information to Sparks. “We can’t leave them at our backs,” Helo said. “If Avadan figures out we’re here, all these guys will come at us. I say we find the trapdoor, then bring the rest of the team in quietly behind them.”

Sparks considered it. “I’d like to put some C4 in their laps.”

Crane came in over comms. “Helo, how many of those can you Angel Fire?”

“Not sure,” he said. “It’d probably drain me to do it.”

“Get started,” he said. “Fifty Dreads down is a major win. Sparks, you hunt for the trapdoor. Go now. It’s about fifteen minutes till dawn. I’m moving the other teams near the building. As quiet as you can, gentlemen. If that Sheid figures out you’re around . . .”

“Roger that,” Sparks said, then turned to Helo. “C4 would have been more fun.”

“Absolutely.”

Sparks led the way out, and as soon as they stepped onto the creaky, uneven stage, every Dread stood up and applauded like they were A-list celebrities. They snapped their guns at them, but the Dreads just kept doing it, the red light of the stage seeming to deepen their auras.

“So much for quiet,” Helo muttered.

“Why won’t they stop?” Sparks said.

Helo’s face pinched. This was madness. “What would an actor do?”

Sparks kept his gun up. “I don’t know? Wave? Bow?”

They tried it, and sure enough, the lot sat back down, hands on the armrests, and stared blankly at the stage again.

Helo jogged to the edge of the stage and jumped off while Sparks examined the stage floor. Dust danced in the red light. The tight grouping of the Dreads would make frying them easy. He strolled down the row, Angel Firing the Dreads, leaving dirt and clothes on every seat. Each seat bottom snapped back up as the weight changed, excepting a few broken ones.

After sixteen burned Dreads, the Sheid’s presence grew stronger.

“Sparks!”

“I know!” he said. “I think I found the trapdoor. Let me see if I can open the bloody thing.”

“Call it in,” Helo said. “It’s going to get hot in here.”

Helo fried a few more, keeping one eye over his shoulder. The Sheid’s taint kept growing beyond what most Shedim radiated. They were in trouble. While this wasn’t Whirlwind, it was definitely one of Avadan’s category-five Shedim.

He burned numbers twenty-four and twenty-five and checked on Sparks. Sparks was fighting the taint, his face a scowl of concentration as he wedged the bowie knife into a crack in the stage.

“Strength stomp it!” Helo yelled over his shoulder. The time for quiet was over. He picked up the pace, the Virtus draining from him with every blast. “Crane, get people in here.”

“Two minutes.”

“Really?”

Wham! Sparks slammed his boot down, and a crack tore through the air, followed by a crumbling sound.

“Got it!” Sparks yelled.

The ground heaved. Helo flailed, but standing wasn’t an option. Ceiling tiles rained down around him, slamming onto the stage, dust filtering through the beam of his tactical light. The trembling stopped.

“Helo!” Sparks yelled. Helo scrambled onto the stage, finding Sparks peering down the hole, face pinched. “It’s down there.”

A black, molten tentacle whipped out of the hole, and Sparks threw himself backward onto his butt to avoid having his head melted off. The ground shook again, and Helo fell to his knees. More ceiling tiles slammed down. A rack of stage lights banged onto the fragile wood, the echo booming through the theater.

Gasps and expressions of surprise erupted behind him.

“They’re awake!” Helo said.

Then the Sheid burst from the hole, sailing into the air, both its arms tentacles of smoky hellfire. Fittingly, it was morphed as William Shakespeare. Sheid ahead, Dreads behind. They were going to get massacred.

“Into the hole!” Helo yelled.

The Sheid landed heavily on the stage between the hole and Helo, the floor cracking. The Sheid’s desecration field blasted out from underneath it, its tentacles whipping at them. Sparks Strength jumped one tentacle. Helo Hallowed the ground and ducked as the other tentacle whooshed overhead. The Sheid Strength jumped away, high and to Helo’s left, just before the hallow overtook it. Dreads were piling out of their seats and clambering up onto the stage, torching blasts flaring around him, some of them powerful.

Sparks, wobbling like a drunk, jumped straight down into the hole, and Helo made for it with everything he was worth. But when the Sheid landed back behind the Dreads in the seats, the whole building shook again, and Helo buckled to the ground, then slid and tumbled headfirst into the open trapdoor.

The fall wasn’t far. He slammed on top of Sparks, the glow of the sanctified knife just a few feet away. Helo rolled off and hauled him up to find him dazed, eyes darting around. The torching Dreads had gotten to him. Helo had to give him credit. He was fighting it, but there was no time! Dread feet pounded on the floor above him. In moments they would flood down like a pack of fast zombies and tear them apart. Helo flashed his tactical light around. A low hallway stretched stage left and right, but another trapdoor hung open five feet away. The Sheid had to have come from there.

A Dread jumped down the hole, and Helo blasted its head off with his shotgun. He had to preserve his Virtus.

“Down you go,” Helo said. “Use Toughness.”

Sparks nodded numbly, and his aura flared. Helo dumped him down the trapdoor, turning just in time for the next Dread to send a red wave of torching energy toward him. He gunned him and the next one down. The Dreads didn’t appear to be armed, which was a mercy.

Without Toughness, a leap down a trapdoor into the unknown might get him busted up, but he found a smooth metallic ladder leading down. There was a light shining down there. It was about thirty feet to the bottom. He took the sides of the ladder and slid downward, but he had only gone a little over halfway when some kamikaze Dread—aura flared—fell on top of him, separating him from the ladder. They hit the dirt floor so hard Helo was surprised there wasn’t a crater. Helo Strength tossed him off. A shotgun blast tore through the air, hitting the Dread in the back and sending him to the ground facedown.

Since there wasn’t a hole the size of a softball in his back, Helo had to guess the Dread had Toughness. The Dread rolled over, eyes rabid, and Helo Angel Fired him.

Sparks extended his hand, eyes looking clearer. “Gotta go.”

Helo took the hand, and Sparks pulled him up. They stood in a roughly excavated room about ten-by-fifteen feet. A single fluorescent tube light buzzed above them. A hallway chiseled out of rock stretched away before them, more fluorescent lights spaced ungenerously on the ceiling, making for patches of dark and light. Dread boots clanked on the ladder rungs. No doubt the Sheid would follow.

Helo took point, and they hadn’t gone far when they encountered the first alcove in the wall. Jail-cell doors faced each other across the hall. On one side the cell was dark, on the other an Ash Angel stood, hands gripping the bars. His eyes widened. Helo didn’t recognize him, but they stopped.

The Ash Angel opened his mouth, but a monster of a torching blast unfocused his eyes, and he slumped down. Helo spun, finding Sparks fighting it off, staggering against the wall. A Dread now stood behind the bars of the other cell. Her aura flared, and she pulled at the bars, bending them outward, the metal complaining.

It was Aclima. But it wasn’t Aclima. Her dead eyes regarded him as nothing more than a bug to be squashed. She wore an old pioneer dress the color of a Nebraska morning, no doubt Avadan’s doing.

Sparks raised his gun at her, his aim unsteady. Helo pushed the gun aside, and a shotgun round chipped the wall.

“Cover that shaft, Sparks, or I’ll drop you right here,” Helo said.

Aclima stepped through the bars, and as she cleared them, Helo Hallowed the ground. A Dread dropped out of the shaft, then pinned himself against the wall where he couldn’t be seen. Then another. Sparks got off an ill-aimed shot that went wide. The Sheid’s taint strengthened. It was coming.

“Helo?” Aclima said. “How’d you find this place?”

“Long story,” he said, pulling her to him against the wall. The Dreads seemed content to wait, though. “We need some help, here.” He handed her the BBG at his hip.

“Are you crazy?” Sparks said, still unsteady.

“Cover the shaft!” Helo said.

“He is crazy,” Aclima said. “Are you two it? There are a lot of Dreads here.”

“Got most of them,” he said. “Ash Angels are coming. What’s down this hall?”

“More cells,” she said, “then a ladder up to an old apartment complex. More Dreads.”

A Dread dropped into the room and bolted for the cover of the far wall. Aclima fired just before Sparks and took the Dread in the face, dropping him. Sparks’s shot went wide again.

“We’ve got to burn her,” Sparks said, rubbing his eyes.

Helo kept a wary eye on Sparks’s gun. “No.”

“You can’t Hallow her forever,” Sparks said. “And that Sheid’s going to eat us alive in this hallway.”

Helo gritted his teeth. He was going to lose her. Sparks was right. He didn’t have enough Virtus to Hallow her for even a few minutes. Once his hallow ended, she would fight them tooth and nail and force them to put her down. If he crippled her so she couldn’t fight them, the Ash Angels would get her. If he got her heart, he would have to get away from the Ash Angels before they took it from him and burned it. And even then, he couldn’t Hallow her all day and night. He’d have to find a way to imprison her.

Another Dread dropped out of the shaft only to have Aclima take its head off and Sparks blow a hole through its middle. She was a good shot.

“I could do this all day,” Sparks said.

“Helo,” Aclima said, face sad, “you’ve got to let the Ash Angels have me. I’d rather die and go to hell than do Avadan’s bidding.”

“No.”

An idea sprang into Helo’s mind. The Ash Angels would hate him for it, but it was the only way he could save her. And if he wasn’t careful, he would kill her. He had to hurry before his Virtus was completely gone.

“That Sheid’s almost here,” Sparks said, pulling out his sanctified blade. “Those Dreads are going to wait till it gets down here and then rush us.”

“Yep,” Helo said, pulling a brick of C4 from his cargo pants. It wasn’t a big one, but he hoped it would do the trick.

“That’s the spirit,” Sparks said.

Helo didn’t know what Sparks thought he would do with the brick, but he armed it and smashed it into the ceiling above him. With the last of his Virtus, he flared his Strength, grabbed Aclima by the dress, and flung her down the hallway. Head over heels she tumbled, skidding a good thirty feet on the uneven floor.

Sparks spun, face twisted. “What are you—”

“Toughness,” Helo said. “Now.”

Sparks’s aura brightened. Helo grabbed him by the shoulder and shove-walked him forward toward the room with the shaft and the waiting Dreads. Just before pressing the detonator, he spun Sparks around to use him as a shield. Boom! The force blew them forward like a cannon shot. They sailed into the room riding on a wave of fire, then skidded across the floor. The fluorescent light flickered and died, the entire structure rumbling and shuddering as rock pounded down and sealed the hallway behind them, Aclima safely on the other side. The guns on their tactical lights cast noisy cones of dusty light. Helo got to his hands and knees.

The Sheid landed off to their right. Virtus gone, there was no Hallowing anything. There was no Angel Fire left. The sanctified dagger in Sparks’s hand was no longer sanctified, its blade dented. Sparks had come to a crouch, but the Sheid let loose a powerful torch before desecrating the ground.

A Dread with Speed rushed them. Helo squeezed off a shot, but the Dread slammed into him. The gun went flying, its light spinning wildly. Helo’s back hit the wall, the Dread’s shoulder plowing into his stomach. Helo drove the Dread’s head down, hooked his arm under the Dread’s armpit, and brought his knee into the Dread’s face, over and over.

The other Dread went for Sparks, who fell backward and somehow had the presence of mind to blast a hole in the Dread’s center mass. Twice. Sparks was tough.

The Sheid’s arms turned into tentacles of blistering, black-and-orange fire. Helo spun the Dread he’d grappled around and put his forearm around his throat, keeping the Dread between him and the Sheid. Sparks was trying to get his feet underneath him.

The Sheid, now morphed to look like President Lincoln, turned its void gaze on Helo. There was nowhere to hide. With the ground Desecrated, Sparks couldn’t use any Bestowals. Helo didn’t even know what he could do. A tentacle flashed. Helo tried to lean out of the way, but the burning whip lopped off the arm he was choking the Dread with. It took off the Dread’s arm, too.

With a sideways swipe, the Sheid sliced Helo and the Dread in half at the waist, both collapsing to the ground. Helo shoved the Dread off with his one remaining arm, craning around to find Sparks leaning against the wall, still a little woozy from the torch, the desecration letting him feel all the bruises from the explosion.

Raising a tentacle, the Sheid turned on Helo.

“Down there,” a voice said from above them. Shujaa. A flash of light shone down the shaft, and the Sheid spun around. Then all two-hundred and fifty pounds of Shujaa, aura flared, dropped out of the shaft and hit the ground directly in front of the Sheid. He didn’t even get off a shot before the Sheid cut him in half, both arms slashed at the elbows. Shujaa groaned in agony as the desecration brought his wounds to life.

The Sheid stood beneath the shaft, sending its tentacles up it. Crane fell awkwardly down, one of his legs first, then the rest of him. The cracking of his bones made Helo’s skin crawl. Crane’s screams joined Shujaa’s. Shots rained down the shaft, doing little to disrupt the Sheid’s slashing arms. The ground shook, more rock from the ceiling raining down.

Sparks crawled across the room over the Dreads’ fallen bodies. For a minute, Helo thought he was going for Shujaa’s discarded weapon, but instead he grabbed Helo’s lopped-off arm. Clenching his jaw, face an angry scowl, Sparks rose and swung the arm at the Sheid’s back like a baseball player trying to knock a ball out of the stadium and into the parking lot.

The Sheid exploded into a cloud of Vexus, Helo’s arm absorbing it. The desecration disappeared. The screaming stopped.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Sparks said, then tossed the arm aside.

“I told you,” an armless and legless Shujaa said. “He is the weapon.”

Sparks grunted. “He also let Aclima go, but we can still get her. There’s a Dread hideout at the other end of that collapsed tunnel. More Dreads to kill.”

“Leave her alone,” Helo said, trying to get himself propped against a wall.

Crane sat up. “This is Crane. Have Faramir get a drone up to look for a bunch of reds leaving nearby buildings.”

“Where’s Finny?” Sparks said.

“Up here!” came the reply from up the shaft.

“Missed all the fun, Finny,” Sparks said. “As usual.”

Then Rapture.

It wasn’t as strong as he was used to, his mind and body a mess, but it was nice to have his legs and arm back. In the momentary bliss, he prayed for Aclima’s escape. If she got away, he could ditch the Ash Angels and go after her before the trail got too cold.

“Sparks,” Crane said, “grab a gun and keep Helo down here. Kneecap him if you have to. Shujaa, let’s get topside and find the other half of this Dread hideout. Leave the Stingers so they can burn these Dreads.”

“I want to fight, sir,” Sparks said, “not babysit.”

“Stay here,” Crane said. “The rest of us would like to get more than just a participation trophy in this rodeo.”

Sparks glared at Helo. “Yes, sir.”

Crane and Shujaa ascended the ladder, the clanking of their boots against the metal rungs fading above them. Sparks kept his shotgun trained at Helo’s head. Helo eyed his own shotgun on the floor a few feet away, sturdy tactical light illuminating the face of a grimacing Dread. There was no way he could get it before Sparks took his head off.

“I’ll say one thing for your Dread girl,” Sparks said. “She can shoot. Fashion sense is a bit dated.”

“She can be saved.”

“I don’t care,” Sparks said. “She wants to die. I want to kill her. Sounds like it’s meant to be. I haven’t taken down a Loremaster yet. Anyway, grab these Stingers and burn these guys.”

Shujaa had left two. Helo got two from his pack. Four was all he needed. The Dreads who still had a voice begged for their lives. Helo burned the first and eyed the shaft. Sparks had Speed to go with his Toughness and who knew what other Bestowals. Reasoning with him was pointless.

“So what’s your Dread-kill count?” Sparks said conversationally.

“I don’t know,” Helo said.

“I’m at forty-three and six Shedim—well, seven now. I don’t think you should get credit for all those Dreads up there. That was even easier than this one time I burned this Dread in an alley who was faking a piss for some reason.”

Some rocks tumbled down the collapsed hallway followed by a weak “Help!”

Helo had forgotten about the Ash Angel in the cell. The collapse had almost completely covered the bars.

Sparks waved his gun. “Go help him.”

“One sec.” Helo burned the last Dread, the one without a head, and nothing but piles of clothes and dirt littered the floor. He grabbed his shotgun.

“Put it down,” Sparks said, leaning forward.

“I need the light,” Helo said.

“I’ve got light duty,” Sparks said, eyes narrow. “Drop it.”

Helo set the weapon down, and Sparks shined his tactical light at the collapsed ceiling and the Ash Angel’s hand sticking out. The man was morphed to his twenties, with light-brown hair and big doe eyes.

To free the man, Helo pulled the rubble away, the explosion having already unhinged the bars. The dusty, dazed Ash Angel stepped out. Avadan had dressed him in an old-style, long-sleeved, gray-and-blue prison uniform made from denim. His number was 92991.

“Am I free?” he said. “Is Avadan dead?”

Helo led him toward the shaft. “You’re out. What’s your name?”

“Grail,” he said, looking around like he expected Avadan to materialize at any minute. “There’s more in those cells back there. He’s got Dreads. He’s got Ash Angels. People. Possessed. He’s insane.”

“Yeah,” Helo said. “I know. You AAO?”

“Old Master,” Grail answered.

Sparks stepped forward. “When’s the last time you saw Avadan?”

“Two days ago,” Grail said. “He’s not dead?”

“Not that we know of,” Helo said.

Grail shuddered and folded his arms. “I want out. I want out of here right now.” He walked toward the shaft and grabbed the ladder.

Sparks grabbed his arm. “Not yet, my friend. Still cleaning up reds out there. The commander will want to talk to you.”

“I can’t stay down here,” the man whined, tears coming to his eyes. “You don’t know what he did. What he did to all of us. I’ve got to get out.”

He started up the ladder, but Sparks pulled him back down. “No. Wait here.”

Sparks was close. His knee was right there. His concentration on the agitated Grail. It was the best chance Helo had. If worse came to worst, he’d be a prisoner of the Ash Angel Organization, and he already was.

Helo flared his Strength and kicked Sparks’s knee. With a satisfying crunch, it snapped backward. Sparks went to a knee, and Helo yanked his gun away before he could recover. After a quick step back, Helo reversed the shotgun and blasted Sparks into the White Room before he could report over comms.

Grail had shrunk against the wall.

Helo pulled him around. “You want to get out of here?”

Chapter 12

Legion

Grail handed Helo a cup of coffee and slid into the booth of the Saint Louis gas station’s convenience store. It was Thanksgiving morning, and the place brimmed with travelers on their way to see family and friends for the holidays. It had been so long since Helo had “acted normal” for more than a few hours a day it was hard to get the Gabriel habits back. Blink. Breathe. Shiver when cold. Sweat when hot. Swear if you stubbed your toe.

To ease his escape from the Ash Angels, he had morphed to an old man, which required hunching, walking without a soldier’s vigor, and letting people do things for him. Grail, an Old Master, had aged himself about the same—just a couple old guys out and about—but Helo feared Grail’s aura would put the Ash Angel Organization on their scent. He had no idea if the AAO was even looking for them, but he was sure Sparks wasn’t going to take getting his head blown off gracefully.

Grail’s Old Master contacts had scrounged up clothes, money, phones, and fake identifications. They would part ways today. Grail was off to Philadelphia to rejoin an apprentice he had been training before Avadan’s Dread goons had captured Grail and sent him to the Red Angel Theater a year ago. Helo wasn’t giving up on finding Aclima. The Old Master who had provisioned them had been informed through the network that a large contingent of Dreads had shown up in Denver, so to Denver it was. Avadan probably had another house of horrors somewhere in the Mile High City.

A mobile phone slipped from a teenage girl’s hands and cracked loudly on the floor. Grail flinched and looked over his shoulder before turning back to his coffee. Helo took a sip of his own. He hadn’t had the courage to ask Grail what Avadan had done to him down in that tunnel, but whatever it was, Rapture wasn’t enough to erase it completely.

“Look,” Grail said after a few moments, “I’ve put the word out to our contacts to look for this Dread Loremaster of yours, but I can’t promise you anything. I doubt she’d travel in the open, especially if she’s being, you know, controlled or what have you. I’ll contact you if I hear anything. Thanks for getting me out.”

Helo nodded. Escape from the Red Angel Theater had been easier than he had hoped, with Crane and company completely distracted hunting down the fleeing Dreads in a building a block over. He and Grail had slipped into Chicago unnoticed and found an Old Master before lunch. As always seemed to be the case, the Old Masters were more than happy to help someone ditch the AAO.

A car honked outside. It was a gray minivan packed with kids and one impatient husband trying to encourage someone inside the store to hurry up. The air was cold enough that exhaust steamed out of tailpipes, but the sun was up and promising unusually decent weather for late November.

Helo smiled an old man’s wistful smile, and not a fake one. These little reminders of real life filled him with an odd longing from time to time. There were Ash Angels who tried to live their afterlives in the same way they’d lived their mortal ones, taking the opportunity as a second chance to experience the world without fear of death, disease, or accident. It sounded like a nice idea sometimes, boring and naive at others.

Helo turned back to his coffee. He’d lifted his cup halfway to his lips when a blinding white light wiped out his vision, body trembling. It was a vision. Another one. This was his third in almost as many days. And like the one before it, this one was like standing behind someone saying a prayer. It was a young woman this time, huddled in the corner of her bed in her underwear, hands bound with duct tape. A smudge of mascara darkened eyes that were squeezed shut, and her greasy blonde hair framed a gagged mouth that barely moved as dry lips whispered the silent supplication, but the words were as plain as someone yelling right into his mind: please, please, please.

He came to, the beard on the left side of his face soaking up the coffee from his downed cup. As with his previous visions, he knew instinctively where to go.

“He’s all right,” Grail said to an employee with a startled face, trying to keep his tone light. “Probably forgot his meds. I’ll get him back home.”

After the fog of the vision cleared, Helo raised his head, finding a line of concerned faces pointed his way. Coffee dripped off his face, and he reddened it where he should have been burned.

“Got some napkins?” Grail asked. The employee nodded.

A few minutes later he was cleaned up and walking out the door with Grail.

“What is it this time?” Grail asked, following him to the street corner.

“A young woman,” he said. “This way. Six houses down.”

“Well, slow down,” Grail said. “No one’s going to believe an old man can move like that.”

Helo didn’t care. Like anyone was going to pay attention anyway. The old homes along the street appeared to be what was left of some neighborhood slowly being swallowed by newer businesses popping up all around them. The house he sought had dingy white panels and a yard someone cared about, with cropped grass and a flower bed gone brown with the season. The carport was empty, blue drapes drawn.

Grail breathed out and looked nervously behind him. “Should I, you know . . .”

“No,” Helo said. Grail still wasn’t ready for action. “Stay out here. Once the yelling stops, call the cops.”

“Okay,” he said, face relaxing.

Helo turned away and marched up a front walk bordered with decorative bricks. It looked like recent work. A cheery light-blue door waited up two concrete steps. While not very subtle, he called on his Strength and kicked the door down in a very ungeriatric fashion.

And there was what he had come to expect. Three Ghostpackers sitting at a table drinking beer at nine in the morning, all dingy, greasy messes.

“Hey!” one said, face stunned.

They scrambled, seats toppling backward. Helo didn’t give them time to collect themselves or hurl any threats. They must have had the smarts to realize he was an Ash Angel, because the red eyes of the first one flared to torch him. A quick left hook to the jaw sent him down in a heap.

The other two closed in on him at the same time, the one behind him stabbing him ineffectually in the back. The other grabbed Helo’s coat. He paid for it with a headbutt to the face that would leave him with reminders about the encounter for weeks. Helo turned on the last one, who sneered and stabbed him again. Helo sneered back. After a quick shin to the Ghostpacker’s groin and a few knees to his face, he was done.

He guessed this was Legion’s work. Once Grail checked them, he’d know for sure. The last vision had led them to an entire family imprisoned in their home by a group of five Possessed. Helo had rolled over the lot of them like a freight truck. It felt good, felt real. The first vision after the Red Angel had led them to a teenage girl changing a tire. While they helped her with it, a car with two Dreads had driven by.

“Help,” came a weak cry from down the hall.

Helo jogged down to the last room on the left, finding the door lock had been reversed. He went in, the woman he had seen in vision duct-taped to the bed. Relief flooded her face, sobs wracking her body. Helo covered her in a blanket, ripped the duct tape from her hands, and removed the gag. He took her in his arms and let Inspiration flow.

“It will be okay,” he said, feeling her body relax. “Your prayer was heard. You will be safe now.”

He held her, trying to stay calm for her sake, but his anger was starting to boil. After Legion had gotten free from the Pit, he really hadn’t given it much thought. His mind had been fixed on Aclima, and he hadn’t even considered what a disaster Legion might become. Perhaps nobody understood. Even worse, his brief encounters might have been a simple beginning compared to what Avadan had planned.

Grail poked his head in and nodded. Helo nodded back. It was Legion. Grail could Exorcise, but he couldn’t Exorcise any of the evil spirits confederated with Legion. To remove an evil spirit from its victim required finding its true name, and every evil spirit belonging to Legion truthfully claimed Legion as his name. But it wasn’t the true name. Grail had no clue what to do, and neither did Helo. But if he couldn’t Exorcise the hell out of Ghostpackers, he’d settle for beating the hell out of them.

“Why don’t you get going,” Helo said. “I’ll stay here and handle the police. Thanks for everything.”

Grail nodded. “Keep close to the phone. I’ll update you if I find anything. Thank you for getting me out of that hole.”

Grail left. The Inspiration was doing its work, the young woman’s sobs settling into a tearful calm. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked in his best grandpa voice.

“Lisa,” she said.

“How long did they have you in here?”

“Since yesterday after work,” she said.

“This your house?”

“Yeah,” she said.

A chair scooted in the kitchen. He hadn’t hit one hard enough.

“Excuse me,” Helo said. “I’ll be right back.”

He strode back to the kitchen. Sure enough, two of the Ghostpackers were struggling to their feet. A few groin kicks and ankle stomps later, he figured they wouldn’t be going anywhere and returned to comfort the young woman until the police arrived.

He answered their questions, claiming to have heard her call for help while strolling by outside. The cops had a hard time believing his claims about adrenaline and being an expert at Krav Maga. Kicking a door off its hinges and destroying three men in their prime had demonstrated a lack of subtlety Archus Ramis and Cassandra would have chided him for, and they would have been right. He could have at least added some bruises to his knuckles or something. But without any other plausible explanation, the cops just shook their heads and accepted it. They wanted to cart him off to the hospital, but he stonewalled them.

The detective taking his statement handed him her card. “Remind me not to mess with your grandkids,” she said. “And if you remember anything else, give us a call.”

Helo escaped before any reporters showed up, wishing the young woman well as they loaded her into an ambulance. Once he got a couple blocks down, he resumed his old-man walk. It was time to find a bus station and make his way to Denver.

Chapter 13

Wanderer

Helo lay on his back on the sidewalk in front of the Maverick gas station in Castle Rock, the snow falling down on top of him. He’d been in Denver for almost three weeks hunting for any sign of Aclima, Dreads, or Avadan. Nothing. The longer he went without any sign of her, the stupider he felt. Was he really as deluded as everyone in the Ash Angels thought he was?

The visions kept coming, leading him to increasingly violent encounters with Legion’s army of Possessed, in every case a kidnapping. The last one got him shot twice after interrupting a carjacking by two nasty Ghostpackers. The news had finally picked up on the fact that people were disappearing at an alarming rate all over the United States. The police were catching some, but they couldn’t see any plausible connection between all the disappearances. If they only knew. Avadan was bold, and whatever he was going to do wouldn’t be pretty.

Helo picked himself up off the concrete where the vision had dropped him. A weird vision. No captives. No Ghostpackers, Shedim, or Dreads. It was a task.

Shovel snow on Johnson Drive.

It was something different, and it was something to do now that his search for Aclima had turned as cold as the cement he had just visited. He swatted the snow off his jacket as the door to the Maverick gas station swung open, a gangly twenty-something in a black sweater leaning out.

“You okay, bro?” he said. “You totally ate it.”

“I’m good,” Helo said. “Hey, do you know where Johnson Drive is?”

“No, but I can find it,” he said. “Come in. You sure you’re okay? You look a little buzzed, know what I’m saying? It’s legal, dude. Not judging or anything.”

“Just slipped,” Helo said as he walked inside, rubbing his hands together to fake warm them. At a chilly two in the morning, the interior seemed like noonday on the Las Vegas Strip—lights, ads, and video screens everywhere. He’d morphed back into a younger version of himself; acting old got tiring. For a disguise, he settled on a goatee and buzzed hair.

The clerk tapped on his phone a few times. “Yeah, that’s up by the rock. Check it out. That where you’re headed?”

“Yep,” Helo said, examining the route. Pretty straightforward. “Got it. Thanks.”

“Well, be careful out there,” the clerk said, settling in behind the register. “You got all-wheel drive? It’s snowed like eight inches today. Roads are total slush and slide.”

“I’ll walk it.”

“What?” The clerk chuckled. “Dude, it’s like five miles in the dark. You don’t have a car?”

“No,” Helo answered. “Hitched my way here.”

“Well, hold up a minute. My shift’s done. Just waiting for Marty to show up. I’ll take you over, no problem. I don’t live far from there. I’m Brett, by the way.”

Brett’s Ford F-150 with a lift kit was definitely better than walking, the roads an unholy mess the plows had just started to clear. They wound up on a four-lane road heading up a hill, Castle Rock a lump somewhere to his right. The snow had trickled down to a flurry, flakes zipping through the headlight beams, but the unplowed roads in the neighborhood of Johnson Drive taxed even Brett’s muscular ride.

“What’s the address?” Brett asked.

“Right here,” Helo said as they turned right onto the road. There it was, the house with the partially cleared driveway and the abandoned shovel sticking out of one of the snowbanks. The home was green with brick trim, garage jutting out front, basketball hoop hanging underneath the gable. All the lights were off except for a string of Christmas lights along the roof still beaming into the night.

“Thanks, Brett,” Helo said after cracking the door. “Take care.”

“You too, bro.”

Helo shut the door, and the truck fishtailed into the slushy snow as it pulled away. On the sidewalk, the snow was up to the top of his boots. He tromped to the shadowy driveway and yanked the orange snow shovel out of the low bank. Someone had shoveled a quarter of the driveway when the snow had been about half as deep as it was now.

The vision said to clear the snow. Didn’t seem like there was much purpose to it, but he got busy. It was the wet kind of snow, heavy and clumpy, perfect for building snowmen. He cleared the driveway—which was all the vision had showed him—then just kept going. It was an old neighborhood, and bumps in the concrete sometimes jarred the shovel. But as an Ash Angel, the work, while repetitive, wasn’t exhausting. He cleared sidewalks. He cleared driveways. He cleared porches. He swiped snow from windshields and car hoods. Dogs yammered at him from inside a few homes, but either no one came to investigate, or, if they did, they were happy with what they saw.

It wasn’t until he’d almost cleared one side of the entire street that a cop pulled up to the curb and dropped his window. He was an older black man, graying along his temples.

“You do all these houses?” he said.

Helo looked back up the street at his handiwork. “Yep.”

“Damn!” the cop said. “You’re a machine! Had someone call about a suspicious man in the neighborhood. You see anyone . . . well, besides you suspiciously shoveling snow at four thirty in the morning?”

“Just me,” Helo answered. “I’m probably who they saw. Dogs barked at me at a couple of places.”

The cop nodded. “Couldn’t sleep? Missus kick you out?”

“Just paying it forward, you know?” Helo explained.

“Well, you got some good karma coming your way, that’s for sure. What’s your name?”

“Jason.”

“Well, Jason,” the cop said, “you feel like you need a little more to do, come on down to my neighborhood. Nobody shovels nothing over there.”

Helo leaned on the shovel and smiled. “Will do.”

“Okay, God bless!”

The cop car pulled away, struggling through the slush, and Helo got back to work. He had just scooped the last bit off the last driveway on the side he’d been clearing when a snowplow rumbled by and pitched up a nice mountain of snow in front of everyone’s driveway. He hated that. Always had. If they could make cell phones that could contact satellites in space, couldn’t they invent snowplow technology that didn’t trap everyone in their driveway?

Well, it was something to do.

He got to work, heading back up the way he came down. Push. Scoop. Throw. It was so packed and heavy in spots he actually had to employ his Strength Bestowal to shove it back. The poor shovel was sturdy but taking a beating. The bottom of the plastic blade had ground down at least a quarter of an inch by the time he returned to the house where he had started. Once he finished clearing the snowplow’s mess, he would find a way to leave the family some money to replace the shovel.

The morning had broken, lights flicking on and steam puffing from roof vents. He enjoyed the embrace of Rapture again. He reminded himself to get back into the meditation. His daily habit had slipped during all his wandering.

The dull gray sky offered up no more flakes. He didn’t feel the cold, but the temperature seemed to have dropped, the slushy snow starting to ice over a little. He jammed the shovel into the mound. Scoop and throw. Scoop and throw. Scoop and throw. Almost done.

The front door opened. From the far side of the driveway, he couldn’t see the people the voices belonged to at first.

“I left it out here last night,” a boy’s voice said.

“Did you do all this already?” a woman’s voice asked.

“I don’t think so,” the boy answered.

They rounded the corner, and Helo looked up. A woman in her late twenties with long brown hair and a pink knit stocking hat stopped dead in her tracks. The boy, eight or so years old, stood beside her in a blue stocking hat and puffy blue coat that doubled his size. The boy was staring but not at the driveway. At him.

“Oh!” the woman exclaimed. “You do all this?”

Helo nodded. “Yeah. Borrowed your shovel. Hope that’s okay.”

“Sure, sure,” she said. “Um, thanks so much! My husband’s got to go to work soon, and this is a total lifesaver, Mr. Umm . . .”

“Jason,” he said. “Sorry. I know this is a little weird. Just thought I’d help a few folks out. I’ll finish up and lean the shovel by the garage door, okay?”

“Yeah, um, sure,” the woman said, looking away and then down at her son.

The boy reached out and touched her arm. “Don’t worry, Mom. He’s an angel.”

Helo grinned, but there was awe in the boy’s face, reverence in his tone. Had he sensed something?

“He certainly is this morning,” she said. “Well, thanks, Jason!”

“No problem.”

She turned to go, steering the boy back toward the door.

“But, Mom,” he said. “He’s an angel! We should feed him breakfast. It’s good luck to have an angel in your house. We’ve got to!”

“Now, Jeremy . . .”

Helo chuckled softly to himself and made quick work of the rest of the drift. He walked the shovel back to the garage and leaned it against the side. How much would a new shovel cost? He pulled a twenty out of his wallet—about the last he had—and trapped it against the wall with the shovel handle, hoping it was enough and wouldn’t blow away if a breeze kicked up. The front door opened, and a few moments later the woman stepped around the corner, coat gone and arms folded across her chest.

“Excuse me, Jason,” she said. “My son is demanding you come have some breakfast. Is that all right?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” he said.

She sighed, finally looking him in the eye. “Well, I think Jeremy will be the trouble if you don’t eat a couple pancakes. I’m Lacey, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Lacey.”

“Well, come on in. House is a bit of a mess, so . . .”

He followed her down the walk and into the house. A small landing littered with shoes left little room to stand. She kicked some aside.

“I’ll take your coat,” she said. “Just leave your boots . . . around here . . . somewhere.”

He shed the coat. He wore a formfitting T-shirt the Old Masters had given him. He reminded himself to start breathing as she took the jacket. “So, looks like you’re in good shape.” She blushed. “Um, my husband’s name is Torey. You can meet him when he comes down. Kitchen’s down the hall.”

“Thanks a bunch,” he said. “This is really nice of you.”

She took the coat into a separate room, an office, and walked past a Christmas tree and toward the kitchen while he worked his boots off. The smell of syrup and bacon led him down the hall to the kitchen where Lacey had just poured some batter on a hot griddle. Syrup steamed in a pot nearby, and, most importantly, the bacon awaited on a platter with a napkin soaking up the grease.

“Dining room’s through that door,” she said. “I’ll bring you a plate in a minute.”

Helo crossed the white linoleum floor to find the small carpeted dining room where Jeremy sat wolfing down a stack of three pancakes. Some balloons hung from a chandelier, and a Happy Birthday banner spanned the window.

“Hey!” Jeremy said through a muffled mouthful.

“Hey,” Helo answered, taking a seat at the head of the table. “Your birthday?”

“Nope. It’s Mom’s. She’s turning twenty—”

“No, no, no!” Lacey said loudly from the kitchen. “Too much information for our guest, Jeremy”

Jeremy glanced at the kitchen and leaned forward and whispered. “She’s turning twenty-nine.”

“I heard that!” Lacey said.

“It’s no big deal, Mom!”

“It is to me, dear!”

Helo smiled and leaned back, chair creaking. “You got school today?”

“Canceled,” Jeremy said, doing a little dance in his seat.

A chunk of syrupy pancake dropped from his fork onto the floor. He grabbed it, but Helo could tell the carpet had been no stranger to milk, soda, and spaghetti sauce. Who put carpet in dining rooms, anyway?

“So what do angels do all day?” Jeremy asked. “Good deeds and stuff?”

“Mostly,” Helo said.

“Don’t encourage him,” Lacey said, coming in from the kitchen and plopping a plate with three pancakes and three slices of bacon in front of him. “He says he sees angels all the time. I’ll get you some milk.”

“She doesn’t believe me,” Jeremy whispered. “I think she’s going to end up in H-E-L-L.”

“I heard that!”

A man entered the dining room from the other side and pulled up short. He wore tan khakis, a blue shirt, and a red tie. He was skinny and tall, with a veritable dome of black hair and a pair of glasses. This had to be Torey, Lacey’s husband.

“Hi,” Helo said.

“Hi,” he replied. “Um, Lacey! Who’s the jacked-up guy eating my breakfast?”

“I’m Jason,” Helo said.

“That’s Jason,” Lacey confirmed.

“Yeah,” Jeremy jumped in. “He shoveled our driveway, and he’s an angel.”

Torey pinched his eyes under his glasses. “Jeremy, this has got to stop! People are going to think you’re crazy, son!”

“It’s true!” Jeremy protested, tone flirting with sass. “He’ll prove it. He knows where Aunt Daley is.”

The name rang a bell. Helo put a piece of bacon in his mouth and chewed it. Where had he heard that name before?

“Jeremy,” Lacey said, coming into the dining room with the glass of milk. She set it down by Helo’s plate. “She’s been gone over a year now. She’s probably dead. I’ve had to move on, okay. We all do.”

“But—”

“But nothing, mister,” Torey said.

Then Helo remembered. “Daley Pickering?”

Lacey and Torey stopped and stared at him. Jeremy put on his “I told you so” face. It was Daley Pickering. The boy had some explaining to do.

“How . . . ?” Lacey said.

“She was at a women’s shelter in Bozeman, Montana,” he explained. “It was a month or so ago. She was going into rehab and said she was going to call her sister on her birthday.” The phone rang. He couldn’t say how, but he knew. “That’s her.”

Lacey’s face scrunched in disbelief. Another ring. She and Torey raced into the kitchen. Helo shoved a thick chunk of pancakes into his mouth, Jeremy following suit. Lacey picked up, and for the first minute there was more crying than talking.

“How’d you know I’d know that?” Helo asked. Jeremy was clearly an Attuned, a strong one.

“The other angel said you would know, the one I saw in my dream.”

Helo nodded. “What’d the angel say?”

“She said you would know,” he answered. “Oh! And she said, ‘Tell Jarhead it’s time to open his long-closed eyes and turn his gaze to the blue, blue sky—whatever that means. That was it.”

Cassandra quoting Tela’s lyrics from “Never Low.” “So it was a female angel with long blonde hair.”

“Yep,” Jeremy said. “She was pretty. Is she one of your angel friends?”

“Yeah,” Helo said.

Jeremy nodded, and they both plowed into their food again, the happy conversation ringing into the dining room in fits and starts.

He couldn’t settle his mind. Cassandra was pushing his buttons, hinting that he should perform the Awakening ritual on Tela. He didn’t want to do it. People acted like being an Ash Angel was a gift, and maybe it had been at some point in the past. But right now, with Avadan out there, awakening someone was little more than drafting them for a war they might not want to fight.

It wouldn’t be fair to Tela. She was a singer, a sweet girl who’d probably never held a gun or said a mean word to anyone in her life. Just the thought of her in one of Avadan’s prisons or getting torched sickened him. Why in the world would Cassandra or any other kind, celestial being risk exposing someone as innocent as Tela to the threat of Dreads and Shedim?

“Who are you going to help next?” Jeremy asked.

He shoved the last piece of bacon into his mouth. “Don’t know.”

He had to get moving. Torey turned the corner, eyes full of wonder.

“How? How did you know?” Torey asked.

“He’s an angel, Dad. Duh!” Jeremy answered. “Told you so.”

Helo stood. “Tell your wife happy birthday for me. Take care, Jeremy.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Torey said, following him through the kitchen. “Did Daley set you up to this?”

Why couldn’t people just enjoy a good thing? He smiled and worked at getting his boots back on.

“Who’d you say you were again?” Torey asked.

“Jason,” Helo answered. “Look, I’ve got to get going. Can you grab my coat out of the office?”

Torey left and returned just as Helo tied the last lace. Lacey’s happy conversation with Daley still chirped in the background. Torey scratched his head.

“Sure you can’t stay around until Lacey’s done?” Torey asked.

Helo patted him on the back. “Nope. Gotta get moving. Thanks again for breakfast. And listen to Jeremy. He’s a special kid.”

He left the house and walked down the street whose driveways he’d cleared, feeling Torey’s eyes on his back until he’d angled far enough away from the window. Tela’s song kept ringing through his mind.

Falling with my wings on fire

Falling like someone

Clipped a wire

Used to soar so high, you know

Above the clouds

Never low

She’d written that song for him, a song inspired by the darkest moments of Cain’s thorough and cruel revenge upon him. While the horror and sadness of those days were fading from his memory, losing Aclima stung. While not as dark, perhaps, as when Cain had killed his family, the frustration and despair of his separation from the woman to whom he had dedicated the rest of his afterlife had sunk into his soul. And now Cassandra was reminding him of Tela through an attuned.

I lift my long-closed eyes

And turn my gaze

To the blue, blue sky

Wings once charred and undone

Unfurled and ablaze

In the rising sun

Whatever glorious transformation Tela had envisioned for him, it hadn’t unfolded. He’d been hiding since the night she had died. He’d been chased. Imprisoned. Lost. And he was now wandering and wondering. What should he do?

With help from his phone, he found the nearest bus terminal and hitched his way there. The polished concrete floors were a mess of dirty slush and dirty, damp papers crushed underfoot and suitcase rollers. He sat on a bench, the people slashing back and forth in his vision. He stared at the departures board until it got dark. Outside, the snow had kicked up again. He had enough in his wallet for one more ride.

South to Nashville to find Tela’s grave so he could dig her up to get part of her body to burn to ash? Sounded awful. The Sanctus usually did that kind of stuff. But more than that, his heart wasn’t in it. Every time he’d seen Tela last year, she had been fragile and in pain. Still, Cassandra was steering him that way.

Should he take a short ride north to Denver and keep up his search for Aclima? It didn’t seem right either. He had hunted for weeks without a clue. The visions had come relentlessly in the heart of the city, putting him in the path of Ghostpackers and their intended kidnap victims. City dwelling would keep him busy but no closer to Aclima. The Ash Angel Organization probably had a better bead on Aclima than he did now, but going back to the AAO would probably get him tossed in a cell somewhere with Sparks holding a gun to his head.

He had five months before his ascension. Five short months. The more he thought, the more elusive the answer felt. The later it got, the more desolate and hollow the bus terminal became and the more he realized he’d probably sit on that bench for a week with Aclima’s and Tela’s faces swirling around in his head.

He checked the board. One last bus departure to go, a late-night ride to Salt Lake City. A group of three college-aged women gathered by the glass doors leading outside, each absorbed in her phone, bags at their feet. A few minutes later, the door banged open, and four Ghostpackers entered. They didn’t even have suitcases. They eyed the three women and sat on nearby benches like patient vultures, the red glow in their eyes both hungry and dead at the same time.

Helo stood. He had no idea what to do for the next five months, but he had a very clear idea of what he needed to do in the next few hours.

Chapter 14

Performance Review

Helo checked the time on his phone. Evening at the Malad Pass rest stop in Idaho still held a bit of a late-spring chill that hurried people to and from the restrooms and back to running cars. The warm evening light and blushing clouds soothed him. Not a bad way to spend the last day of his earthly afterlife. He would ascend tomorrow and head into the great unknown.

For nearly five months he had wandered from city to city, burning whatever Dreads he could find and rescuing people from Legion’s army of ghostpacking kidnappers. The odd thing was, they would hold their victims for a few days and then let the people go after giving them a beating and a scare.

At first it made no sense. Many of the Ghostpackers were ending up in prison. Others ran afoul of Ash Angels. But since they couldn’t be Exorcised, it was just a revolving door. Some of them might deserve to be killed, but Helo didn’t want to judge. He’d come to favor kicking in their knees. The long rehab ensured they couldn’t get out and continue their terror anytime soon.

But as the months dragged on and the kidnappings continued, a fog of fear descended upon the world. People were afraid to go out and changed their locks and bought security systems if they could. Gun sales soared. To every investigator and government agency it seemed like random, disconnected people had decided to go on a kidnapping and home-invasion spree. The only connection the police could make: all those who had been caught were addicts of some kind. But why some addicts and not others?

But it was out of his hands now. His visions had planted him facedown on the pavement so many times he couldn’t keep track. But for all the Dreads and Shedim and Possessed he had put down over his short time as an Ash Angel, he felt like a failure. He was Angel Born, and it seemed like he had something he was supposed to have done. The thought that he should have stayed with the AAO or awakened Tela nagged at him constantly, but he couldn’t fault any of the reasons he had not done either of those things. But another part of him pointed a finger at his face and called him faithless.

Aclima still burned in his mind, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the AAO had already hunted her down and burned her. It had seemed like destiny that he would help her, but maybe this was Cain’s last laugh, his final revenge. He’d changed her back to a Dread so she could join him in hell, and there was nothing anyone could do. Losing her was the biggest failure of Helo’s short afterlife.

Two weeks ago his phone had rung for only the third time since Grail had given it to him. The first two times had been Grail with no news of Aclima but with a lot of chatter about the AAO being dismantled by Avadan and his mega-weather Sheid. That had stabbed him with guilt too, but he had burned that bridge pretty thoroughly. Shujaa might let him back in. Just about everyone else would blow his head off.

The third call was Goliath. She had found him through the Old Masters network. At first he was afraid the AAO would try to grab him one last time, but she assured him she just wanted to ascend with him. She would pick him up. They would drive to Zion National Park in the darkness, hike to the top of Angels Landing, and ascend from there. It was a popular ascension spot, and neither one of them had ever done the hike before.

She arrived a few minutes before the sun went down, driving an old forest-green Jeep Wrangler with a little mud on it. She was just as he remembered her, pixie cut and all. But for a woman about to ascend into the light, her face seemed troubled. Probably like his own. She hugged him, and then they got in and got underway.

“It’s good to see you,” she said. “How have you been?”

“Okay,” he answered, sounding more glum than he intended. “You?”

She exhaled and squeezed the steering wheel. “Fine, I guess.” She sounded about as convincing as he did.

“The AAO throw you a retirement party?”

“No,” she said. “It’s bad. There’s barely an AAO left, Helo, if you want to know the truth. Ramis gave Avadan everything he needed to destroy us. And that Sheid has torn us up from one end to the other. They’re losing. Imagine this: Grand Archus Mars was thinking of reaching out to the Old Masters for help.”

“Grand Archus Mars?”

“You hadn’t heard?” she said. “Yeah. The only members of the Archai you would know now are Archus Magdelene and Archus Ebenezer. The rest are gone. Everyone is in the field now. There’s no more hiding in underground bases.”

That was bad. His stomach sank. A sudden desire to get back in the fight washed over him, but it was impossible.

“No word on catching any of the Loremasters?” he asked.

She smirked. “You mean Aclima. Not that I’ve heard, but I’ve been out of the war for the last while. Been doing training, mostly. The next generation will win this war. Not us. You and I get to go sing in the heavenly choirs.”

Helo leaned his head against the window. He hoped there was something more to do besides sing. There was a lot of unfinished business. He asked after Magdelene, Lear, Corinth, and even Terissa, but Goliath just shrugged her shoulders. Sicarius Nox was apparently still around, but she hadn’t been in contact with them and wasn’t sure who was in charge anymore.

“Sucks going out like this,” she said after a long pause.

“Yep.”

They filled the dark stretches of Utah highway with fits of silence and conversation. Toward the end, Helo turned his eyes to the heavens and watched the stars winking in the lonely sky above them. In a small way he was glad it was over, but in a big way he wished it wasn’t. His time as an Ash Angel had been so short he felt a little robbed.

They arrived at the gate to Zion National Park in the dead of night, and Helo was surprised to see an Ash Angel dressed as a park ranger in the booth. Now that would be a cushy afterlife. She welcomed them and gave them a special tag for the car that would allow them to drive it on the park roads.

“Thanks for your service!” she said as they pulled away.

“I called ahead,” Goliath explained.

The canyon was utterly dark, headlights tracking along the winding road up. Helo rolled the window down to take in the cool air and vibrant smells. If only he’d had time to actually enjoy the world as an Ash Angel. That reminded him of Aclima’s offer to run away with her, to disappear into parts unknown and just live. If he knew then what he knew now, he would have done it and never looked back.

Goliath edged the car into the Grotto and parked it, and a few minutes later they were on the trail with the help of the lights on their phones. The massive walls of stone were dark shadows against the backdrop of stars, but as they neared the final, steep ascent to the top, the sky had lightened enough to give them a sense of the drop. It was a long way down, and the wind seemed to have every intention of shoving them off the narrow ledges.

Snow still clung to the ground in spots, joining the wind in its murderous intent, but after some close calls and fervent chain grabbing, they emerged onto the narrow fin of rock at the very top with an hour to spare. The wind still wasn’t happy with them, whipping over their sandstone perch like it was trying to scrub it clean.

They lay down on their backs, faces to stars already fading on the eastern horizon.

“Anything you’d do different?” Goliath asked.

And how. “Not get so many Bestowals so fast. You?”

She was silent for a moment. “I wish I would have spent less time in the Michaels. I’ve spent most of my afterlife taking it to the Dreads. Just feels a bit empty now, though I’ve got stories.”

In his mind, Helo could hear Dolorem reminding him that Ash Angels weren’t created to hunt down Dreads but to do good to God’s children. He’d spent time fighting and time serving. Fighting was certainly more exciting, but despite his pathetic sermons, he felt a lot of satisfaction about his time at the Redemption Motorcycle Club.

About ten minutes before dawn, he heard voices and the scraping of boots on the sandstone behind them. Absentmindedly he wondered what mortals would even see when an Ash Angel ascended, but when he cocked his head to see who was joining them, he saw several angelic auras coming their way.

He and Goliath stood, and she craned her head around. “Just a few people I invited to see us off.”

Some of the faces Helo didn’t recognize—Goliath’s friends from the Michaels. But there were Corinth and Scarlet, holding hands. There was Lear. Hulking up behind them was Shujaa. Helo could only imagine his disappointment. The Angel Born had turned out to be a useless dud in the war against evil.

But behind them all, biting her lip, was Tela Mirren. Someone had awakened her, and she was a Blank. His mouth dropped, and he almost fell over when Lear crashed into him and gave him a fierce hug. Who had awakened her? Who could do such a thing to such an innocent girl? She didn’t deserve to get dragged into this war! He could barely remember what pleasantries were said as Corinth laid a man hug on him and Scarlet sank into his arms.

Tela came next. She was crying, wiping at her tears. “Helo,” she said and then buried herself in his arms and wept, saying “I’m too late. I’m too late” over and over.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “They should have left you in heaven where you belong. I’m sorry.”

She pulled away. “Why weren’t you there when Goliath awakened me?”

So it was Goliath. He wanted to go pull her away from her friends and give her a piece of his mind. “I didn’t want to awaken you,” he said, and she frowned and looked away. “It’s not safe here. I didn’t want to drag you into this war.”

She wiped her eyes again and nodded.

“It is good to see you,” he said, which brought a smile back to her lips. “What did you choose for your Ash Angel name?”

“Melody,” she said.

He chuckled. “That’s perfect.”

“I’m sorry about Aclima,” she said after a pause. “It’s awful to think about her being . . . that way.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Messed up.”

“You loved her,” she added, eyes searching.

“Yeah,” he said. “Didn’t exactly work out.”

“Hey!” Lear said, coming over. “It’s about go time. One last tradition to honor.”

Helo squeezed Tela’s arm and walked toward the far end of Angels Landing, the crimson canyon yawning out beyond them. Goliath’s friends had already corralled her out in front of them. He stood beside her, biting back a few choice words he wanted to say to her about awakening Tela.

“Friends!” Lear said in his rich voice. “It is with great sadness that we come to watch these two warriors against evil take their leave of this mortal plane and head to the great reward that awaits them above. It is said that those who witness the ascension of an Ash Angel have a wish granted if they have the courage to speak it out loud. I’ll begin. I wish I had more time with my white son so I could teach him to appreciate Broadway musicals!”

Everyone chuckled politely, and Corinth stepped forward. “I wish I had that cool Angel Fire Bestowal.”

Murmurs of agreement. “I wish,” Scarlet said, thinking for a moment, “that heaven will give Helo peace.”

Helo smiled at her, and then Shujaa spoke, voice rumbling over the wind. “I wish that every Dread was burning in hell.”

Silence fell, and Goliath’s friends said their peace. At the last, Tela stepped forward, face resolute, like she fully expected her wish to come true.

“I wish that Helo did not have to go,” she said.

Helo’s eyes stung. He’d wandered alone for months, and to have these people with him at the last filled him with a warmth he hadn’t felt in so long. Several phone alarms when off, indicating ten seconds until dawn.

Tela walked right up to him and put her hand on his chest, her green eyes burning with some emotional fire. “Never low, Helo. Never again.”

Rapture.

His soul brimmed with that welcome fire. His feet lifted from the ground, the people below him fading to white. It was glorious. Sublime.

It was Cassandra—Fleuramere—standing beside a desk, face severe.

He stood in a field of all white, the dark walnut executive desk and black leather chair behind it an island in the nothingness. His first trainer’s hair was pinned back, and she wore dark-rimmed glasses and a black pencil skirt. Her blouse was so white he almost couldn’t look at it.

“Cassandra!” he said excitedly. Maybe she would be his guide in this new plane of existence.

“It’s Fleuramere. Please have a seat,” she said formally.

A crappy metal fold-out chair appeared in front of the desk, and he took a seat. It listed to one side, and he put his feet down to keep it from rocking.

“Come on, Fleuramere,” he said. She couldn’t help teasing him when she got the chance.

A file folder appeared on her desk, and then a pencil summoned out of light materialized in her hand.

“Let’s see here,” she said. “We have one Trace Daniel Evans, aka Helo, aka Jarhead. Been an Ash Angel for about eighteen months, got all six Bestowals, so it’s time for your official performance review. Let’s take a look at the notes the angels have been taking . . .”

Helo rolled his eyes and put his hands behind his head. If Cassandra wanted to play a little game, so be it. He certainly had time.

“Okay,” she said after perusing the files. “On the plus side, it looks like you’ve got real initiative. We like that in an Ash Angel. Smart fighter. Real gung-ho attitude. We’d expect that from a Marine, of course. Quite a few Sheid and Dread kills for someone with such a short time in the service. Impressive.”

She shuffled through the papers and then pulled her glasses off and set them on the desk. They disappeared into light. “Now, Mr. Evans, we want you to know that we really do appreciate everything you have done, but there are a few things we feel like you can improve on going forward. So, first, your ‘Plays well with others’ score is really quite abysmal. Much lower than we would like, actually. Anything you want to say about that?”

“Look,” Helo said. “Can we cut the cr—”

“I didn’t think so,” she said. “Your contrition is wonderful to see. Let’s see, ‘Listens to authority.’ Wow. Now that’s a bad score. Really bad. I mean, it seems like when, say, a heavenly messenger tells you to do something—like awaken a certain young lady—that maybe you should do it!” Her eyes flashed briefly with celestial fire. “Well, I’m not even going to entertain your excuses on that one.”

She leaned back in the chair. “I just don’t know what I should do with you. I’d better get another perspective or two.” An ivory-colored office phone appeared on the desk, and she pressed a button. “Could you send Lumina and that other one in here.”

Lumina—whom Helo knew as Rachel the Unascended—entered through a door that materialized out of the light. She smiled broadly at him.

“There’s that boy I’m hearing so much about,” she said. “How you been, Helo?”

“I’ve be—”

Cassandra cleared her throat. “This is a performance review, Lumina. I’m afraid there are some troubling things on Helo’s record.”

“Is that so?” Lumina said, sitting on a puffy leather chair conjured beneath her. “Do tell.”

Then Dolorem walked through the same door. He had on a white suit and no tie, his biker gut straining the shirt buttons and his beard proudly displayed. “Helo! Ascension time, huh?”

“Hey, Dolorem! It’s—”

“Dolorem is no longer his name,” Cassandra said. “But you don’t get to know his angel name quite yet. So, angel whose name I can’t say, you spent a great deal of time with the accused.”

“Accused?” Helo said. “What is this?”

“Sorry. I meant valued team member,” Cassandra said, then turned back to Dolorem. “So how would you rate Helo, here?”

“Can’t give a sermon worth a . . . darn,” Dolorem said, taking a seat in a beat-up brown leather recliner. He thought for a moment. “Yep. Bad sermons. That’s about it. Other than that, a good guy, I would say.”

Cassandra’s eyebrows raised. “Bad sermons? I think you’re being kind. They were like listening to a sloth talk about soil erosion. How about you, Lumina?”

Lumina bobbed her head back and forth. “He’s real bad at the love thing, too. You remember all those lame pickup lines he was throwing at Aclima? Like to make me weep with the sadness of all the saints, it did.”

“Yes,” Cassandra said. “Total dumpster fire on the romance front. Well, Helo, do you have anything you would like to add to convince us?”

Helo cocked his head. “Convince you of what?”

“To give you a promotion, of course,” Cassandra said.

“Um, I—”

“Yeah,” she said. “I didn’t think so. We’re sorry, Helo. In light of these glaring issues, we can’t in good conscience go forward with your request.” A rubber stamp appeared in her hand, and she slammed it down on one of the papers. She looked up at him, smiled, and winked. “Request for promotion denied. We’re sorry. Better luck next time. Oh, and say hi to Maggie for me. You are free to go.”

“Go?” he said. “Go where?”

All the celestial furniture disappeared as the three angels before him stood and turned around, filing out the door. He had to scramble not to fall down as his skiwampus metal chair evaporated.

“I get to be the vanguard, right?” Dolorem said to Cassandra as the three walked away.

“Seriously?” Cassandra said. “No, Mister Angel-Come-Lately. I’m vanguard. You’re on the left. Lumina on the right.”

“What about the rearguard?” Lumina asked, their three forms fading into the light.

“Having a bit of trouble there,” Cassandra said.

Then they were gone. For a moment he stood alone in the emptiness of the endless light. Then it too slowly dissolved into a brilliant morning sky. It felt as if someone had set his feet gently down upon sandstone, and when the brilliance surrounding him had faded completely, he stood on Angels Landing in front of a line of awed faces.

Tela pressed into him with a ferocious hug.

“The Angel Born has returned,” Shujaa intoned reverentially, like a priest before his congregation. “Heaven has bathed its weapon in celestial light and returned it into our hands. It is Helo, the Angel Born Unascended. Let Shedim and Dreads tremble at his coming.”

Chapter 15

Unascended

Camp Zion. Now Helo knew why Goliath had driven a Jeep Wrangler to pick him up. The Ash Angel Organization was worse off than he had imagined when Goliath had told him of the all-out destruction Avadan and his Sheid had laid on the Ash Angels. What was left of the AAO had retreated deep into the woods of nowhere southern Missouri. The road carving its way to the camp was little more than two ruts winding around pockets of dense trees. They bounced over roots and rocks, driving into the deep green of a forest in the emerald throes of late spring.

Shujaa drove. After Angels Landing, the man had followed Helo everywhere he went like he was a personal herald, ready to drop the name Angel Born Unascended at every opportunity. Melody sat in the back, happily humming a tune to herself, Lear next to her enjoying it. The girl had followed him around almost as diligently as Shujaa. And she was happy. While he was still mad at Goliath for dragging her into such a miserable afterlife, it was nice to see her free of her torturous dreams about him and all the sleepless nights that came with them.

The overcast afternoon drizzled fitfully outside the window, slicking the muddy track. The auras of several sentries slipped by as they passed. Tents popped up back in the trees, gaining in frequency the deeper they drove into the enshrouding foliage. Ash Angels milled about, talking in groups, sitting in the tree branches, or erecting more tents. Camp Zion looked more like a refugee camp than a military headquarters.

“How long have they been here?” Helo asked.

“Four weeks,” Lear answered from the back. “It was just after Zion Beta got erased from the map. There are still a few hideouts left, but all the good ones are gone. Ramis was thorough when he sang his song to Avadan.”

“Is there a plan, or are we just hiding?” Helo asked.

“I’m sure there’s a plan,” Lear said, “though I bet right now it’s little more than licking the wounds and stopping the bleeding. You might boost morale a bit. There’s never been a Blank Unascended in the history of the Ash Angels. At least not that anyone knows about.”

Helo still had a hard time processing it. Most Unascended had auras so bright they were hidden away to keep them from attracting every Dread in the vicinity. His aura was just as absent now as it was before. An aura had briefly enveloped him as he’d meditated before Rapture and let the light fill him. And now that he was Unascended, the reservoir of light within him was deeper. It was like an extra reserve tank had opened within him somewhere. But the best part: all the Bestowals awaited his command. He hoped the Ash Angels could trust him enough to let him back in the action. Lear and Shujaa assured him they would have to. How could they turn down an Angel Born Unascended, after all?

Shujaa pulled the Wrangler off the track at a tight cluster of tents. “These are the tents of Sicarius Nox,” he said. “You will have a place here.”

Helo nodded, already looking out for Sparks. The man wasn’t the forgiving type and would probably put a bullet in his head, Unascended or no. Crane had apparently gotten turned to ash in their last battle against the wind-and-lightning-slinging Sheid that had been instrumental in the downfall of so many of the Ash Angel Organization’s installations. The bigger surprise: Argyle had returned and retaken command of Sicarius Nox.

“The command tents are down the road about a hundred yards,” Shujaa said. “I will take you to Grand Archus Mars. I cannot wait to see their faces.”

“They don’t know?” Helo asked.

“No,” Shujaa said. “They know we went to see your ascension. They do not know what happened. I thought it best to keep it secret. The fewer people who know, the less likely the Dreads will know you are coming. It will be a glorious battle.”

Helo nodded. Made sense. He reached for the door handle.

“My tent is down that trail over there,” Melody said, leaning forward and pointing out the windshield. “It’s the third one, kind of by a flat rock. I’ve got an extra space now that Goliath is gone.”

Lear chuckled. “Melody and I will find you later, my boy. We’ve been organizing entertainment. Trying to lift morale and all.”

Helo smiled. Now that was something he could agree with. That was Melody’s gift. She had excitedly told him how Goliath and Shujaa had been teaching her weapons, fighting, and tactics. He’d tried to act happy about it for her sake, but, really, it made him sick to think about it. Her place was not in the field. Let her stay back and play songs and bring comfort. That fit who she was.

“Can’t wait to see it,” Helo said.

Melody smiled and touched his shoulder. “I’ll be looking for you.”

They piled out of the Wrangler. Lear and Melody disappeared down the trail, and he and Shujaa hiked down the road, water droplets slipping from tree leaves and plunking down on their heads and shoulders as they walked between the ruts to avoid the mud.

The command tents were clumped together in a clearing of tall, damp grass, most of it smashed down and bent by the passing of boots. Shujaa led him down the most worn path to a wide, khaki-colored tent about the length of a semi trailer, its flaps open on both sides. Maps and tablets were strewn across a long table, LED lamps providing illumination. Magdelene—a Blank like him—was there with Grand Archus Mars and Archus Ebenezer. Other Ash Angels he didn’t recognize grouped around them, but they all possessed a military air.

“Grand Archus,” Shujaa said. “We have returned.”

Mars glanced up briefly, then back down at a map. “Great. Get—”

“Mars,” Magdelene said, a grin coming to her lips. “You’ll want to take a closer look.”

Mars turned to her. “At what?”

She pointed at Helo, and Ebenezer and Mars finally took him in.

“I’ll be damned,” Mars said, straightening.

“He is Helo the Angel Born Unascended,” Shujaa said. “He has come to us in our hour of need.”

“A Blank Unascended?” Ebenezer said, face questioning. “Are you sure?”

“Do you want my help?” Helo asked. Ebenezer had always doubted him.

“Are you sure?” Ebenezer said, walking toward him, eyes running over him like he would be able to tell just by looking.

“Yeah,” Helo said. “I’m sure. Do you want my help?”

“Are you here to fight,” Mars said, brown eyes hard, “or are you here to chase after Aclima?”

So they hadn’t burned her! He kept his face in check. He would search for her, but fighting with the Ash Angels was his best chance to track her down. “I’m here to fight.”

“Good,” Mars said, but his voice had none of the friendliness it used to. “You’ll work with Sicarius Nox. That Sheid Avadan’s got is first priority. Report to your unit now. In two days, we’re going after Avadan with everything we have. Sicarius Nox will be the tip of the spear. Dismissed.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Thank you for coming back,” Magdelene said.

Helo nodded to her, and he and Shujaa marched back to the forested road.

“They do not see your worth yet,” Shujaa said. “They will see it.”

Helo didn’t want or need their approval. Rachel had told him that Unascended were people who had unfinished missions, and he had to think that his was to save Aclima. And he was happy to destroy Shedim and Dreads along the way. Avadan, too.

They kept to the road until they reached Sicarius Nox’s deserted campsite. A tent to the side was stacked with crates, ammo boxes, and weapon racks, all neat and orderly. The tents themselves were lined up with an engineer’s precision, every tent stake, rope, and tent top in perfect alignment. This was Argyle’s unit, for sure.

“We’ll need another tent for you,” Shujaa said. “Finny and Sparks bunk together. Faramir and me are there. Argyle has his own tent, as does Andromeda. Andromeda would probably let you bunk with her, but Argyle is old-fashioned when it comes to men and women in the same tent.”

“Who’s Andromeda?” Fancy name.

“She’s Argyle’s second,” Shujaa said. “Mars forced him to take her. She kills Dreads good. I like her. Let’s go find you a tent.”

In half an hour they had it erected next to a mature maple, though he was sure Argyle would make him adjust something if not move the tent altogether. He found a pad he could sit on for the floor and went into the supply tent to gear up. Holding a BBR felt natural, like coming home. It would be good to get to work again. He took a backpack, Stingers, a BBG, Kevlar vest, and a comms unit and put them inside his tent to the side of the mat.

The pounding of boots nearby pulled him back outside, and there, jogging single file, came Sicarius Nox, Argyle and his trademark red-haired flattop in command. They had packs on, geared heavy. Clothes, packs, and hair were damp from the rain. Faramir brought up the rear, looking doubly wet for some reason.

Andromeda was a blank, a rarity in the Michaels. Mars had always wanted to steal blanks from the Gabriels. Since he was Grand Archus, it looked like he had gotten his wish. She looked built for war—athletic and stout, her blonde hair cropped short. She had a midwestern farm-girl vibe, but her blue eyes smoldered with the same focused “I’m here to kill Dreads” look Shujaa’s did. All business, all the time. Argyle had to like that, too.

Argyle lined them up in front of the tent, and Shujaa fell in with them. Helo jogged over and stood next to Faramir, everyone throwing him looks of disbelief, save Sparks, who grinned wickedly. Argyle’s face was pinched in disgust.

Helo snapped to attention. “Reporting for duty as ordered, sir.”

“I don’t want you in this unit,” Argyle said.

“Grand Archus Mars does,” Helo said.

“He is Unascended!” Shujaa said. “He can—”

Argyle’s fiery gaze fell on Shujaa. “I don’t care who he is or what he can do. I don’t want him in my unit. I will speak with Grand Archus Mars immediately. Fall out.”

Argyle stormed off.

“You just can’t stay away, can you?” Faramir said before striding off to his tent.

Andromeda gave him the once-over and then followed Argyle, but Sparks and Finny walked in his direction. Finny wore a half smile, but Sparks was grinning ear to ear, a challenge in his eyes. Shujaa stood behind both of them, gaze watchful.

“Well, well,” Sparks said, hands on his hips. “An Unascended. I hope you realize that all this Angel Born, Unascended business doesn’t mean I don’t owe you one, right? You know what I mean? You remember the facial adjustment you gave me in the theater?”

Sparks used his Speed to go for the BBG at his hip, and Helo got the pleasure of using the same gift, one he had coveted for a good while. Before Sparks could get the gun up to his face, Helo had grabbed Sparks’s wrist and pushed it high and away. The weapon fired, the sound booming through the forest. Before Sparks could fight it, Helo flared his Strength and thrust kicked Sparks right in the abdomen.

Sparks bent in the middle and flew backward ten feet past Finny, skidding along the ground and then rolling over his pack. He ended up at a grinning Shujaa’s feet. Sparks’s BBG lay on the ground to his side.

Sparks got up, expression the happiest Helo had ever seen it. But the piercing hunter’s glare was still there. “Yes!” he said. “That’s the stuff!” The man unclipped his pack and gun belts and dropped them to the ground. “Let’s have a go, you and me.”

Like a shot, Sparks blasted forward into a Speed-powered flying knee. Helo barely had time to get Toughness up before the knee drilled him in the gut and sent him backpedaling into the trunk of an Elm tree. A crowd was gathering, but Sparks didn’t give Helo the time to think about it. He rabbit punched using Speed, and Helo kept his hands up to absorb the punches. Keeping up Toughness kept the damage down, but the blur of fists was disorienting. Then Sparks drilled him with one hard overhand to the head, having substituted Strength for Speed. A good trick.

Toughness notwithstanding, Helo staggered to the right, out into the ruts of the road, using the momentum to retreat for distance. Sparks came again, a speeding blur. While he knew it wouldn’t hurt, Helo Angel-Fired him to the face, wiping out his vision, stepped to the side, and Strength kicked him to the knees. Sparks must’ve gotten his Toughness up because his knees didn’t snap backward. But he did take a nasty trip to the ground, face-first.

Helo backed away, hands up. “Enough.”

Sparks Strength pushed with his arms, body hinging upward at the feet to standing. That was a new trick too. “No.”

He Sped forward again, arms like a linebacker going for the tackle. Helo Strength jumped him and spun, Sparks turning and darting forward at him again. The man was relentless. Helo pivoted and delivered a Speed-powered back kick that sent Sparks stumbling backward. But almost before Helo could put his foot down, Sparks was there with a front-thrust kick that put Helo halfway to the supply tent on his back.

The crowd oohed.

Helo craned his neck up, and sure enough, Sparks was airborne on a trajectory to body slam him. Mistake. Helo got his legs up and bent them. With Strength, he leg pressed Sparks twenty feet up into an elm tree, to the enjoyment of their audience. Using Toughness, Sparks dropped down, landing on his hands and knees. The Brit didn’t hesitate, launching off like a sprinter on crack. Helo ignited his own Toughness and leaned forward, bracing himself—Sparks was going to hit a brick wall.

But at the last moment Sparks dropped and did a foot-first baseball slide. It was Helo’s turn to eat mud as his legs were swiped out from under him. He crashed to the ground with a splat and rolled over, thinking Sparks would try to body slam him again. But this time, Helo found him skyward and coming straight down with his boot toward Helo’s face. Helo used Speed to flinch right, but the boot caught him on the left shoulder. Without Toughness, it popped out of socket. The awkward fall sent Sparks off to his left.

Helo rolled over and grabbed Sparks’s boot with his good arm, and then really powered Strength to roll over and fling him spinning sideways into the same elm tree. It quivered with the impact, and Helo thought more than just a branch had snapped when Sparks hit it.

“What is going on here!” Argyle yelled.

Helo picked himself up off the ground. His black fatigues and shirt were a mess. Sparks wandered over, a satisfied grin on his face.

Argyle marched up to them, neck bulging. “I said, what’s going on here?”

Helo glanced at Sparks. Sparks shrugged.

Argyle’s arm shot out, pointing down the road. “To the command tent, both of you!”

Chapter 16

Melody

Helo stood at parade rest next to Sparks. He couldn’t get his dislocated and quite possibly broken shoulder to work, so his left arm just hung there. Grand Archus Mars and Archuses Magdelene and Ebenezer still sat at the same table as they had before, and each looked annoyed as Argyle leveled his complaints.

“And this is why I don’t want him on my squad!” Argyle said. “My team has had no discipline issues since Helo left, and the moment he’s back, a fight breaks out.”

“Wasn’t a fight,” Sparks said.

“Oh, really?” Argyle said, spinning around. “Then what do you call it, Sparks?”

Sparks shrugged. “Training, sir. Keeping the old hand-to-hand skills sharp, you know? At this rate we’ll be out of ammo in a few weeks, so best to—”

“You don’t expect me to believe that, right?” Argyle said. “Who started it? Out with it!”

Grand Archus Mars stood, lips a thin line. “Commander Argyle, I’ll take it from here. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.” Argyle stormed off, muttering under his breath.

“Don’t think he’s fit for command,” Sparks said. “He’s not been the same since the Pit.”

“You want command, Sparks?” Mars said. “Is that what I’m hearing?”

Sparks shrugged. “Yes, sir! I think I could teach you Yanks a thing or two.”

Mars just stared, dead-eyed, at Sparks for a few moments, then exhaled. “Look, are you two good?”

“Yes, sir,” they answered in unison.

“Good,” he said. “You cause any more problems for Argyle with your ‘training’ and I’ll have you cleaning every single muddy boot in this camp. We need discipline right now, not a couple of punks, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they answered.

“They look so contrite,” Magdelene said with a soft laugh, turning back to a tablet.

“Get out of my sight,” Mars said.

Helo turned to go, and Sparks slapped him on the back as he walked past. “Still owe you a bullet to the face.” Helo shook his head. Maybe he should let Sparks do it so he would be satisfied.

Melody was walking quickly up the road toward them, Sparks giving her the once-over before wandering off. She was biting her lip, eyes down and unfocused. She finally looked up, and her pace slowed.

“There you are,” she said. “I heard you got into a fight. Are you okay? I mean, I know people are angry about you and Aclima and everything, but they wouldn’t bully you? Not Ash Angels—your arm!”

He stopped in front of her. “I’m fine. It wasn’t a fight. It was more like . . . an initiation. I’m good.”

“You sure?” she said, inspecting his floppy limb.

“Just dislocated, I think.”

She grabbed it gingerly. “Maybe I can fix it.” After yanking it up, down, and all around, all she got was uncomfortable popping noises.

“It’s all right,” he said. She fell in at his side as he started down the road. “I’ll find someone who can heal around here and get it fixed up.” He looked down at his mud-smeared clothing. “No laundromats nearby?”

“No,” she said. “Lots of creeks and ponds. It’s the drying part that doesn’t work so well. I’d wait till it stops raining. So, you coming tonight?”

“I’ll be there.”

“And I’d love to shoot with you sometime. Goliath and Shujaa have taught me so much! . . . What? You’re making this . . . face.”

“I just like you with a guitar in your hands,” he said. “I don’t think Dolorem wanted a soldier’s life for you. I don’t either.”

She folded her arms. “Dad gave me a sanctified katana. I think he wanted me to use it.”

He blinked. “You have it?”

“Yeah,” she said. “They took it after they caught you and put it in the reliquarium. They recovered quite a few old artifacts and sanctified weapons after Deep 7 went down. Luckily my katana was one of them. Oh! And I’ve got the two other katanas—yours and Aclima’s. Anyway, Goliath taught me the katana too. I don’t know if I’m as good as you are, but I’d like to find out.” She bumped him playfully, and he gave her another look. “What? Look, I am not some little girl you have to protect anymore, got it?”

Helo glanced at her. How could he explain? If Dolorem had known how bad it would get, he would never have dared give her that sword. “I don’t think you’re a little girl, Tela.”

“I’m glad you got that figured out. And it’s Melody. See you tonight!”

Helo thought it fitting that Lear would be the one to inspire the heavens to quit the miserable drizzle. For the first act of the night, his Ash Angel father launched into a throaty version of “The Sun will Come Out Tomorrow” from Annie. While the sun had long since dipped below the trees, it was the moon that got the curtain call when the clouds pulled away. It was like someone had lifted the lid off a box they had all been stuffed in.

The clearing where the show took place wasn’t ideal. It was small, the view from the back interrupted by soaring tree trunks. To create a stage, they had draped white sheets between four trunks and bordered it with several large branches. Four small fires at the front cast their uneven light over a crowd packed on tarps and blankets laid out on the forest floor. The popping of the fire, the smell of the smoke, and the singing gave it a summer-camp feel, and it helped. The mood in camp had been as drenched as the ground, and as the performers came out one by one, smiles bloomed like the music was the sun rising in the morning.

Helo stood toward the front at the very edge of the crowd, leaning against a slender oak. Somewhere above him a bird inserted its song into the show, perhaps commenting on the pool of white auras stretched out before it. Animals had no fear of Ash Angels, even when those Ash Angels were laughing and applauding like thunder in the woods.

And they had good reason to applaud. There were many talented singers among the Ash Angels, but Melody, who had played her guitar and sung twice so far, had a voice that couldn’t be ignored. While cliché, he could only describe it as angelic. During her mortal life, he’d heard her perform and had listened to her albums over and over, but nothing could quite compare to the way she sounded now. All the notes ringing from her throat might be the same, but there was a quality to them he couldn’t quite explain, something almost like a small breath of Rapture. While not wrapped in a sexy dress or makeupped and hair-styled to perfection like in her mortal concerts, she was glorious.

It strengthened his resolve. He had no idea if she was assigned to a combat unit, but he was going to make sure she didn’t go mucking around with Shedim and Dreads. He’d gotten into serious trouble with Aclima by trying to protect her, but in the end he’d been right. If Aclima would have stayed hidden away with the Scholus or Sanctus somewhere, she wouldn’t be a Dread right now. He’d never told Aclima “I told you so,” nor would he, for the sake of keeping his head on his shoulders. But he had told her so.

After a rousing rendition of “Oklahoma!” from Lear, Tela appeared on stage as the last performance of the night, guitar in hand. The crowd roared, and Helo smiled—she was a hit.

She waved and motioned for quiet. “For my last number, I am going to sing a song I wrote almost a year ago. It’s a song called “Never Low.” It was for Helo, now Helo the Unascended, during a time when both of us were suffering. This one’s for you, Helo.”

She looked over at him and took a seat on an upended log they had cut and brought out for her. Then the words rose into the night.

Falling with my wings on fire

Falling like someone

Clipped a wire . . .

She was so gifted. No one moved. The chords pulsed into the night, Melody’s voice carrying effortlessly over the hushed crowd. He remembered the awe and gratitude he had felt the first time she had sung the song for him in that dingy hotel room, and those feelings redoubled now, swelling within him. He had no idea why her dreams had been so tortured with dire visions of his pain, but he was gladder than ever that she was free of them. The only thing that could have been better would have been for Goliath to leave her in the grave, never to suffer more.

I open my long-closed eyes

And turn my gaze

To the blue, blue sky

Wings once charred and undone

Unfurled and ablaze

In the rising sun.

How he longed for those days. If he could get Aclima back, if he could return her to an Ash Angel, then maybe he truly could be “never low,” like the driving end of the song proclaimed. Maybe then he could be at peace.

The standing ovation at the end shook the forest, and Helo hoped there weren’t any Dreads within ten miles the way the noise echoed and carried everywhere. Melody beamed. Such a cute girl. If he could preserve her innocence, keep that inviting, adorable smile from ever turning to the darkness and despair so many Ash Angels experienced out in the field. He wondered if she’d ever been torched, but something told him she hadn’t. No one who had ever been torched could have such bright, hopeful eyes.

As Melody left the stage, Grand Archus Mars walked onto it, stride purposeful. The relaxation and mirth of the evening hadn’t touched his serious countenance. As one, the Ash Angels stood, members of the Michaels saluting.

“Thank you,” Mars said. “Please sit.”

As the crowd returned to their blankets, Melody came up beside Helo, face flushed and bright.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“Good work,” he said.

She squeezed his unhinged arm. “You still haven’t fixed it?”

He shook his head.

“Ash Angels,” Archus Mars said, “I am grateful for those who have performed this evening. It was well done, but the time for work has come. As most of you know, we have an opportunity to hit Avadan and his accursed Sheid. Secrecy is paramount, so forgive the lack of detail, but we need everyone on this op. All Ash Angels are Michaels now. I don’t have to tell you why. If you haven’t been assigned to a combat unit, you will be tomorrow.

“I know some of you are not combat trained, but we will find work for you to support this effort. While I am confident of victory, make no mistake. It will be war. Avadan is a messed-up, cunning bastard, and it’s time for him to get burned and go to hell, where he belongs. Preparation begins tomorrow, an hour after dawn. I want Sicarius Nox in the command tent then. So enjoy the Rapture, gear up, and let’s get this done. You are the best the world has to offer, and I know you won’t let me down. To war!”

“Hoorah!” erupted from the Michaels as the rest clapped.

Helo turned to go, but Melody held him up. “Stay put, okay?”

As the Ash Angels filtered out of the clearing, she started asking for those with the Healing Bestowal—when she could get a word in over everyone gushing to her about her performance.

Corinth and Scarlet approached hand in hand, as happy as anyone Helo had seen in the camp, but the second Melody noticed Scarlet, her face sobered. Scarlet didn’t seem to notice, her eyes only for Corinth, pegged to him like she couldn’t get enough. Why did that still send a pang of loss through him?

“Helo!” Corinth said. “Welcome back. Was Melody not the awesome-ist?”

“Yes, she was.”

Scarlet hugged him and returned to Corinth, Melody looking on with uncharacteristically steely eyes.

“Well, you are her biggest fan,” Corinth continued. “You know, Melody, this guy listens to your stuff all the time. I mean it was all the time when we were serving together.”

Melody’s face brightened. “Do you have the Healing Bestowal?”

“I don’t,” Corinth said. “But Scarlet does.”

“New last week,” she said. “Who needs it?”

“Helo,” Melody said dully. “His shoulder.”

“From the fight!” Corinth said. “Man, I wish I had seen that!”

“Wasn’t a fight,” Helo said. “It was a training exercise.”

Melody frowned. “You told me it was an initiation.”

Scarlet let go of Corinth. “It was a fight. Let’s see the shoulder.”

He turned toward her, and she put her hand on his arm. Her aura flared, and healing poured into him, the shoulder lifting up and popping into place.

“Thanks,” Helo said, doing a few shoulder rolls.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “It’s good to have you back. And great job tonight, Melody. You were amazing.”

Melody merely nodded.

“See you tomorrow!” Corinth said. “Can’t wait to see the Unascended in action!”

Helo waved as they walked off. Melody stared daggers at Scarlet’s back.

“You okay?” Helo asked.

Melody leaned against the tree and folded her arms. “How can you stand it? How can you even look at her? I know what she did to you. I hope that doesn’t make you mad. Lear told me the whole story. I’m so sorry! I just don’t see how anyone could do . . . that . . . to you.”

Helo was taken aback. She was furious. “Melody. It’s okay. We’ve moved on.”

She looked away. “Because of you and Aclima.”

“With or without Aclima, I had to move on.”

“But still,” Melody said. “You’re going to tell me it doesn’t kill you to see her all cozy with Corinth?”

“Hasn’t killed me yet.”

“Whatever that means,” Melody said, pulling him after her. “Come on. I’ve got the katanas in my tent. I’m guessing you’ll want yours. Do you take them with you on missions?”

“No. Guns are better,” he said. “Katanas can be good for quiet work, though. Dolorem wouldn’t do guns after what happened to your real father. He’s the one who taught me the katana. Have they told you about the Redemption Motorcycle Club?”

“Yes,” she said. “Sounds so like my dad.”

“Just imagine two guys morphed and dressed like bikers. We had these big guts and greasy clothes and spent our nights swinging katanas at each other in a repair garage. I hope nobody saw us.”

Melody laughed. “That sounds fantastic. I wish I could have known him as an Ash Angel. I miss him.”

“I do too. He loved you,” Helo said. “I should take you to see the RMC—if it’s still around.”

“I would love that,” she said, face beaming.

It was weird to be around someone as happy as she was. Using her phone for light, she led him down the path she had shown him earlier, her tent back off the trail a ways between two mature trees. She opened the flap and went inside, and he followed. She flicked on an LED lamp hanging from a loop at the apex of the tent. Her tent had two cots. Three sheathed katanas lay underneath hers, along with a pad of drawing paper.

She turned and then closed her eyes. “I forgot my guitar. I’ll be right back.”

After she left, Helo sat on the cot that had belonged to Goliath. Curious, he reached down and grabbed the pad of drawing paper from under Melody’s cot. A pencil fell to the floor, and he grabbed it and stuck it back inside. He opened a few of the pages, finding sketches and lyrics. Melody was quite the artist, too, and there was something familiar about her style he couldn’t place.

There was the angel in chains, a moody sketch with a broken picture frame at the angel’s feet. This was the song about Goldbow. There was the haunted-house picture of the tree with his face on it from the dream that seemed constructed of his pain. There were happier sketches, of landscapes and buildings. A couple of him. There was even one of Aclima with the words “Miss Gorgeous” next to it.

But one toward the end caught his eye. It was another picture, just of his face, with the words: for every hurt, a hope; for every loss, a love; for every Satan, a savior. Those were Rachel the Unascended’s words to him back in the reliquarium before she ascended. How did Melody know them?

Footsteps approached outside, and he flipped the sketchbook shut and shoved it back under the cot just before Melody slipped into the tent, guitar case in hand. She leaned it against the tent wall. “I’m back. Let me get your sword. You’ll want Aclima’s, too, I guess.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

She pushed her hair behind her ear and knelt down, pulling out two of the katanas and handing them to him. He took them, partially unsheathing them, then snapped them back in. The blades still looked shiny and sharp.

“So, Helo,” she said, taking a seat on the cot opposite him, “you ready for tomorrow?”

“Good to go,” he said, though he reminded himself that he needed to meditate so Rapture would fill him to overflowing with Virtus. He didn’t have a fancy Ash Angel phone anymore to let him know when dawn was going to break.

“I’ve never been in a battle,” she said. “Not really. Goliath and I were training apart from everyone for the first while since I was awakened. I was at Zion Beta when it fell, but Shujaa practically shoved Goliath and me out the door before the real fighting got started.”

“Never been torched?” Helo asked.

“No,” she said.

“No Bestowals yet?”

“No. But I’m ready,” she added. “Like Grand Archus Mars said, we all have to be Michaels now. I wish I was good enough to be assigned to Sicarius Nox so I could fight with you. Um, I mean, you know, Sicarius Nox. It’s like being a rock star.”

He chuckled. “Look, this fight we’re going to, it’s not for you. This is not a battle you throw at a Cherub.”

“I’m fighting,” she said, arms folded, face set. “I had two of the best of the best training me for months. I’m probably more qualified than half the people they’re going to send out there.” She reached out and touched his leg. “Helo, I’m not the freaked out, cray-cray girl you had to help back in that hotel room. You’ve got to trust me. Dolorem gave you that sanctified sword to give to me for a reason. That’s what Goliath said. I am supposed to fight. Maybe if I kill a Sheid or two, they’ll let me work in Sicarius Nox.”

Helo’s stomach felt like stone. So naive. He wished he could give her just a little taste of what torching was like so she could understand. Dolorem had asked him to make her strong, but he’d also told him to protect her. He tried to see Melody through her father’s eyes, tried to understand what Dolorem would say to her in this moment. Dolorem always had the right words. But just like with the sermons, Helo found he didn’t. He just had resolve. He was not going to send this jewel of an Ash Angel into the mud of war if he could help it.

He patted her hand. “I’m not saying you don’t have skills, Melody.”

“But you still think I’m not ready,” she said.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

She swallowed and leaned away. “You’ll see, Helo. I’m meant to do this.”

Helo stood. “I’d better get going. Thanks for the katanas. You did great tonight. Hearing you sing was the best thing that’s happened to me in a while.”

Her green eyes flickered for a moment, and she nodded.

He stepped outside and took the path back toward the road. The soft ground made for quiet walking. Melody. He’d offended her. Someday she would understand, but tomorrow he would talk to Mars after the briefing with Sicarius Nox. He would see to it that Melody was assigned far from the thick of things whether she liked it or not.

Chapter 17

Spade

Helo reported to the command tent at nine with the rest of Sicarius Nox, but Grand Archus Mars and Archus Magdelene led them away from the tents and faces of curious Ash Angels, marching them about a mile into the woods to a bulge in a stream bordered by a beach of worn pebbles. A gray, lichen-stained rock as big as a sedan edged up to the water, the opposite side of the river flanked by a low gray cliff lined with slender trees.

Clear rays of morning sun filtered through the branches, spores floating inside the slanted beams. It was far too pleasant a morning to talk war, but Helo couldn’t fault their new conference room. Mars and Magdelene sat on the rock. Argyle stood at parade rest by them, and the rest sat on the pebbled ground.

“Okay, everybody,” Mars said, hands clenched around the rock’s edge. “You might be wondering why we’re out here in the woods. I want to be straight with you. The AAO’s days are numbered if we don’t win this battle. Avadan has beaten and run us out of every stronghold we have. Communications are sketchy. Ash Angels are scattering. Our absence has let Legion terrorize normals at will. The Old Masters are doing what they can to help with that, but it’s a mess. So what I’m saying is that we need this one. I’ll let Maggie explain the plan.

Magdelene slid off the rock and stood in front of them. “The only silver lining to our recent losses is that Avadan no longer feels he needs to move by stealth, which has made it easier for us to plot his movements. Dreads have been amassing in the woods about fifty miles from here, barely trying to disguise their movements. My Gabriels have had no trouble locating them.”

“Are they going to hit the camp?” Helo asked.

“No,” Magdelene said. “Something just as vital, a place almost as secret as Deep 7 was.”

“The Foundry,” Andromeda said.

“That’s right,” Magdelene confirmed.

Helo nodded to himself. The Foundry was the hidden weapons and ammunition manufacturing plant. Archus Ramis had betrayed that, too. Maybe Sparks’s offhand comment about running out of ammo wasn’t a joke.

“So we hit their camp,” Sparks said. “Fighting in the woods is a lot of fun. Wood flying everywhere. Fires. Lots of places for ambush.”

“You’ve got the spirit of it,” Magdelene said, “but not quite. Intelligence suggests they’re moving out soon. The Foundry cannot fall. If it does, we’ll be throwing rocks at the Dreads before too long. Fortunately, the Foundry is situated in a narrow river valley with hills all around and is very defensible. We have purposefully made it look well fortified with soldiers so Avadan will bring his full force to bear. Our recon there has seen scouts—Shedim, to be precise—checking the area every day just before sunset.”

“Shedim scouts?” Faramir asked.

“That’s right,” Magdelene said. “And not Whirlwind, either. We all know what that Sheid feels like by now. We think that tonight they’re going to bring on the offensive just before dusk. If the pattern follows, Whirlwind will march in first to soften us up, then the Dreads and Possessed will overrun us. This time, though, we have the opportunity to prepare. This is our plan.

“We’re sending Sicarius Nox in to deal with the Sheid, but we want the Sheid to think it’s succeeded so the Dreads will march into the valley. Ideally, you can put up enough resistance to kill time before dusk. We want to put as few of them down twice as possible. We’re going to secrete forces behind the hills on the northern and southern sides of the valley. As soon as the Dreads pour in, the secreted forces deploy to create a noose they can’t get out of. We decimate them from all sides.”

“Brilliant,” Sparks said. “Can’t think of a better way to spend an evening.”

“Helo,” Magdelene said, “you are to stay inside the facility and wait for the Sheid to come to you. With your gifts, you have the best chance to kill it once it wanders indoors to attack the facility. We don’t want to risk you being incapacitated in the first skirmish.”

He nodded. He didn’t like being left out, but he couldn’t argue, either. It was a solid plan.

“Good,” Magdelene said, returning to sit on the rock. “We’ve got a small party of Gabriels who will hit anyone left in their camp and burn any hearts they may have left behind for quick escape. We’ve laid a number of explosive traps for our guests. Be sure you don’t waste them on the Shedim. Mars will command the force to the north. I will take the one to the south. Argyle, you will report to Mars. The base commander is named Spade. He’s one of the oldest Ash Angels around and as mean as a starving badger, which is just what we need right now. Any questions?”

“How are we getting there?” Andromeda asked.

“You’re going to run,” Mars answered. “We created Camp Zion here for a reason. The Foundry is fifteen miles away through some pretty dense woods, but fifteen miles is easy work for an Ash Angel. Remember, this op is burn only, no capture. If they run, chase and burn as many as you can. Everyone except Helo carries a sanctified weapon. We think there are at least five Shedim in the Dread staging area.”

“Five!” Faramir said.

“Yes,” Magdelene said, “but weak compared to Whirlwind. This isn’t going to be easy, but we’ve got faith in you. Get back to camp, gear up, and get going. I’ll send the location to Argyle shortly.”

Sparks stood up. “And we need to be clear about one thing. Helo’s girlfriend gets burned with the rest of them.” His sharp gaze fell on Helo. “You put us in danger for her, I put a bullet in your heart and throw you in the river.”

“Everyone on the team agrees,” Argyle said. “You got that, Helo?”

Everyone except Shujaa looked at him like he was some ex-convict they’d been forced to take on.

“I know what has to be done,” he said flatly. He marched off ahead of the group, tired of the constant reminder that everyone wanted to burn Aclima except for him. He knew their reasons, but he no longer expected them to understand. He would play along, but he would help her if he could.

Back at camp, he geared up before the rest of the team arrived and then headed back to the command tent to find Archus Mars. Camp had become a hive of activity, people gearing up, cleaning weapons, and saying their goodbyes. He found Grand Archus Mars in front of the command tent with Archus Magdelene. Sparks was there too, chatting with both of them.

“Excuse me, sir,” Helo said. “Can I have a moment?”

“Yeah, and just that,” Mars said. “What do you want?”

“I would like to request that Melody not be sent to the front. She’s too valuable to morale to risk in battle. She doesn’t have experience or even a Bestowal. It’s not what Dolorem would have wanted.”

Mars frowned. “Don’t care what Dolorem wanted. Why don’t we ask her what she wants to do? Melody, you want to fight?”

Helo closed his eyes for a moment and turned around. There was Melody not five steps behind him, eyes as cold as death. She had morphed her hair to buzzed for battle, the look edgy. The sanctified katana was in a sheath on her left hip, BBG on her right, and a BBSR on her back

“I want to fight,” she said.

“That’s settled, then,” Mars said. “You’ll be in squad four with me to the north. Helo, get back to your unit. You need to be gone in five.”

“Yes, sir,” Helo said.

Mars turned to Sparks. “That goes for you too, Sparks. Your request is denied, and I don’t want to hear about it again.”

By the time Helo turned around, Melody was ten paces away.

“Hey,” he said, jogging to catch up.

“Go away, Helo,” she said. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

He let her go. This was the whole Aclima thing all over again. Melody would probably find him later and take his head off with a katana. He started back toward the Sicarius Nox tents.

Sparks caught up to him. “You know, Helo, you’d probably have more friends if you didn’t try so hard not to.”

Helo wanted to shoot him in the face again. “Is that what you were doing back there with the Grand Archus, making friends? Or were you trying to convince them to leave me out of this one?”

“Not you. We can’t possibly do without his holiness, the Angel Born Unascended,” Sparks said in his best Shujaa voice. “Have a care out there today, Helo. This one’s going to get messy. I can feel it in my Ash Angel bones.”

They crested the northern hill near the Foundry valley in the sweltering heat of early afternoon, the humidity so thick Helo thought his Ash Angel body might just sweat anyway. The insects buzzed enough to drive anyone crazy, but maybe not as crazy as Argyle. Sparks had said he wasn’t the same since the Pit, and now Helo knew why.

Argyle was always a stickler who ran his unit like the regulations were holy scripture, but he seemed more picky and agitated than usual, complaining about noisy gear, insisting they march single file, and putting the hammer down on any conversation whatsoever. Whatever stick was up his butt had grown several inches.

They stopped at the top of the hill, and Helo pushed his way up near Andromeda, who had earbuds in, the sound of metal music leaking out. Argyle had reprimanded her for it. She didn’t seem to care. The trees screened the valley almost completely, but there were breaks that revealed a road following a narrow river to what looked like a nondescript white farmhouse flanked by two enormous red barns, their roofs covered in solar panels. A big gray Ford F-350 sat out front in the gravel drive.

Andromeda pulled an earbud out. “That’s it. Not going to be much left of it after today. The lawn will look nice after we spread a little Dread-brand fertilizer on it.”

“Most of the complex is underground,” Faramir said. “There’s a hydroelectric generator farther downriver.”

“We can discuss this later,” Argyle said, voice barely above a whisper. “Keep the noise down. We don’t know who or what may be out here. Fall in.”

Argyle stumbled on a protruding root and barely kept his balance. Helo waited for his assigned spot in line—last. Argyle told him it was because he was last in seniority, and maybe that was true, but it felt more like it was to put him in his place and reinforce the message that he wanted him gone.

Sparks passed Helo and mouthed the word crazy.

Argyle ordered them to keep to the trees and sneak into the complex from the east side behind the barns. They bushwhacked down the hill and followed the river, marching deep inside the tree line, Argyle nervously glancing about as if he expected the Dreads to pour over the hill at any second. Helo kept expecting to run into an Ash Angel patrol or some sign the people in the Foundry had prepared against the upcoming assault, but whatever preparations they had made were cleverly hidden. They were even with the farmhouse and barns to their left, but still no sign of anyone.

“There’s a bridge across the river,” Faramir said, checking his watch.

Argyle put a finger to his lips, eyes bulging a shut-up stare to Faramir. And it finally struck Helo what Argyle feared: an ambush. At least that’s what it seemed like. Everyone else seemed to consider this friendly territory, but Argyle was now sneaking forward at a snail’s pace, head on a swivel.

They worked their way down toward the river through some grabby underbrush until they encountered a trail leading to the bridge. Argyle raised his fist for a halt. Did he see something? Helo wanted to edge closer but was sure Argyle’s eyes would pop out of their sockets if he did. After a few moments, Argyle led out onto the bridge at a run, heading straight for the rear of the barns. They all tromped after him, boots heavy on the grayed wooden slats.

An old green tractor with a beat-up trailer sat in the weeds behind the first barn. A small field extended into a larger one cleared of trees, now filled with corn about waist-high. They rounded the barn, and there on the back of the wraparound porch sat an old man with a friendly Ash Angel aura. Helo thought Argyle would relax, but he approached the house like he was about to breach it.

“No Dreads here, Irishman,” the man said. Helo had to admire the morph job. He looked about seventy, lines and wrinkles and spots expertly covering his weathered face and hands. Well-traveled cowboy boots, stained blue jeans, and a clean button-up denim shirt completed the old-farmer ensemble, cowboy hat hanging on the post of the chair he was sitting in. He even had hair bushing up beneath his nose and in his ears.

A table held a sweating glass pitcher of lemonade, six glasses ringed around it. The man stood gingerly, as if his back were sore. “Martha!” he yelled. “They’re here!”

“We’re looking for Commander Spade,” Argyle said. “We’re here to—”

“I know why you’re here,” the old man said, starting to pour. “Have a seat. Martha!”

“This is urgent,” Argyle said. “We’ve—”

“I said I know why you’re here,” the old man snapped. “I am Commander Spade. Sit down so I can give you a damn glass of lemonade.”

The back door opened, and an Ash Angel woman morphed to about the same age as Spade walked out carrying a plate of brownies. She wore a loose floral-print dress and patchwork apron.

“Now shuck your packs and guns,” she said. “Sit down.”

“But commander,” Argyle said.

“I said sit the hell down,” Spade said. “That’s an order.”

Helo smiled. That did it. Argyle undid his pack, and all followed suit. There was a wooden bench and three white wicker chairs. Helo took one of the wicker chairs, which creaked and snapped as he settled in. Spade handed him a glass of lemonade, and Martha came along after him, doling out generously-sized brownies.

“Oh, dear,” Martha said. “I’ve forgotten the napkins.” She shuffled inside and came out a few moments later, passing them out before joining Spade at the table.

Helo savored it. The lemonade was fantastic. The brownies rich and moist. This was the best start to a mission he’d ever had, before or after dying.

“Any of you idiots been here before?” Spade asked.

“We’re not idiots, sir,” Argyle protested. “We’re Sicarius Nox.”

“Yeah,” Spade said. “You’re the ones that go find Shedim on purpose, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Idiots.”

“Someone’s got to do it,” Argyle argued.

“True,” Spade said. “The idiots have to do it. No one else would volunteer. Don’t get me wrong. People give idiots a bad time, but they really get a lot of unpleasant stuff done when properly managed.” The old man’s eyes, morphed to a dull brown, fell on Helo. “You the Unascended?”

Helo swallowed his last bite of brownie. “Yes, sir.”

“What’s this Angel Born nonsense?” he asked. “You make that up?”

“No, sir.”

“You can really use Bestowals in desecration fields and kill Shedim without a sanctified weapon?”

“He can,” Shujaa said. “I have—”

“Didn’t ask you, tree trunk,” Spade said.

“And I can’t be torched,” Helo added.

Martha looked at Helo, eyes narrow, then back at Spade. “Now that’s a new thing. At least, I haven’t seen anything like it in my 150 years.”

“Or in my 198,” Spade said. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Sparks whistled—198 years! Helo could hardly believe it. This man had been born in the 1800s. Martha too—before the Ash Angel Organization was even formed. They must have originally been Old Masters.

“You the one all moon-eyed over some Dread woman?” Spade asked.

Helo let the question hang in the air, draining his cup. “I wouldn’t put it like—”

“Never works,” Spade said bluntly. “I’ve seen it happen both ways. Never works. So don’t be an idiot. Gotta find yourself a good Ash Angel woman like Martha. Find an older one. Women might be more fun these days, but they don’t know how to cook. It’s all microwave this and open a can of that.”

Sparks chuckled, Finny grinning beside him.

“Thanks for the tip,” Helo said.

“Well,” Spade said. “Here’s the layout. Barn to your left is where the raw materials go in, the barn to the right is where the finished weapons come out all hidden in bags and boxes of produce or beans or whatever. Main entrance for visitors is in the basement of the house under a false bottom of the freezer. Once the fight gets on, I’m supposed to take Helo down and wait for this Sheid, Whirlwind, to come. The rest of you are to take up position and fight to defend the facility.”

“Where are the other Michaels?” Argyle asked. “We were told you were fortified.”

“We’ve got a few out and about. Most are in the loading and unloading bays,” Spade said. “We’ll bring them up on the loading elevators when it’s time. Want to hide our numbers. Now, grab your gear and head inside. If you’re lucky, they won’t come before dinner. Martha’s got a roast in the oven and a mess of potato salad in the fridge.”

Argyle rose and put his glass on the table, and they filed in after Spade. On her way past, Martha grabbed Helo’s arm. “Take another brownie, dear. It’s nice to have something sweet once in a while.”

Helo nodded and took it. “Thank you.”

She smiled as he passed her and headed into the living room, where the team reclined on white couches imprinted with little pink-and-purple geese. They were hideous. Only Argyle remained standing, gazing out the window, fingers tapping on the trim, as he waited for the horde of Dreads to show. Helo took a seat on the raised fireplace hearth made from red brick.

“Wait,” Sparks said. “Why does he get another brownie?”

Martha came into the room. “Because he’s an American, dear.” She winked and then handed Sparks another.

Argyle faced the room again. “Any Dread or Sheid sightings on the—?”

“Relax, Irish,” Spade said, putting the glasses in the sink. “None today. Just got word that the main group of Dreads headed out a couple hours ago. Should be here a bit before sundown, as expected.” Then he chuckled. “But you want to know what’s really off kilter?”

“What’s that?” Argyle asked.

Spade affixed his cowboy hat. “The Dreads are all dressed like clowns.”

Chapter 18

Clowns

“Clowns?” Finny said, face falling. “Are you serious? Like creepy clowns or the kind of clowns you send to a birthday party?”

“Never saw much of a difference,” Spade said.

Finny clenched his fists. “Me either.”

“It’s Avadan,” Helo added. “He’s just screwing with us. Everything’s a show to him.”

Argyle turned back toward the window, the finger tapping increasing in pace. “Are these windows bulletproof? The walls fortified?”

Spade chuckled. “No. Martha and I built this house in the forties. It’s had a few remodels. Got a new kitchen two years ago, didn’t we Martha?”

“Love it,” she said.

“This house is indefensible,” Argyle said, mostly to the window. “We’d be better to take up position in the woods. If Avadan brings that Sheid, this house will get pulled apart. Can’t get captured. Not an option.”

Helo looked at Sparks, who shook his head. Andromeda bit her lip. Only Shujaa and Faramir seemed oblivious to Argyle’s nervous rambling, both lost in their own thoughts.

“Hey, Argyle,” Sparks said. “Would you rather have your hands replaced by bear paws, or have horse hooves for feet?”

Argyle turned. “What the hell does that have to do with anything, Sparks? We’re in for a major battle here, and you’re asking pointless questions. Focus on the mission.”

Sparks stood. “Just seeing if it would work. I think I need another brownie—if you don’t mind letting a Brit have another, Martha.”

“Of course,” she said.

“What about you, Finny?” Sparks said after Martha handed him another brownie. “Bear paws or horse hooves?”

Finny breathed in and out, face settling. “Well, it really comes down to the most basic question: Are you a lover or a fighter? The fighter’s gotta take the bear paws, but the lover’s got to have horse hooves.”

“So which are you, Finny?” Andromeda asked.

“Gotta choose lover,” Finny said. “I don’t think the ladies would be too keen on the bear paws, and women love horses, right? So horse hooves. Yep, that’s my answer.”

Spade shook his head like everyone was an idiot—which Helo figured was one of Spade’s core beliefs—while Martha grinned.

“What do you say, Andromeda?” Sparks continued. “Would you rather have a boyfriend with horse hooves or bear paws for hands?”

“Bear paws,” she said. Helo kept an eye on Argyle, whose tapping had stopped in favor of a death grip on the window trim. His neck muscles bulged.

Sparks swallowed a big bite. “Really?”

She shrugged. “Can you imagine a back rub with the light touch of bear claws and fur? I bet it’d be great. I’d—”

“That’s enough of this stupidity!” Argyle said. “Everyone grab your gear and get up. We’re going to find a place to set up. Combat protocol starts now. Outside. Helo, you’re in here. Move, people!”

Spade raised his eyebrows and pointed out the window. “There’s a nice grouping of rocks in the trees about fifty feet west of the southern barn. Head out the front and turn right. Not hard to find.”

He and Martha continued washing dishes like Argyle hadn’t just exploded. Helo grabbed his Big Blessed Shotgun for show while everyone else geared back up and shouldered their packs. They were out the door in thirty seconds and marching across the driveway.

“That commander of yours ain’t right,” Spade said.

Helo leaned his weapon against the fireplace wall and sat back down. “Yeah. Archus Ramis got mangled by Avadan and turned into a Dread. Argyle saw him and hasn’t been the same since.”

Helo wondered what had happened to Ramis. Nobody had talked about him.

Spade nodded. “The Grand Archus know about this?”

“Yes,” Helo said. Sparks had brought it up to him at least twice.

“Well, you watch it,” Spade said as he finished drying the last glass. “I’ve seen men like that before. He’ll freeze. Hunker down. You do what you gotta do.”

Helo spent the balance of the afternoon with Spade and Martha, who gave an absolute master class on acting normal. It almost seemed like they didn’t care that hell was coming their direction. For three hours they watched game shows and a sappy Lifetime movie. Spade even pretended to use reading glasses to see the buttons on the remote. Acting old was as easy for them as walking, and Helo tried to find any flaws in their appearance or mannerisms but came up empty. They didn’t even talk about the Ash Angel Organization or the operation once.

At five, Martha served the most delicious pot roast, potato salad, and biscuits—with honey butter!—that he had ever had. Spade had invited the team in for the meal, but Argyle turned them down. He even refused to let the old Ash Angels bring plates out to the team. Their loss, but after eating three pieces of apple pie with whipped cream, a sliver of pity pricked Helo’s heart for the rest of his squad mates. But it wasn’t good to waste food, and Ash Angels could eat forever, so he dove in. There was even milk that was decidedly not skim.

“We’d better save some, dear,” Martha said when he went to start in on the second pie. “They might be hungry later.”

“You’re nicer than I am,” Helo said. “But you’re right. This was great.”

“Yep,” Spade said, a kind light settling into his eyes. He’d had four pieces himself. “Martha can cook up the Rapture, that’s for sure. Let me tell you a secret, son. You want to live a long time as an Ash Angel? Enjoy it. Eat a good meal. Till the earth. Hike the mountains. Make love to a woman. I think the AAO has halved the lives of Ash Angels with all their fighting and missions and carrying on.”

“You’re in the AAO,” Helo said.

“Yeah, sort of,” he said. “But I tell them what I’m doing rather than the other way round. ’Sides, it’s been peaceful here. Till now. Just remember what I said. Six Bestowals in what, eighteen months? I think you’ve missed the point of the afterlife entirely.”

There was definitely an Old Master still in Spade somewhere. But the old man’s point was a new one. Helo had never heard Ash Angel life expectancy tied to enjoying the afterlife. But if an afterlife of misery led to a short afterlife, then Helo figured he was one of the best examples ever.

Helo helped clear the dishes. “I think it’s a bit late for me.”

“I don’t know,” Martha said. “Rachel the Unascended lasted for a good twenty years, I think.”

The phone rang. It was one still attached to the wall by a long, curly cord.

“That’ll be Mars,” Martha said. “I’ll get our gear laid out. Helo, can you put the milk in the fridge?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She took a creaky set of stairs to the second level. Spade’s phone conversation was short.

“They’re thirty minutes out,” Spade said. “At least five Shedim. Time to get ready. We’ll be back.”

Spade went upstairs, still using an old man’s gait.

After gathering his gear, Helo stood in front of the picture window and looked down the road stretching along the riverside. So far, the sky above the trees in the distance was a clear, deep blue with a few lonely clouds plying the evening breezes. Helo decided against putting his earpiece in just yet. He could only imagine how many sitreps an antsy Argyle was calling for.

About ten minutes later, Spade and Martha tromped back down, their heavy gear inspiring even louder squeals from the stairs. Helo thought they would morph younger, but they hadn’t. A couple of seventy-year-olds in full combat gear brought a smile to his face. Spade even had his cowboy hat. They had, however, given up on their slow gait and slightly bent postures.

“We’re heading into the facility,” Spade said. “We’ll leave the false bottom off the freezer. Get inside when it’s time. Seal the hatch behind you when you come in. When we’ve got the Dreads trapped in the valley, Martha will take the Michaels out the south barn, and I’ll take the others out the north.”

“Got it. Thanks again.”

Martha and Spade had barely left when Helo caught the first stain darkening the sky. He stuffed his comms unit in his ear.

“Helo!” Argyle yelled. “Respond!”

“Helo here,” he said.

“Why didn’t you respond?”

“My earpiece wasn’t in,” he said.

Silence. He could almost feel how bad Argyle wanted to chew him out from all the way outside the house. But even Argyle had to realize there were bigger fish to fry at the moment.

“Perimeter recon has them ten minutes out,” Argyle reported.

“Roger that.”

What would Avadan do? Helo looked down the road, at the water flowing by, and at the dense trees all around. Since Avadan was nuts, he had the advantage of being unpredictable, but his methodical dismantling of the AAO fully evidenced that he wasn’t stupid.

It wasn’t lost on Helo that the Foundry was near water, and water and Ash Angels didn’t get along. But still, would Avadan just march his clown army right down the road into their carefully prepared trap? Helo wished he had read the reports on the attacks on the other facilities. Did Avadan have a certain way of doing things?

And the clown army. That was the weirdest of all. To take the time and go to the expense to outfit his soldiers like clowns might have been the result of a deranged mind, but the only practical purpose Helo could fathom would be to hide the identity of the attackers, and the only identities that would matter were Avadan’s, Jumelia’s, and Aclima’s. Maybe one or all of them would be there.

Then he felt it, the Sheid’s stain sliding around his Angel Born soul, unable to find a crack to get into but trying anyway. How had Avadan created such a monstrosity? The roiling clouds in the sky grew thicker over the horizon, lightning crashing along the front. A wave of thunder rolled over the farmhouse, rattling the windows. This was it. It was coming, and at least four other Shedim besides. Sicarius Nox would be put to the test today.

The mass of clouds swallowed the setting sun with a terrible finality, as if promising no one in the valley would see it again. But the angriest clouds turned north, heading to his left behind the hills, straight to where Grand Archus Mars and his troops waited in ambush. Straight toward Melody.

“They’ve split,” Argyle said. “Whirlwind has gone north, the four other Shedim south. Dreads and Possessed have also split into two groups. Hold position. Recon estimates we’re . . . we’re outnumbered two to one.”

Two to one! Helo opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. He knew it was time to go down into the facility, but he didn’t want to hole up just yet. The storm had swelled and darkened, the center a whirling mass of black death and white lightning. Even though the house wasn’t in the direct path of the maelstrom, the wind whipped the trees, the rain hammering down with huge drops. And gunfire and explosions. The battle was behind the hills to the north and south, the entire valley seeming to quake with the rumble and roar. This was not how it was supposed to go.

“Mars and Magdelene have engaged the enemy,” Argyle said. “Hold position. The Shedim could be here any moment.”

Above the hills to the north, branches, leaves, and even entire trees circled in the wind only to get ejected. There were even auras spinning in the tornado-like cloud before getting spit out. Some Ash Angels crash-landed on the hill just up from the river. Relentless lightning gashed down from the cloud. Helo squeezed his BBSG. He had to get over there. They needed him now. He wasn’t going to hide in the basement.

He tapped his comms. “This is Helo. How is the battle going?”

“Under control,” Argyle said, words coming out fast and shaky. “It’s all under control. Grand Archus Mars knows what he’s doing. Hold position.”

Helo paced for two minutes. The epicenter of the maelstrom spun back and forth behind the top of the northern hills, more auras sucked into the sky and then thrown down.

Then he saw his first Dread clown emerging out of the forest by the riverside on the north, stained baggy pants, orange hair, and water-stained makeup done in the creepy clown style Finny was worried about. The Dread carried an Ash Angel soldier in its arms and dumped him in the river, body turning to Ash. It turned to go, but someone drilled it in the back with a sniper rifle, sending it face-first into the trees.

“They’re coming. They’re coming,” Argyle said, voice fast and high.

More and more Dreads popped out of the trees, all from the north, dumping Ash Angel bodies in the water. Then two emerged from the south side, tossing more victims into the river. Sicarius Nox was firing like mad, but more and more Dreads emerged and sped away to fetch new Ash Angels to cast into the river.

This couldn’t go on. They had to get into the fight or there wouldn’t be anyone left to use the Foundry. Helo turned right off the porch and jogged toward the trees, where muzzle flashes lit up the shadowy darkness. Faramir spun as Helo approached, the tassels of his stupid hat whipping across his face—a face wide-eyed with terror. Argyle wasn’t much better. Finny, Shujaa, and Andromeda had set up their BBSRs on a rock and were blasting away.

Argyle crouched behind a rock, eyes almost wild. “What are you doing here?” he yelled. “Your station is in the house. In the house! The Shedim could be here any minute.”

“We’ve got to go!” Helo said. “They need us. They’re getting slaughtered!”

Sparks came around from behind another set of rocks. “I agree. We’ve got to move.”

Argyle stood, neck bulging. “You will do as you’re ordered. It’s under control! Under control. They won’t get us. They won’t!”

“I’m going,” Helo said. “I’m not going to stand here and let this happen!”

Argyle blew Helo’s leg off at the knee with a well-aimed shot from his BBR. Helo fell to the ground, and Argyle kicked his weapon out of his hands.

“You will do as you are told for once!” Argyle spat.

Andromeda, Finny, and Shujaa turned around.

“We’ve got to help!” Helo said, scooting to a sitting position. “We’re Sicarius Nox. The Shedim are on the other side of these hills! We don’t go now, and this is over!”

Argyle leveled his BBR at Helo’s face. “Shut up. We stay here where we’re safe.”

Helo looked around at his squad. Indecision played across their faces. “Come on!” he said. “Can someone else be insubordinate for once?”

“Okay,” Sparks said. Then he pulled his BBG like a cowboy from the Old West and double-tapped Argyle to the head. Their commander slumped to the ground. “Whoops! That was an accident, I swear. Heal Helo, Faramir.”

Faramir backed up, hands in the air. “No, uh, I . . .”

Sparks sped forward and put his BBG to Faramir’s head. “Do it, or my weapon might accidentally go off again.”

“Okay,” he said.

Helo grabbed his dismembered leg and pulled it back to his knee. Faramir healed him.

“Andromeda, you’re in charge, now,” Sparks said. “What’s the plan?”

“Uh—”

Helo cut her off. “Shujaa stays here to pick at the Dreads. Sparks and I go north after Whirlwind. The rest of you go south. You too, Faramir. Bright and fight along the water’s edge to keep the Dreads from dumping more bodies, then take down the Shedim. Let’s go.”

No one argued. Sparks reloaded, and Helo grabbed his BBSG.

“Ready?” Helo asked.

“Oh yeah,” Sparks said.

“Let’s put on a little Speed,” Helo said.

They tore out of the forest, crossed the road, and Strength jumped over the river. Mid arc, Helo let go his first blast of Glorious Presence, stunning two Dreads dragging Ash Angels to the water. Once on the other side, he ran down the trail, which was now littered with branches and leaves from the thrashing trees. The storm howled ahead of them and to their left.

They found the two stunned Dreads on their knees at the water’s edge, clown costumes ripped, makeup smeared.

“We don’t burn them we’ll be fighting them again in ten minutes,” Sparks said. Helo Angel Fired them both, bodies collapsing into dust.

More clowns angled down the hill ahead of them, and they pulled back behind a tree. Helo counted at least seven Dreads scouring the hillside for felled Ash Angels. The sight of a clown horde pushing through a dim forest was a nightmare come true.

“I’ll blast them with Glorious Presence as we run,” Helo said. “Disable them for now. We’ve got to clear the hill and get to the Sheid.”

Sparks nodded and they broke cover. Up the hill they sprinted, powering through debris. Everywhere they saw Dreads, Helo let loose a strobe of Glorious Presence, hoping his Virtus would last. He needed enough to confront Whirlwind. Sparks followed behind, his BBR popping the confused Dreads with deadly accuracy. But if they didn’t get back and burn them . . .

A Ghostpacker—a snarling, plump clown with a normal pistol—popped out from behind a tree. The first bullet peeled off Helo’s uniform at the shoulder, the second hit his body armor and did nothing. He belted the clown right in its bright-red nose, and it dropped with a thud.

The higher they trudged, the more Ash Angel bodies they found, some shot, but most mangled and broken. Then a Thrall stumbled at a jog down the hill at them, blasting away with one of the new Dread rifles. Bullets tore up tree trunks and leaves around them. Sparks blasted at it, hitting it in the legs, but in the shadowy woods, they re-formed almost immediately. The Thrall would just keep re-forming without any light to stop it. It tumbled, got up, and jogged at them again, clown face painted red, black diamonds for eyes. And creepy yellow teeth.

Angel Fire.

It poured out of his hands and burned the Thrall from the head down. Sparks Hallowed the ground, keeping it from re-forming, and in seconds it was dust.

“I want that Bestowal,” Sparks reminded him.

They turned back toward the hill, the storm impossibly loud. There were gunshots going off on the other side, so the resistance wasn’t defeated yet. An entire tree sailed overhead, crashing into the canopy in time with an enormous boom of thunder. The rain came down hard now, mixed with hail. With every step up the hill, the ground got sloppier and slipperier. Helo stepped on a branch and stumbled, nearly falling over the body of a felled Ash Angel. It took him a moment to realize it was Melody. She lay facedown, back and neck bent at wild angles.

He rolled her over, and her eyes widened. “Helo!”

With a burst of Healing, her body popped into line. He extended his hand and pulled her up. Her pack was on, but whatever weapons she had were gone save for the sanctified katana still in its sheath at her hip. Helo handed her his shotgun.

He took stock. Behind them more clowns—Dreads and Ghostpackers—crested the hill, looking for Ash Angels to toss in the river. The howling storm was centered on the other side of the hill, probably fifty yards away. He wasn’t going to leave Melody out here by herself, and he couldn’t take the time to go back across the hill to take care of the next batch of Dreads.

“Sparks,” he said, “head back across the hill. Burn who you can with Stingers but keep them from dumping Ash Angels in the river. Melody, you’re with me.”

“We got six minutes till dusk,” Sparks said. “Be quick.” He ignited Speed and was off, guns blazing.

“This sucks,” Melody said. Her face and buzzed hair were streaked with dirt, her face looking more like the night when nightmares had tormented her dreams.

“It’s about to get worse,” Helo said. “Stay close to me.”

“Always.”

The last few yards to the top of the hill had them on all fours, mucking through the mud and hail and leaves. Hail the size of quarters beat relentlessly on them, shredding the canopy and clumping on the forest floor. To get to the top, they had to scramble over a tangle of broken trees, the full force of the wind slapping their faces. The carnage shook him. Colorado was nothing compared to this. All over the slope, the twitching, writhing bodies of Ash Angels and Dreads lay in broken heaps. Trees had been uprooted or snapped in half and thrown everywhere, splintered matchstick trunks jutting up from the ground.

And there in the center of it all was the Sheid invisible inside its swirling cloak of leaves, trees, and hail. How was he going to do this? He could use his Speed and try to break through the outer wall of the wind funnel, but he wasn’t sure he could make it without joining the other bodies—Ash Angel and Dreads—whose auras spun toward the sky. But what could he use to get it to come to him?

He tugged Melody back behind a thick tree. “You see all those Dreads? In about six minutes they’re all going to get back up.”

“I know,” she said, yelling over the wind.

“That happens, I want you to get out of this valley. Find camp.”

She didn’t say anything, and he shrugged off his pack. “You got any C4?”

“No.”

He dug his out. He was going to need help to pull this off. He handed the C4 to her. “Hold this. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He slipped out from cover. Gunfire erupted farther down the valley, and Whirlwind moved toward it. Helo slogged through the quagmire, healing the first three Ash Angels he came to. Everywhere gunfire rang out, the Sheid followed, hunting out pockets of resistance. Dreads and Possessed ranged all over, scattered loosely around the woods.

He led the three soldiers—two men and a woman—back to where Melody hunkered down with the C4.

One of the soldiers, a man built like an NBA power forward, stepped forward. “Are you Helo?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m Samson. This is Mirror and Rust. It’s half of my squad. If you could heal—”

“No time. Look, if any of you have C4, get it out.”

“They tried that,” Samson said, unshouldering his pack. “They can’t get close enough for it to do any good.”

“Right,” Helo said. “Get them primed and give me the detonators. We’ve got about four minutes before all these Dreads pop back up.”

His comms crackled. He could barely hear it, but it was Sparks. “They’re coming over the hill in force close to the house. We need Spade and Martha’s teams.”

They weren’t out yet? Was Mars waiting on something? Maybe he was down. Helo had no idea how to contact Spade or Martha. Maybe Andromeda did.

“Andromeda, sitrep!”

Nothing.

“Three minutes till sundown,” Samson reported.

That’s what they were waiting for. Keep the reserves in until after the Dreads got back up.

C4 in hand, Helo led his ad-hoc team over the hill through the accursed wind and hail. He had to find a good spot, defensible but escapable. He found a grouping of low boulders covered in downed trees, three Dread clowns, blasted and twitching nearby, blown apart by what looked like BBSGs.

“Melody,” Helo said. “You know how to use Stingers?”

“Duh, Helo.”

“Get them out and burn these three,” he said. “The rest of you, plant that C4 in front of this boulder. Bury it under the lip so it doesn’t get sucked up in the wind. I want the explosion to blow outward. Be quick.”

He needed to get the Sheid to come their way. He stood on the rock and let off a couple pulses of Glorious Presence. It worked, Whirlwind’s destructive tornado reversing course right for them. Samson’s team finished planting the C4, returning and wiping their muddy hands on their pants.

“Samson,” he said. “I need you to be bait. Fire into the maelstrom. If you’ve got Glorious Presence or Hallow, use it to draw its attention. Give me the detonators. Melody, you’re with me.”

“Yes, sir,” Samson said.

Now came the hard part. When the C4 went off, he had to be far enough away not to get blown to pieces but close enough to Hallow the ground and strike before the Sheid re-formed.

And it was on its way. The wind lashed them. The hail clobbered them. The howling in his ears was deafening. He found a shallow depression partially covered by a fallen tree. He pushed Melody into the slushy hail at the bottom and followed her in, tracking the progress of the Sheid. Samson and his team unloaded everything they had, Glorious Presence breaking through with throbs of light. Then the outer edge of the swirling funnel engulfed Samson and his team, trees ripped away and flung into the air along with the three Ash Angel auras.

He tripped the detonators.

The ground rippled and rocked, the explosion booming. Melody shrieked. The tree over the depression sailed away, dirt and rock dumping down on them. Time to go.

“Melody, stay here.”

Helo extricated himself from the dirt and burst from the depression. The hail and wind had stopped, the sky starting to clear. Vexus swirled around the crater, the Sheid re-forming fast—too fast. He poured on the Speed, leaping fallen trees, branches slapping his legs. When he arrived at the crater’s edge, the Sheid had nearly re-formed into a wicked-looking clown with a blood-red face.

Helo Hallowed. The field encompassed the Sheid, black mist steaming off it, keeping it from solidifying. All he had to do was spear it with his hand. He had taken two steps into the crater when a bullet nailed him square in the chest. His armored vest split open, and he went down hard on his back, chest mushy. His hallow evaporated for a moment. He ignited it again, but it was too late. The storm was picking up again. The Sheid had re-formed, and it leapt into the air and out of the hallow, soaring high, a Vexus sword forming in its hands. Helo extinguished the hallow and lifted a hand, but his arm wasn’t working right.

Down the Sheid clown came, sword pointed right at Helo’s head. His Angel Fire skewed left. This was it.

Melody jumped from the edge of the crater, sanctified katana arcing through the air. The Sheid noticed her a half second too late. The blade bisected it cleanly, and the Sheid exploded, sword absorbing the Vexus and the sanctified glow winking out. Melody landed and rolled to standing, sheathing the sword. She had done it. The wind, rain, and hail dissipated.

Melody crawled over to him and helped him sit. “Helo!”

“I’m good.”

He wasn’t completely broken, but his limbs were sluggish, especially on his right side. Dusk had to be upon them, and he had to get Melody out of here.

His comms buzzed. “Helo!” It was Sparks. “Is it down?”

“It’s down. How long till dusk?”

“Forty-five seconds. It’s going bad down here.”

“Copy that.”

“Melody. Help me to the edge,” he said. “Stay down. Now listen. You need to run to get help at the farmhouse. The commander is Spade. Got it? The entrance to the facility is in the freezer in the basement. Go now.”

“But—”

“No buts, Melody. Go. As fast as you can. This is the job! There’s a sniper out there, so don’t run straight.”

She didn’t like it, her face twisted with indecision.

“Go!”

She broke out of the crater, working her way to the top of the hill through the tangled mess of trees and fallen bodies. He scooted up farther. She was going too slow!

As the sun fell below the horizon of the clearing sky, Helo’s heart sank with it. In moments, a veritable horde of fully healed Dread clowns had picked themselves up out of the mud—a red-aura resurrection with Melody right in the middle of it.

Chapter 19

The Best Line

Helo could only watch as a Dread torched Melody, the red wave engulfing her. She fell twitching to the ground. He clawed his way out of the crater, kneeling at its edge. The Dread kicked Melody over onto her back, blasted her three times to the chest with a BBG, and picked her up. Other newly healed Dreads scooped up Ash Angel bodies from the ground after blasting or stabbing them in the heart. Almost as one, the muddy clown Dreads turned toward the hill leading down to the river.

Helo pulled his BBG out and fired it into the air to get the Dreads’ attention. He didn’t know how many he could get, but he let loose with the biggest blast of Glorious Presence he could muster. The light flooded the clearing, but his Virtus was running low.

He extinguished it. Stunned Dreads stumbled around and fell into the mud. The Dread carrying Melody had gone face-first into a rock, Melody’s body sliding to the ground. If he could get to her, he might be able to use Inspire to get her back up and out of the kill zone. He rose unsteadily to his feet, right side balking like he’d had a stroke. He fell as much as stumbled as he forced his way through the wrack.

“They’re coming out!” Sparks said excitedly into his comms. “Spade and Martha are in the field. Where are you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Helo said. “Clear the river so they can’t kill more Ash Angels.”

“Copy that,” Sparks said.

Melody was fifty feet away. He wrestled his way through the fallen branches of a tree as the darkness deepened. A mucky patch sent his right foot out from under him, and he fell hard to the ground. A nearby trunk, broken at the base, gave him the leverage he needed to get upright, but then a bullet drilled him high in the back. He couldn’t move anything anymore. He slid off the tree trunk and ended up with his eyes skyward, the first stars of evening staring down at him.

Someone was using Speed nearby, the accelerated footfalls coming right for him. A desecration field slid under him. In his peripheral vision, he could just make out the red aura of a Dread to his right. A torching blast washed over him, then dissipated. The Dread stepped forward, big sniper rifle in hand. The soaked clown uniform revealed a woman’s body.

And she’d used two Dread Bestowals. It was a Loremaster—Aclima or Jumelia.

He Hallowed the ground, and the sniper rifle fell from her hands.

“Helo,” Aclima said, voice sad. She tore off her clown wig, the big red nose already gone. With an angry pull, she yanked off the clown top and armored vest beneath it.

“Aclima!” he said, mind racing. “Get your heart. Throw it somewhere out here so you can’t find it. I can’t keep this hallow up much longer.”

“No,” she said, sinking to her knees. “I won’t do this anymore. I won’t be his slave.”

Getting her hands under Helo’s back, she rolled him over and rummaged through his pack.

“What are you looking for?”

She let him go, and he rolled back over. She had a Stinger.

“No, Aclima. No! Listen to me.”

“It’s over,” she said. She reached out and touched his face. “Thank you. Thank you for believing.”

She drove the Stinger into her chest. Virtus nearly gone, Helo extinguished his hallow to keep her from pressing the plunger. Then she wasn’t Aclima anymore. She tore the Stinger out of her chest and tossed it into the undergrowth before grabbing his BBG out of his holster and shooting him twice in the heart. The bullets punched through his compromised armor and turned what little was left of his chest to jelly.

Like an automaton, she flared her Strength and picked him up, carrying him honeymoon-style through the darkness, down, down, down, toward the river.

“Aclima,” he pleaded. “Wake up! It’s me. Aclima!”

She just stared blankly ahead. Off to the right toward the farmhouse, the war raged on, the echoes of gunfire bounding through the forest. What could he do? He closed his eyes. He had one play left—a dangerous play.

“Sparks,” he said, trying to bend his head to activate the comms unit in his ear. “Sparks!”

“This is Sparks. Go.”

“Aclima,” he said. “She’s got me. She’s going to the river about two hundred yards from the farmhouse. You have hallow?”

“On my way.”

Sparks would kill her, but he had to convince him not to. Sparks ran in from their right, someone else with an aura trailing him. Aclima dropped him and turned toward them. With what was left of his Virtus, Helo let loose the last of his hallow. Aclima dropped him as the hallow overtook her.

“Hallow the ground!” Helo yelled.

Sparks jogged forward and took over just as Helo felt his Virtus run out, the radiance of Sparks’s hallow spilling around them. Sparks kept his BBSG trained on Aclima’s head. She fell to her knees, a resigned relief smoothing her features.

“I’ll get a Stinger,” Shujaa said, tone reverential.

“No!” Helo said. “Aclima, we can—”

She leaned down and kissed him, holding his head in her hands. “It has to be this way. I can’t go on doing this. You tried, Helo. I tried.”

A numbness stole over Helo’s damaged heart. He was not going to let this happen. But what could he say? What sacrifice could she make to show her worthiness to bear the calling of Ash Angel again? There was only one.

“Listen, Aclima! Listen to me right now. I need you to do something. Put your anger on the altar. Sacrifice it to me. Burn it away. You love it. Love me more.”

Her breath caught. “Helo, you are the best of men. You deserve someone—”

“I deserve nothing. I choose you!” he yelled. “I know who you are. I know what you’ve done. And I choose you! And if that’s not the best damn pickup line you’ve ever heard, then throw me in the river right now.”

Tears poured down her cheeks, and she leaned down again, dark hair veiling his eyes, shutting out the world. Her lips found his, and she kissed him deeply. Gunfire, mud, and the broken forest faded away, and somewhere in the caress of her lips he felt her, felt her like he had before.

“I’ll be damned,” Sparks said.

Helo opened his eyes, and there she was, an Ash Angel and not a Blank anymore. Her aura glowed in the fading light, to him like the burning of a thousand suns. He laughed. He cried. She kissed him again, and healing—her first and only Bestowal—flowed from her lips into his body, his heart pulling together again. He willed it to beat for her. The holes in his body closed, and the holes in his mind and soul seemed to close with them. He was whole again. There was light, and never again would he let the darkness drag him down.

She pulled away, and while he might never know despair again, he saw in her eyes that sadness was not far off. Somewhere in her penetrating gaze he finally understood that if he would love her, really love her for her sake, he would have to let her go. He could not risk losing her to Avadan or some Dread or Sheid. He could not force her to stay with him and endanger her soul. She would leave the mortal world while endowed with celestial light.

“Not tonight,” he said.

“No,” she said, tear sliding through the streaked clown makeup on her cheek. “Not tonight. In the morning after the sun rises, you will take me to the river. I can never repay you. Never.”

They stood, Sparks and Shujaa sober-faced witnesses.

“You give us your word,” Shujaa said. “You will pass on tomorrow.”

“I give you my word,” she said.

“I am going to take her away from this battle,” Helo said, “so there’s no chance she gets captured or torched. Contact me when it’s over, and I will bring her to the farmhouse. Shujaa, Melody’s been torched. She’s just over the hill.”

“I will find her, Angel Born,” he said.

“Thank you,” Helo said. “Sparks, you’re in command of—”

“Yeah, I know,” he said.

The two sprinted back toward the sounds of battle, and Helo took Aclima away from it, heading downriver. She stopped and washed as much of the clown makeup off her face as she could in the dark water before taking his hand. It was hard to see anything, and the going was slow, but he didn’t dare risk a light. Her aura was a dangerous signal in the night as it was.

“How are you still here?” she said. “You were supposed to ascend.”

“I am Helo the Unascended, stuck here until some purpose is fulfilled. Maybe you were it.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “There is much work to be done.”

“I’ve been working, believe me.”

She squeezed his hand. “That’s the problem, Helo. There is more to the afterlife than work. I don’t think you get to ascend until you understand that. So, who is Melody?”

“That’s right!” he said. “You wouldn’t know. It’s Tela!”

“Did you awaken her into all of this hell?”

Finally, someone who agreed with him. “No. Goliath did. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t even know until a few days ago. She got torched for the first time. But she killed Whirlwind. Avadan’s going to be pissed about that.”

Aclima stopped him. “Helo. It’s worse than you think.”

“Is he gathering Vexus?” Helo asked.

“He’s had it in his prisons all along,” she said as they resumed their walk through the forest. “He’s been gathering it for centuries, it seems. Lately, he’s used Jumelia and me to transfer it for him.”

“You know where?”

“Sort of,” she said. “He blindfolded us, but I’ve got a good idea.”

“And the kidnappings?”

“I’m not sure, but I think he’s looking for an Attuned, maybe more than one. I think he’s going to make a Sheid again, maybe one even more powerful than the last. But I can’t be sure. He’s throwing away Dreads and Possessed on this battle with the Ash Angels, and I can’t figure out why. It’s like he wants to be a king with no subjects.”

Figuring out why was always going to be a problem with Avadan. “You don’t think he’ll do what Cain did and provide King with a body?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Why would he need an Attuned for that? I don’t know. He’s my son, and he’s a mystery to me. Can we not talk about this anymore? I think we are far enough away. Find somewhere we can sit, and just hold me. For the time we have left, I just want to feel. It’s been such a long time since I’ve felt anything.”

Six hours passed before Sparks found him on comms. It was hard to leave the bower they had found. It was hard to walk toward the sound of soldiers scouring the woods, their flashlight beams darting through the shadowy trees. It was hard to walk by the river and know that in a few hours Aclima’s ash would wash down the slow current and out of his life. How many Ash Angels had been lost that day? How much ash had the water already borne into the light?

Ahead of them, an Ash Angel walked out of the woods carrying a bundle of clown clothing. Another fumbled with an awkward load of rifles. Red clown noses still littered the forest here and there. They’d probably never find them all. The destruction to the forest where Whirlwind had rampaged was indescribable.

They crossed the bridge, river gurgling underneath it, and headed toward the brightly lit farmhouse. Besides a broken window and a few bullet holes, it had fared pretty well. Inside the south barn, a long line of mangled and torched Ash Angel bodies awaited the healing touch of Rapture. He spotted Andromeda among them, lying on the ground without much of a lower half.

The unmistakable smell of chocolate chip cookies hung around the house.

Aclima smiled. “Cookies. That is a great idea.”

“I doubt they’re as good as yours,” he said, “though I think you chopped my head off before I could enjoy them.”

“You deserved it.”

He opened the door, finding several Ash Angels huddled around the coffee table in the living room, a big plate of chocolate chip cookies and glasses of milk spread around. Martha and Spade had returned to their farm clothing and were puttering around the kitchen. Shujaa, Sparks, and Finny sat on the couch. Archus Magdelene and Grand Archus Mars had taken the sofa. And there was Melody, sitting on the fireplace hearth, not quite recovered from the torching. Her eyes were still unfocused, still inward. Back hunched, she had folded her arms and was rocking back and forth. He wished he had some Virtus he could spare to Inspire her. It didn’t seem like she’d even registered he was there.

Everyone was dirty and soaked, but Martha didn’t seem to care about the damage to her furniture. Eyes followed Aclima inside. Magdelene smiled, eyes brimming.

“See, Spade,” Martha said. “It does work out sometimes.”

They grabbed some cookies and milk, and he and Aclima bracketed Melody on the hearth.

Helo took her hand and put a cookie in it. “Eat, Melody. It will help.”

Melody blinked. “Helo?” She wrapped her arms around his neck and wept. “Make it stop. Make it stop.” Aclima rubbed her back, and after a few moments she quieted.

“Eat, Melody,” Helo said.

She nodded and nibbled on the cookie, eyes focusing and unfocusing.

“Helo,” Grand Archus Mars said, “we owe you a debt for killing that Sheid. It couldn’t have been easy.”

“I didn’t kill it,” he said. “Melody did.”

“Are you serious, Angel Born?” Shujaa said.

“Yes.”

Sparks chuckled. “So we have Sicarius Nox and seasoned Michaels and the Cherub gets the job done. Brilliant.”

Helo related the story of their fight with the Sheid and how he and Aclima had reunited. “As for Sicarius Nox,” he continued, “Argyle froze up. He had to be . . . dealt with.”

“I shot him twice in the head,” Sparks said.

“I encouraged it,” Helo said. “I take responsibility.”

Sparks folded his arms. “No, mate. This one’s mine. Would have done it without your say so anyway.”

Mars straightened on the sofa. “Enough, gentlemen. You two did what had to be done. I had ordered him over the hill, and he wouldn’t reply. We’ll get Sicarius Nox sorted later.” Mars grabbed a cookie and settled back. “Now, Aclima, I hope you know we can’t let you walk out of here. If you ever turned back . . . well, we can’t risk another Loremaster.”

She nodded, still rubbing Melody’s back. “I know. Helo will help me pass on after the sun rises.”

Silence fell for a few moments.

“See, Martha,” Spade said. “It never works out.”

Mars relaxed and bit into his cookie. “Aclima, what can you tell us about what Avadan is doing?”

“Gathering Vexus,” she said. “Well, moving Vexus around. He used Jumelia and me to do it, taking it from his prisons, where he’s been building it up behind Cain’s back for ages. He was very careful not to let me see where the final destination was. I know it was in Kansas City or in the nearby towns. It seemed like we were stopping at a fair number of stoplights, so I’m guessing downtown somewhere.”

Magdelene stood up, phone in hand. “I’ll get with my contacts in the Old Masters to see if they can help.”

“We can handle this ourselves,” Mars said. “I’ll send a recon squad out at first light.”

Maggie continued dialing. “More eyes won’t hurt.” She wandered off into the house.

“What about the kidnappings?” Mars said. “Why does he have the Ghostpackers let them go?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I told Helo he might be hunting for an Attuned so he can make another powerful Sheid. Not sure how they choose their victims or how they can even tell if one is Attuned or not.”

Mars stood. “If you think of anything else that might help, let us know. Right now we need to clear out and get back to Camp Zion. We’ve got a lot of work to do. Today was a victory, but it cost us. I want to use our momentum to turn this around. We’re not going to rest until I have Avadan’s heart on a barbecue.”

Chapter 20

Down to the River

The first contingent of Ash Angels left the Foundry just before dawn, a stream of glowing auras weaving through the trees and disappearing over the hill. Helo and Aclima trailed behind them, shepherding an improving Melody with them. Shujaa, Sparks, and Finny walked ahead of them. The banged up Faramir and Andromeda would come later. Aclima kept her arm under Melody’s arm, and Helo the other to keep the torched young woman from stumbling when her concentration wavered.

Sparks glanced back at them. Again. Helo wondered what caught his attention. Probably the sight of Aclima, who tended to draw men’s stares wherever she went, even when she was a bit of a mess like she was now. Melody kept rubbing her eyes and shaking her head like she was trying to shrug off a vicious uppercut from a heavyweight boxer. He hated seeing her like that. He hated seeing anyone like that, but Melody? If only she would have listened to him. At least she understood now. Maybe she wouldn’t be so gung ho about sprinting off to fight anymore.

“What are you thinking?” Aclima asked.

He turned his gaze from Melody to her and smiled. Aclima’s aura. He didn’t think he’d fought harder for anything in his life.

“I don’t like seeing her like this,” he said. “You remember how she was in that hotel with the nightmares? It’s like that all over again. At least this will go away in a few minutes. I don’t know. I just wish she could have had a normal life singing and making albums and signing autographs. I can’t shake the feeling that I brought this on her.”

Melody rallied for a moment. “It’s not . . . it’s not your . . . fault.”

Seeing her struggle made him feel worse. He knew exactly what torching was like.

Aclima nodded. “She needs to have the gift of the Angel Born.”

“I’d give her mine if I could,” he said.

Sparks glanced over his shoulder again.

“Is there a problem?” Helo asked.

“No,” Sparks said. “Just keeping an eye on my six. Good habit to get into.”

They descended a steep slope in the weak predawn light, mice scurrying into the underbrush surrounding them. At the bottom they connected with a gurgling stream, and Aclima eyed the water hungrily, as if she couldn’t wait to put an end to it all and escape with her aura into the next life. He hated it. He respected it. He wished they could postpone it.

Rapture.

As one they stopped and drank it in, the first blushes of dawn suffusing the green leaves and punching shafts of light through the breaks in the trees. It didn’t fill him like it did when he meditated, his mind and heart too crowded. Today was destined to be a day of loss and emptiness, and there was no holding it back. Some losses you fought off; some you let in.

Melody straightened and smiled, her haunted looks of the last few hours erased. “Glad that’s over.”

“There’s our hero,” Aclima said, squeezing her hand. “You killed one of the most powerful Shedim ever created.”

“Thanks,” she said, beaming. “Helo and I did it together.”

“And a pack of C4 and a lot of luck,” he said. He was never going to let her get that close to a Sheid again.

He found Aclima looking at him with a speculative expression. “Helo, do you mind if I talk with Melody in private for a bit?”

What could the two of them have to talk about? “Why?”

“Let me rephrase,” Aclima said. “Melody and I are going to talk in private for a bit.”

“Got it,” he said. “I’ll fall back a ways and mind my own business.”

“Thank you,” Aclima said, winking at him.

He couldn’t hear their conversation, but it lasted a long time, all the way until they arrived at camp. Melody wiped her eyes several times, plucking wildflowers along their way. Their conversation ended when the two hugged by the Sicarius Nox tents, Melody throwing him a tearful smile as she jogged away toward the clearing where she had performed a couple nights ago.

Aclima returned to him, face at peace, eyes alive with some thought.

“So what was that all about?” he asked.

Aclima answered by hugging him fiercely. “I had no idea what they put you through because of me. I am so sorry, but at the same time I am not. I can’t believe I am here with you. I can’t believe I have an aura. The only thing I regret leaving behind in this world is you.”

“I’ll be along soon, I’m sure.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

He swallowed hard, eyes stinging. “Is it time?”

“Almost,” she said. “Melody is getting something for me. She is a bright girl, Helo. Don’t weaken her by over-protecting her. Teach her. She has a heart as big as the world. She looks up to you and needs your strength, not your walls.”

He nodded. “I’ll miss you.”

“For a while,” she said. “You still have an afterlife to live. If there’s anything I would have you do, this is it: Live, Helo. Really live.”

Melody returned holding a white sheet and a tall bottle of water. Aclima pulled herself from his embrace.

“Where’s your tent, Helo?” Aclima asked.

“Just by that tree there,” he said.

Aclima took Melody’s hand. “Will you help me?”

Melody nodded, a tear slipping down her face.

“Thank you,” Aclima said. “Helo, wait for me on the road. Do you know a place where the water is deep?”

“I do.”

He walked absently to the rutted road, the morning sunlight gathering its strength, the birds welcoming its return with song. A breeze whispered to him, caressing his face, and he closed his eyes and tried to drown out the sounds of the men and women around him. Their talking seemed irreverent, their bustle an ignorance of what was about to happen. A woman who had spent six thousand years on the earth as a Dread Loremaster would leave it an Ash Angel. Could they feel what it meant? It was the promise, the promise that anyone could change.

All too soon, Aclima emerged from the tent dressed in a makeshift white robe fashioned from the sheet Melody had brought to her. A hole had been cut in the middle, the sheet draped over her, and the sides tied shut with strips of cloth threaded through holes. She had washed her face, all the mud from the battle cleaned away. Her dark hair streamed behind her as she walked out to the road, shoulders straight, head high.

She was beautiful, a barefoot angel ready to return home.

Helo shed his backpack and all of his implements of war, wishing he was as clean as she was. Melody walked in front of her holding a bouquet of wildflowers, her katana strapped to her waist. Aclima beckoned him over with a glance, and when he came, she took his arm. His throat felt swollen, his eyes hot. He guided her down the road and into the woods, down the path to the river where Mars and Magdelene had briefed Sicarius Nox the day before.

Perhaps he’d been wrong about the Ash Angels in camp, for as they passed, they seemed to understand and joined the procession, Sparks, Shujaa, and Finny behind them like an honor guard. The line grew behind them, a divine train of Ash Angels coming to the river.

Melody’s voice broke through the forest. Some of the entourage knew the song and joined in, Lear’s complementing voice rising rich and reverent into the air.

As I went down in the river to pray,

Studying about that good old way

And who shall wear the starry crown,

Good Lord, show me the way!

O sisters, let’s go down,

Let’s go down, come on down.

O sisters, let’s go down,

Down in the river to pray.

As I went down in the river to pray,

Studying about that good old way,

And who shall wear the robe and crown,

Good Lord, show me the way!

O brothers, let’s go down,

Let’s go down, come on down.

Come on, brothers, let’s go down,

Down in the river to pray.

Aclima stepped slowly down the trail, a contented smile on her face, her almond eyes ahead as if anxious for the water to reveal itself. The trail slanted gently down a hill into a hollow choked with dark plants and swarming with insects before rising again and cutting around the hill. After one last descent, the warm morning light cascading through the small clearing of the beach hit them all at once, causing them to squint.

Melody stopped at the riverbank. Aclima stopped next to her and released Helo’s arm. Behind them, Ash Angels filled the shore and stood on the wide rock by the water’s edge.

Aclima squeezed his arm. “I want both of you in the water with me.”

Helo nodded, and the three of them waded out into the gentle current, the silent cliff watching over them as they worked their way to the pool at its feet. Motes and spores floated and danced in the light, a golden ray falling across Aclima’s hair. She had morphed to that innocent girl he’d glimpsed in Cain’s mind so many months ago. A curious dragonfly zipped about them as if to pass judgment on the three newcomers to its territory.

Aclima faced the Ash Angels on the shore and took Helo’s hand. Then she nodded to Melody. Melody handed the flowers to Helo and slowly unsheathed the katana, fighting the tears in her eyes. Solemnly, carefully, Melody slid the blade through Aclima’s heart. Helo flinched, but Aclima stood as still and immovable as the cliff as the blade sliced through her chest, tearing the sheet on the way out of her back.

Melody pulled the sword out and sheathed it. Aclima embraced her, whispering something in her ear. Melody smiled sadly in return and nodded, taking back the flowers and wading to the riverbank. Helo took Aclima’s face in his hands and kissed her deeply, the sensation as alive as anything he had ever felt as an Ash Angel, as sweet as it was bitter. They embraced again.

“I didn’t deserve your love,” Aclima said, “but thank you for giving it. No man has fought harder for my soul than you. I have one more gift I hope I can give you, if God wills it. Look for it. And please just accept it.” She exhaled. “It is time. I hope there is enough mercy for a wretch like me. Lay me down.”

Helo closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, staring into hers. With a hand around her waist and another on the back of her neck he lowered her gently down into the cool, alive embrace of the river. As the water enveloped her, she closed her eyes, the edges of her lips turning up. And then she was gone, the sheet and the ash of her passing tugged away by the glistening water, borne down the river. Melody tossed the flowers on the current, and they fanned out, chasing the ash, following them around a bend until they were no more.

Was his mission done? Would he ascend like Rachel now that he had accomplished his purpose? No. He knew he wasn’t done. He knew the gifts he’d been given weren’t just for Aclima’s redemption. Avadan was a monster, and there would be no peace until the Loremaster was a pile of dirt. That was his purpose now. His mission. Then he could ascend and maybe find Aclima somewhere in the light.

For several minutes he stood in the water, peering downriver to where it bent in the trees and disappeared. The river babbled calmly all around him, the strident song of the birds rising above it as if to remind him there was work to do. But not today. Today he would grieve. Today he would try to get his heart back in order so tomorrow he could give his full attention to wiping evil off the earth.

By the time he turned and headed back to shore, only Sparks, Lear, and Melody remained. What could Sparks possibly want?

Lear and then Melody hugged him. “Come see me,” she said, and then she and Lear headed up the trail to the camp. Helo went to the rock and lay on it, legs dangling over the side. The day was clear and blue. Sparks hadn’t moved. He was still standing near the water, eyes on the river.

Helo sat up. “What do you want, Sparks? You afraid I’m going to run off again?”

Sparks didn’t seem to hear the question, and after a few moments he turned his gray hunter’s eyes on Helo. But there was something else in his piercing stare now, something that almost seemed like doubt.

“I was wrong,” he said. Then he turned and marched back down the trail.

Sparks was just one of a mob of people Helo wanted to say “I told you so” to, but he didn’t have the heart for it. It was like Dolorem had said: The Ash Angel Organization had forgotten about the soul. And not just of the Dread but of the Ash Angel as well.

Helo laid his head back on the hard stone and closed his eyes. There had been a handful of times he had missed the ability to sleep, and this was one of them. Sleep was a sweet forgetfulness, a rest from pain. Eternally awake, he had to face the empty feeling in his heart with nothing but faith and the river’s song to fill him.

How long he rested, he didn’t know, but someone approached on the path. He sat up to find Archus Magdelene walking across the beach toward him, red hair flowing in the breeze. She hoisted herself up on the rock and sat by him in silence for a moment.

“I’m sorry I missed her passing,” she said. “From what I’ve heard, it was beautiful. It’s all the camp can talk about.”

He nodded, finding a pebble and tossing it into the river.

She smiled. “Your dedication to saving her—it was beautiful too. It was . . . well, inspiring to everyone. Look, you know Mars isn’t much on apologies, so I’ll say it.”

“Don’t bother,” he said.

“It’s not for you,” she said. “I need to apologize for my sake. Since the beginning of your association with Aclima, the leadership of the AAO has treated you with suspicion. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t kind. For whatever part I played in that, I am sorry.”

He threw another pebble in the water. He really didn’t want sympathy or apologies, and Magdelene had always been sensible and fair, in his view. “What’s the plan now, boss?”

“Right to work?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he returned.

She scooted off the rock and faced him. “Good. We need you. I was there at Zion Alpha when it fell. That’s where we lost Gideon and Joan. That Sheid just tore everything apart. Avadan brought in these two trucks with mobile water tanks to drown us out there in the desert. I had to stuff Mars in the ductwork and take his heart to save him. It was the lowest I’ve ever been as an Ash Angel. I’ve been hoping and praying and thinking that something had to turn the tide. You’re it, Helo. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I knew the moment you returned to us. And after seeing you with Aclima, I’m sure.”

He nodded, hoping he could live up to her expectations.

“Look, Helo,” she continued, “this victory was costly but very valuable. Avadan lost his Sheid and a horde of Dreads and Possessed. But best of all, we were able to track his retreating Dreads. We think we know where he is.”

“I’m in. Just point me in the right direction.”

“There’s a meeting tonight at twelve thirty in the command tent. Be there.”

“I will,” he said. Then he remembered Cassandra’s assignment from his failed ascension. “Also, Cassie told me to say hi.”

Magdelene’s face brightened. “You saw her again?

“When I ascended—or didn’t, as it turned out. She’s still Cassandra.”

“What did she say?”

Helo explained about the “performance review” but left out some of the details. Magdelene didn’t need to know about them teasing him for his romantic failures. The Archus smiled the whole time.

“I miss her,” she said, “especially at times like these. Thank you for sharing that with me. Well, I’ll leave you to mourn. Remember, twelve thirty.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“See you there.” She crossed the gravel beach, but before she went into the woods she turned. “Helo?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t call me ma’am.”

“Got it.”

After she left, Helo sat cross-legged on the rock. Meditation would substitute for sleep, a simple way to distract himself and empty his mind and heart. Getting the image fixed in his head took a lot longer than usual, sadness and what-ifs constantly intruding, but after a final push of will, the sun blazed in his mind, the perfectly bright ball orbiting around it. Eyes on the sun, his vision turned to light, and the peace of focus settled over him like a warm blanket. If only he could stay until the hurt was gone.

“Angel Born.”

Helo’s eyes flicked open. Shujaa stood by the rock, face concerned. Afternoon had aged into evening, the light orange and warm.

“What is it?”

“There is a gathering at the clearing,” he said. “There is news. I thought you would like to be there.”

Helo nodded and slipped from the rock. “Thanks. I thought the meeting wasn’t until tonight.”

“This is something else,” Shujaa said as they passed inside the shadowy trees. “This is, I think, a celebration.”

A celebration. Helo harrumphed inwardly. He supposed it was a victory, even though it didn’t feel like it to him. His tactical mind knew morale was important, but his heart wasn’t in it. Still, Aclima would have wanted him to go—forced him to go. He just wanted the next mission. And the next. And the next. No more empty moments. Just purpose.

As they neared, the hum of conversation seemed to lack an identity. It didn’t feel like the chatter for a victory or the solemnity of defeat. It was an odd mishmash of the two, bittersweet. For the first time that day he really wondered how many Ash Angels had met their end in the lazy river at the hands of Dreads.

Helo leaned against the same tree as when he had watched Melody perform a couple of nights before. Shujaa parked behind him like a statue, arms folded. Out in the crowd, he spotted Melody toward the front near Archuses Mars and Magdelene. Every now and again an Ash Angel would wander by and briefly talk to her, shaking her hand or giving her a hug. Congratulations for killing Whirlwind, he guessed. She deserved it. It had taken a lot of grit to pull herself up and jump into that pit, more grit than he would have expected a pop singer to have.

Lear, along with a number of Ash Angels he didn’t know, slapped him consolingly on the shoulder on the way by. The sympathy and respect in their eyes was a relief, much better than the suspicion and disdain he’d always endured for believing Aclima could change.

“Let’s get started, people,” Archus Mars bellowed above the crowd. Everyone snapped to attention. “Take a seat everyone. You’ve earned it.”

Helo settled in against the tree, Shujaa maintaining his vigil from behind him. Toward the back of the crowd, just inside the shadowy trees, a trunk half hid the lonely figure of Argyle. Helo shook his head. How was that going to play out? The commander of Sicarius Nox had simply lost it, and if Helo understood it right, Argyle had disobeyed orders to keep from getting into the thick of the fight. What would they do with him? Helo could only imagine what the man thought of himself.

“Okay, folks,” Archus Mars said. “First off, we won!”

Cheers and claps erupted from the clearing, and Helo added a few claps of his own. Melody was staring at him but turned away when she saw him staring back.

“So, here it is,” Archus Mars continued. “This was the worst battle any Ash Angel alive has ever seen, and probably the worst one for generations. Avadan threw his Dreads and Ghostpackers and hell’s own Sheid at us, and we beat them back. The Foundry was untouched. There might be a lot of confused meteorologists right now, but the sun shone on the river that took many of our brothers and sisters away. Let’s take a minute of silence for those who were lost.”

The congregation stood. Hats were doffed and heads bowed. Helo closed his eyes and leaned his head against the tree. He had lost Aclima but gained her back, in a way. As important as the destruction of Whirlwind was, the aura around Aclima was the sweeter victory.

“Thank you again, everyone,” Mars said. “Have a seat. Before we continue, we need to recognize the Ash Angel who really got the job done today. Melody, come up here.”

Melody stood to raucous applause and picked her way to the front. Helo knew she was used to crowds, but she folded her arms and smiled nervously.

Magdelene put her arm around her as Mars continued. “Melody here used a katana sanctified by the Old Master”—and Helo could tell it hurt him to say it—“Dolorem, who raised her. From what I understand, she cut the Sheid down as he was about to relieve Helo of his head. Isn’t that right?”

She nodded and pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear while the crowd whooped.

“Now,” Mars said, “because you have contributed to this great victory, you’ve earned your choice of assignment. Where would you like to serve? I think every commander here would take you on for your singing alone.”

Helo knew what she was going to say before she said it.

“I want to fight in Sicarius Nox.”

Some clapped. Some whistled. Some cheered. Helo wanted to throw up. Why was she doing this? She had just gotten torched. Badly. Surely she should know now that mixing it up with Shedim was not where she belonged. It hurt him to think of her slack-faced and shaking. She was so innocent. What had she seen when the torching sent her down into the mud? What could sear a clean conscience like hers?

Grand Archus Mars nodded. “Well, I think we’d all like to see a few more Bestowals on you, but you’ve earned it. Your commander may want you to train a bit more first, but we know you’ll be an asset wherever you go. Now, have a seat, and we’ll get to the good part.”

Melody returned to her seat to a lot of cheering and high-fiving. She threw Helo a glance. It was getting dark, so he doubted she could see his not-happy face from across the clearing.

“I will watch over her for you,” Shujaa rumbled quietly from behind him.

Helo looked over his shoulder at him. “What?”

“I know you well enough,” Shujaa censured. “You care for her, so you don’t want her to do anything useful. It’s stupid, but since she is determined to be useful, I will help keep her safe.”

Helo doubted anyone’s ability to stay safe or keep anyone else safe. “Thanks.”

“Lucky us,” Sparks said, walking up from somewhere. Finny followed. “We get to fight Shedim and babysit a Cherub. Still, it’ll be nice to have another woman on the team, right, Finny? Maybe Faramir will keep his gob shut a bit more.”

“Didn’t work with Andromeda,” Shujaa said.

“Melody’s nicer,” Sparks said.

“As long as she sings,” Finny said, voice dreamy. “That’s all I care about.”

“Which does bring up a problem,” Sparks said. “Telling a woman she has the voice of an angel when she is an angel sort of makes the compliment meaningless.”

Archus Mars raised a hand for silence. “Okay, everyone, now it’s time for more good news and where we go from here. The Dreads are retreating when I think they had intended to occupy. We’ve been watching them carefully, waiting to see where they will gather. We know where we’re going next. Be ready for marching orders tomorrow morning, but in the next couple of days, we are going to send Avadan a message he won’t forget. For tonight, let’s remember the fallen, let’s gather our courage, and let’s get ready to end this once and for all.”

“Hoorah!” belted into the twilight.

“See you at twelve-thirty,” Helo said to his team. He was ready to roll. What he wasn’t ready for was Melody, who was working her way through the crowd toward him. He slipped into the trees. He wanted to be alone a while longer. He wanted to keep Aclima in his head just one more time before the war filled it again.

Gradually the noise faded behind him. The darkness invited him into its lonely embrace, and just before the sun fully fell, he found himself back at the river’s edge, though he’d never been to that particular spot before. A fallen branch provided a convenient place to sit and listen to the river flowing by. Night swallowed him, the patchwork sky between the branches a deep, inky black that let the stars pop into view with full brilliance.

He thought of Aclima, but Melody joining Sicarius Nox kept nagging his brain. Grand Archus Mars should have shut her down. Now he was going to worry about her the whole time, and he couldn’t afford for that to happen. He had to focus.

A white radiance was growing upriver, and he thought someone with a flashlight might have come searching for him. But the light was simply too pure and stunning. He got up and leaned around a tree to get a look, and there, floating above the water was Dolorem, light so blinding Helo had to put his hand in front of his eyes.

But he didn’t come to him.

Instead, he slipped into the trees, divine light arrowing around the trunks as he passed. What was he up to? Helo tripped through the forest, wishing he’d thought to bring his flashlight. Dolorem’s brilliance was too bright to be much more help than a general direction to travel.

By the time he caught up to the Old Master-turned-angel, he felt like he’d been introduced to every branch and fallen log in the forest. But there, lying on the ground, was Melody. She was on her back, hair fanned around her, eyes closed almost like she was asleep. But Ash Angels didn’t sleep. Still, she was motionless, Dolorem hovering a few inches off the ground to her left. The light of his glory made her countenance divine.

Only Dolorem’s face—scraggly beard and all—was recognizable. The rest of his form was lost in the overpowering brilliance of his person.

“Helo,” Dolorem said, voice made for sermons turned voice of thunder. It vibrated his very bones. “I have come because the hour is late. I have come for her.”

Chapter 21

Burden

Dolorem chuckled. His light dimmed a little, and when he spoke again the timbre of his voice settled into something not quite so intimidating.

“I love that,” he said. “I could have scared all those bikers straight with that voice. Maybe they’ll let me go back some time and give it a try.”

“What did you do to her?” Helo asked. Melody wasn’t moving, her face peaceful, like she was relaxing inside a beloved dream.

Dolorem descended and then knelt beside her, eyes beaming with affection. “I’ve let her mind wander off into some paradise of her own making. It is so good to see her again. You know, she was always a good kid. Always. I sometimes wish I could have given her a better life than that of a truck driver, but then again, maybe not. Lots of good memories. Lots of good food, too. Not sure how she stayed so thin.”

“She said you wouldn’t let her eat any of the good stuff,” Helo said.

“True,” Dolorem answered. “But, believe me, she was really good at sneaking goodies behind my back.” He sighed. “But it is late, and we are late.”

Helo sat in the leaves on the other side of Melody. “What do you mean?”

Dolorem shifted his gaze, his penetrating eyes burning into Helo’s soul. “What Fleuramere said about you being disobedient and not awakening Tela? That’s what made everything late.”

“Goliath awakened her instead,” Helo said. “So why is it late?”

Dolorem shook his head in a good-natured way. “Helo, Helo, Helo. You say ‘Why is it late’ without knowing what the it is that’s late. It is everything in this case, and until you know it, it is going to be risky. Got it?”

“No,” Helo said. Angels and their apparent hatred of plain speaking.

“Well, the sooner you figure it out, the better,” Dolorem said. “Time to get started.”

Closing his eyes, Dolorem touched his forehead with his right hand, then gently touched her forehead with it. Then he put his hand over his heart, then over hers.

“Wait,” Helo said. “You’re making her—”

“You really shouldn’t interrupt this,” Dolorem said. He touched his eyes and then touched hers. “When she opens her eyes again, she will be Angel Born, like you. There are still gifts you’ve yet to uncover. You will find them together.”

Helo remembered something Fleuramere had said. “Fleuramere said that giving this gift was a risk. Why?”

Dolorem stood and lifted off the ground a few inches again. “Because if you fall, we do too. Fallen angels are a miserable lot. It would be like banning me from convenience stores.”

Dolorem would certainly hate that. “By fall, you mean turn to Dreads.”

“Yes,” he said. “Now, I am going to lay a charge to you, Helo.” His angelic glory building, his voice taking on its former ground-shaking quality. “You will teach my Melody the meditation. It is important.”

“I’ll do it,” Helo said. “No need for the special effects.”

“Good,” Dolorem said with a smile. “Now leave us. There are words I need to speak to her alone. It was good to see you, Helo. And remember what I tried to teach you about the real reason Ash Angels exist.”

Helo nodded. “Good to see you too.”

Even though the light was blinding and even a little unsettling, walking out of it felt like leaving home. In that light, nothing of darkness could enter or breed, a place of perfect safety. Once the shafts of glory had faded behind him, the vulnerability of the world returned full force. Even in their hidden camp, it seemed like malice stalked the night looking for them, waiting to crawl down upon them and destroy them all.

He shook the feeling off. What he really needed to know was what the it was that Dolorem thought was so late. Did it really matter that Goliath had awakened Tela six months ago instead of him? She’d been trained and taught by some of the best. So what was missing?

After about fifteen minutes of wandering, he found the rutted road wriggling through the trees back to camp. He swatted leaves and bark from his clothes and then checked his watch. Twelve fifteen. About time for the briefing with Sicarius Nox. He picked up his pace a little, not sure how far he was from camp.

About the time he could hear the first hint of voices on the air, he found Melody leaning against a tree by the side of the road with her arms folded. He swore he could detect a bit of celestial glow still surrounding her. Her smile was wide enough to see, even in the dim light. He wondered if she would tell him about Dolorem.

“I’m leaning against a tree away from everybody else,” she announced. “Apparently that’s what all the cool kids do. You ever think of maybe . . . I don’t know . . . joining the rest of us in our little gatherings? Middle front is always the best seat in the house.”

“I’m always late,” he said.

She peeled herself off the tree and fell in beside him. “I’ll save a spot for you. So. I got my first Bestowal.”

So Dolorem had told her his true angel name—and she had already used it. “Really? What did you get?”

Her aura flared, and she socked him in the upper arm like she was trying to win the most important slug-bug competition ever. He stumbled left and ended up in a scrubby tree. So she had chosen Strength. Didn’t seem to fit her.

“I’m so sorry,” Melody said, laughing. “The vision told me that’s what I was supposed to do. That’s how I knew you would be coming down the road.”

She offered her hand, but he extracted himself from the clingy shrub without it. “Your vision told you to punch me?”

“Well, yeah,” she said. “Sorry.”

He couldn’t tell if she was really sorry or if he believed her. Why would the vision tell her to do something so . . . random? Seemed like she wanted to laugh as much as apologize. “Well, um, give me a heads-up next time.” And payback was fair game. She had to know that.

“A heads-up? That wouldn’t be fun,” she said as she helped him swat the rest of the bush off his clothes. “But I am sorry. And I’m sorry about Aclima, too. I can’t imagine what a loss that was. I’m here for you, okay? Not knowing where you were for these last six months has been hard, especially when I found out about . . . well, when I found out what was going on. When I was a mortal, I thought everybody in the ‘Guardian Protective Services’ must have worshiped you. I was so sad to hear they were actually trying to hunt you down.”

“Yeah,” he said, though it came out as little more than a grunt. Of all the topics he didn’t want to revisit.

“Sorry again,” she said. They had almost reached camp, the noises of celebration and laughter still alive. “Look, I know you don’t want me on Sicarius Nox. I get it. But I am a fast learner. And . . . well, I . . . just . . . Well, I just want to work with you, okay? I know I might get stuck back with Faramir flying his little drones and whatever else, but I want to be in it. I want to make a difference. I hope you can respect that.”

He nodded. “Just don’t let your music go, okay?”

“Of course not,” she said. “I’ll sing to you anytime. You know that. So what do you do for fun, you know, in between missions and stuff?”

The question almost stopped him in his tracks. What did he like doing anymore? He used to do puzzles, but that was mostly to keep himself out of his own mind. There were games with Aclima, and just the thought of Go-fish saddened him. It was so stupid, but they had played it so often he could never play it again without thinking of her. He trained. He listened to music—Melody’s music. But it had been missions and training and running and hiding for so long he had no idea what there was to enjoy anymore. Or if there was even time.

“I, um,” he said. “Well, just, normal stuff, you know.”

She glanced knowingly at him. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

They arrived first at the command tent, where Grand Archus Mars and Archuses Ebenezer and Magdelene were surrounded by aides who darted in and out with glowing tablets.

“Have a seat, you two,” Archus Magdelene said. “We’ll be a minute.”

Andromeda came next with Shujaa and Faramir. Then Sparks and Finny.

“There she is,” Sparks said, gray eyes on Melody. “Our newest teammate. You ready for this, sweetheart?”

“Watch it, Sparks,” Archus Magdelene said, glancing up from a tablet.

Sparks raised his hand. “Oh, no offense. I’m not trying to demean her or anything. I mean, look at her. She is a sweetheart. The girl you’d take home to Mom and have babies with.”

“Sparks—” Helo said.

“No, no! Okay,” he backpedaled. “I’m just saying she looks way too happy to be in this group. Everybody in Sicarius Nox has had the polish rubbed off them a long time ago. She’s still shiny. Not even a Bestowal to her name.”

“Just got one,” she said, not seeming the least bit offended.

“And she’s Angel Born,” Helo added. That shut everybody up. Even the Archuses stopped what they were doing.

Her eyes shot wide. “I am?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“He told you?” she said, face full of wonder.

“We were tight, you know.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Faramir jumped in. “Who is he?”

Helo met his eyes. The geeky Ash Angel still had his ridiculous knit hat with the dongles. “Dolorem, the Old Master who helped train me—and raised her.”

“So I’m awesome now, right?” Melody said. Then her eyes widened again. “And I can’t be torched! Yes!”

The Archuses angled their direction. “Is this true?” Mars asked.

“It is,” Helo answered.

“This is great news,” Magdelene said. “Sit down, everyone. What else did Dolorem say to you?”

“To me?” Helo said. “He complained that something was late. Wouldn’t say what. I don’t know what he said to Melody.”

She blushed a little. “Not much, really. Personal stuff. He told me his angel name, and I got to say it and choose a Bestowal.”

“Good,” Archus Mars said. “Two Blank Angel Borns is a great advantage. And you’re probably going to need it. We’re about to send you into a hornets nest.”

“Where is it?” Helo asked.

“It’s an amusement park,” Archus Magdelene answered, flipping her tablet toward them. A picture from the internet read “All Fun Amusement Park” in a jazzy yellow neon. “It’s in Kansas City.”

“Let me guess,” Finny piped in, voice subdued. “It’s a creepy, abandoned amusement park staffed by evil clown Dreads.”

Magdelene’s lips slid into a half grin. “Not exactly. It’s an actual, functioning amusement park, but it is closed for the season. Early recon doesn’t show anything unusual. It’s just . . . empty. I spoke with my Old Master contacts in the area, and they said the Dreads are going in and disappearing. The Old Masters aren’t following or engaging at this point, so we don’t know much more than the general location.”

Sparks’s face twisted in disgust. “The Old Masters could at least thin the herd a little for us.”

Mars harrumphed. “They’re more interested in bake sales and raking leaves. Look, we hope to have more intel before you get there. But we’ve got to get in there and search the place. If Aclima was right and he’s storing Vexus there, it’s not above ground.”

“It’s got to be in water, right?” Melody asked.

“Yeah,” Helo said, “water that isn’t running. Stagnant, like a pond or a container of some sort.” He remembered the metallic pool on The Tempest where Cain had gathered his Vexus. “He’s probably going to try to do the same thing Cain did. Fulfill the deal. He’s shown a liking for underground lairs. So it’s got to be under there somewhere.”

Melody tapped her lip. “And a flair for entertainment—he’s used a theater and an amusement park. I guess the mine-prison doesn’t fit.”

Helo felt like she was on to something. “Even in the mine the guy had a huge room just for his massive wardrobe. I had to go through it when I escaped. Have the shrinks—”

“Profilers,” Magdelene corrected.

“Right,” Helo continued. “Have they had any luck figuring this guy out?”

“Can’t understand crazy,” Sparks said, leaning back. “Six thousand years of mommy issues doesn’t need to be understood. It just needs to be put down.”

“Hoorah,” Mars said.

“There is value to understanding his madness,” Magdelene said. “Aclima helped some, but she was disgusted by him. He never felt loved by his mother—and as far as I can tell, Aclima never did love him—and he never felt good enough to please Cain. So one possible motivation is that he wants to outdo Cain somehow, though that would make more sense if Avadan would have worked it so Cain could see the fruition of whatever master plan he’s enacting right now.”

“Yeah,” Faramir said. “But what about the fashion statements? I mean, he dresses so weird.”

Magdelene shrugged. “That is disconcerting. It could be he isn’t comfortable with who he is, so he continually changes, trying to find something that fits. Or maybe there’s some sort of code in the way he pieces together his ensembles.”

Mars stood. “Or maybe he enjoys it because he’s lost his damn mind. Whatever the case, we’ve got to get to him fast. We don’t know if this little setback at the Foundry has delayed his plans or if he’s already got the Vexus he needs to do whatever he’s going to do.  You all ship out at 0900. I think we’re close to bringing this animal to his knees, so let’s bring it.”

“One question, sir,” Sparks said. “I take it Argyle’s not in command anymore. Who’s our team leader?”

“Helo is team lead,” Mars said, though Helo thought it cost him some pain or pride, or both, to say it out loud.

“As it should be,” Shujaa said in a low tone.

“Sparks,” Mars continued, “you’ll be his second. So get out of here and get geared up. You’ll be the tip of the spear, as usual. We’ll park a couple more teams on the perimeter for you to call in when you’ve located the nest. Briefing will happen on the way. Dismissed.”

Everyone stood to go, but Helo just sat there. Team lead of Sicarius Nox. It had been a troubled position to occupy. He was honored and stunned at the same time. His first command.

Sparks slapped him on the arm. The Sheid-fighting veteran had wanted the job, but his face didn’t hold any of the disappointment or anger Helo would have expected. Faramir looked a little grumpy, but he seemed more entranced by Melody at the moment.

“Well, Finny,” Sparks said, “I’m sad to report that our days of unending sitreps are over and that you have a commander who’s almost as reckless as I am.”

“God help us,” Finny said.

“I don’t believe in God,” Sparks said.

“Which is increasingly stupid, my friend,” Finny added. “Promise me there won’t be any more clowns.”

“If there are no clowns,” Sparks said, “maybe I’ll start to believe just a little.”

The two squad mates disappeared into the night, and Helo finally stood.

“Helo,” Mars said. “I know the AAO hasn’t done you any favors lately, but whatever our differences, one thing I know: you kill Dreads good. That’s the mission. We agree on that?”

“Yes, sir.” There was no longer an Aclima to worry about protecting. Now he could be at peace with his mission.

Faramir was chewing on Melody’s ear about the speakers and mixing equipment she used. Then he remembered Dolorem’s instructions and tapped her arm as he walked past her. “I’ll come to your tent a little later,” he said.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said with a patient smile as Faramir rattled on about amplifiers and tone pedals.

Shujaa fell in behind him. The guy had to give it a rest. “No need to guard me, Shujaa.”

“I am not guarding you,” Shujaa said. “I am following you around.”

“Oh, right. That’s way different,” Helo said.

Shujaa eventually did wander off to pack his gear, and Helo did the same. What they really needed, though, were some normal clothes. Having Melody with him brought new possibilities. If they could head in like a couple of punk teenagers out to walk around the park in the middle of the night, they might be able to find the Dread hidey-hole without raising an alarm. Surely Avadan wasn’t leaving the place unsecured. The Old Masters might not have reported any Dreads around, but they had to be there.

About an hour before dawn, he went to Melody’s tent. She was humming a cheerful song that seemed to chase the darkness away. She had such a gift, but if she’d been in more battles, maybe she would choose a song that was a little less optimistic.

“Knock, knock,” Helo said.

“Come in!”

He pushed the flap aside, and she closed her sketchbook and put it on the floor under her cot, where it had been before. Her gear was packed and by the door.

“Didn’t know you drew,” he said.

“Oh yeah,” she said, “since I was a girl. Always loved it. I mean, I’m not great or anything, but I get these images in my head . . . well, you know me. Drawing things kind of helps me exorcise those internal demons. Gets me unstuck.”

He sat next to her on the cot, and she ran her fingers through her hair. “What did you see?” he asked. “When you got torched, I mean.”

She bit her lip and winced a little. “Bad . . . stuff. The usual, right?”

“It was me.”

She exhaled. “Yes.”

“Getting killed or beaten over and over again or something like that.”

She looked embarrassed. “Yep.”

“I don’t get it,” he said. “You barely know me, but it seems like there’s this connection between us that’s been tearing you up and blowing holes in your mind.”

“I think I know you,” she said.

“How?”

She sat in silence for a long time, clearly considering. “Well, confession time. I know I acted a little crazy last year with all the nightmares, but the truth is I’ve been dreaming about you my whole life. As long as I can remember. I even saw Aclima in one of my dreams. I drew pictures of you both, but my tutor collected them to put them in a competition or something. Said I should move on to other things. Anyway, not all my dreams of you were nightmares. Most of them were good.”

She looked at him and smiled, but Helo barely saw it. His mind spun with her revelation. “What were these dreams like? I mean, what did you see?”

“Images, really. Vignettes. So many of my dreams were wrapped in mysterious imagery, but my dreams of you were straightforward, like a bird watching you from a tree. Some made me smile—like one where you dumped a cup of lemonade or something on your brother’s bed to make it look like he peed in it.”

He chuckled. “Guilty as charged.”

“Some were scary. Ones about your dad.” She swallowed. “But I remember the good ones, mostly. I think I had at least four of you bringing home stray dogs.”

“It was only three,” he said. How much did she know about him?

She looked away. “I never saw your marriage to . . . that woman, or ever saw her face. I only knew your pain, a man with a broken heart, but I didn’t know why then. She took his hand. That’s what you saw when you got torched, wasn’t it? You saw her.”

He nodded. “Other things, too. My dad. But, yeah, her.”

“I wish I never had to see her,” she said, an edge to her voice as sharp as the katana under her bed.

Helo’s mind kept running. “And this tutor. An African American woman with a bit of the bayou in her voice?”

She blinked. “Yeah. How did you know?”

He explained about Rachel the Unascended, about the drawings she had left behind. Everyone had assumed they belonged to Rachel, but they were Melody’s.

“Wow,” Melody said, standing and pacing in silence for several moments. “That . . . is amazing. Dolorem—he must have hired her for a reason.”

“And with risk,” Helo continued. “She would have been Unascended then with an aura Dreads could spot a mile away.”

“She always met us in out-of-the-way places down in Louisiana. And being with her was just, well, lovely.”

Helo could hardly believe it. “So you’ve seen all these things about me? Why? To what end?”

She sat back down by him, close enough their legs touched. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”

He explained the basics of the meditation to her, careful not to reveal its problem or solution. It was a journey for her to take, to lead her to a greater understanding.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “Dad—Dolorem—tried to teach me this before my guitar recital when I was like twelve. You say it’s important, huh? Well, I’ll give it a try.”

She sat on the floor in lotus pose and began to breathe. “Oh yeah,” she said, “I remember now. I was always bugged about half of the ball being black, always without light.”

She seemed to settle into it with ease, face serene. He watched over her until Rapture came, and then an aura surrounded her. Her eyes blazed with celestial light, tears streaming down her cheeks. When she opened them, her face glowed with hope and wonder.

“That was the best!”

“You figured it out?”

“Yeah,” she said as she wiped her eyes. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Focus on the sun.”

“That took me weeks!” he said.

“Really? Well, you know, some people are a little quicker than others. It is such a beautiful lesson.” Then she looked at him like a teacher might a dense student. “Are you sure you understood it?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I got it.”

She looked at him like he didn’t and then stood, a big smile on her face. “Well, maybe the lesson is a little different for everyone. You ready for your first mission as commander of Sicarius Nox? I mean, it’s such a sexy-sounding job. I can’t wait to join the team. It’s like having a little family, you know? It’s going to be great.”

He just stared at her. Did she not remember the horror of the battle at the Foundry at all? The Sheid, Whirlwind, she had killed? The hillside teeming with evil clowns? The ash floating down the river? Maybe it was Rapture talking.

“What?” she said.

“Nothing. Yeah, I’d better get going. I’ve got to make sure everything is lined up before 0900. See you over there.”

Chapter 22

All Fun

“No, really,” Faramir complained. “Who put the ketchup packet on my seat? I know it was one of you. It’s from that convenience store back in Blue Springs.”

Helo suppressed a grin. He sat in the middle seat of the twelve-passenger van, Melody at his side, while Faramir raved on one row up. Finny drove. Sparks was in shotgun position. Shujaa and Andromeda lounged in the very back by the equipment. As it turned out, country-girl Andromeda was actually a hard-rocking metalhead, her music rowdier than Cassandra’s. She wasn’t much for words either and hadn’t cared one bit about losing her place as second in command.

A drizzle-filled night whizzed by outside the window, the lights of the city the only bright spots in an inky sky. It hadn’t struck him until on the way there that Avadan’s amusement park was barely a half-hour drive from where Deep 7 had been hidden.

“Come on, guys. Not cool,” Faramir continued.

“Look, mate,” Sparks said. “You know it wasn’t me. I would never do anything that would make you whine this long.”

“It’s one of you two,” Faramir said, staring at Helo and Melody. “I’m guessing Melody because nobody else in Sicarius Nox ever played these kinds of pranks. I mean, Argyle wouldn’t know what a prank was. Finny is too nice. And Sparks’s and Shujaa’s idea of a prank is using low-level explosives to blow people in half.”

“Damn straight,” Sparks said.

“Helo’s too self-absorbed to think about pranks,” he continued, “so that leaves our newest member, the lovely Melody.”

He said the last like he was half mad but half hopeful she had actually paid him some attention.

“Wasn’t me,” Melody said, but Helo felt her reach over and squeeze his leg. “It’s probably been in the van awhile. And did you just call me lovely?”

Faramir looked like he was about to choke, mouth halfway between some word he couldn’t get to come out.

“Does bring up a question,” Sparks said. “What’s the team policy about fraternizing with other team members? Andromeda just wants to shoot stuff, so it’s never really been an issue before, though Argyle did remind me of a Catholic wife one of my friends had.”

“Let’s focus,” Helo said. “How far, Faramir?”

“Five minutes,” he said. “And I want to state for the record that Andromeda should be accompanying Helo on this. She’s got more field and combat experience.”

Melody leveled a glare at him. Helo looked at his phone. Faramir had brought this up twice after Helo announced the plan—and Faramir was right. But Helo wasn’t about to let Melody out of his sight. If there was trouble, he wanted her where he could see her.

“Pass the weapons up, Shujaa,” Helo ordered. “Let’s check comms and get everyone loaded.”

They were dressed as civilians for this op. He and Melody had morphed to teenagers and dressed in jeans, T-shirts, and voluminous jackets concealing BBGs and Stingers. Their role: a couple of stupid kids sneaking into the shut-down park. And while the rest of the team hadn’t worn combat fatigues, their leather jackets and dark shirts made them look like a bunch of thugs. Any cop who stopped them would think they were all on their way to a mafia party. And that would be before they found a car loaded with weapons.

Finny slowed and exited the freeway. It had rained harder here, puddles of water pooling at the bottom of the ramp. Finny turned left, and signs for the All Fun Amusement Park cropped up along the road. About a mile out, they did one last comms check and pulled up next to a Starbucks.

“See you there,” Helo said. “Faramir, let me know when the other teams are set up. As soon as we see anything, we’ll signal. Sparks, you’re it.”

“We’ll be waiting for your very first sitrep,” Sparks said. “Try to sound like Argyle when you say it—good and irritated—for old time’s sake.”

Helo pushed the side door open, and he and Melody stepped out into the drizzle and a breeze stiff enough to draw attention to itself. The van pulled away, heading toward the amusement park.

Remembering his training, Helo hunched over like the breeze was a nuisance. Melody followed suit, and by the time they were inside, she’d already morphed a little redness into her cheeks. He’d coached her on the finer points of being inconspicuous on the way there. Shujaa and Goliath had done a bang-up job teaching her weapons, but she’d barely had a word about acting normal.

They bought lattes and headed back out into the night, Melody grinning from ear to ear, face a mask of contentment. Or maybe it really was contentment. Ahead of them, he could just make out the circular shape of the Ferris wheel in the gloom. A couple of towers loomed to the right of it, a ride called the Butt Pucker where they shot people up into the air at a hundred miles an hour.

“Hey,” Melody said, nudging his arm. “If we were really on a date, right now I’d be thinking you would rather be back home playing on your Xbox or something. Or that you were the most brooding boy ever. You were a Gabriel, right? You’ve got to get into character. You’re the mischievous bad boy taking this nice girl you met in social studies inside an abandoned theme park hoping the adrenaline will loosen her up a bit so she’ll let you make out with her. I’m the one who should be looking worried. So let’s get into character here.”

“I don’t think that level of acting is really needed,” he said. “I mean, it’s empty out here.”

“You don’t know for sure,” she said. “So, here. I’ll help get us going.” She cleared her throat. “I am not going in there, Tommy. First off, I told my mom we were going to the movies. Second, it’s totally creepy in there. And third, if we get caught, my dad will kill me.”

He grinned but kept walking. She stopped dead in her tracks.

“I am not going to that place, Tommy!”

He turned around. She really looked pissed. Okay, whatever. “Come on, Sarah! We’re almost there.”

“No!”

Melody was going to make this a pain in the butt. He closed his eyes for a minute. Cute girl he met in biology. No, social studies. Trying to get her into the park so she would make out with him. He rifled through his memory. There was the one time he’d convinced Jenny Connors to meet him under the high school bleachers for much the same purpose, but she’d stood him up—for his brother, it had turned out. What had he said to her?

“It’ll be fun, Sarah!” he said. “We’re not going to get caught. Look, no one’s out here. It’ll be totally fun, and I’ll get you back before your dad even knows you’re gone. I mean, he’s at work all the time anyway.”

She cocked her head. “Are you sure we won’t get caught?”

“Not a chance,” he answered.

She acted like she was thinking about it. Then she took a sip of her latte and walked up to him. “It looks creepy in there.”

“It’ll be awesome, trust me.”

“I don’t know . . .” she said, biting her lip. “I mean, you’re not just trying to get me in there so you can get your hands all over me, are you?”

Helo knew she was a performer, but she really did belong in the Gabriels. Her face showed the same worry and anticipation Jenny Connors’s had so many years ago.

“Look,” Helo said. “It’s just a little bit of fun, okay? Relax! Oh, and one more thing.”

“What’s that?” she said.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

He gave her a shove right into a leafy bush decorating the green space at an intersection. Her drink flew out of her hands as she went down, leaving a nice broken section of branches right in the middle.

Her eyes flew wide. “You!”

“I had this vision that I should do that. It’s not my fault.”

“Eat it, Tommy!” She picked up one of the landscaping stones, and he jogged ahead across the street. The rock hit him square in the back with such force he figured she’d thrown a little angelic Strength into it. A little soggy from the bush, she chased him, and when she caught him, she knocked his latte clean out of his hands.

“You’re a jerk, Tommy,” she said, face angry but with a twinkle in her eye. “I still don’t want to go in there.”

“It’ll be fun, Sarah. Loosen up.” He knew his performance wasn’t going to win him an Emmy, but Melody’s little smile let him know he’d at least won her good opinion. He leaned in close for a whisper. “But don’t use Bestowals unless you have to. It gives you away.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I’ll remember.”

The gates to the park waited just ahead, and when they got close enough they could read: “All Fun Amusement Park. Closed for Renovation. See you next year!”

“That is a really lame name for an amusement park,” Melody said. “How do we get in?”

Helo led the way, stifling the urge to cheat and Strength jump the gate. He grasped the bars and hauled himself up. The iron bars were not meant to be climbed, and he ripped his jacket in two places by the time he landed on the other side. Melody fared little better, ripping two of the buttons off her jacket on the way down. Helo walked forward until he realized Melody had stopped and was actually looking for the buttons she had lost.

Helo tapped his comms. “We’re in.” That was the signal for Faramir to send up his drone and get ready.

Melody finally joined him, shoving the buttons in her pocket. She really was a natural at this stuff. They jogged across the deserted parking lot, the rides of the amusement park looming off to their right. The curvy tracks of roller coasters. The spindly arms of an octopus ride. Low, sprawling buildings for haunted houses and gaming booths. Only a place that usually screamed fun and games could seem so deathlike and cold.

“I don’t know about this,” Melody said, and he couldn’t tell if it was her or Sarah speaking.

They worked their way to the main ticketing area. There wasn’t anything convenient to climb, so he brute-forced the door and they were in, staring at a wide, water-soaked avenue lined with shuttered restaurants. They skirted a dead, empty fountain, rainwater pooling in the bottom. And then the twitter of a girl’s laugh echoed nearby. Helo dragged Melody into an alley behind a bathroom complex. They squeezed to the side of a dumpster in front of a slat fence.

“Faramir,” Helo whispered. “Is that drone up? Someone is in here. Need to know if it’s friendlies.”

“It’s up,” he said. “Give me a minute to look around.”

Another playful scream and a loud giggle broke through the night, some girl trying to keep a lid on her mirth but instead alerting everyone within a mile that she was there. She had to be close, not more than fifty yards.

“Got ’em,” Faramir said after a few moments. “Looks like some guy and a girl on the Whirl-a-World ride or something. They’re just sitting in one of those circular cars on the platform.”

“Dreads?” Helo asked, doubting it.

“Can’t tell through optics,” Faramir said. “But I doubt it. They’re . . . um . . . having fun. You know, making out.”

Melody elbowed him. “Sounds like someone knows what they’re doing.”

“Can we get around them?” Helo asked.

“They’re pretty distracted,” Faramir said. “So, yeah, especially if you head north. But I’ll have to keep an eye on . . . wait. Someone’s approaching the pair. Security guard, maybe?”

“I didn’t think there were any,” Helo said.

“None have been seen since recon began,” Faramir said. “Okay, he’s approaching the two. Looks like the newcomer is ordering the two out. Can’t tell if he’s armed.”

Helo could barely make out the sound of a man talking, tone firm, like someone giving orders. As close as they were on a dead-quiet night, it seemed like he should be able to hear it better. It was like this guard was trying to be quiet.

“The pair is kneeling, hands over their heads,” Faramir said. “Guard’s walking around them. Whoa. WHOA!”

Helo stiffened. “What? What is it?”

“Killed ’em both,” Sparks cut in. “Bastard killed them both. Looks like he stabbed them.”

“No,” Melody said.

Helo’s shoulders tensed. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Sparks said. “Right through the heart from the back.”

“Going in,” Helo said. It had to be Dreads. Had to be. “Where’s the guard?”

“He’s . . . um . . . he’s . . .” Faramir said, sounding dazed.

“Where!”

“He’s walking away,” Faramir said.

Helo jogged out of the alley. “Guide us in behind him, Faramir.”

The ground seemed more splashy than when they’d entered, air that had been so still now alive with creaking and groaning, like the park itself was commenting on the murder.

Faramir guided them south and then east through the empty avenues between inert rides and empty buildings. Ring Toss. Guess My Weight. Haunted Mansion. After passing through a circular plaza, the Whirl a World was to their left.

“Any chance they’re alive?” Helo asked. He could heal them, even from the point of death.

“Negative,” Sparks said. “No movement.”

They got their first look at the “guard” just after the entrance to a roller coaster called the Anaconda. Not a Dread. A Ghostpacker. Damn. A Dread they could grease. A Ghostpacker, even a murderous one, they had to leave alive. Helo called it in.

“He is a murderer,” Shujaa said in a rare contribution to mission communications. “He deserves no mercy.”

“The ROEs don’t change for murderers,” Helo said. “We’re following. I don’t think he’s going to leave the bodies out in the open. We’re going to get concealed. Track him with the drone and keep us updated on his position.”

“Over here,” Melody whispered.

She led him down a short jog to the entrance of an attraction called Spindly Spider Legs, a kiddie ride surrounded by a low concrete wall. They hopped the turnstile and sat on the ground, backs to the wall. Had they miscalculated? Maybe the park wasn’t as shut down as recon had suggested.

“You okay?” Helo asked Melody.

“Yeah,” she said, voice sad. “This how all dates with you are going to go?”

“Probably,” he said. “This is an ugly war with ugly people.”

“He’s gone into some sort of maintenance building,” Faramir narrated. A few minutes later he added, “Now he’s on a four-wheeler with a trailer. He should be passing to your north shortly.”

A few moments later, the hum of the four-wheeler came and went, headlights sharp against the pooled water and wet branches. Helo waited until the motor cut out.

He tugged on Melody’s coat and motioned her after him with a nod of his head. They left the Spindly Spider Legs behind, following the four wheeler’s tracks on the drier parts of the concrete back to a fenced garage with an Employees Only sign hanging on the gate. The guard hadn’t bothered to close it or the garage door he had driven out of, a yellowy light spilling out onto the asphalt. Helo drew his BBG, Melody following suit, and they marched inside. Another four-wheeler with a trailer sat in a bay to their left, the trailer bed littered with a few muddy articles of clothing. Clown clothing. Discarded clown suits, orange-and-red wigs, red noses.

Bad memories.

“Found a bunch of clown suits,” Helo reported quietly. “Heading inside.”

The door into the garage was unlocked, and he pushed it open, the smell of chili wafting through the interior. Maybe the entrance to Avadan’s lair was here somewhere. They passed through a short hall lined with gray lockers and passed a bathroom with the fan still running—and for good reason. The chili hadn’t been kind to whatever pour soul had given his body over to an evil spirit. Helo decided not to breathe for a while.

At the end of the hallway, a break room opened up, sink overflowing with dishes. A single chair was pushed away from the table, an empty bowl of chili surrounded by a halo of cracker crumbs. On the right, a door opened up into a storage room and another into an office. He pointed to Melody and then to the office. She nodded and headed that way. He had to admit she looked legit, focused, and comfortable with the weapon she was holding, her face resolute. He still liked her singing songs better.

The light to the storage room was on, revealing four rows of metal shelves filled with gallon jugs of chemicals—everything you would need to clean up puke, blood, and pee. Mops and wide brooms hung on the walls, a washbasin, a floor drain, and a hose just inside. He rifled around through the room looking for a switch or trapdoor but came up empty. Melody joined him.

“Nothing in there,” she said. “No sign he had a security camera feed. Either he got lucky patrolling or someone else is watching.”

Helo nodded. “We got nothing here,” he reported in. “What’s our guard up to?”

“Still cleaning up,” Faramir said, voice disgusted. “And there’s another guard out there too, on the north side. Looks like we were wrong about the surveillance.”

“Probably started it after the retreat got here,” Helo said. Avadan had to figure the Ash Angels would try to tail the retreating army. “We’ve got to keep looking for the entrance. Is there another maintenance shed like this one on the north side?”

“Yes,” Faramir said.

“That’s where we’ll go next,” Helo said. “You’ll have to keep us away from the guards.”

“Roger that.”

Helo stowed his gun, taking one last look around the storage room.

“Wait, Helo,” Melody said, face thoughtful.

“What is it?”

“Everything I’ve been told about Avadan points to a real drama-king, attention-whore kind of guy, you know? Well, Dolorem used to take me to these amusement parks all the time when we were on the road. All the big ones had shows during the summer—musicals, comedies, concerts. I loved them. That’s how I knew I wanted to be a performer. I get the feeling Avadan wants to be a performer too. I think—”

He knew what she was thinking. It was brilliant. “You’re right. Faramir, is there a performance hall here? An auditorium or theater or something?”

“One sec,” he said. “Yeah. Website says there’s, like, three of them. They’ve got an outdoor auditorium called the Coliseum, a theater called the Laugh Express—looks like kiddie kind of shows—and then there’s the Rising Star Theater, for bigger productions.”

Melody nodded at the last one.

“Take us to the Rising Star,” Helo said. “Keep us away from the guards.”

They hurried out to the garage, and Helo stopped dead. “We’ve got a problem. We’ve left tracks. Boot prints in the garage. Unless he’s the most unobservant idiot in the world, he’s going to know someone’s been here. How far to the theater?”

“Two hundred yards,” Faramir said.

“You go,” Sparks said. “If it looks like he’s headed back, we’ll see if we can create a distraction up here to keep him north.”

“Copy,” Helo said.

They darted out of the garage and through the gate, leaving behind the warmth of the light and threading back through the empty park. They followed Faramir’s instructions, which led them down an incline on a path curving around a wall of thin trees, their branches bending over a train track. They found the Rising Star Theater’s front entrance near a cluster of food booths. The double doors were chained shut, but Helo knew that wasn’t where they needed to go.

They continued through the food court until they found another gate wide enough to drive a truck through with an Employees Only sign hanging crookedly on it. The gate was made of vertical vinyl slats and chained from the inside. A nine-foot block wall separated them from where they wanted to go.

“Boost me up,” he said. “No Bestowals.”

Melody formed a stirrup with her hands and lifted him up, a grunt escaping her lips. He scrambled to the top, ledge about a foot wide, and lay flat, reaching his arm down. Melody got a toehold in the mortar and pushed herself up. Helo grabbed her wrist and pulled until she could get her arms and hands over the ledge.

“Guard’s heading back,” Faramir reported. “He’s got the bodies on the four-wheeler’s trailer. We’re going to make a little noise up here and see if we can keep him away from the shed.”

“Keep me posted,” Helo said. “We’re heading in.”

He and Melody jumped down together, their Ash Angel bodies easily absorbing the long drop to the pavement. A dumpster sat against the back wall of the theater next to a tall garage door. Next to it was a metal service door with yet another Employees Only sign affixed to it. It was dead bolted.

He would have to risk using Strength. His aura flared as he yanked, pulling the handle clean off. He handed it to Melody, reached into the circular hole in the door, and yanked again. The lock snapped apart with a sound like a gunshot. Helo winced, and the two of them waited on the outside of the opening, guns drawn, for a full minute. But only darkness and silence greeted them.

After a peek around the edge, Helo pulled his tactical flashlight out of his coat pocket and ignited it, darting inside. It was a small office connected to a loading bay. They passed through another door and into a cement hallway lined with doors, some numbered, some restrooms. Farther on, the hallway turned right, and halfway down they found a door labeled Wardrobe.

Helo stopped. Wardrobe was Avadan’s favorite thing. He stepped back and signaled for Melody to open it. She tested the knob and then twisted it, pushing the door inward and stepping back. Helo eased inside, flashlight beam darting around the room. Clear. The room was about the size of a school classroom and had thin chrome hangers dangling from racks and strewn on the floor. Their flashlights danced on the walls, and Helo’s heart jumped into his throat when Melody banged into a rack and sent the hangers dancing noisily.

“Sorry,” she said.

A few clothes were left on the racks, but strewn all over the floor were more clown jumpsuits, all bearing the mud stains, rips, and bullet holes of the Foundry battle. Oversized clown shoes were piled into a huge bin on the far wall, a few noses along the bottom of another. They were in the right place, for sure. But where would the entrance to the lair be? He searched left, and Melody searched right. Nothing seemed out of place on his side.

“Helo,” Melody said. “What about this?”

He joined her near the far wall, trying to keep from kicking the hangers strewn everywhere. Melody shined her light on a black pipe sticking out of the floor about waist-high. It was about the diameter of a softball, maybe a little wider, and capped on the top. A lock held it shut. It was like a vent pipe for a furnace or something but clearly not intended for ventilation—not with a cap that would prevent airflow.

“I’ve been in a few dressing rooms,” Melody said, “but none of them have anything like this. Is it mechanical?”

“One way to find out,” he said. Flaring his Strength, he twisted the lock off and pulled open the lid. He nearly hit Melody’s head as she leaned over at the same time to get a look. It was a long way down, but there was a light on the other end. He knew what it was, and it was a problem.

“What is it?” Melody asked.

Helo looked her in the green eyes. “You know what a skin mission is?”

Chapter 23

Convergence

“Skin mission?” she said, head cocked to the side.

“Yeah, it’s when you have to heart travel to your destination without any clothes or equipment. Doesn’t happen much, but it’s happening today.”

Avadan had taken a cue from Deep 7, creating an entry to his lair that could only be entered by heart travel. They could try to blow the thing open, but it would be a lot of guesswork and ruin the surprise. And the police and fire departments would probably show up in a jiffy. Of course, there might be another entrance. Shujaa told him that the Red Angel Theater lair emptied out underneath an apartment complex. If they could find an alternate entrance before dawn, they could avoid running naked through one of Avadan’s strongholds.

“Sparks,” Helo said through comms. “We got an opening down to the lair, but it’s heart travel only—just a pipe. Start a search for anywhere there might be another way in. If not, it’s skin-mission time.”

“We call ’em birthday parties across the pond,” Sparks said.

“Look,” Helo said. “If recon can’t find us another entrance, get down here before dawn. We can drop blades, Stingers, and explosives down the hole along with our hearts.” He pulled his BBG out. It barely fit. “BBGs, too.”

“Got it,” Sparks said. “Hang tight.”

“What about the guards?” Melody asked.

“Don’t worry about them,” Sparks said. “We sort of lured them to a little fire we set, and Shujaa conked them on the head kinda hard. Got ’em tied up. Both have walkies and phones we’ll keep an eye on.”

The balance of the night passed slowly while the Ash Angels searched for another entrance into the complex but without any luck. Helo and Melody took up a defensive position in the wardrobe room, going dark and silent to keep from attracting the attention of any other guards or surveillance Avadan might have. About ninety minutes before dawn, while the sky was still good and dark, the rest of Sicarius Nox joined them in the wardrobe room along with one other Michael Team of six.

Helo circled them around. “About a minute to dawn, we cram as much stuff down that hole as we can as fast as we can. Hearts go down first, equipment second. Understood? Hearts out, everyone.” Shujaa had brought his and Melody’s katanas, and Helo remembered a little trick from Dolorem.

“Melody, come here,” he said. “Let me touch the hilt.”

She extended it, her sea-green eyes curious. Dolorem had the Bestowal called Bless, and Helo used it now, infusing the blade with Virtus. He took his own hilt and did the same.

“What is it?” Melody asked.

“It will make the sword sharper and cause the Dreads pain on impact,” he explained. He drew his knife. “Lift your shirt, and I’ll take your heart.”

“So forward,” she said with a teasing grin. She lifted her shirt, and he placed the blade against her skin below her sternum. It felt odd to take a knife to Melody, more than it had for Aclima, more violent somehow.

He sliced as small a hole as possible and reached into her chest and tore out her heart. Then he lifted his own shirt and turned the knife on himself.

“Wait,” Melody said. “Fair is fair.”

She cut into him and pulled his heart out, taking a moment to examine it. “I thought it would be bigger.” She winked, and together they placed the hearts on a pile next to the pipe. “Now that is just gross.”

Faramir walked over and threw his on the pile. “You get used to it. Did you know male hearts weigh two ounces more than female hearts?”

“You don’t say,” Melody replied, eyes still glued to the grotesque pile on the floor.

“Faramir,” Helo said, “I want you and Melody to stay toward the back and keep an eye on any normals he might have down there. Every lair we’ve raided has been a prison. We don’t want them getting caught in the crossfire if they’re there. Sparks, Shujaa, and I will take point. I want Andromeda and Finny to lead the rest of the soldiers. And remember, we just clip the Ghostpackers. Now, let’s make piles of Stingers, explosives, and BBGs. Don’t forget holsters and belts.”

Once they had piled everything up, the clock was down to five minutes. That’s when he felt it, a sickening twist in his gut. He glanced over at Melody, who looked almost pale. She glanced up at him. No one else seemed to have noticed. As an Angel Born, he was used to sensing the presence of Shedim far sooner than everyone else, but this wasn’t the taint he’d long been immune to. It was hard to put into words. It was the feeling you might get walking down a hallway and seeing blood run under a door or the horror you might feel after you realize you’ve run over a child in a crosswalk. Somewhere, a line had been crossed.

Melody came over to him and leaned in close, hand across her belly. “What is that? I’ve never . . .”

“You two okay?” Sparks said.

Helo nodded. “Fine. Listen up, everyone. I think they know we’re coming.”

“Sheid?” Shujaa said.

“I don’t know,” Helo said. “Something bad. I . . . I can’t describe it. Be sharp.”

The sensation roiled his stomach, a dagger of fear jabbing his gut. He rubbed his jaw and swallowed. Melody stared at the pipe like it was a sewer grate someone was forcing her to jump into.

He put his lips close to her ear. “You want to sit this out?”

Her eyes flashed. “No. And you’d better not order me to do it.”

At a minute, he flipped up the pipe covering and shoveled hearts down the hole, a distant squishy impact filtering back up the pipe. Then came the BBGs, extra ammo, explosives, and Stingers. All with four seconds to spare.

“Godspeed, everyone,” Helo said.

Rapture. The blessed effect was short-lived, and the ugly poison in his mind returned full force within seconds. They awakened in a small rectangular room much like the one beneath the trapdoor in the Red Angel Theater, on a dirt floor, a single fluorescent bulb hanging above them. A hallway curved away at one end, preventing them from seeing anything beyond. There was no welcoming party, but an incessant screaming—bloody, horrified screaming—reverberated faintly down the hall, prickling his spine.

The naked soldiers grabbed their gear. They looked ridiculous. Helo strapped on his katana and BBG holster. Melody was right beside him, and he tried not to look—she being Dolorem’s daughter made it weird—but the horror building in his heart soon made every other concern irrelevant.

“Let’s go,” Helo said, stepping to the front with Sparks and Shujaa.

The screaming stopped, only to pick up again—a different voice now, but the same abject terror. They set off at a quick pace. Helo kept his BBG up in one hand and was ready to blast Angel Fire with the other. It seemed like some drunk had built the walls, meandering around without any plan or view toward efficiency. Side tunnels branched off in weird places, the entire place lit sparsely with fluorescent lights. It was disorienting, like navigating an unfamiliar city at night during a power outage. Barred cells yawned open to the left and right with no pattern whatsoever.

A new scream reverberated throughout the tunnels. It was suddenly squelched, only to be replaced by another, though it seemed farther away than the last. Were they even going the right direction? Every place seemed like every other place.

Sparks put his hand on Helo’s shoulder. “You’ve got to watch the floor,” he said. “The dirt is more beaten down on some paths.”

He was right. They went a little more slowly, pausing at intersections. The scream stopped, and another rose. They were closer now, but it was hard to tell because of the way the sound echoed through the labyrinth.

After another terrified shriek came and went, they turned a corner and found the first straight corridor they’d come across, leading downward. The damp floor made for quiet walking beneath their bare feet, but they hadn’t gone halfway through when something crept out along the floor toward them. Helo held his hand up, signaling them to stop. What approached was like a hallowing or desecrating field overlaying the ground, except it was all black instead of red. He’d never seen anything like it, and after a glance back at a sea of wide eyes, he knew no one else had either.

Instinctively, he Hallowed the ground just before it, but when the two fronts of white and black met, the darkness pushed his hallow back. He increased the output of Virtus and held it at bay, but barely. He couldn’t keep it up for long and conserve his Virtus. He dropped the hallow, cursing their luck. A couple other Ash Angels tried to Hallow but couldn’t keep it up either, and when the wave spilled beneath their feet, he lost most of his team.

Even he could feel it.

He hadn’t been torched in a long time, and while not as strong as a full torch, the old agony of his father’s disdain and Terissa’s infidelity washed over him like a current trying to pull him under. With effort he resisted. He glanced back at Melody, who was struggling but still upright. Of the rest, only Shujaa and Sparks remained standing, and only barely, their eyes darting about as if they were struggling for mastery of their feelings. Everyone else had sunk to the floor.

Melody gritted her teeth and drew her blade, striding forward. The desecration kept flowing down the hall behind them like a flood slowly filling the cavern halls. The good news: the Ash Angel numbness hadn’t deserted him. The bad news: using Bestowals seemed to take more Virtus, like the light within him had to fight through a sticky web of darkness to get out.

He grabbed Sparks and slapped him. The man’s eyes widened and focused. This new black desecration acted just like the red to the non-Angel Born, robbing his team of their Bestowals, livening their nerves, and torching them into near uselessness.

“You’ve got to hide,” Helo said with a quick pulse of Glorious Presence. “Shujaa! Snap out of it. Hide! Melody. Help them. Help them hide.”

“What about you?” she said, face suspicious.

“I’ve got to scout ahead,” he said. “I’m the only one who can.”

“I’m coming with you,” she said, her face set like Aclima’s used to be.

“No,” he said. “That’s an order. I need you to help them. You can resist. Help them hide.”

“I should be with you!” she shouted.

He grabbed her bare shoulders. “You are not ready for what is up there, Melody. Now get going. Go!”

Her dead-eyed glare stung him. “Yes, sir.”

Then she turned away, and he plowed ahead. He didn’t know if he was ready for what was up there either. Inside, he had the sick feeling Avadan had succeeded where Cain had failed, that the crazed Loremaster had set loose the most ancient of evils into the world. But even the feeling of fear that had accompanied King’s entrance into the hold of the Tempest didn’t feel like this.

After the negative slope, the cavern jogged to the right and dead-ended in a chiseled-out section of concrete wide enough to step through. Muddy footprints marked up a concrete floor in a wide, low room with racks upon racks of costumes, all in Avadan’s size. Helo stepped inside, senses humming. A rack of guitars hung on the wall to his right.

On the far side of the room, a hallway of whitewashed cinder block stretched straight forward. He jogged to it. One of the lights blinked on and off with a buzzing click. The familiar taint of Shedim hit him a moment before he set foot in this more finished section of the lair. Metal doors lined the hall, plain and gray, save one with a golden star and the number forty-two. It was slightly ajar.

About a hundred feet down the hall, two double doors were open against the wall on the right, the foul desecration oozing from it. The closer he stepped, the worse the taint of Sheid fear was, the more powerfully the seductive, dark thoughts pulled on his mind. He blinked and shook his head. Remembering Melody singing in camp seemed to help, and he kept the sound of her voice running through his head to ward off the phantoms in his heart.

An odd grunting and the murmured, reassuring tones of a woman’s voice issued from the room. He pulled air in through his nose and caught the coppery scent of blood and the smell of burning flesh. Innocents had died. The screams he had heard had to be from the victims of Sheid creation. Maybe Avadan wasn’t bringing Satan back into the world at all; maybe he was creating super-Shedim, Shedim that could desecrate with unusual power.

He holstered his gun and slowly and silently drew his katana. Fighting a Loremaster and Shedim in the buff was ridiculous, but he was going to do it. He snapped around the side of the door and almost dropped his weapon.

The four Shedim—Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt, and Jefferson—stood by four sets of empty clothing that once held the bodies of the innocents used to create them, blood pooling on the floor at their presidential feet. A hospital bed abutted a wall to the left of the room, a boy no more than nine years old stretched out upon it. To Helo’s horror, the boy’s chest was pulled open at the sternum, a bypass machine hooked into his chest. He was still alive!

But Avadan was the true horror. He lay on a low metal table, feet dangling over the side onto the floor. A metal tray had been rough welded a foot underneath the top of the table, and in that tray glowed orange charcoal. Avadan was literally cooking himself.

He was naked, his hands clawed in agony, a stick in his mouth, eyes wild. His chest was open too, and where his heart should have been, another had been sewn into its place and beat a slow rhythm. Vexus swirled around him, a lot of Vexus. Jumelia stood beside him, hand on the stolen heart, pouring more Vexus in, the runes on her arm glowing. The black desecration flowed from Avadan, his pained countenance seeming to fight the pain and the visage of King trying to assert itself.

Jumelia’s head snapped up. She wore scrubs and sneakers stained with swathes of blood, lustrous hair so like Aclima’s pulled back in a ponytail. But her eyes, merciless and cruel, were nothing like her sister’s.

Helo raised his arm. One blast of Angel Fire would end this abomination. But the Shedim were faster. A tendril of glowing Sheid smoke whizzed by his head, another severing his sword arm. The sword clattered to the ground, and he had to sidestep to keep from having his belly hollowed out by another. It took a chunk of his side instead.

He didn’t stand a chance.

Speed. He tore down the hallway, feet slapping the concrete. They followed. He could feel it. An unholy Mount Rushmore was coming to burn him up. A tendril of smoke took out his knee, and he crashed onto his belly, naked body squealing along the polished floor. He came to rest by the door with the golden star on it, and he yanked it open, then used his good leg to push inside just as another tentacle almost took his head off. The doorway would serve as a choke point, but four against one?

The room was about the size of a small family room, the cinder-block walls almost completely covered with bookshelves packed full of leather-bound tomes. An ancient desk straight out of Dracula’s castle hulked on the floor, books practically spilling over its sides.

Helo got up onto his one good leg and pinned himself near the door. George Washington was the first through. Helo Strength punched him, and he disintegrated into a blast of Vexus. Helo’s body absorbed the cloud, sapping his Virtus. Then Lincoln zipped into the room using Speed, and Helo Hallowed the floor, the energy it took to do it staggering. It had been so natural before, but in this vile desecration, it was like pushing against a roaring tide. Vexus steamed off the Lincoln Sheid, and it made to get on the desk, books crumbling to the floor. But Helo one-legged hopped over and rammed his fist through its back. It exploded. Again Helo’s body sucked in the Vexus cloud, Virtus draining. He couldn’t keep this up.

And that’s when a speeding Jefferson collided with him from behind. Helo hit the desk hard and fell to the ground, using all his concentration to keep the hallow going. As long as he could keep them from using Bestowals, he had a chance, but he wasn’t going to last long. Jefferson started curb-stomping him, trying to crush his head, but Helo kept scooting away, taking the shots in the chest or arms.

Roosevelt strode inside and immediately got on the desk, a smoky tendril taking Helo’s hip. Helo rolled as another kick from Jefferson shot toward his head. He punched through the Sheid’s leg with his remaining arm. Three down, Virtus almost gone, exhaustion setting in. The Roosevelt Sheid was perched on the desk, all the power now belonging to it, its flaming, smoky tendril severing what was left of Helo’s legs. Helo retaliated with Angel Fire to its face, and it toppled off the back of the desk. Helo Hallowed again.

A roar of anger shook the floor, books tumbling from the shelves, the sound more than just physical. It penetrated his bones, froze his heart. It was ancient. It was evil. It was pissed. And then the roar became laugh, a laugh so loud it seemed to shake the building. It was ancient. It was evil. And it was ecstatic. It was Avadan. The black desecration lifted for a moment and then returned full force. A sharp fear pricked at Helo’s heart, a despair impregnating the very air.

The Sheid circled the desk and blasted a hole in his abdomen. Helo prepared himself for the White Room as Roosevelt looked down at him with vapid, bespectacled eyes. Then it fled as if summoned. Helo let his head fall back to the concrete. All he had was one janky arm for motion and almost no Virtus left. He couldn’t even tap his comms unit to activate it.

He palmed the floor and pulled, but his muscles wouldn’t work right. He’d never get out. Would Avadan come for him? He tuned his ears to the hallway. The shuffle of feet and the banging of equipment was all he could make out for a moment.

“It won’t take full hold until sunset,” Avadan was saying, his voice getting louder and more clear. But unlike his cruel laugh a few moments before, he sounded weary. “I cannot risk an encounter yet. The Sheid will accompany me. Get my safe and our visitor’s heart and follow, Aunt. There is much to be done yet.”

Helo pushed against the floor with his good hand, rolling over onto his back. He thought he had enough for one last blast of Angel Fire, but then he’d be done. He just had to time it right.

Step by step, Jumelia came, her sneakers squeaking against the floor. As soon as her shape filled the door, he let loose a shot right at her heart. She dodged left and lost her arm, but he was out, his Virtus tank empty. She stepped into the room warily and with a single Strength-fueled stop broke his good shoulder.

“Helo,” she said with a grin that would have reminded him of Aclima if it hadn’t been so cruel. “What a pleasure! I’m sure I’ll enjoy getting to know you, but I don’t think you’ll like me as much as my sister. How is she, by the way?”

“Gone.”

“You burned her!” she said. “I’m not surprised. I’m sure the Ash Angel Organization wasn’t as in love with her as you were. She was such a fool to think she would get any mercy.”

“She changed back. Ascended,” he said, a warm satisfaction filling him. “You and Cain can have your second honeymoon in hell all to yourselves. Aclima is free.”

“Liar!”

The bile and anger in that single word was like getting hit in the face with a brick. Her brown eyes radiated fury down upon him. He loved it.

“Not a lie,” he said. “As soon as she changed, we put her in the river so you and your crazy nephew couldn’t touch her anymore. She’ll be at my family reunion, not yours.”

Her eyes went crazy. Her jaw trembled and clenched. She yelled, stomping him in the groin, kicking him in the ribs, and pulping what was left of his body until he felt like goo. Then she stood by his head.

“Well, you stole her from Cain, and now you’ve robbed me of her, too. You know, Cain hated it when people took things that belonged to him, and that is one thing he and I have in common. I’ve got to take your heart, but I think I’ll crush your head first so I can see your face Picasso-style.”

She raised her foot, and then a blessed katana sliced through her neck.

Melody.

Chapter 24

A Mystery of Light

Melody walked in, face set in a scowl. She scanned the room for more threats and then sheathed her katana. Her expression softened a little as she examined his destroyed body, but something of anger still smoldered in her eyes.

She touched her comms unit. “I found him,” she said. “He’s in pieces. Stand by.” She knelt next to him, folding her arms over her chest. “What happened?”

He retold the story, wishing she had the Healing Bestowal. “Tell the second unit to get with recon and to patrol the streets. Avadan is leaving through a different entrance, and there’s a kid hooked to a bypass machine in the room down the hall. See if he is still alive. I don’t think anybody’s left down here.”

“Where are all the Dreads?” she wondered aloud as she got to her feet. “There were a pile of clown suits up there. And where is that desecration coming from?”

“Avadan. I don’t know how it’s still going. I got the feeling Avadan was keeping this plan close to the chest,” he said. “Go.”

Melody returned quickly, face a little pale. “The kid hooked up to the bypass machine is dead. I found this.” She lifted the pendant—a rib from Abel’s side, the Bone of First Avarice—the pendant Cain and Avadan had worn to control the Dreads and the Possessed. But now it was just a bone, its red glow gone.

“Is this it?” she said.

“Yes. That’s why the Dreads aren’t here,” Helo said. “The contract is done. Avadan doesn’t control the Dreads anymore. The way he used them . . . well, it probably didn’t make him a lot of friends.”

She nodded and paused for a moment. “I could have helped, you know.”

“How is the rest of the team?” he asked, avoiding the incensed look she gave him. He didn’t like it.

“Barely functional,” she answered, “but on my way here, I got my second Bestowal. Inspire. The vision says I can use it to get Shujaa and Sparks back on their feet. I’ll try Andromeda, too. She’s pretty tough. Finny and Faramir are a hot mess. Wasn’t Inspire your second Bestowal too?”

“Yes,” he said.

“What did the vision have you do with it?”

He swallowed. The desecration might not be crippling him, but it kept the bad memories fresh. “I helped Terissa forgive herself for cheating on me.”

“Oh,” Melody said, face like flint. “Well, I’ll be back. You should have kept me with you, Helo.”

Then she was gone. Helo lowered his banged-up head to the concrete floor and stared up at the fluorescent light hanging overhead. Could Melody have helped him? In his mind he could only see her getting burned by Sheid’s fire or hacked in two by one of the weapons they could instantly craft from Vexus.

When she got back, she was wearing what looked like a gypsy outfit, with a loose flower-print skirt, a tan blouse, and a turquoise wrap around her waist. Sparks had found a police uniform, but Shujaa—who was far larger than Avadan—had to settle for some loose purple shorts that might have been from an Incredible Hulk costume. Their faces sagged with the effort of fighting off the relentless, cruel desecration.

“Bad news,” Melody said. “The desecration isn’t just down here. It’s above ground and spreading into the city like a plague.”

“How is that possible?” Sparks said.

“Don’t know,” Helo answered. “Maybe it will make him easier to find if he’s the center of it, but it’s got to be exhausting to keep up. He can’t do it indefinitely.”

“Maybe he can,” Sparks said. “I think the rules just got bent. But no matter. We hunt him down and destroy him. Mission’s still the same.”

Shujaa shook his head either to say no or to clear it. “Mission is the same, but there aren’t many Ash Angels who can fight in this. The Angel Born are the only ones who won’t suffer.”

“Avadan can’t keep this up,” Melody said as a wish more than fact. “He just can’t.”

“We aren’t going to get any answers talking about it,” Helo said. “I’m worthless. No one can heal me in the desecration, and my body is banged all to hell. Shujaa, Sparks, see if you can figure out where this place comes out. If you meet resistance, don’t take risks. Retreat.”

“What about me?” Melody asked, voice edgy.

“I need you to search this room for anything useful,” he said. “I’m thinking this is Avadan’s study. Maybe he left clues about what he’s done or what he’s planning. And get Jumelia’s heart. I think we’ll want to interrogate her, though I doubt we’ll get anything useful.”

Shujaa and Sparks slipped away down the hall.

“Gypsy’s a good look for you,” Helo said, hoping to take the edge off her anger. Didn’t seem to work. “Do you mind propping me up so I can look around?”

She grabbed the arm he had left and dragged him over to the wall by the door, propping him up against it. The main theme of the room was books. During the scuffle with the Shedim, an actual ink bottle with a quill had fallen to the floor, a stain spreading near the desk. Avadan liked writing old-school.

Melody pulled some books off the shelves and flipped through them. “These are all handwritten,” she said. “Same handwriting. Weird language. I think Avadan wrote all of these. Crazy. Maybe he liked journaling. Diary of a disgusting freak.”

“Check the desk,” Helo suggested. The Scholus—what was left of it—would have a field day with all this stuff, though without their database to reference, deciphering all the information would probably take years.

She yanked on the drawers. “Lots of ink and quills. Hey!” she said. “Now we’ve got something.” Her aura flared, and she pulled a small safe out of the bottom drawer and set it on the desk with a thunk that sent more books sliding to the floor.

“Are Bestowals harder for you to use in this desecration thing?” she asked.

“Yes. Crack that safe open.”

Again her aura flared, and after a couple of metal-warping yanks, the door popped off.

“What do you know,” she said. “Another book. This one’s old. Really old. Title’s worn off. Just a couple of letters left.”

She gingerly removed it and shoved some other books on the desk aside to create a space for it. The cover was some kind of animal leather and was cracked and faded in spots. Melody peeled back the cover like she was afraid the book might crumble to dust at any moment.

“It’s still in pretty good shape,” she said, appearing to gain more confidence that she wouldn’t destroy it. “Different handwriting, though I do recognize Avadan’s scrawl in the margins. The main language seems a bit more normal, almost like French or something. And . . . oh! Well, here’s an illustration of a well-endowed guy Dread chained to a table and cut apart with little notations. And the next page is a well-endowed lady Dread in the same tough spot. Whoever wrote this was experimenting on Dreads.”

“That’s it,” Helo said, suddenly realizing what they had. “That’s Micah’s book! He was an Ash Angel researcher. Avadan killed him five hundred years ago or so. It has information about Angel Borns and other secrets. We’ve got to get it translated.”

“First we’ve got to get it out of here,” she said. “I don’t have enough Virtus left to haul your butt around.”

“Shujaa can do it,” he said. “But we’ve got to secure this location until they can get all this stuff out of here. I think that has to be you and me—mainly you at this point.”

“Why’s that?” she said with sarcastic surprise in her voice. “You mean you’re not going to send me away from you again? How thoughtful.”

“Hey,” he said, “you’re a Cherub doing one of the most dangerous jobs in the Ash Angels against the most dangerous Dread there is. I’m not going to have you running point with me on something like this. I wouldn’t even take Faramir with me.”

She cocked her head. Trouble. “Now you’re comparing me to Faramir?”

“I’m just saying—”

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what? I am trying to use sound combat strategy here in order to keep everyone safe! That means you and me and everyone else on the team. It is not personal.”

Sparks poked his head in the door. “Did I come at a bad time? Should I give you two a few more minutes?”

“What did you find?” Helo asked.

“The hallway is a long, straight shot right to the sewer system. It’s smelly, but it’s got a lot of exits topside. Shujaa’s at the grate. I think the place is clear. We should get you out, Helo. You look like you had a fight with a tractor. And lost. If you can Hallow, I can heal you.”

“I’m done for today,” Helo said. “We’ve got to secure all the books in here. We think we’ve found Micah’s book.”

“Now that’s something,” Sparks said. “We’ve scoured Europe for ages looking for that thing. So Avadan’s had it the whole time.” He crossed to the desk, looking down at the page Melody had opened to. “Vivisections. Nice.”

“He killed Micah,” Helo said. “Or so he claims.”

“I believe it. Both of them were a bit . . . creative. And by creative I mean crazy.”

The work of clearing the room took the better part of eight hours, not because of the amount of work but the difficulty of finding Ash Angels who could lend a hand. The bulk of the work fell to Sparks, Melody, and Shujaa while Helo leaned against the door and provided moral support. It was humiliating and frustrating. His arm was useless, so when it came time to report to command, they had to put the phone on speaker and dump it in his lap.

When they finished, Shujaa hauled him up over his shoulder and carried him out through the hallway and into the sewer. Not needing to breathe became an instant blessing.

A couple more hours passed while they found a manhole leading out to an alley deserted enough they weren’t afraid anyone would see a tall black man in purple shorts hauling the mangled torso of a white man with the help of a gypsy and a cop. Getting Finny, Faramir, and Andromeda out took a long time too. Andromeda could walk under her own power, but Finny and Faramir seemed like they’d had a stroke. They’d dressed Faramir in a devil costume, Finny in a Zorro outfit, and Andromeda in pink bunny pajamas. Getting in the van and out of sight was a relief.

Melody drove. The black desecration staining the city during the middle of the day was jarring. Instead of rising upward and outward, the desecration ran like water, flowing downward. The bottom of the van was free of it, as well as the upper levels of buildings. For Finny, Andromeda, and Faramir, getting into the van freed them from the extreme torching effects of the desecration. Their faces were sober.

Helo’s heart felt heavy. The dark film covered the streets, the parks, and the bottom floor of every building in Kansas City. It seemed to drain all the happiness from the sunshine and blue sky above them, and for the first time he wondered what it would do to the normals in the streets. He knew they could sense hallowing and desecration, but only on a low, emotional level. How would this super desecration affect them?

“Good news,” Melody said. “The desecration seems confined to the city. Once we get outside of it, we should be good.”

And fifteen minutes later it was true. Instant relief. It was like someone had flipped on a light.

“That sucked,” Faramir’s said.

Andromeda gave him a no-duh look. “Someone’s going to pay for that.”

Shujaa nodded, flexing his fists as if looking for someone to punch.

Finny leaned his head against the back window and closed his eyes. Sparks gave his friend’s head a firm rub. “All right, mate, would you rather spend a night in a cave full of nonpoisonous snakes or in a house where someone had been killed a week previous?”

Faramir perked up. “That’s an easy—”

“Didn’t ask you,” Sparks said. “It’s a question for Fin.”

Finny lifted his head and blew out a long stream of air, as if expelling some pollution from inside him. “Well, I’d definitely have to go for the house. Murder’s done. Snakes are never done. Honestly, I’d rather stay the night in one of those little bungalows on a beach, though. Roar of the ocean. Sand. Ladies not wearing much.”

“Hey, Sparks,” Helo said. “A little help.”

“Right.” Sparks healed him, Helo’s limbs reappearing and mushy torso and head filling back out. Shujaa tossed him a pair of khaki shorts and a breezy tan shirt that made him feel like he should be out on a safari. He pulled them on and took shotgun next to Melody.

“We look like a pack of fools,” Sparks said from the back. “Someone should grab a selfie. We should have bought a case of beer and poured it on ourselves so we could explain this.”

“Worst Halloween party ever,” Faramir added.

“Jumelia captured. Four Shedim destroyed,” Shujaa said. “That is something.”

They’d stuffed Jumelia’s heart in an ammo box.

“No good,” Finny said. “Five mortals dead. Five. Plus the two in the park. And now we’ve got the black carpet to worry about. The red carpet was bad enough.”

“So what is Avadan now?” Faramir asked. “I mean, taking a kid’s heart and sewing it into his own body? That’s just messed up.”

“He said the process wouldn’t be complete until this evening,” Helo said. “I don’t know what happened, but he was definitely doing the transference of Vexus needed to bring Satan back into the world but with the kid’s heart in him instead of his own.”

“The hearts of innocents are used in making Shedim, right?” Melody said. “Infuse the heart with Vexus, and then the Dread eats it, and the victim’s body becomes the Sheid. But that boy didn’t dissolve. He was still there.”

“Maybe the body will dissolve at sundown,” Faramir said. “Maybe that’s what he meant.”

Helo couldn’t quite grasp it either. What Sparks had said earlier was true. Avadan and Micah were two sides of the same coin, both insatiable in their search for knowledge. Whenever the Ash Angels spoke of Micah, it was with reverence, with the assumption that whatever knowledge he had obtained—however cruel the methods used to extract it—was pivotal in giving the Ash Angels an upper hand over the Dreads.

Avadan had that same insatiable curiosity, though his ends appeared to be selfish. As crazy as he was, Helo could admire what it had taken for Avadan to pull off what he had pulled off. He’d been patient. He’d hoarded Vexus right under Cain’s nose. He’d researched on humans, Ash Angels, and Dreads alike to gain understanding. Cain’s use of the pendant to control him had probably set his plans back for a time, but the pendant became a new opportunity in the end, perhaps even the final piece of his formula.

“What now?” Helo asked. “What’s Avadan’s play?”

They speculated back and forth the entire way back to Camp Zion. After the tortured streets of Kansas City, a drive through the warm woods in the early afternoon felt like coming home for Christmas—well, someone else’s Christmas. Helo didn’t have a lot of good memories to work from. His dad had always used Christmas as a time to celebrate the darker side of alcohol.

Still, it was good to be back at Camp Zion. The other two teams had arrived before them and were still unloading Avadan’s trove of books from the back of the vans. Helo had Micah’s book wrapped in a cloth in the console. He wasn’t about to let it out of his sight. Melody pulled up by the Sicarius Nox campsite and put the van in park.

“What’s she doing here?” Melody said.

It took Helo a moment to realize she was talking about Scarlet, who was loitering around the vans. His ex-wife was all curves and dark hair, her Latino heritage lending her those smoldering looks that had entrapped him so many years ago.

“Shujaa,” he said, “take Jumelia’s heart up to the command tent. They’ve got about two and a half hours before she shows up. I’m guessing she’ll be a fighter.”

“Yes, Angel Born.”

He grabbed Micah’s book and got out. Scarlet hurried over and gave him a big hug. “I heard it was awful,” she said. “A desecration that can torch.”

Melody walked by and threw a stink eye in Scarlet’s general direction before disappearing down the path to her tent.

“Yeah,” Helo said, disengaging from her. “It’s bad.”

“Did it, um, affect you? Bad memories and all?”

He shook his head. “A little, but being Angel Born has its perks. Everything good here? Where’s Corinth?”

She shrugged. “I think he’s up at the command tent. He’s one of the few Blanks left, and I think they’re forming a team or something. Archus Magdelene talked to him about it after you guys left. But I think it’s happening.” She put her hand on his cheek. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good, Scarlet, really. Look, I’ve got to go report in. I’ll see you around.”

“Okay. And Helo,” she said. “It’s good to see you again. I’ve missed you these past few months.”

He nodded and worked his way up to where Mars and Magdelene would be waiting for him. He felt a little ridiculous heading to the command tent dressed like a barefoot safari guide, but at least he wasn’t wearing the pink bunny pajamas.

He grabbed a stack of Avadan’s books on the way past one of the vans and followed the line of Ash Angels up to the command tent, where they were piling them on tables, a wide-eyed Archus Ebenezer looking like he had just won the lottery. Lear stood nearby with his hands on his hips, and he whistled when Helo set his stack down, keeping Micah’s book.

“Quite a haul there, Helo,” Lear said. “Good work today.”

“Thanks.” Helo didn’t consider it good work. Not only had a bunch of normals gotten killed, they didn’t get Avadan. Now Avadan was some abomination no Ash Angel had ever seen. He was happy the Ash Angels hadn’t suffered any casualties, but what kept nagging at him was Melody’s criticism. If he had let her come, would it have made the difference? Could he have subdued the Shedim and burned Avadan before the fiend had finished his dark ritual?

Helo took out Micah’s book. “Hey, Ebenezer,” he called.

“What?” Ebenezer said, distracted by all the books being piled in.

Helo handed him the book. “You’ll want to look at this one first.”

Ebenezer took it. “Yeah, I’ll get to it in a moment.”

Helo opened his mouth to explain why he might want to look at it sooner when Mars asked him to come speak with him and Magdelene. Helo waved to Lear and headed back toward the front of the tent where Mars and Magdelene sat, faces grim.

He took a seat opposite them. “What is it?”

“Explain what you saw in that room again, please,” Archus Magdelene said.

He ran through the story for about the fourth time that day, trying not to leave anything out. They sat rock still and unblinking through the whole tale, faces unreadable.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Helo said after he finished, “but that’s what I saw. That desecration is real.”

“And it’s huge,” Mars said. “That’s what’s stumped us all. The amount of Vexus needed to power something like that . . . well, it’s unfathomable. That didn’t happen when Cain summoned King into the world, did it?”

“No,” Helo said. “He had a Sheid doing normal desecration there.”

Magdelene shook her head. “This has to be King’s power. There’s no other explanation for it. The effects are being seen already. Violence has broken out across the city. It’s like people are just snapping.”

Helo was stunned. “Are you sure it’s normals? Maybe Legion is doing this.”

“No,” Mars said. “That’s the thing. It’s not. Seems like most of the Dreads and Possessed have pulled out of Kansas City. We’ve gotten reports that a horde of them showed up in Saint Louis about two hours ago. We think Legion’s gone there.”

“To prepare,” Helo said. “He’s going to do the same thing there. Corrupt it with the desecration.” He stood. “We’ve got to get there and start burning Dreads. We’ve got to figure out how to Exorcise Legion. If we can get there before the desecration, we can be effective. With the desecration, only Melody and I can be on the ground without getting hamstrung.”

“We know,” Mars said. “We will send people to Saint Louis, but Sicarius Nox has one mission and one only: hunt down Avadan as fast as you can. You leave tomorrow morning.”

Helo wanted a shot at Avadan in a bad way. “How do we find him?”

“You and your team have to head back to Kansas City. Wherever that desecration is, that’s where he will be. You’re the Angel Born,” Mars said. “With that desecration, only you and Melody stand a chance at getting close. I can still hardly believe it.”

“What about Jumelia?”

“We’ll interrogate her,” Magdelene said, rubbing her forehead. “But from what you’ve told us, she’s probably not going to cooperate.”

Mars’s eyes turned flinty. “First sign of sass from that Dread and she’s dust. With her gone, we’ll be one Dread Loremaster away from never seeing a Sheid on this planet again. Let your team know they’re back in the thick of it tomorrow. We’re short on uniforms, but we’re thinking you’ll need to proceed Gabriel-style for this one.”

His team wasn’t going to like it. No one wanted to go back into the black desecration. No one. Most of his team wouldn’t even be able to step out of the van. Melody was suddenly more important than he wanted her to be.

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter 25

Archus

Helo let his team enjoy the bliss of ignorance for two hours before he gathered them at the Sicarius Nox campsite and broke the news: they’d been ordered back into the desecration of Kansas City to hunt Avadan. Shujaa and Sparks kept a stoic exterior; everyone else looked like he’d just told them they were going to hike through broken glass in bare feet. He supposed walking through the desecration was a lot like that. He was going to have to figure out how to keep them up off the ground.

Melody’s guitar case was slung over her shoulder, and after he dismissed the team, she turned toward the clearing. Mars had called a full camp meeting again, probably to spread the news and to try to put a spin on it that wouldn’t scare everyone to death. It didn’t start for an hour, though.

“Melody,” he said. “Hold up.”

She turned toward him and worked up a smile, but her eyes were sad, heavy. “Yeah?”

“What’s with the guitar?” he asked.

“Oh, Mars wants Lear and me to provide a little entertainment tonight. Brighten the mood, I guess.”

“Look,” he said. “It’s going to be okay. I know going into the desecration is going to be tough, but we’re all they’ve got, really.”

“The desecration’s not what’s bothering me,” she said. “Well, it bothers me, but it’s not what’s bothering me.”

“What is it?”

She looked down the road that led out of camp for a moment. “Maybe later,” she said. “I’ve got to get going. Haven’t had time to practice. See you around.”

She walked away. He kind of liked the whole gypsy outfit on her. It suited her in a weird way. Still, she was upset, and he knew why: He’d forced her to stay behind in the lair. Or maybe it was Scarlet. Probably both. He’d have to find a way to make it up to her. He disliked seeing Melody upset about as much as he’d disliked seeing Aclima angry

.

Helo leaned against his customary tree, Shujaa towering behind him as usual. A front of clouds raced past above them—a normal storm—threatening rain at any minute. The air smelled wet and heavy, the wind inspiring the branches to dance above him. Mars kicked off the meeting relating the details of the raid on the amusement park to an audience as quiet and still as the grave. Melody and Lear sat on the stage, a promise that something better would follow the dark news they were all about to get.

A hand touched his arm. “Hey, Helo.” Scarlet. She stood close, brown eyes like liquid chocolate.

“Hey,” he said.

“Is it true?” she said.

“What?”

“That Sicarius Nox is heading back into the desecration of Kansas City.” She seemed concerned.

“Yep. Finding Avadan’s the only way we stop this. He’s in there somewhere. Where’s Corinth?”

“His team of Blanks left for Saint Louis already,” she said. “A Michael team will follow a couple hours behind.”

“I bet you miss him,” he said.

She didn’t say anything, but he could feel her eyes on him from time to time while Mars revealed the horrifying scene, recounting the boy’s heart in the Loremaster’s chest and the burning table.

“You saw that?” she asked.

He nodded.

She rubbed his arm. “That is awful. What did you do?”

“Just listen,” he said. “He’ll tell it.”

“I’d rather hear it from you,” she pressed.

He ignored her. Luckily, Mars didn’t go into too much detail about how banged up he’d been. He did highlight Melody taking down Jumelia, which brought a hearty round of applause. Helo smiled. She was becoming a legend in her own right. She was still so modest, still acting like she didn’t deserve the praise. He loved that about her. Still, it seemed wrong that someone with such a gift for song was forced to bang it out on the front lines. If only Dolorem could see her now.

When Mars finished up the story, he scanned the crowd. “Helo? You out there?”

“He’s over here!” Scarlet yelled.

Helo raised his hand, and everyone turned toward him for a moment. The look on Melody’s face was murder, for Scarlet, of course. Why did Melody hate her so much? That was all ancient history.

“Helo,” Mars continued, “will lead Sicarius Nox back to Kansas City to hunt the old bastard down and put an end to this. Hoorah!”

“Hoorah!” the crowd yelled.

“We cannot thank him enough for what he’s done,” Mars continued. “It is the unanimous agreement of the Archai—and unity is much easier now that there’s just three of us—that Helo be given the rank of Archus and that once his hunt is over, he will assume command of the Michaels division.”

Helo froze. An Archus? Scarlet hugged him. The crowd applauded and whistled. Why would they want him to be an Archus? Why would he want to be one? And the biggest question of all, had Archus Ebenezer actually gone along with the idea, or had Mars sat on him until he agreed? It was probably just a stunt, something to boost morale.

“That is so great,” Scarlet said. “You deserve it. You absolutely do.”

“Thanks,” he said. She hung on to his arm, her soft body against his.

Mars motioned for quiet again. “Now, before we get to the entertainment, and before it starts raining, I want to show you something. Most of you have never seen a Dread Loremaster. I want to show you one. Bring her out.”

Helo stood up straight. Was he really going to trot Jumelia out on the stage? She was dangerous! She could torch the entire crowd with a thought. He was sure she would. Why wouldn’t she?

Four Michaels marched Jumelia out in front of a dead-quiet audience. One of them Hallowed a space around her, and Helo relaxed. They’d dressed her in some ill-fitting black fatigues and chained her wrists so thickly not even a Strength-powered yank could break them. From a distance, he could almost believe she was Aclima, but her pretty face was done up in a scowl of hatred so deep it was almost as good as a torching, her red aura a lonely island in a sea of white.

“Here she is,” Mars said. “Jumelia, first wife of Cain, and Avadan’s aunt. She’s six thousand years old and has made Shedim and Dreads for her entire miserable existence. She has killed Ash Angels, hidden all over this world to escape us, and has lived a life of undeserved luxury. She helped Avadan become whatever it is he’s turned into. Today she answers for her crimes. She’s asked that Helo be the one to burn her, and we’ve agreed.”

“Take her out, Helo,” Scarlet said, letting go of his arm.

This was wrong. It had to be some kind of trick. But what could she do to him, really? He took his time getting there, the sea of expectant faces following him like a flower followed the sun. Jumelia regarded him coldly, standing tall in her shackles, defiant and proud to the last. He felt stupid in his khaki shorts and breezy, tan shirt.

Helo stopped about five feet from her, and a Michael came forward and laid a Stinger in his hand. Her gaze didn’t flinch.

“You’re wondering why I want you to do this, aren’t you?” Jumelia said. “You think I have some trick up my sleeve. Some retribution for you taking my sister away from me. It’s easier than that. You’re the best and strongest the Ash Angels have, and if an Ash Angel is going to take me out of this world, I want the one who’s worth something to do it. Only the best, Cain used to say. And that’s how I’ve lived. But I want to deliver this last message to you: the time of the Ash Angels is over. My nephew will see to that. You won’t long outlive me. Now do it. Do it and be done.”

She closed her eyes, and Helo rammed the Stinger into her chest. He depressed the plunger, and two seconds later the micro explosive burned her heart to ash. Her fatigues dropped to the ground, dust spilling out of the sleeves and pants.

A cheer broke into the night, and Helo tossed the spent Stinger syringe into the crowd, a souvenir for some lucky Ash Angel to keep as a memento. He returned to the tree, where Scarlet waited for him with a big smile and shining eyes.

Shujaa nodded to him. “Only one more, Angel Born, then there will be rest.”

He hoped so. Ascension was starting to sound good.

Mars announced the music, and Melody led out, her celestial voice a defiance to the darkness of the night and the darkness in their hearts. While she seemed more restrained and thoughtful than the first time he saw her perform for the Ash Angels, her music carried power that seemed supernatural to him. Then again, even when she was a mortal it had seemed that way.

He felt Scarlet’s eyes on him again, and he glanced at her.

“What?”

“You’re so different now,” Scarlet said after the first song ended. “The man I married didn’t have the strength you do now. You just . . . radiate it. Where did you get it?”

He turned his attention back to Melody, who was adjusting the tuning of her guitar and announcing her next song, “Back Again,” another favorite of his.

“I don’t know where I got it,” he said. “I just know it was the hard way.”

“You still retreat inside yourself,” she said. “That hasn’t changed.”

That was one thing he was sure she hadn’t liked about him, and he couldn’t blame her. He’d have his dark moments and sink into his own head, using puzzles as a way to get out. He was sure it drove her crazy.

Scarlet stuck by him for the rest of the concert, which only lasted about half an hour. A drop of rain would plop down on his shoulder or his head every minute or so, the storm giving them fair warning before it dumped on them. As Melody’s final song ended, a drizzle set in, the trees swaying with a little more vigor. Everyone dashed out of the clearing, making for tents, but the rain hadn’t penetrated the canopy where he stood.

“Come see me,” Scarlet said, squeezing his arm. “I’ve had a lot going on in my head lately.”

Just then, Melody walked by with a sour look on her face.

“Great job,” Helo said, but she had already passed and just kept on going.

“See ya,” Scarlet said.

He nodded. What could possibly be going on in her head that she would want to talk about? She looked back at him with a smile—that one smile he knew so well—and his heart sank. Really? Was that what it was? He couldn’t say for sure, not until she told him, but the thought of it made him furious. Did she suddenly like him again because he was more like his brother, more in command, more famous? And what about Corinth?

Then Lear was there, carrying a folded pile of clothes and some boots. He joined him under the tree.

Lear smiled at him. “Congrats on being elevated to Archus. You didn’t know, did you?”

“No. No, I did not.”

Lear chuckled. “That’s what I thought. I haven’t seen you look that surprised since I hit you with my Buick when you were a Cherub. I miss that car. It’s got a dent that reminds me of you. Anyway, I scrounged up some clothes for you so you don’t have to walk around camp looking like you’re hunting tigers or something.”

Helo grabbed the proffered clothes. “I owe you one.”

“This tree ain’t gonna help much longer,” Lear said. “Better get inside, or you could join me in a little production of “Singing in the Rain.”

“No, thanks.”

Lear jogged off. Helo returned to his tent and changed, the rain finally settling into a nice, steady downpour. His mind kept running everywhere. Avadan. Their mission to find him. Scarlet. Saint Louis. Being an Archus. His cramped, agitated mind made his tent feel like a prison. He needed space to think.

He grabbed a headlamp and stepped outside, the rain falling softly. He stood in front of the tent for a moment, closing his eyes while the water dripped down his face. Walking in the rain as an Ash Angel came with none of the cold and tactile discomfort of falling water. Squishy socks were still a bother, but his standard-issue boots did a decent job of keeping his feet dry.

Sparks stuck his head out. “Where are you going?”

“To clear my head,” he said. “I’ll be back before long, and we’ll talk strategy.”

He tromped down the empty road, keeping to the middle as the ruts slowly turned into puddles and little rivers of mud. About a half mile out of camp, he ran into the sentries, who stopped him for a moment. No aura meant they had to check. He flared his Strength, which popped an aura for a second and satisfied them.

And he kept on walking.

Trees loomed over him like a cavern ceiling sometimes, and at others the canopy split open, his headlamp beam shooting a column of light up into total darkness. The rutted road into camp was a crappy twenty-two miles long. He had half a mind to walk the whole thing, but the darkness and the rain didn’t empty his mind like he hoped they would. It felt like his brain was filling with water and drowning, but of all the thoughts in his head, it was Melody’s sour expression that kept floating to the top.

He needed to talk to her, see if he could get that smile back on her face again. As weird as her upbeat attitude about their missions had been, he missed it now that it was gone. He stopped, shoes sinking a little in the mud. The winding road stretched away into a soggy abyss ahead of him. It felt like where he’d been walking for months, a path that seemed to start and end nowhere. He didn’t want to walk in the dark anymore.

He spun on his heel and trudged back up the road. Even the vegetated middle where he walked was a soppy mess now, and he ended up on his knees twice as he climbed one of the gentle hills the road went over rather than around. This time he flared his Strength when he first spotted the sentries’ auras so he wouldn’t end up with rifles in his face.

But before he had reached the outermost boundaries of camp, squishy steps coming toward him pulled his gaze up. Melody. She still had the gypsy costume from Avadan’s collection but had morphed her hair to buzzed instead of pulling it back into a ponytail. She had a headlamp on too, but what caught his eye were the two katanas she carried in her arms, still in their scabbards. Her green eyes were set, lips in a line.

“Melody?”

She stopped about fifteen feet away and threw a katana at him. He caught it.

“Prepare yourself,” she said. She removed her shirt and let her skirt fall, leaving her in her underwear and a sports bra. She kicked the clothes aside and pulled the katana from its scabbard and tossed the scabbard by a tree to her left.

What was this? She stood before him half naked, barefoot, katana out and forward, ready to strike.

“I said prepare yourself!”

Chapter 26

Pool

He opened his mouth and shut it. She was serious. Well, if she wanted to play slice and dice, he would do it. He pulled off his shirt, kicked off his boots, and doffed his pants.

He raised his katana. “Is this what you wanted?”

“No Bestowals,” was all she said. Then she charged. Her sword arced down at his head, and he blocked it, but she kept pushing forward and sneaked in a thrust kick to his midsection. Without the mud, the backward step he took for balance might have worked, but his boot just slid. He would have done the splits if he hadn’t thrown himself to the right to escape a slice that would have taken his head off.

He rolled onto his feet and faced her down, but she didn’t hesitate, pressing in again with an aggressive series of quick strikes he struggled to block. The headlamp in his eyes didn’t help. He hammered the last strike down, stepped in, and shoved her backward. She avoided the mud somehow and kept her feet.

“What are we doing out here, Melody?” he asked.

“Helping the blind to see,” she said, snaking in with some tentative thrusts that had him sucking in his belly.

“Is this about Scarlet?”

She roared and came at him hard. One thing for sure, she was a lot better than he thought she would be, quick and tricky and relentless. He counterattacked and scored a cut to her waist, but before he could even think to gloat, she roundhouse kicked him to the hollow of his left knee, and he collapsed onto it. Again she came across with a shot at his head, which he barely blocked, but he didn’t block the snap kick that came up under his guard and drilled him in the chin. He fell back into the mud.

But instead of coming for him, she prowled around in a circle. “It doesn’t bother you,” she said, “that Scarlet is trying to get back into your heart again?”

“She is not,” he said, but he wasn’t sure he meant it. Wasn’t he just thinking the same thing?

“Blind!” she said, hammering down at him from above, forcing him to block her from the ground. He kicked her legs out, and she went down. He scrambled at her, but she bicycle kicked him away and he retreated. Mud covered the both of them now, Melody looking all the fiercer.

“Look, Melody,” he said. “I can take care of myself. I am not getting back with Scarlet. Not ever. Why do you hate her?”

“Why?” she said, face incredulous. Then she attacked him again, and they went after each other full-bore for a couple minutes. The match was even. He threw everything he knew at her, but she countered it all. And he held his own against her, though he had to admit she had more moves than he did. But two advantages he did have: weight and reach.

He baited her into another quick exchange, parrying hard, and then he dropped his sword and bull-rushed her, going low. He drove his shoulder into her belly, his arms around her legs, and dropped her into the mud. They landed with a squelch. She brought her sword over, but he grabbed her arm and trapped it, straddling her belly.

“Why do you hate her?” he asked again.

Her green eyes flashed. “Because she had you and hurt you. Where does she get off even talking to you after what she did? And don’t tell me it’s all in the past. I had dreams about you, remember? I know how bad she hurt you.”

It was an answer, but did he believe it? “If I can forgive her, maybe you can too. But that’s not it, is it?”

She Strength bucked him off and rolled, shooting over and taking the dominant position on top of him. He could have resisted, but she had dropped her sword now. This wasn’t about fighting anymore. She threw off her headlamp and slipped his off as well. Her face hovered above him, water dripping off her chin and sliding down his chest.

“Look,” she said, some of the fury draining out of her eyes. “I hate her because you were supposed to be mine. I’ve dreamed about you from the time I was a little girl. I drew pictures of you. I didn’t know if you were real or not until you pulled me out of that trunk when the Sheid kidnapped me at my own concert. You were happy in those dreams, Helo, full of light.

“And now I finally find you, and you are exactly the good, brave man I thought you would be, but instead of light your heart seems so dead and lost in pain. It was that woman who put that into you, and I can’t stand her. I can’t stand to see her talking to you and touching you and smiling at you like she did nothing. She took you from me. I want you back.”

He reached up and stroked her face, smearing mud across her cheek. “Melody, I don’t know that I’ve ever been the man of light you fell in love with in your dreams. You know what I’ve been through on both sides of death. It’s been tough. I’ve been so—”

She leaned down and kissed him. The Ash Angel numbness was still there, but he couldn’t miss the love in it. “I want to help,” she said. “Please tell me what I can do.”

“Sing to me,” he said. “It’s the closest I come to peace outside of Rapture.”

“Always,” she said, and then sighed and put her hands on his chest. “Do you see yet?”

“What do you want me to see?”

“Me.”

Had he really been dismissive of her? He knew what that was like. His dad had seen to that. He never wanted her to feel that way. “I see you.”

“Good. Sorry I had to get all up in your grille, but Aclima told me the only way to get you to listen sometimes was to chop your head off. I didn’t quite get there, but I hope you heard me anyway.”

“I did,” he said. “Sitting on me in the mud also works. Get up in my grille anytime I’m not listening.”

She smiled and paused for several seconds, like she didn’t want to move. “I guess we should get cleaned up. I think people are coming.”

She pushed herself off, and they both collected their headlamps, katanas, clothes, and scabbards. Two headlamps bobbed toward them, though the light shining at them made it impossible to tell who it was until a British accent broke into the night.

“What is this?” Sparks said. “Sexy sword fighting?”

“It’s like I was telling you,” Finny answered. “It’s this thing the Yank Michaels do called ‘Slice and Dice.’”

“Looks funner than the C4 Cricket we do,” Sparks said. “But what’s with the mostly nude part of it?” He glanced at Melody. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“It’s the clothes, mate,” Finny said. “Can’t be getting your uniform all hacked up all the time. If your knickers get a hole, who’s to know?” They stopped in front of them, tilting their headlamps up. “Just starting or just getting over?”

“Over,” Helo said.

Sparks frowned. “Well, have the courtesy to tell us when the fun stuff is going on.”

Finny laughed. “When is the last time you even picked up a sword, Sparks?”

He shrugged. “Can’t be that hard. Runs in my English blood. Bestowals allowed?”

“Not usually,” Helo said. “Unless the two have the same Bestowals and agree.”

“Brilliant,” Sparks said. He pointed a finger at Helo. “Tell us next time. See you back up there.”

“Sure thing,” he said.

The pair turned and headed back toward camp.

“Hey,” Melody said. “Follow me. I know a great place we can get this mud off.”

They affixed their headlamps, and Helo followed Melody’s lithe form into the rain-soaked woods, heading in the direction of the river. He’d never thought of her as athletic before, but she walked with the balance and strength he would have expected from an MMA fighter or gymnast, not a pop star.

Thunder rumbled in the sky for the first time since the storm began, the wind kicking up a little more. He could hear the river getting closer. Melody was morphing her hair back out as they walked. She followed no trail, the undergrowth wild and undisturbed, the hike taking much longer than Helo expected. Lightning split the sky from time to time, thunder chasing after it.

“Haven’t told anyone else about this little paradise,” she said, pace slowing. She glanced back at him. “Some things I like to keep just for myself. And here it is. It’s to die for in the mornings and evenings, but I’ve done a night swim in here a time or two. The stars . . . well, none of those tonight.”

Helo moved his headlamp around to take in the details. They stood on a rock that slanted up onto the shore and then gradually sloped down into a pool of water about as big around as a cul-de-sac. A gentle current streamed through it, left to right, the rain pockmarking the water with fleeting craters and ripples. While surrounded by trees, the pool itself offered a clear view of the sky, and Helo could imagine that on dark nights, the stars would shine like gemstones.

After cleaning mud off their clothes, they washed the mud off the katana blades and scabbards, setting them on the rock. Then Melody stripped her underwear off. Ash Angels didn’t have the biological impulses of mortals, but he still had a hard time knowing where to look. This was Dolorem’s daughter. A subordinate in his unit. A beautiful singer whose work he had admired since the very first listen.

“Now a quick tip,” she said. “Adding a little fat on your body helps you float. You’re going to sink to the bottom with that zero-percent body-fat morph of yours.”

“You’re going in?” he said. “That’s going to be cold.”

She shrugged. The fat was filling out her form, which was distracting. “I do it all the time. Helps me think. You get used to it.”

Then she dove in, letting out a little scream. “That is cold. So hurry up!” Lightning flashed, turning her skin pale for a split second. “No stars, but there’s still a show.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Morphing fat onto his body came more quickly than it usually did. He stripped off his underwear and dove into the water, the shock of the cold widening his eyes. The heartbeat in his chest chugged to life. He came up next to Melody, who floated comfortably on her back, staring up at the sky with her hair fanned around her head.

It took a moment to get relaxed and floating, the water wanting to suck him back under. But with a little strategic fat morphing, he got it right and settled in. Melody was right. He did get used to the cold flow of the water around him.

“I like feeling human again,” Melody said. “I know the Ash Angel numbness is a blessing, but I miss the beat of my heart and the feel of my skin prickling with the cold or glowing with the heat of a fire. From what I understand, when two Ash Angels love each other, that feeling returns when you’re with them, right?”

“Yes,” he said.

“You feel it with Aclima?” she asked in a “this is just a casual question and I’m not really prying but I am prying” sort of voice.

“A little,” he said. “We didn’t have a lot of time.”

Her hand brushed his as she adjusted herself in the water. “I know it’s none of my business, so you don’t have to answer, but did you two ever, you know . . .”

He smiled. “No.”

“Oh,” she said as casually as possible, but she couldn’t quite squelch the happy note in her voice. The current had pulled them to the far end of the pool, and he followed Melody as she swam back upstream and returned to floating again.

“You know,” she said, “I don’t want to give you a big head or give you ideas or anything, but you have been quite the talk of the Ash Angel ladies.”

“Shut up.”

She laughed. “Oh, it’s true, Helo. Most of them were pretty pissed about you chasing after this Dread Loremaster chick, but as soon as she turned back to an Ash Angel and you helped her move on . . . well, it’s a new story. Now it’s all ‘I wish somebody loved me half that much.’ I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been in debates with the girls about how soon would be appropriate to start hitting on you.”

Lightning branched overhead. This sounded like trouble. “And what did you say?”

“I told them to give you a year, eight months at the earliest.”

“Think this crap with Avadan will all be over by then?” he asked.

“What?” She laughed. “I don’t know when this will be over. I was just making sure they stayed away from you for a good long while. I’m not going to wait around anymore. I want you. That’s it. I’m not going to apologize for it. I’m not going to stand around and let Scarlet ruin it. And I hope you’re okay with that.”

The water might be cold, but he felt warm. After the tortures of Terissa and Aclima’s nonstop, complicated, hard-to-get routine, to have Melody declare her intentions and show her affection with such straightforward simplicity was as refreshing as the water that coursed around them and bound them together for that moment. He hoped he could reciprocate, but his heart simply didn’t feel free.

“Nothing to say?” she said.

“Thank you,” was the first thing that came to mind. “You were right back there. I have been drowning in war and pain and sorrow so long I’m not sure I’ve ever known anything else. I’ve kind of given up hope that anything but ascending again could bring me peace.”

Her hand took his and she tugged him closer, her arm against his. “But you’ll let me try?”

“I’d be an idiot not to,” he said.

“Good,” she said. “You said songs helped, so here’s one I learned from Rachel when I was a girl”:

We dance in borrowed shoes

To music we cannot play.

We drink in borrowed light

As we struggle into day.

But never doubt that in the soul

Our own song’s somewhere playing.

A melody from glories bright

Where first was our beginning

And never doubt that in the soul

Our own light’s somewhere shining,

A brilliance somehow all our own

That joins with heaven’s beaming.

So dance to music you cannot play

And drink the light you cannot shine,

For in the dance and in the drink,

Our music and light become divine.

Even in a dark pool in the dark woods on a stormy night, Melody’s voice soothed his burning mind. It was like some spell, and floating next to her naked in the water with lightning flashing above made it all the more mystical. Maybe mystical wasn’t the right word. Sacred. His heart beat a little more slowly, his mind a bit more conscious of her touch, his body in equilibrium—in the dark water, but not overpowered by it.

But Rachel’s words were never idle.

“A message,” he said.

“Yes,” Melody said. “When I was older, I tried to track down where that song came from, but it was hers. Now that I know who she was, it was something she meant for us, I think. It came after I told her about a dream I had about you.”

“That is so weird.”

“What?”

“You dreaming about me for so long. I’m not sure if I should be flattered or creeped out.”

She squeezed his hand. “Flattered, of course!”

The thunder rumbled somewhere out in the darkness, reminding him of the storm. “Wonder what time it is.”

“Who cares?” she said dreamily.

“We need to meditate before tomorrow,” he said. “We’re heading back into that desecration. We’ll need all the Virtus we can muster.”

She sighed. “Wow, Helo, you really know how to kill the mood.”

“My bad,” he said. “A little while longer.”

“That’s better.”

They pulled themselves out of the water uncounted time later, and for the first time, the return of Ash Angel numbness felt like a loss. They morphed back to trim and put their clothes back on. He was completely lost in the woods, but Melody knew where to go, and she hummed happily to herself as she navigated the drenched abyss.

“Let’s meditate in my tent,” she said. “It’s more secluded.”

With the rain pouring down, the camp was deserted, the low hum of conversation filtering out from a few tents they walked by. Melody led him inside hers. They had tried to wring their clothes out, but it would ultimately be useless until the sun came up. They shared her blanket to dry off, then she spread it on the floor and they sat face-to-face in lotus position.

“Ready?” he said.

She nodded, and he took her headlamp and his and extinguished them, throwing them on her cot. He closed his eyes, turned his hands palms up on his knees, and focused his mind on bringing up the familiar image. Just before he had it fixed in his mind, Melody reached out and laid her palms on top of his. The image wavered and went black for a moment, but he concentrated harder, and it returned.

The blazing sun flared bright in the middle, the ball spinning around it. He knew the trick about focusing on the sun, but before he bent his mind to that purpose, another sphere dropped into the image, spinning in an orbit directly opposite his original sphere.

His eyes snapped open. He couldn’t see Melody’s face in the darkness, but she sat unmoving, her palms soft on his.

“Get back in here,” she said reverently. “It seems there’s another mystery to uncover.”

Chapter 27

Avadan’s Traveling Surprises

They meditated until sunrise. Helo could do nothing but wonder at it. Whenever he and Melody touched, the spinning sphere of each orbited the same sun. When they pulled apart, the sphere was solitary. Centering their vision on the sun had the same effect as when they meditated singly—the bright side of the spheres dominated the scene. When Rapture came, they drank in the powerful emotions, Melody clenching his hands. Divine light filled him to the brim and seemed to spill out of him. Every dark thought was purged, and when his eyes cleared, Melody sat before him, eyes closed, face content. When she opened her eyes, they were a more brilliant green than he remembered, even in the dim light of the tent.

“Amazing,” she said. “Did you understand what the next riddle is?”

He didn’t. When he had learned the meditation from Dolorem, he quickly felt the wrongness of the dark side of the shiny sphere. But nothing had bothered him about a place where he and Melody’s spheres danced together in the light. The new addition to the meditation excited him, felt satisfying. He hadn’t even entertained the idea there might be some problem to solve.

“No,” he said.

“Gotta pay attention next time,” she said with a smile as she got to her feet.

“What is it?” he asked as he grabbed his damp uniform off the cot. The Ash Angel numbness made wearing clammy, cold clothes bearable.

“Can’t tell you,” she answered, pulling her gypsy skirt on. “Meditation rules.”

“Give me a clue,” he said. “I’m a Marine, remember? I’m not good at this symbolic-vision stuff.”

“That’s not true,” she said. “You figured out my song and the first meditation riddle without my help. You’ll get it. We’ll need to work on it every day. Especially in that desecration.”

They finished dressing. The rain had stopped a couple hours before dawn, but when they stepped outside, the ground was still a soppy, boot-swallowing mess. With every sole-sucking step Helo longed for the good old days of the AAO when they actually had buildings. Maybe he could convince Mars to set up camp in the Foundry.

The clouds brooded overhead, waiting for another chance to dump on them. At the Sicarius Nox campsite, Sparks sat outside his tent smoking, Finny next to him fiddling with a Big Blessed Sniper Rifle.

“Hey,” Helo said. “Let’s get our gear ready for—”

“Everyone’s geared up except you,” Sparks said. “What have you two been up to?”

“Meditation,” Helo answered.

Sparks chuckled. “That what they call it on this side of the pond, Fin?”

Finny grinned. “I don’t think so.”

Sparks took a drag. “Maybe we should see what those fraternization rules say after all.”

“It was just meditation,” Helo said, Melody winking at him as she disappeared into the supply tent.

“Just messing with you, mate,” Sparks said. “It’s pretty soupy out there. You think we’re going to get the van out of here?”

“That’s a good question,” Helo said, looking at the sky. “Doesn’t look like the weather’s going to get any better. We need to find a town where we can buy some normal clothes. Where’s Faramir?”

“Here,” Faramir said, sticking his head out of his tent. “I hate mud, so . . . I’ll find us a town and a store. Who’s got money?”

“I’ll ask Mars,” Helo said. “Finny, go bring the van around.”

Shujaa and Andromeda came out of their tents carrying all their gear. They had steely eyes, like they’d spent the night thinking about every Dread and Sheid they wanted to send to hell. Good. They would need the grit. Going into the desecration would tax them all to their limits.

Helo had taken two steps toward the command tent when an awful feeling washed over him. He stopped and spun around. A snowflake drifted down in front of his nose. Melody walked out of the supply tent, face pinched.

“Something’s coming,” Helo said, slipping past Melody into the tent. He needed to gear up.

Sparks popped up. “What?”

“Something’s coming!” Helo repeated, hunting down a Big Blessed Shotgun and some ammo. “Get everybody up and armed. Now. Finny, get to the command tent. Let the Archai know.”

“To arms!” Sparks yelled over and over, the call taken up by other voices.

“Is it a Sheid?” Melody said.

“Worse,” Helo said, grabbing two comms units and handing one to Melody. He knew how Shedim felt. What assailed him now didn’t dredge up fears and pain from the past; it cast the future in a bleak, hopeless light, like a fortune-teller turning over the death card ten times in a row.

By the time they left the tent, the single flurry had swelled into a storm, huge flakes falling like ash on the campsite. The temperature plummeted to dead-of-winter cold in scant minutes, the wet ground hardening beneath their feet. A thin film of ice crusted over the puddles.

Melody yelped as a songbird fell out of the tree beside her and landed at her feet, breath stolen by the sudden frost. Helo tried to raise the sentries, but none of the channels seemed to work.

“Faramir,” Helo said. “Get a drone up!”

“Working on it, boss,” he said. For once his knit cap with the dongles made some sense.

“Shujaa, Andromeda,” Helo said, “find a good nest and provide overwatch on this area. Sparks, Speed to the sentries. You see anything bad, get back here. Got it?”

Sparks nodded and Sped away, swirling snow in his wake. All around him, Ash Angels scrambled to reach predetermined defense points, teams calling out to each other. A couple minutes later, a drone spiraled out of Faramir’s tent and into the sky.

“What do you want me to do?” Melody asked.

“Stick by me,” he said.

“Always.”

“Let’s go see what the drone’s got.”

Finny jogged back into camp, and they all went into Faramir’s tent. A poster of Cindy Crawford in cutoff jeans was pinned to the tent wall, and a stack of comic books lingered under Faramir’s cot.

Melody glanced at the poster. “Really?”

“Oh!” he said. He reached toward it like he was going to pull it down.

Helo pushed him back down into his camp chair. “Focus on the drone. Don’t want it hanging in a tree.”

“It’s got obstacle-avoidance tech,” he said. “You couldn’t—”

“Just drive the thing,” Helo said.

Two controllers were attached to a thirteen-inch screen that showed the drone working its way down the road, ruts filling with snow. A blur zipped by, heading back toward camp.

“On my way back,” Sparks said over comms. “You’re not going to believe this. The sentries are gone. No sign of them.”

Helo’s bad feeling doubled. “Come to Faramir’s tent.”

In a few moments, Sparks slipped into the tent, black uniform mottled with snow. “Nice poster,” he said, shaking the snow out of his hair. “Like I said, no sentries, but what there is . . . it’s the weirdest damn thing I’ve ever seen. It’s—”

“That,” Faramir said.

As one they leaned in toward the screen. It was weird but totally Avadan. Two draft horses, both white as the snow, pulled a giant enclosed wagon down the snowy track. Its driver was plump and wore the top hat Helo had seen Avadan wearing before. But it wasn’t Avadan’s face. This man had a round face and sported a mustache worthy of an English gentleman, and, unlike Avadan, his ensemble actually matched, dark suit and bow tie straight from the 1800s. A white flag of parley had been attached to the front corner of the wagon.

“What the hell?” Helo said.

“That’s not the worst of it,” Sparks said. “He’s got a black—not red—aura.”

“A Sheid!” Faramir said.

“Let me finish, dear,” Sparks said irritably. “A dark aura like a Dread’s, but black instead of red. There’s a Ghostpacker riding it, just like a Possessed, but his eyes don’t have the red pinpoints.”

“What is that thing?” Finny said.

“I don’t know,” Helo said. He changed the channel on his comms. “Archus Mars, you seeing this?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Do you want us to hit it?”

“Not yet. You read the side?”

“Faramir,” Helo said, “give us a look.”

The drone lurched. The driver tipped his hat toward it. In garish yellow letters, the side of the wagon read, “Avadan’s Traveling Surprises. A Show for Innocents and Angels.”

“Copy,” Helo said. Innocents. Avadan would bring them as protection. “Can we pop the driver? That flag of truce is just a distraction.”

Silence fell for a few seconds before Mars gave the order. “If you can get a clean shot on the driver, take it. It seems to be part Sheid and part Possessed. I’d like to see what happens.”

Helo gave Andromeda and Shujaa the green light. “How far out, Faramir?”

“Quarter mile,” he said. “Won’t be long.”

Helo kept his eyes on the screen, everyone on edge like they were watching a horror film and waiting for the moment when the monster jumped out and slashed someone. The wagon traveled at a plodding pace, the driver dawdling like he was out giving newlyweds a carriage ride through the city. The late-spring forest slowly changed into a winter wonderland, tree branches slumping under the weight of the dumping snow.

Two shots rang out. Shujaa and Andromeda letting the driver have it from wherever they had concealed themselves.

The image of the driver warbled for a moment, like the drone’s camera had glitched, but the driver returned to normal and snapped the reins like nothing had happened. Andromeda and Shujaa fired twice more with the same result. The driver—whatever it was—didn’t disintegrate and re-form as a Sheid would. Rather, it warped and bent in almost a plastic fashion.

Over comms, Shujaa stated the obvious. “It’s no use.”

“Finny,” Helo said, “you got C4?”

“Yeah, boss.”

“Bring it but wait for my order. If he’s really got innocents, we’ll need to isolate him. Faramir, send the drone around and make sure there isn’t an army of Dreads about to knock on our back door. Everyone else, on me.”

They stepped out into snow already an inch deep. The horses’ breath steamed from their noses as the wagon pulled even with the Sicarius Nox campsite and headed up the road. It rocked back and forth precariously on the uneven ground, but the driver—evil spirit along for the ride—kept his head forward, a festive smile playing on his lips.

But as bizarre as the scene was, it was the feeling that accompanied the driver that turned Helo’s heart to lead. Despair. A promise that whatever bright future you might envision for yourself would soon be murdered in cold blood. He glanced at Melody, finding her staring at the wagon with narrowed eyes, her lips a thin line. She could feel it too.

“It’s coming to you, Mars,” Helo said. “We’re coming in behind it.”

They followed the wagon up the road. The back of the wagon had two sturdy doors with no windows. Two heavy iron handles locked with a thick chain and massive lock banged against the doors with every bump and sway.

“Shujaa, Andromeda,” he said, “reposition so you have eyes on the wagon. Andromeda, keep your scope on the driver. Shujaa, keep a bead on the back of the wagon in case he’s got something bad in there.”

Helo hadn’t felt a Sheid’s presence when it drove by. Like Mars, he couldn’t tell if the wagon’s sign—A Show for Angels and Innocents—was a description of the wagon’s contents or the title of some sick performance to come. Or maybe it was insurance to make sure the Ash Angels wouldn’t torch the wagon before the driver did whatever Avadan had sent him to do.

After a couple of tense minutes, the wagon arrived at the small clearing where the road ended and command’s tent complex began. The driver pulled back on the reins with a “Whoa there, boys,” to the horses. All around the clearing, Ash Angels took up positions behind tree trunks. If the driver noticed the veritable forest of weapons pointed at him, he didn’t care. He laid the reins on the seat and dropped spryly to the ground.

Flanked by two Michaels, Mars was the only member of the Archai still at the command tent. They had cleared the tables of all the tablets and books, and Archus Ebenezer and Archus Magdelene were nowhere in sight. A contingency, no doubt, but even having Mars there was a risk. The Grand Archus wasn’t one to back down, but the AAO was literally at stake.

The driver sauntered lithely to the front of the horses, who whickered nervously, maybe sensing the evil spirit attached to the driver’s back. The driver bowed, his coattails flipping up. Then he removed his top hat, arcing it in a grand gesture to the audience as if they had come to see juggling or dancing bears.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I thank you for your warm hospitality and welcome you to Avadan’s Traveling Surprises, a show sure to bring shock and awe to the faces of all brave enough to view it. Since you were so courteous as to visit me in my stronghold, I thought it only polite to reciprocate and visit you in yours. It is your privilege to be the first to witness this spectacle before it becomes popular and goes international!”

“Who are you?” Mars barked, face a scowl. Helo doubted he’d have patience for Avadan’s eccentricities.

The driver smiled as if he not only expected this question but was delighted it had been asked.

“My dear Archus Mars, I am whoever I wish to be!”

The driver’s appearance warped. Now he was a medieval king with a long, thin face. “I am King Richard the Third,” he said in a perfect English accent. Warp. Now a beautiful woman in a sleeveless Greek dress. “How about Helen of Troy?” Warp. “General Patton.” Warp. “Genghis Khan!” Warp. “Grand Archus Mars!” Warp.

Now he was the driver again. “For now, I am Avadan the Entertainer, the bringer of surprises! I’ve got one just for you. Do you wish to see it?”

Helo frowned. Avadan had guts coming into the middle of a camp full of Ash Angels. The fact that he felt no fear in doing so did not bode well.

“We aren’t going to play your stupid games,” Mars said. “What do you want?”

Avadan extended his hands and twirled around to take in the crowd. “Why, I wish to entertain!” Then the cold hazel eyes of the driver fell on Helo. He smiled and brought his gloved hands to his mouth in an expression of delight. “Helo! The Angel Born! Come to see my performance. I am honored!”

He bowed and then walked toward the rear of the wagon. “Let us bring forth the first surprise!”

Helo got the sudden urge to find out what Angel Fire could do to this creature. He raised his hand and let loose a stream of divine flame.

It hit, Vexus streaming off Avadan like he was a Sheid, the evil spirit on his back squirming around as if in pain. But Avadan proceeded like the Angel Fire was no more than a light breeze. Something glowed underneath the sleeves of Avadan’s coat, a reddish-orange color bright enough to shine out onto the snow.

Helo extinguished the attack, and the glow died with it. Could anything touch whatever Avadan had become? Helo blasted the fiend with Glorious Presence. Nothing. He might as well have hit him with a Nerf dart. Maybe they could try Hallowing the ground and then hitting him with Angel Fire.

Avadan took his time. Was he stalling, waiting for his army to arrive, or was he really that confident the Ash Angels couldn’t hurt him?

“Faramir,” Helo said, “you see anything?”

“No,” Faramir reported. “It’s clear out there to at least a mile. He’s really by himself, unless he’s got a bunch of Dreads in that wagon.”

Avadan conjured a large key in his hand, forming it from Vexus. He slipped it into the lock and turned it. The lock popped open with a squeal, and the chain tumbled away from the door handles, then coiled on the ground.

“Now,” Avadan said, “no peeking. Wouldn’t want to ruin the show.”

“I don’t like this,” Sparks said, spitting on the ground. “I say we nail him with everything we’ve got.”

“We will,” Helo said. But Avadan had to know they would. What made him so sure he would survive?

With a gloved hand, Avadan opened one door to the back of the wagon a couple feet. It was dark inside, but in a moment, a red aura appeared and a male Dread jumped to the ground. No eyes. No ears. No tongue. Archus Ramis.

Avadan shut the door. “Behold your first surprise! I give you a gift! As much to the Ash Angel Ramis as to me you owe your downfall. His guilt, as you can imagine, is deep. His self-loathing without equal! A man broken and defeated, friendless and alone. Hated. A pariah! Who here will speak for him?”

A yell reverberated from the woods, then Argyle was Speeding toward Avadan and unloading his BBSG in rapid succession. Bam! Bam! Bam! Angel Fire ammo came out of the barrel in gouts. Avadan raised his hand against it, the glow shining from beneath his sleeves.

“Stand down!” Mars yelled.

Again Avadan’s form warped when shot but immediately snapped together again. Argyle’s aura flared, his fist pounding down at Avadan with what must’ve been Strength. It looked like he was hitting a sack full of gravel. Avadan’s hand shot out and grabbed Argyle’s neck. Smoky Sheid fire glowed, and Argyle’s head and body separated. Avadan kicked the head aside like a soccer player making a casual pass to a teammate. Helo felt Melody’s hand digging into his arm.

“A friend, perhaps?” Avadan said, staring at an insensate Archus Ramis. “I guess even the worst of us has at least one. So, are you—”

“What do you want, Avadan?” Mars said. “Tell us now, or we come after you with everything we have.”

Avadan raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Now, now, don’t be hasty. You’ve already given me what I want most: an audience! But before the guns start blazing and explosions rend the air, you may want to consider the other fragile surprises I have in my wagon. Let’s have a look, shall we?”

He returned to the rear of the wagon, cracking the door again. This time he threw it open wider. “Come on, now,” he said in a soothing voice. “Don’t be shy. It’s time to come out and tell everyone what a good host I’ve been.” He extended his arms.

Helo clenched his teeth, his stomach plummeting. One by one Avadan lifted three children—two girls and one boy, each around seven or eight years old—to the ground. Dirty gags stopped up their mouths, and fearful eyes squinted against the light.

“Come stand by the pretty horses,” he said, guiding the children forward with gentle nudges to their shoulders.

Helo stiffened. Jeremy, the kid from Colorado. He was the last one in the line, face full of terror, tears running down his dirty cheeks. What was Avadan doing with a bunch of kids? Were they all Attuned? Either way, this had to end right now before Avadan did something awful. Sparks and Finny had Speed. So did he. They had to snatch the kids and run.

“Melody,” Helo said quietly. “Start singing something.”

“What?” she asked.

“Just do it. Sparks, first kid. Finny, second. I got the third. Meet by the river where Aclima passed on.”

Avadan had lined the trembling kids up in front of the horses perfectly equidistant from each other like he was about to have them dance. Ramis stood dumbly by, head tilted toward the ground. Then Melody’s voice broke into the air, clear and holy, singing “Amazing Grace.” Avadan flinched and turned a sour glance toward her, the evil spirit squirming again.

“Go,” Helo said.

Chapter 28

Zion’s End

As one they dashed forward so fast it caught the distracted Avadan off guard. Helo grabbed Jeremy around the waist, ready to carry him off like a football. Then a black, torching wave pulsed out from Avadan, and it was strong, stronger than any torch Helo had experienced. And different. His knees buckled, but he forced them straight, stumbling, his mind swimming.

He would fail. These kids would be killed. Jeremy would be killed. The black torch hit his heart with the weight of a tank, whispered to him that his every action was pointless. He fought it off, clawed his way out. He would not succumb to this.

His vision cleared. He had stumbled maybe five steps away from Avadan. To add to their trouble, the black desecration pulsing out of the last Dread Loremaster was already filling the area. Helo thought there would be gunshots, but nobody in the clearing was standing anymore. Melody had crumpled to the ground on her knees, hands by her ears, fighting whatever the darkness wanted her to believe. Everyone else was face-first on the ground like they’d been hit on the back of the head.

Besides Melody, only the three kids and Avadan had power of movement. The two girls were tangled in the arms of Sparks and Finny and struggling to get out from under the fallen Ash Angels. Helo set Jeremy down. “Run down the road. Run as fast and as far as you can.”

“You!” Jeremy said, recognition dawning on his face. “Help me!”

“Run.”

Jeremy took a stumbling start but fell hard, his feet slipping in the snow. Helo Hallowed, but Avadan jumped to the top of the carriage. The dark desecration kept spreading like a wildfire even without him having any connection to the ground. To Helo’s Ash Angel vision, it looked like smoky glass overlaid the world, a lens coloring everything corrupted and hopeless.

“You made me put my audience to sleep!” Avadan griped from on top of the carriage. “Now only you will witness this new trick. Of course, as an Angel Born, you appreciate learning about new powers, new tricks you can do. Watch one of mine!”

A tendril of darkness spread from his palm, not the fiery tentacle Shedim used. It sped like an arrow and punched into the back of Jeremy, who had barely stumbled a few yards. Jeremy fell and froze, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream for a mother he would never see again. Like a puppet, Jeremy got up and turned to face Avadan, then stood stock-still. From underneath the sleeve of Avadan’s jacket, the fiery glow on his arm had sprung to life. Even stranger, the desecration seemed to flow backward for a moment, pulling back into Avadan.

Helo shot Angel Fire at the wicked monster, the only result the squirming of the evil spirit and the steaming Vexus. Helo dropped his useless weapon. Battling this man was his destiny, and he had to do it now. Jeremy’s eyes had turned pure black, a swirling, dark mist gathering around the boy like a cloak. Helo darted forward and Strength jumped at Avadan. He would tackle him right off the top of the carriage. After he powered off the ground at a full spring, he ignited Toughness.

But when he hit Avadan, it reminded him of when his brother had built a snowman and dared him to knock it down with his best tackle without telling him he’d built it around a fire hydrant. Helo hit Avadan hard and bounced off hard, caroming off at a weird angle and ending up on his back on the ground.

Avadan peered down at him. “Making snow angels would be a bit cliché, wouldn’t it, Helo? But behold my new creation!”

Helo could feel it already. A Sheid. Somehow he had converted Jeremy into a Sheid without going through the entire heart-eating ritual. He’d only used Vexus transference. Morphed to look like a soccer player in shorts and a green shirt, the Sheid stood still, as if awaiting orders.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” he crowed. “Who needs Dreads to do their dirty work? Not I! If only Cain could see me now. My father always did think small. Now excuse me while I make another.”

Vexus streamed from his hands, but Helo couldn’t see who it was aimed for. One of the girls was fleeing into the woods. Good!

Helo popped to his feet. Avadan might be as tough as a brick wall, but his stupid wagon wasn’t. With a mental apology to the horses, Helo flared his Strength and heaved, sending the wagon onto its side with a crunch. He hoped no one else was inside. The horses stumbled over each other, thrashing about, dragging the wagon. One kicked Ramis, and he fell hard.

Avadan had dropped into the snow next to the other girl he was converting into a Sheid. She looked about halfway there, eyes like obsidian. Avadan frowned and picked himself up. No snow clung to clothing conjured from Vexus. The only victory: Avadan looked pissed. Really pissed.

“How dare you wreck the set of my performance,” he said, rage propelling his voice through the forest. “And the poor animals!”

Like he cared about the horses. Helo yanked his katana out of its scabbard and quickly Blessed it as Avadan stalked toward him

“You did me great service when you slew Cain,” Avadan said. “But perhaps your usefulness is at an end.”

A shot from somewhere to Helo’s left took Avadan in the head, momentarily warping his image. Shujaa or Andromeda had shaken off the desecration! Helo Strength jumped and brought the blessed katana down on Avadan’s stupid top hat. It cleaved through it and into the head, Avadan’s visage warping. The blade stopped halfway through his face. Helo kept the pressure on and Hallowed the ground. Then Avadan kicked him away. Helo kept the hallow going. Another shot took Avadan in the head, warping it again.

Avadan nodded toward the soccer-player Sheid, and it tore off into the woods. Nimbly, Avadan retreated and stood on top of the toppled carriage. Helo extinguished the hallow and was getting ready to jump again when Avadan blasted him with Sheid fire from both hands. Helo angled out of the way of the first, but the second burned a line three-quarters of the way across his belly, severing his spine and vaporizing a good chunk of his torso. Helo collapsed into the snow.

“That’s better,” Avadan said. “Now let me finish.” The tendril of darkness shot out of his hand and drilled into the girl’s chest. Helpless, Helo watched as she transformed from human to Sheid, morphing into a perfect replica of Aclima.

“Miss her?” Avadan taunted. “What did you do with her, burn her?”

He still didn’t know! This was one victory Helo was more than happy to throw in Avadan’s face. “Your mother is in heaven now, Avadan. She turned. She won’t miss your sorry face. You’ll have to have someone else change your diaper in hell.”

Now he really was pissed. He shook with anger, the visage of the driver dissolving, the face and form of Avadan returning. He strode over like an angry coach ready to chew out his star player for fumbling the ball on fourth and goal.

“You lie!” he spat. “You lie!”

“Jumelia didn’t want to believe it either,” he said. “But it’s true. I won. She’s free.”

Avadan worked his jaw as if searching for some epithet that would suit his anger. The first Sheid returned and stood by the newly formed one.

Finally, Avadan’s face settled into a wicked mask of controlled hatred. “Well, I’ve got work to do.” He faced the Shedim. “Burn all their hearts and dump them in the river.” He turned back to Helo. “As for you, tell my mother when you see her that I will find some way to drag her feet back to the flames that are licking my father’s. Even angels can fall. And she will fall. I will find a way. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go find a little girl. Three Shedim will get this work done faster.”

Avadan strutted away.

“Leave her alone!” Helo yelled.

Avadan laughed. “Oh, yes. I’ll stop just because you asked.”

“Go to hell, Avadan,” Helo said.

Avadan shrugged. “I’ll bring it here. How about I make your rest a little more comfortable?”

Avadan raised a palm, and Sheid fire spewed at Helo’s face. A second later Helo found himself in the White Room with nothing but light surrounding him. His mind raced. There had to be a way to beat the brute! Helo wanted a wall to pound on. He’d be dead before he ever found a solution. When Helo had found the AAO camped out in the woods, he thought the organization was nearly finished, but today was the day. After Avadan’s traveling surprises, the Ash Angel Organization would be no more.

Then he could see again. Faramir leaned over him, his eyes darting around as if looking for threats. Melody Hallowed space around them. She was Hallowing!

Helo snapped to his feet. “New Bestowal?”

Melody nodded, face set with the effort required to push a hallow out into the desecrated murk. Helo was rarely glad to see Faramir, but this was one of the times. He hadn’t considered that Faramir’s position in the tent helped him escape the initial torching blast that had crippled everyone in the clearing. Maybe there were others.

The Shedim and Avadan were nowhere to be seen, but all the nearby Ash Angels sported smoking holes in their chests where their hearts should have been. Weapon fire in the distance hinted at resistance from other Ash Angels, but the desecration and Shedim would see them all dead. And fast. He tried raising Shujaa and Andromeda on comms, but nothing.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Helo said. “I’m going to heal Sparks and Finny, then we’ll see if we can find Shujaa and Andromeda.”

“What about Mars?” Faramir asked.

Mars lay insensate on the ground. Magdelene and Ebenezer were still missing, hopefully escaped.

“I’ll get him, too.”

He hurried over to where Sparks and Finny lay squirming in the snow, fighting the brutal thoughts raking through their minds. When Melody’s hallowing circle enveloped them, they calmed. Helo healed them, regrowing their hearts and sealing the burn wounds. He pulsed a little Inspire into them. Glorious Presence would be better, but it would alert Avadan.

“Let’s go,” he said. Under no circumstances did he want to face Avadan again, not while everyone was mentally banged up. They went to Mars.

“Sparks,” Helo said, “just drag him for now.”

Sparks grabbed the Grand Archus’s wrist, and they fled the clearing, heading in the direction of where Helo thought Andromeda and Shujaa had set up their sniper’s nest. A burst of screaming and gunfire erupted from somewhere behind them. The last of the resistance. They had to hurry.

“You guys think you can handle it if Melody drops the hallow?” he asked.

They nodded, but their faces told a different story. She extinguished it, and they all crammed their eyes shut. For a few moments they wavered, but all of them, even Faramir, fought it off, and they trudged forward.

Shujaa and Andromeda weren’t hard to find. The Sheid had burned out their hearts and turned them and their weapons into pretzels. Their heads were mashed in too.

Helo turned to his team. “Melody, you Hallow again. When you do, I’ll heal Andromeda. Faramir, take Shujaa. Sparks, you think you can get Mars?”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes blinking. “Got it.”

With a lot of divine healing and an infusion of Inspire, everyone was on their feet. Helo knew Melody couldn’t keep the hallow up forever.

Mars shook his head. “I have never been torched like that. And I’ve been torched a lot.”

“Where to?” Helo asked. “The camp is lost.”

“The Foundry,” he said. “I sent Magdelene and Ebenezer in that direction when we saw Avadan coming. Helo, Melody—that book, Micah’s book. There are things in there you need to know.”

“We can talk later,” Helo said. “Let’s move.”

They hadn’t walked fifty yards when it hit him. Scarlet was back there somewhere in the mess. He couldn’t leave her there. He just couldn’t. And Lear, his Ash Angel father. He hadn’t seen him at all during Avadan’s little show.

“Look, all of you, press on,” he said. “I’ve got to go back to the camp and get someone.”

“Who?” Melody said before anyone else could.

“Scarlet,” he said, Melody’s face turning a little sour.

“Your ex-wife?” Sparks said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Lear, too. Keep going. I’ll catch up.”

Melody grabbed his arm. “Helo, don’t.”

“Sorry. Hallow the ground if you need to. Get moving.”

As he bolted back toward the camp, he could feel Melody’s eyes boring into his spine. She didn’t like Scarlet, and he didn’t need her to, but hopefully she could understand. Well, he didn’t understand. He didn’t love her anymore, but he still cared. He couldn’t leave her in the snow to be thrown into a river by Shedim. It felt wrong.

He skirted the edge of camp, coming up behind the tents Sicarius Nox was using. He slipped inside Faramir’s tent and peered out through the tent flaps. Avadan and the Shedim were nowhere he could see, though the hopeless feeling that swirled around Avadan like corpse flies still ran its claws along his soul.

The better question: Where was Scarlet? He racked his brain, trying to remember what group she’d been assigned to, but came up with nothing. While everyone called themselves a part of the Michaels division these days, she wasn’t a frontline soldier. He hadn’t even talked to her enough to know where her tent was. Peering through the tent flap, all he could see was mangled bodies on the ground with holes in their chests, the work of the Shedim. They would return to drag the Ash Angels to the river anytime now.

He wasn’t hearing gunfire or any signs of resistance. Maybe the black desecration had overtaken everyone. He shook his head. There was nothing to do but search everywhere. With a last listen to see if he could hear any activity, he jogged outside and went from one insensate Ash Angel to another, flipping some over with his foot. Some cried. Some were curled up in the fetal position. Others said no over and over again. Most just suffered in silence. If only he could save them all!

Then he felt it—the presence of a Sheid getting closer. The overturned wagon lay nearby, and he dove into it and pulled himself against the wall. The inside smelled of wheel grease and dirt. Discarded fruit-snack wrappers littered the wall he sat on. Nice. So Avadan kidnapped the kids, ruined their lives, and somehow had the magnanimity to feed his captives fruit snacks.

He could feel both Shedim now, the one in front of him on the other side of the wagon’s ceiling and the one to his left. Then the strength of their taint faded and he peeked outside. Each Sheid—the soccer player and Aclima—held two Ash Angels slung over its shoulders and was weaving through the woods in the direction of the river.

He waited until they were good and gone before he resumed his search, going from face to agonized face. No Scarlet. No Lear. A few minutes later, he had to hide inside a vacated tent while the Shedim claimed more victims for the water and rushed away into the woods. After they had left again, he finally found her. Scarlet lay underneath an old oak with a BBG at her side, eyes twitching. The hole in her chest went all the way through to the ground.

He hefted her over his shoulder and took off running, the snow shaking off her body and running down his shirt. He cast about hoping to find Lear but with no luck. His Ash Angel father would have to make his own way.

When Helo got to the clearing, the feeling of Avadan’s hopeless aura swelled in strength. Had he found the girl? Helo gritted his teeth, guilt running over him. If his destiny was to take down Avadan, he’d failed badly.

While he knew his Virtus reserves wouldn’t hold out indefinitely, he used small bursts of Speed, kicking up snow, to get distance from Camp Zion. He caught up to his weary-faced team, Melody having fared the best. The desecration was taking its toll.

“You got her,” Melody said, tone somewhere between surprise and disappointment.

“Yeah,” he said. “Didn’t see Lear. The Shedim are hauling all the Ash Angels to the river.”

Mars swore under his breath. They had nothing with which to launch a counterattack against Avadan. One more torch—even from a Sheid—would doom most of them.

Melody’s eyes widened, and he knew why. He could feel the greasy taint of a Sheid slipping over him.

“Now they’re coming for us,” Helo said. He was going to say that they could hide, but one look behind him told him hiding was pointless, the clear trail of snowy footprints leading backward would tell the Shedim right where they were.

“Run,” Helo said.

Chapter 29

Mystery

Helo kept to the rear of the clump of fleeing Ash Angels as they churned through the snow, Scarlet’s body flopping as he hauled her away. Everyone stuck to the hallowing circle Melody kept alive. Her brow was furrowed with the effort. How long could she last? Even if they survived, how could the Ash Angels ever get the upper hand in Avadan’s new super desecration? And the mega torch would cripple even the most seasoned soldier. It had almost taken him down, even with his Angel Born gifts.

Then they caught a break.

Abruptly, the snow and the dark desecration ended, the forest returning instantly to rain-soaked and leafy green.

“Thank God,” Melody said, eyes heavenward. She extinguished her hallow.

Helo had never been happier to see mud, but the Sheid was closing in, and closing in fast.

“Let’s get as far away from this desecration as we can,” Helo said. “Anyone got a sanctified weapon?” No one did. Everyone had BBGs. Only Melody still had her BBR. “Melody and I are the only ones who can drop it. Keep it occupied so we can get close.”

They jogged into the woods, putting distance between them and the crippling black carpet of desecration. The Sheid’s Speed-borne feet slapped out a squishy rhythm in the forest. But there were two. In a blur they arrived, both Shedim at once—the soccer player and Aclima. They didn’t slow. Helo dropped Scarlet’s body and Hallowed, but not before the Aclima Sheid unloaded a red torching blast. The other tried a desecration.

Regular torching? Piece of cake. Melody stood firm, as did Mars, Shujaa, Andromeda, and Sparks. Finny and Faramir fought it. They all fired their BBGs, bullets nothing more than a distraction. Helo made sure he was front and center, and the soccer player stepped away from the hallow and let loose with one of his fiery tentacles right at Helo’s face. Helo dropped the hallow and Strength jumped straight forward, going low like a linebacker underneath the tentacle. With a Strength-fueled punch, he drilled into the Sheid’s gut.

But it felt wrong. The darkness didn’t so much explode as separate. The form of the soccer player pulled away from the little girl and then turned into something like dark smoke that faded into thin air instead of absorbing back into him. The girl lay flat on her back, eyes closed. Her chest moved. She was alive!

He spun. The second Sheid had jumped onto a low-hanging tree branch, and a tentacle whipped Mars and Sparks clean in half. Melody’s left arm was gone. Andromeda, Finny, and Shujaa unloaded on the Sheid with their BBGs, all to no avail save the same bendy visage warping he’d seen happen to Avadan. These were not normal Shedim.

Helo let loose with Angel Fire, the Sheid writhing. Melody Strength jumped at the same time, driving her good arm into the Sheid’s belly. Jeremy was separated from the Vexus. Helo ran forward in time to catch him as he plummeted from the tree. Melody crashed into a dead log behind him. Helo stood still and extended his awareness. He couldn’t feel any more Shedim, and thankfully, he couldn’t feel Avadan’s aura of hopelessness, either.

Melody walked up to him, eyes wide. “They’re alive!”

Helo took her hand and healed her, her arm re-forming on her body. “Alive, yes. It’s their minds I’m worried about.”

Faramir had reunited the severed halves of Mars and Sparks by the time he got there. For a moment, everyone stared at the two kids in Helo’s and Melody’s arms. Jeremy wore a Denver Broncos T-shirt, shredded jeans, and muddy sneakers. The Hispanic girl Melody carried wore flip-flops, red shorts, and a white tank top. She had an island look about her, her dark hair braided close to her head and decorated with beads.

“Keep moving,” Helo said. “Shujaa, grab Scarlet.”

Mars looked lost. “How did Avadan do this? How did he figure all of this out? No Dread has done anything like this. Not ever.”

“He is the Darth Vader to our Luke,” Faramir said. “The Joker to our Batman.”

Mars glared at him.

Faramir swallowed. “What I’m saying is that Micah was our researcher; Avadan was theirs. Micah wanted to share his findings. I think Avadan kept his hidden away for his own evil plans. I mean, he’s almost a comic-book villain with all his lairs and crazy getups.”

“He wants to be noticed,” Melody said. “A lot of entertainers get into the business because they need recognition and attention.”

“Was that why you were an entertainer?” Faramir asked.

“No,” she said. “I just like to sing.”

“What he wants isn’t the problem right now,” Andromeda said. “He just created Shedim faster than you can order a hamburger at a drive-through.”

“On the plus side,” Faramir said, “it appears the conversion can be reversed. You see, he infused a living heart with Vexus, but he didn’t eat it. I think that means it’s not permanent.”

Finny rubbed the Hispanic girl’s cheek with his finger, eyes on her face. “That is a blessing. But these kids—if they do wake up, they’ll probably be in therapy the rest of their lives. And without sanctified weapons, everyone but Helo and Melody won’t have a good way to defeat them.”

“The Angel Borns will protect us,” Shujaa said.

“Yeah, us,” Andromeda said. “But what about everybody else?”

Mars rubbed his chin. “We’ve got to get more Ash Angels here to fight before Avadan takes his evil circus international. Sparks, can you help me convince the AAO over in Europe to lend a hand?”

“Sure thing,” he said. “Not sure how much they’re going to believe about Avadan. But I know some people who like a good hunt. And this is the best hunt in town.”

Finny scratched his head. “You going to tell them we’re the hunters or the prey?”

Their hike took them through the tangle of ruined woods created by Whirlwind during the Foundry attack. The sun, thankfully, had emerged, steaming the air. The mud sucked at their boots. They were wet and filthy by the time they caught their first glimpse of the farmhouse sitting invitingly by the river, flanked by two barns and burgeoning trees. It was an awful lie to Helo’s eyes, a false promise of rest and peace. Avadan knew where this place was. It had to be next on his extermination list since the first clownish attempt had failed.

The kids stayed asleep in his and Melody’s arms, snoring softly. Helo tried talking to Jeremy, whom he cradled against his shoulder, gently rubbing his face and telling him to wake up. He seemed listless, sometimes stirring like he might come out of it, but he never did. Maybe it was for the best. What would the kids remember about getting kidnapped, crammed into Avadan’s wagon, and then hauled into the middle of nowhere? Hopefully they wouldn’t have any memory of their time as Shedim going from Ash Angel to Ash Angel and burning hearts out.

Camp Zion was a loss. To Helo, it felt like a chapter in the Ash Angel Organization had been closed. At best, by defeating the two Shedim, he and his team had made Avadan’s work of dragging Ash Angels to the water a very time-consuming experience he would have to undertake himself—unless he had caught the other girl, converted her into a Sheid, then forced her to do the work. Helo held out hope that she had escaped, but he doubted it. The snow made it impossible to hide her tracks, and Avadan was too driven and powerful just to let her go.

They slanted down the hill toward the river and hooked into the trail running along it. So peaceful and serene. But not for long. Mars looked lost in thought, and Helo could only imagine the dilemma that raged in his head. It seemed guaranteed that Avadan’s Traveling Surprises—now minus one wagon—would find its way to the Foundry before long. Should they make a stand there, see if they could put Avadan down, or was it time to retreat and regroup somewhere else? The Ash Angels had hiding places all over, but Ramis had apparently compromised them all. They’d left the disgraced Archus lying in the snow back at Camp Zion, and Avadan seemed the type who would force Ramis to live a long, miserable existence.

They crossed the wooden bridge over the river single file. Spade stood on the wraparound porch by the front door with a BBSR in his hand. He was still dressed like a rancher, hat on and squinty eyes scanning the perimeter. Helo caught sight of a couple other auras positioned discreetly around the place, Michaels watching the road and the river.

Spade waved them around back, and there they found Magdelene, Ebenezer, and Martha sipping lemonade. Martha stood and straightened her apron around her billowy flower-print skirt and white blouse. But she stopped when she noticed the two kids and cocked her head.

“What’s this?”

Helo explained what had happened at the camp, what Avadan could do.

“Heaven help the poor dears,” Martha said. “Bring them inside.” She turned to Shujaa, who still carried an insensate Scarlet over his shoulder. “Put her in a chair.”

“Maggie and I need to make some calls,” Mars said.

“Of course, of course,” Martha said, wringing her hands. “Come in. The rest of you sit tight. I’ll bring out some lemonade in a minute.”

Helo followed Martha in, Melody behind him. Martha pointed to an office for Mars and Magdelene to use, then led Helo and Melody upstairs. The old wooden floor popped and creaked enough to wake the dead, but the sleeping children still didn’t stir. All along the upstairs hallway hung framed Bible quotes and pictures of ducks. Martha led them to a room at the end of the hall with an old wooden four-poster bed with a billowy white comforter and a wooden keepsake chest at the end. Two bedside tables painted white held ceramic ducks and pictures of a little boy and girl all dressed up and holding hands.

Martha pulled back the comforter. “Put them here.”

“They’re dirty,” Melody warned. “So are we.”

“This isn’t the time to be worrying about soiled bedsheets, dear. Lay them down. Anyone tried Healing or Inspire on them yet?”

“No,” Helo said. “I’ll give it a shot.”

He laid his hand on the girl’s head and let Healing flow into her. Besides a few scrapes closing and bruises disappearing, she didn’t wake. Inspire was next, but all it seemed to do was help her sleep more comfortably.

Martha harrumphed. “I’ve been around a good long while and never seen anything like this mess. Let me get some water, and we’ll clean them up a bit. Wish I had some clean clothes for them. Where will you take them?”

“To the police,” Helo said. “They’ve got to be on a missing-persons list or something.”

Martha pursed her lips and shook her head. “Well, poor things. I’ll be back.”

Melody sidled up next to him. “Well, that also sucked.”

“That’s the price you pay for hanging around me,” he said.

She bumped him with her shoulder. “Then I’ll pay it. Still sucked.”

“Yes. Yes, it did. Any ideas on how we beat him?”

She shrugged. “Sanctified weapon? He seems to be part Sheid. Maybe he has their weakness.”

The blessed katana did seem to affect him more than anything else they had tried. Maybe the sanctified weapons could do even more. “That’s a good thought, though getting close enough to him to use one won’t be easy. I hope the sanctified weapons are not all back at the camp.”

“I think they moved most of them here for safekeeping,” Melody said. “I also wonder about the evil spirit he’s packing. Can it be Exorcised?”

Helo had thought the same thing. “Maybe, but getting Avadan to sit still long enough will be tough. What does he gain from having an evil spirit along for the ride, anyway?”

Martha entered with some washcloths and towels. “For shame,” she censured. “Don’t talk of such things around the children, bless their hearts. I’ll be back with the water in a minute.”

Helo wanted to point out that they were unconscious, but he let it ride; it wasn’t wise to upset the woman who made killer lemonade and brownies.

“Wouldn’t this be great?” Melody said, smiling at the room. “Nice and secluded. River running by. Trees and sunshine. It’s almost like a dream.”

“Ducks on the walls . . .” Helo added.

“Well,” Melody lowered her voice and checked the door. “I could do with fewer ducks and more, say, dogs. You like dogs, right?”

“Sure,” he said. “We had one for two years during one of my dad’s deployments, but we gave him away when we moved. Never got one again. My brother named him Arrow, but my Dad called him Dammit, which is why we got rid of him. Couldn’t get them to take in the strays I found.”

Melody smiled wistfully. “Yeah, I never had one. Dolorem and I were always on the road. I’d pet the dogs people had at rest stops and beg him to let me keep one in the truck. Never worked. As a singer I was always on the road, and I couldn’t buy a dog just to have her sit at home by herself for days.”

“Dogs?” Martha said, coming in with a basin of steaming water. “You dog people? Can’t stand them. Always chasing the ducks around. Melody, could you help me, dear?”

There was a single wooden chair at a small desk on the side of the room, and Helo took it, eyes out the window while the women washed the faces and arms and legs of the kids. Martha would cluck out a “poor dears” every minute or so while they worked. As they finished up, Spade wandered in, hat off, and looked the two children over.

“Damndest thing I ever saw,” he said, face sober.

“Watch your language around the children, dear,” Martha admonished. “You take the basin, and I’ll get the towels. We’ve done all we can for now. If they don’t wake up soon, we may have to take them to a hospital and report them to the police. But I don’t think they’re sick with any natural illness. Poor dears.”

“It’ll be all right, Martha,” he said.

The two shuffled out of the room. Melody looked down at them, an unvocalized “poor dears” expression on her face.

“They’re so cute,” she said, rubbing each of their faces in turn. “I wish there was something I could do.”

“Do what you do best,” Helo said. “Sing them a song.”

Melody stroked their faces a few moments more and then performed the most beautiful version of “Michael, Row the Boat Ashore” that had probably ever been sung. Helo closed his eyes and let the melody wash over him. Like Rapture, her voice seemed to wash the muck of the day off him.

“Helo,” she said quietly when she had finished. “Come here.”

He popped out of the chair and came over. Both kids were awake, though their eyes seemed distant, their expressions blank.

“Sing it again,” Helo said.

Melody sat on the bed, and again she performed the song. Slowly, blank eyes and blank faces cleared, awareness returning. Helo had expected nervousness and crying, but they only looked at Melody worshipfully and listened, perfectly calm.

“You’re an angel,” the girl said.

Melody looked like she didn’t know what to say, so Helo jumped in. “She is. What’s your name?”

“Yoletzi Maria de La Cruz,” she said proudly with just the hint of an accent.

“Jason!” Jeremy said, sitting up groggily. “You found me!”

“I did,” he said. “You’re safe now. We’ll get you home.”

Yoletzi looked pleadingly at Melody. “Can I live with you in your angel house? This room is so pretty. Prettier than my room at home.”

“I wish you could,” Melody said. “What do you remember about how you got here?”

Yoletzi stared at the ceiling. “My mom had these guys over and they took me. She always has weird guys over. They drink and yell and get mean. I want to live with the angels instead.”

Helo’s heart sank. “Does either of you remember anything that happened in the last few days?”

Jeremy rubbed his eyes and looked at Yoletzi. “The hat man kept us and a bunch of other kids in this place. They kept us there for a while. Then he put us in the wagon with the pretty horses. It was snowing . . .” Then his face seemed to get troubled. “I don’t remember after that.”

“Me either,” Yoletzi agreed.

Helo nodded. “That’s fine.” It was better that way. He hoped they really couldn’t remember and weren’t too scared to talk about the terror of the last hour.

“Melody,” Helo said. “Why don’t you stay with them. I’ll see if Martha has some food.”

Melody nodded and sat on Yoletzi’s bed. “Should I sing another song?”

“Yes!” they said in unison.

As soon as Martha found out they were awake, Helo knew he’d best stay out of the way. She practically fell all over herself gathering food and ordering Spade to get bowls and napkins—fast.

Melody came down shortly after they went up, her green eyes bright. Magdelene, Mars, and Ebenezer waved them over into the office. Time to get down to business, and Helo was curious what their next move was.

“Are the kids awake?” Magdelene asked.

“Yep,” Helo said, taking a seat, Melody sitting to his right. “Looks like they’ll be okay. Martha will see to that.”

“Good,” Mars said. “We’ve sent some Michaels back toward Camp Zion to see if they could help any stragglers who managed to escape. I’ve warned them about the black desecration. Now, we’ve got some information you Angel Borns will want to hear. You’ll want your second in here for this, too, Helo.”

Helo fetched Sparks from the back porch, where he lounged enjoying a chocolate chip cookie. They grabbed an extra chair from the kitchen for him.

After they were settled, Mars leaned his elbows on the desk. “Now, before we get to what’s next for Sicarius Nox, Ebenezer and his team have been going through all of Avadan’s books, but especially Micah’s A Mystery of Light.”

“Did you get all the books from Camp Zion?” Helo asked. There had been a mountain of them.

“Not all,” Magdelene said. “Most of them. Oh, I should mention that Lear helped us evacuate the materials. He’s here. He’s safe.”

Relief flooded Helo’s heart. “Thank you.”

Ebenezer held Micah’s book, and he delicately opened it. “There’s a whole section in there on being Angel Born, which Micah apparently was. It talks about the gifts you already know about, but there are a couple more that will come in handy. One of the most useful is that you can give any Bestowal that you know to another Ash Angel.”

Helo’s eyes widened. “Really?”

Sparks grabbed his shoulder. “Angel Fire, Helo,” he said. “Right now.”

“There’s a catch,” Ebenezer said. “You can only do it once a day, and once the Bestowal is given, the giver himself cannot use it until Rapture.”

Sparks nodded. “All right, then, we wait until, like, one minute before Rapture and then do it. I called it first.”

“What else?” Helo asked.

Ebenezer shuffled some papers, perhaps the translation of the book. “Well, there was something Micah called the Quaking Word and Still Heart. It’s tied to the ability actual angels have to essentially scare people or bring them peace through their voice. He gives no clue as to how you do it, but they might be useful.

“I might suggest, however, that if you are to give anyone Angel Fire you give it to Melody first. That way the two of you could gift Angel Fire to two Ash Angels each day.”

“Starting tomorrow,” Sparks jumped in. “Already claimed Angel Fire.”

Helo was going to have to get Sparks to wait just one more day—Ebenezer was right, tactically speaking. Angel Fire was a Bestowal everyone would want, and he and Melody could spread it faster together.

“There’s one thing more,” Ebenezer continued, “something Micah said little about to his contemporaries but that his book is replete with. It is what he calls the principle of Parity Plus One. It was, I believe, the reason he entitled the book A Mystery of Light.”

“What is it?” Melody said.

Ebenezer leaned back and rubbed his white goatee. “Well, it is simply that light and dark, spiritually speaking, are near equals, but that light has the strength of the divine behind it and always has the advantage. So if light and dark are both rated at, say, a ten, light would functionally operate at an eleven. Do you see what I mean? Light is superior, always edging ahead of darkness no matter what.”

Helo thought about that for a moment. Was it always true? Avadan’s abilities seemed like evidence that dark could gain the upper hand.

Mars shot a challenging look in Ebenezer’s direction. “The Scholus loves its mysteries, but what practical use is that knowledge?”

Ebenezer raised a finger. “Well, that is what Micah sought to discover. Avadan’s clearly found some new knowledge and put it to use. Micah sought the same. For instance, it bothered Micah a great deal that Shedim could form weapons out of the Vexus from which they were created.

“You see, for him, that ruined the Parity Plus One principle he firmly believed in. He asserted all unique abilities of the dark should be balanced out by analogous Ash Angel abilities. But as far as we know, they aren’t. We can’t collect light and shape it. One might argue that Rapture is the gift that balances the equation, but he didn’t believe Rapture counted. For him, Vexus and its use constituted a Parity Minus One where darkness was superior.”

“Still not seeing the point,” Mars said.

Mars wasn’t, but an idea was growing in Helo’s head, and he wondered if Ebenezer had come to the same conclusion.

“Here’s the point, Mars,” Ebenezer said a little acidly. “Right now you are dealing with persistent, torching desecration fields only the strongest of us can even stand up in. Avadan can torch with such power it staggers even the Angel Born. You’ve got him creating Shedim out of children with an infusion of Vexus. And to top it all off, he’s some sort of Sheid-Possessed-Dread hybrid no one knows how to kill.”

“The point, Ebenezer,” Mars reminded him.

Magdelene, who’d been sitting thoughtfully the whole time, spoke up before Ebenezer could. “The point, Mars, is that we’re not going to win this by using the same weapons we’ve used for the last two thousand years. We’re behind. We’re missing something about light—about what we can do. If we don’t figure it out, Avadan’s going to roll right over us.”

Helo agreed. If Micah was right about parity, there had to be an Ash Angel equivalent to Avadan’s super desecration. There had to be some ability to shape light or blast Dreads with a Glorious Presence so severe there was no hope of brushing it off. But the big question was . . .

“How?” Mars said, crossing his beefy arms over his chest. “How do we figure any of it out?”

Ebenezer crossed his significantly less-beefy arms too. “The first step is simply accepting the challenge to figure it out, to put effort into it.”

“And we need to talk to the Old Masters,” Magdelene added. “They have lore we don’t. They may have ideas that can help us.”

Mars looked skeptical. “Maybe. What we need is more Angel Born fighters. Can you two help us? How is it done?”

Helo and Melody glanced at each other. “Neither one of us asked for it,” Helo said. “The angels chose us.”

Ebenezer nodded. “And that’s another big question it would be nice to have answered. Why these two? What’s special about them?”

“You chew on that,” Mars said. “But there’s work to do. We’re sending Sicarius Nox off to Saint Louis. We’ve already sent a team of Blanks led by Corinth. The Dreads and Possessed are pouring into the city. Our teams have already started eliminating them when they can, but many of the Possessed are Legion, and no one’s even come close to exorcising them. Helo, we want you to give it a shot.” He slid an enormous diamond across the table. “Put Legion in this if you can.”

Helo took it and slid it into his pocket. “I’ll try, though I should do a practice run on a regular Possessed or two just so I know what I’m doing. What else are you looking for us to do? Don’t you want us here? Avadan’s got to be coming to wipe this place off the map sooner or later.”

“The normals are our first concern,” Magdelene said, leaning forward. “We still hold to that principle even when we’re hurting, and we haven’t hurt like this in a good long while. Whatever Avadan’s Traveling Surprises has in store, it’s in Saint Louis. The continual desecration in Kansas City is already taking its toll. Crime there is out of control. If we can stop the same thing from happening in Saint Louis, then we have to do it.”

“When do we leave?” Helo asked.

“Right now,” Mars said. “Grab your gear and get going. All the vehicles are back at Camp Zion. We’ll get you something within the hour. You’ll meet up with Corinth when you get there. We’ll get you a phone you can use, and he’ll contact you.”

Helo stood. “I’ll get them ready.”

“Godspeed, Helo,” Magdelene said.

“And remember what I said,” Ebenezer added. “Burning Dreads and exorcising Possessed isn’t going to win this war.”

Helo nodded. What Magdelene had said about the Old Masters intrigued him. Dolorem had taught him the meditation but had never really understood how it worked or what it meant. What other traditions or practices had been lost over time?

Sparks put his arm around his shoulder after they walked out the door. “You’re giving me that Bestowal tomorrow morning, right?”

“Melody first,” he said. “That way we can do two per day.”

“Fine,” he said. “But I’m next after Melody.”

“Done.”

Chapter 30

Saint Louis

Melody’s silver sphere orbited the sun just opposite his. It still amazed him that she was in the meditation with him somehow, that they could enjoy the flood of Rapture together. An hour before, he had given her the Angel Fire Bestowal while they rode in the back seat of a Ford Expedition. He had no idea what he was doing, but it came to him naturally, like he’d known it all along and just forgotten. He placed one hand on her head, one hand over her heart, and then he thought about receiving the Bestowal himself. Both their auras had flared for several moments and, at the end, it was hers—and he felt drained.

Then they meditated, holding hands. Around and around, the spheres orbited the sun, and with the proper focus, only the illuminated sides showed in the scene. And then something struck him about having her join him in this meditative space. It felt right. He couldn’t explain exactly what was right about it or why he felt that way, but from now on, meditating alone wouldn’t seem complete.

Rapture swelled within him and then faded. When the outside world intruded, he found that Finny had pulled the Expedition off to the side of the road so he wouldn’t cause a wreck in the middle of Rapture.

Faramir turned to look at them, mouth open with some comment that was stalled. “Whoa, wait a minute,” he said. “You both have an aura? How is that . . . now it’s gone. Is that an Angel Born thing?”

Melody turned to Helo, the question on her face probably the same one he had been thinking: should they teach them the meditation? He couldn’t see why not, especially if they kept the mystery a secret. He nodded to Melody, and after Finny had pulled back onto Highway 70, she taught them the technique, ending vaguely with, “And if you do it right, Rapture fills you up like Thanksgiving Dinner.”

Heads nodded, but Helo wasn’t sure how seriously any of them had taken the instruction. Melody still had a hold of his hand and she squeezed it, dropping her voice to a whisper and putting her lips close to his ear.

“The question is, have you figured out the problem to be solved in our couples meditation?”

Couples meditation? He didn’t know if he liked that term. It sounded like some cheap couples therapy technique. What he experienced felt more profound, more . . . sacred, maybe? He couldn’t quite find the word for it. He just knew it was the way he wanted it from now on.

When he saw her face and the hope in it, he had to swallow. He was going to disappoint her. “No. I’m sorry. This time it felt, I don’t know, comfortable and good.”

She sighed. “I guess that’s something.”

“You could tell me,” he said.

She let go of his hand and folded her arms. “No. I can’t. The rules are the same as the single meditation. You have to grow into it.”

“I’ll try.” He hoped he figured it out soon. Melody was not taking his idiot slowness at deciphering metaphorical meditations with a lot of patience. She really wanted him to hurry, and he wondered what the rush was. He got the feeling this had something to do with the late it Dolorem had gone on about.

He followed Melody’s gaze out the front of the Expedition, the Saint Louis skyline rising into view on what promised to be a cloudless spring day. They were overdue by eight hours. First the Ash Angel Organization had a hard time finding transportation for them. Then they’d had to stop to shop for civilian clothes to help them blend in. Helo had to order everyone—including himself—to drop the bodybuilder look and try to look normal. He coached them into adding some nice touches to their morphs and overall was satisfied with how everyone looked. There would be no hiding the fierce-warrior vibe on the faces of Sparks, Shujaa, and Andromeda, but at least a casual glance wouldn’t give them all away.

Melody had gone for an athletic look with a black windbreaker, tight pink top, and yoga pants that might attract some lewd comments in certain neighborhoods. As for him, Melody had taken over his wardrobe, throwing him in a pair of jeans, blue V-neck, and leather jacket. Finny and Faramir looked like college kids, with baggy pants and loose T-shirts. Sparks had morphed himself a little older and had on tan slacks and a red button-up shirt. Andromeda followed Melody’s lead—they looked like they could be jogging buddies. Shujaa had on a tight black T-shirt and black slacks, which was like wearing a Michaels uniform without actually wearing a Michaels uniform.

“Ten minutes out,” Finny reported.

They were meeting Corinth’s team in the parking lot of a Rafael’s Goodwill Barn in a suburb before crossing into Saint Louis proper. This early in the morning, the city appeared to be waking peacefully. No traffic. No sirens. No smoke. And best of all, no black desecration befouling the ground.

They arrived at the parking lot a short while later, finding a blue Toyota Camry parked near the front. Red For Lease signs decorated two large windows of the venue, and dandelions poked up through cracks in the asphalt. A swath of graffiti splashed across the side of the building spelled some word Helo couldn’t quite make out.

Corinth stepped out the front door as Finny parked and killed the engine. Sicarius Nox piled out of the van, and Helo laid a man hug on Corinth, whose boyish face was uncharacteristically sober.

“Good to be working together again, bro,” he said. “I heard what happened at Camp Zion. The worst. Can’t believe it. But thanks for getting Scarlet out. I owe you. Like, big-time.”

“Don’t mention it,” Helo said, guilt stabbing his heart. Scarlet had been clingy when he’d said goodbye to her at the Foundry, pissing Melody off. And while Helo had a hard time believing it, he knew Scarlet’s kiss-me face, and she had wanted him to kiss her. He didn’t. He didn’t want to, but he’d had a hard time getting Scarlet out of his head.

“Yeah, she told me to give you her love,” Helo said. That was a straight-up lie, and Melody threw him the stink eye.

Corinth nodded, and they filed inside. Empty registers, racks, and shelves languished in the dim morning light coming in through the windows. Their footsteps echoed dully as Corinth led them toward the back. A generator growled somewhere nearby, getting louder as they passed through a set of double doors into the stockroom.

“Power’s been shut off here, so this is how I’m powering stuff,” Corinth explained. A single table held two laptops and a comms unit. Not much for an operation this important. “There’s a decent command center down there, but not enough juice to light the thing up. The rest of my team is in the field.”

“How bad is it?” Helo asked.

“Not so bad yet,” Corinth said. “More like weird. It’s like there’s a Dread and Ghostpacker convention in town, but none of them are doing anything at this point. It’s like they’re all waiting for something.”

“Sounds like Avadan,” Helo said. It seemed Avadan could control the creatures of darkness even without the pendant.

“We’re picking them off as fast as we can,” Corinth continued, “but the Legion Ghostpackers are nasty. We usually just break their legs to keep them off the street. My best exorcist can’t get them out of their hosts for nothing. Which reminds me that I have a present for you. Command said they wanted an Angel Born to take a shot at the exorcism thing, so I brought in a Legion Ghostpacker for you, Helo. You’re welcome. Hang tight.”

Corinth disappeared into a side room. Helo had wanted to practice on a normal Ghostpacker first. He’d only seen Goliath do exorcisms, and knew it consisted of a war of wills and an attempt to learn the evil spirit’s true name so it could be commanded to enter a different host—usually a hard object that would hold it for centuries. It didn’t look easy.

Helo ordered Andromeda, Faramir, and Shujaa to get the team’s equipment out of the Expedition, and he paced around the room a little trying to get his thoughts together. Melody stood nearby watching him, biting her lip, a worried expression on her face.

Corinth returned with a young woman who looked like she’d been pulled straight out of a billionaire’s birthday party. She had dyed her hair white with blue tips and wore a slinky blue dress that clashed with the ghastly red dots in her eyes from the evil spirit clinging to her. Its ghostly hand was plunged into her chest, grasping her heart. She sneered disdainfully at them as Corinth prodded her forward. Her hands were handcuffed behind her back, and Corinth plunked her down in a chair.

One of Helo’s first experiences as an Ash Angel had been getting torched by an evil spirit, so it came as no surprise when she tried it on him. But it passed harmlessly by him, no more threatening than a spring breeze. Her eyes widened a little before she settled her face. Now that he was close, he could see that the red of the evil spirit’s gaze covered up eyes a bit too brilliantly blue. She was wearing contacts.

He grasped her arm. He had to remember that the way this woman behaved was not the real her. This was a rescue mission, a chance to free her from Legion. And the big bonus: if he could Exorcise Legion, possibly thousands of Possessed would be instantly freed.

Fixing what he saw Goliath do in his mind, he closed his eyes and let the Exorcism begin. Virtus flowed from him to her, and in moments he felt the presence of her mind and that of another. And that other mind was heavy. It reminded him of when he and Brandon had changed the brakes on their old truck. They had jacked it up, the entire weight of the front of the truck resting on what seemed a spindly little arm. Helo remembered being underneath it and feeling the weight of the truck above him, threatening to collapse at any moment.

What he found in the woman’s mind felt the same. The presence of Legion was a weight he felt barely able to prop up, much less overcome. He had to exert all of his will to keep it from falling on top of him. Immediately he knew the woman’s name: Krissa. He knew she had self-medicated her anxiety and depression with cocaine and a long string of abusive boyfriends.

Then the weight spoke, and he almost broke contact. The presence of Legion was bad enough, but the voice brought with it the madness and anger of thousands of years of imprisonment. It was a stabbing, poisonous hatred that attacked anyone who came near it.

“Who is this who comes to know us now?”

Helo couldn’t say why, but he felt compelled to answer the question. Legion demanded it, its wrath surely crushing any who dared disobey. But no. Helo knew he shouldn’t answer it. He had to assert the control, had to show Legion he was strong.

“What is your name?” Helo asked. His attempt felt feeble in comparison to Legion’s angry buzzing in his mind.

Legion laughed, a pitiless, malicious sound. “I am Legion, for we are many.” The voice had changed, like someone else was speaking.

Goliath had told him it was a contest not of words but of wills. He could ask questions and trash talk Legion all he wanted, but he had to make Legion submit. But how?

“You will tell me your name. Now,” he said, trying for an authoritative tone.

Legion laughed again, and the voice changed. Sometimes male. Sometimes female. Old. Young. “We thought the Angel Born might prove a challenge, but apparently not. Is this your first time, sweetheart? Decided to dive into an ocean before you’d even waded in a kiddie pool? We know who you are. Your father provided his body for the use of one of our brethren. He wasn’t Legion, but still, we thank him for his service. Here’s a gift for you.”

His mind lit up with the memory—he and his brother in bed on Christmas Eve when they were boys. He was eight, his brother ten. They shared a room, lying in the dark, unable to sleep. Brandon kept trying to get him to sneak downstairs to scope out the presents, and they had just agreed to go when their dad started a racket he would never forget, yelling drunkenly at his mom.

Helo forced the image out of his mind. He didn’t want to relive that night. He knew what Legion was doing.

“What?” Legion said, tone like a bully mocking some kid on the playground. “You can’t stand to face who you really are? I can show you. Human memories are liars, but mine isn’t faded or colored by emotion. Afraid to see, Helo?”

“Your name,” Helo said, trying to wrest control back from Legion. Its collective weight pressed upon him. “Give me your name!”

“No. You give me yours, Angel Born. You’ve been called Trace and Helo and a hundred other insults and a few compliments here and there. But those aren’t your true name, and you know it. Give it to me, and it will be the greatest journey of self-discovery you have ever made.”

What did Legion mean?

“What do I mean? We all have names in the Adamic. You do too. You are creating that name with every decision you make. With every act you add to or remove from that name. Do you want to know what yours is now?”

In his stupor, the vision Legion kept forcing on him intruded on his mind. His father’s yelling blasted through the house. It was so loud it probably blasted out of it, too. Helo wished his dad would shut up. The neighbors always gave Helo a sympathetic look when they saw him outside. Half the block knew exactly what went on in their house. And his mother was crying now. Helo’s heart shrank in fear.

“Come on,” Brandon said. The two of them sneaked to the door and turned the lock as quietly as they could so they could get out unnoticed—something they had done many times before. Ever the leader, Brandon went first. With the door open, their father’s ranting and their mother’s weeping nearly bowled him over. He wanted to go back to his room, shut the door, and pull the covers up over his head.

But Brandon pulled him on, his brother’s face set. They tiptoed down the far edge of the hall next to the wall because the floor squeaked less there. The hall ended in a wrought-iron banister bordering the steps to the living room. Helo did what his brother did, lying flat on his belly. They scooted until they could see over the bottom rail. And there they were—his father with his hand raised over their cowering mother—only now he could see the evil spirit hanging out of his father’s body.

Helo fought the memory away again. He was losing this. Gathering his will, he dumped more Virtus into the exorcism. Maybe it would help him gain the advantage, stun or overwhelm Legion.

“Come now, Helo! This was a big piece of what your name is. You’ve been running from this experience your whole life. People think you have courage, but it’s not that, is it? Your true name must have the component of guilt in it somewhere. How much of your bravery is actually an attempt at restitution? Have you thought about that? Let me in. Let me show you your true name.”

The weight of Legion pressed in on him, pressed hard. While only one spirit spoke with him each time, Helo could sense the others. There were whispers, too many to count, hissing in his mind like a room full of angry snakes. But those whispers weren’t directed at him. This was the mind of Legion, thousands of minds, all directing their malice and evil toward individual victims but somehow linked and exerting force together.

At a gut level, Helo understood that it didn’t matter which member of Legion he talked to. The one who inhabited the woman was no different in purpose than all the others. And right now he was losing. His will simply wasn’t powerful enough.

“Leave me alone,” Helo said, instantly sensing his mistake. This was weakness. This was the bully’s victim pleading for mercy. The vision crushed down on him again, his father’s fist coming down with violent fury on his mother’s jaw, sending her to the ground, unconscious. Helo fought it. He had to get out of this. What came next he couldn’t bear to see.

He broke contact, Legion’s mocking laughter echoing in his mind. One last message broke through.

“What is your true name, Angel Born?”

Hands against his ears, Helo collapsed to the ground, mind spinning. The Possessed woman laughed, and Helo scooted away from her until his back was against the wall. Melody was there in an instant.

“You okay?” she said, taking his hand.

The weight. The laugh. The question. It all banged around in his head, a noisy distraction clinging to him like a scared infant.

Corinth crouched down next to him. “Sorry, bro. That’s pretty much what happens to everyone else. If it’s any consolation, it took the Son of God to get rid of Legion last time. I’ll go stick her back in her luxurious cell.”

Melody helped him up, the outside world coming back into focus. The rest of his team looked on grimly while he paced back and forth, trying to get his mind back on track. They had work to do. He had to get the vision of what happened on that Christmas Eve out of his head. It was a memory almost as painful as Terissa’s betrayal, and he had no time for it.

Corinth led the woman away, but before she disappeared, she turned and puckered her lips at Helo, blowing him an obscene kiss. Legion. That was going to be a piece of work. Helo resolved to practice on some non-Legion Possessed before attempting it again. He hadn’t even intimidated the indomitable pack of evil spirits.

Corinth returned, face set. “You ready to get to work?”

“That’s why we’re here,” Helo said. “Any sign of Avadan or the black desecration?”

“No,” Corinth said. “Over here, guys and gals.” He beckoned them to the table with two laptops. “We’ve set up patrols out there, the Blanks going into the areas with the highest concentration of baddies.” He pinch-zoomed the map out to where the entire city of Saint Louis was visible on the screen. Several semitransparent shapes overlaid the map, dividing the city into six chunks.

“The shapes,” he said, “are zones owned by the teams I set up. The two red zones are where most of the Ghostpackers and Dreads seem to be hanging out. So far, that’s all it’s been. They’re all being good boys and girls, not trying to attract anyone’s attention. We pick them off if they get stupid.

“Since we can’t Exorcise Legion, we’ve had to settle for incapacitation or calling the cops on them to get them detained for loitering or drugs or whatever just to get them off the streets. It’s kind of working, but it’s going to take a long time to deal with all of them, and if we can’t Exorcise Legion, they’ll just keep coming back.”

“This is a setup for something,” Helo said. “Avadan’s going to benefit from it somehow. Maybe he’s gunning for more Vexus or he’s going to desecrate Saint Louis like he did Kansas City.”

Andromeda nodded. “World desecration tour.”

“We should make T-shirts,” Faramir quipped.

“What we need,” Sparks said, “is to figure out what cities he’ll select, both here and worldwide.”

“Seems like he’d choose cities with a lot of crime and violence,” Faramir said. “If he’s still interested in Vexus, then that’s got to be where he would go. Let me do a quick search for cities with high violent-crime rates . . .” He tapped and swiped his phone. “Well, Saint Louis is one. There’s Detroit, Atlanta, Stockton, Cleveland. Detroit’s the worst. It’s about eight hours from here. Cleveland’s about the same.”

Corinth sat down and put his hands behind his head, the pose and his tight-blue T-shirt showing off the beach bod he was always so proud of even though getting one as an Ash Angel was as easy as normals wished it was.

“Doesn’t matter where he goes, right?” Corinth said. “We don’t have a way to beat him. I mean, we can point our guns at him all we want, but we’re just shooting blanks as far as he’s concerned.”

“True,” Helo said, “but we haven’t seen what sanctified weapons can do yet. Command sent us with about fifteen for our teams to share. If anyone spots him, we’ve got to converge on him fast and give it our best.”

“But the black desecration,” Corinth said. “None of my people have been in it, and I hear it’s as bad as a torch.”

“Not as bad,” Helo said, “but close. The good news is you can get above it. It seems to flow down like water, but it can’t go up.”

“Good to know,” Corinth said. “While we wait for Avadan to play his hand, I’d like you to . . .”

White light burst into Helo’s mind, and he was dimly aware of his body taking a trip to the hard stockroom floor. It was a vision, his first in a while, and the worst he’d ever seen.

Chapter 31

Bus Driver

In his mind’s eye, he stood at the corner of Breezeridge and Middleview Streets in the early morning, surrounded by middle-school kids. They looked at him funny. He wasn’t a regular, and their stranger-danger radars were going off. Even stranger, he was alone. No other Ash Angel, not even members of his team, seemed to be around. The black desecration carpeted the ground in all directions.

Most of the kids ignored him, their faces buried in their phones. He glanced at his: 7:58 a.m. Other kids cast suspicious sideways glances at him, probably wondering if they should go get one of their parents. It didn’t take long for him to know why he was there. As soon as the bus pulled around the corner, he could see it: a Ghostpacker in the driver’s seat. His mind spun with what the Ghostpacker could be up to. If Avadan controlled the Ghostpackers . . .

The vision faded, and he was on his back, staring up at ceiling girders and pipes. His nose didn’t seem to be in the right place on his face. He was pretty sure he’d fallen facedown, but someone had pulled him around onto his back. He sat up and probed his nose, bones grinding from side to side.

“Stop that,” Melody said.

“Yep,” Sparks said. “You took the trip face-first.”

His second in command put his hand on his shoulder and healed him, his nose firming back up.

Corinth crouched down. “Well, what did you see, bro?”

Helo explained the vision to them.

“And none of us were there?” Andromeda said, sounding a little offended.

“No,” Helo said. But he had a thought, and its implications sickened him. “I think we’ve got a bigger problem than one bus. As bad as that is, if Avadan is trying to put on a big show and create Vexus, there might be other buses out there.”

“This is Saint Louis,” Corinth said. “That’s a lot of buses and bus yards to cover. We can’t possibly—” His phone rang. “One of my team leaders. Give me a sec.” Corinth tapped the screen. “What’s up?” After a brief conversation, he hung up. “Avadan’s here somewhere. The black desecration just started.”

“Tell your people to get up out of it,” Helo warned. “Get them in cars or on the second floor of a building. Sicarius Nox, let’s get in the Expedition. Grab a sanctified weapon and small arms. Corinth, give us a best guess where it’s emanating from, and we’ll drive over there and see if we can spot him.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, and Helo hoped he hadn’t stepped on any toes. This was Corinth’s mission. They all rifled through the trunk of sanctified weapons—knives, mostly—and chose something they could easily conceal. The BBGs they left in the back.

“Sure wish I had the Angel Fire Bestowal,” Sparks said as he passed by.

They piled in the car, Helo taking shotgun next to Finny, and drove off into the clear spring morning.

Shujaa leaned forward from the second-row seats. “Helo, we must be allowed to kill Possessed. If they are driving school buses, we cannot stand by and do nothing.”

Helo turned toward him. Shujaa had no mercy for the Possessed. To him, they had made their choice. Shujaa didn’t seem to care that there was life on the other side of possession and that they had to give them a second chance if they could.

“ROE remains the same,” Helo said. “We try to save them alive. If there is no choice, only then do we take lethal action. That’s the way it’s always been.”

“But Legion—” Shujaa began.

“If we kill a host, Legion will just find another host. It’s better that we expose as few people to Legion as we can. Now settle in. We need to be sharp.”

They drove back onto I-70, the traffic thickening. It was just past seven o’clock, and he wanted to be on that street corner in plenty of time to save those kids from whatever their evil bus driver had in mind.

Helo’s phone rang—Corinth calling—and he picked it up.

“Talk to me, Corinth.”

“The desecration seems to have started from somewhere near the arch.”

“Got it,” he said. “You might want to have your team disperse and check buses. We’ll see if we can track Avadan down.”

He hung up and was about to tell Finny to head to the arch when Faramir spoke up. “Helo, you can’t do both. You can’t be at that street corner by 7:58 if you go to the arch, especially with traffic. In fact, if you’re going to go to that intersection, we need to get off at 270 right now.”

“Do it, Finny,” Helo said. “Sparks, I’m leaving you in command. I’m going for the school bus.”

“Take me with you,” Melody said. “No unnecessary solo missions.”

“You weren’t in the vision,” Helo stated matter-of-factly, then his mind went back to Aclima. She had been in the vision, but he’d shut her out. That had earned his head a vacation from his body. But Melody. Dolorem wanted him to make her strong, but the look on her face said she already was and wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “But it might be nice to have backup.”

Her face flipped from defiant to surprised to happy. “Great!”

“Wait a minute,” Faramir said. “We’re the ones chasing Avadan! We can’t have both the Angel Borns off saving a school bus. What if we actually find Avadan? What, then?”

“Buck up, Faramir,” Andromeda said. “We got this, Computer Boy.”

Helo twisted so he could see his team. “If you find him, don’t attack. Follow. We’ll want to coordinate with Corinth’s team. We need a lot of Ash Angels with sanctified weapons before we ambush. So track but do not engage. Got it? Use the drone. Don’t get too close. If we’re right, he’s probably heading to Detroit or Cleveland after this. We can ambush him there. We don’t need to get him today.”

“Got it,” Sparks said, nodding. “You know, you’re not half bad at this. I thought you’d be worse than Argyle, but Finny believed in you, didn’t you Fin?”

“From the start.”

“Thanks,” Helo said. “Melody, we can’t take any weapons on this one. I don’t think you could hide a BBG in those yoga pants, anyway.”

A few minutes later, Finny pulled into a neighborhood of upper middle-class homes and found the corner of Breezeridge and Middleview. At 7:50, none of the kids had arrived yet. Finny pulled the Expedition to the curb, and he and Melody hopped out.

“Keep me updated,” Helo said. “Get moving.”

Sparks took shotgun, and the van pulled a U-turn and sped away.

“I think the kids won’t come here if we’re hanging around,” Melody said.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Let’s move off a bit and come back.”

They walked down the street like they were out for a morning stroll. All they lacked was a dog, or maybe a baby stroller.

“Thanks for letting me come,” Melody said. “I thought for a moment you were going to shoot me down. I know you’re my commanding officer and all, but . . . well . . . thanks.”

He nodded, still not sure he should have caved, but he was determined not to make the same mistakes he had with Aclima. Aclima had told him not to try to protect Melody but to help her grow. He couldn’t do that if he kept sending her away. Besides, he liked being with her. The lows didn’t seem so low when she was around.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked, giving him a gentle bump.

“A lot,” he said.

“How can I help?”

He smiled at her. “You help all the time. Look, you’ve been great, and I haven’t made it easy. I know I can be distant, but none of that is you, okay? I really don’t deserve the friendship you’ve given me, but thanks for giving it all the same.”

Melody looked up at the sky, her green eyes twinkling in the morning light, the sun highlighting her hair. “You’re welcome,” she said. “I don’t want to sound creepy, but the more you let me in, the better both of us will be.”

Had he really been keeping her out? He didn’t feel like he had been trying to. She wanted more of him, and he wondered if she still had some superman vision of him that simply wasn’t true. She had dreamed about him her entire life. Who knew how real those dreams were or how her mind had filled in the gaps around what she didn’t know about him.

“I’m trying,” he said, though he really didn’t know what he needed to do to satisfy her. “We’d better head back.”

As soon as they turned around, the black desecration rolled toward them, engulfing the bus stop and then washing past them. It was still hard to believe that a desecration could extend so far and be permanent. The torching effect was there in the back of his mind, and Melody stumbled a couple steps before setting her jaw and focusing forward.

“It’s getting easier to ignore it,” she said. “Just pinch me if I’m zombie-eyed staring off into nothing.”

Three kids waited at the bus stop now, all absorbed in their phones. Helo remembered he and Brandon turning the bus stop into stupid contest time pretty much every day. Who could throw or kick a rock the farthest? Who could hit the stop sign with a rock the most times in a row? Who could walk on their hands the longest? And on and on. These kids were comatose by comparison. Two other kids had left their houses and were making their way over. On a side street somewhere, the sound of squealing brakes signaled that the bus would be there any minute.

“What’s the play?” Melody asked as they approached.

“Get the Ghostpacker off the bus as gently as possible,” Helo said, trying to think of a scenario where that could actually happen. It’d be tough to get a non-Possessed bus driver to get out. But a possessed driver who might be Legion? “I’ll try Hallowing first. That makes it harder for the evil spirit to control the host. If I can get him to walk away, great. If that doesn’t work, I’ll just haul him off. Last resort, we cripple the bus somehow. Ripping the steering wheel off would do it.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“Be alert,” he said. “Visions aren’t complete. There might be other threats we don’t know about on this bus. If this is part of something bigger, this could go south fast.”

The bus rounded the corner. Through the oversized windshield, the unnatural red point in the eyes of the Ghostpacker appeared full of malice. Not until the bus got closer did Helo notice how full it was. Three more children darted out of nearby houses, running full tilt for the bus stop, their backpacks bouncing up and down.

Helo stepped in front of the kids. “Hey,” he said, “I’ve got to talk to your bus driver before you get on, okay?”

Those who actually paid attention just shrugged and went back to whatever they were doing. The bus’s stop sign flipped out, lights flashing as it squealed to a stop with an oily odor of diesel that brought back memories. Helo interposed himself between the kids and the bus, Melody beside him, and it stopped, door scissoring open.

The Ghostpacker was a dumpy woman with greasy brown hair and a puffy face. She looked like she hated her job, and by the unchecked noise of chaos rolling off the bus, he couldn’t blame her. The spectral form of the ghost a parasite on her body, she stared through Helo like she didn’t even care that two adults were standing there. Her expression reminded him of the robotic stare of the Dreads at the ticket counter of the Red Angel Theater. Avadan was heavily controlling these Ghostpackers. He wondered if the evil spirit was part of Legion.

He took the black steps up to the top, Melody standing outside the door to keep the kids from getting on. He kept his eyes fixed on the Ghostpacker’s red ones, wondering if a torch attempt was coming. But her face remained a vapid mask right up until he Hallowed the floor.

Her eyes blinked, then her splotched forehead wrinkled. “Who are you?” she asked like she was addressing a cockroach.

“Get off the bus,” he said. “Right now.”

“No,” the driver said. “Now get out of the way. I’ve got a schedule.”

Great. He was going to have to do this the hard way and preferably in a way that wouldn’t scar the delicate psyches of a busload of middle-school kids. As yet, only the first few rows seemed aware something unusual was happening.

He leaned in close to the driver’s ear. “I said get off this bus. We can do this the hard way or the easy way.”

She shoved him. “Get off!” she shrieked, and the bus went dead quiet, a sea of surprised faces now pegged to the action.

Well, if he couldn’t convince her, there was another way to do this. “Hey, kids,” he said loudly. “We got a message from dispatch that this bus has a leak in the exhaust system that might be filling the cabin with carbon monoxide. I need you all off the bus. We’ll send another to get you.”

“No!” the driver yelled, red eyes frenzied. She turned toward the kids, pointing a finger backward. “You stay on this bus!” She leveled her malevolent gaze at Helo. “You get off! Now!”

From somewhere off to her left, the bus driver produced a little club. He was Hallowing, so this attitude came from the driver, not the evil spirit. She was surly.

“You’re endangering these students!” he said. “We’ve got to get them off. Now!”

She put the bus in park and undid her seat belt. “I said get out!”

With all the force she could muster, she pounded him with the club, which did nothing to his Ash Angel body. It did give him the excuse he needed to throw a punch across her jaw and send her to the ground in a heap. Some of the kids gasped. Some screamed. A few were outright crying. He killed the hallow to conserve Virtus.

“Sorry about that, kids,” he said as he grabbed the driver. “We’ll get another bus and driver over here in a minute.”

He carried the driver off the bus and laid her next to it.

“Melody,” he said. “Could you use that great voice of yours to convince the kids to get off the bus?”

She threw him a worried glance and walked up the steps. “Hey, kids,” she said sweetly. “We really do need to get you off this bus. It will be okay. Everything is all right.”

There was a soothing quality to her voice, something that seemed to settle even his heart. When she said, ‘Everything is all right,’ he believed her. And so did the kids. One by one they filed off the bus, gathering on the sidewalk and the lawn, each glancing at their unconscious bus driver lying in the gutter.

Helo’s phone rang. Corinth. “What’s up?”

“Helo,” Corinth said. “It’s worse than we thought. Your team and mine have caught sight of at least eight buses being driven by Ghostpackers and Dreads. One was a Sheid.”

Helo’s heart sank. “Just took care of one here. Any idea what the plan is? They’re not taking them to school, are they?”

“Not sure yet,” he said. “We’re following four of the buses, and they’re still filling up right now. Hang tight, and I’ll get you an update asap.”

“Thanks.”

Someone tapped his shoulder. He turned to find a thin, severe-looking woman in a bathrobe and half-done makeup staring him down.

“Excuse me,” she said, tone firm. This was a woman used to being in charge. “What is going on here?”

“The bus was unsafe,” Helo said. “We suspect a leak in the exhaust system was venting gasses into the cabin. The bus driver was affected. Started talking crazy, and we had to remove her. We’ll get another bus here as soon as we can.”

The woman didn’t look convinced. “Who’s going to watch all of these kids while they wait? I’ve got to go to work! I think that woman needs an ambulance! What did you do?”

“We will take care of everything,” Melody said, coming down the bus stairs, smile as wide as the sky and voice rich with that same peaceful quality she had used on the kids. “The children will be fine, and we’ll get the bus driver the medical help she needs. You can go back and keep getting ready.”

The woman’s shoulders relaxed, her head nodding. “Okay, but I don’t want to see these kids unsupervised.”

“Of course,” Melody said sweetly.

The woman walked back toward the house directly in front of the bus stop, glancing over her shoulder.

“What was that?” Helo whispered.

“The voice of peace,” Melody said. “Works great. You should try it. What do we do with her?”

Helo glanced down at the bus driver, whose eyes fluttered. “Can’t leave her here. You know how to drive a bus?”

“How hard can it be?” she asked. “Dolorem let me drive the rig a few times.”

Melody ascended the bus steps and settled into the driver’s seat while Helo hefted the driver over his shoulder. “Will you kids be okay by yourselves for a little while?”

Half the kids looked nervous. The other half looked like a party was about to start. A few nodded.

“Great,” he said. “We’re going to get this bus back to where it can be repaired. Make good choices and all that.”

He got into the bus just as the bus driver regained enough consciousness for the evil spirit to take control. He dumped her in a seat, and she torched him.

“Let’s go, Melody!”

She pulled the doors closed. “Where to?”

“Just drive around,” he said. The woman beat on him with her fists.

“Let me go! Let me go!” she wailed. “Filthy Ash Angel!”

He belted her again, knocking her unconscious. What were they going to do with her? He couldn’t keep beating on her. Evil spirit or no, the woman was a piece of work, but she didn’t deserve to be beaten to a pulp. But they couldn’t keep her around, either.

Noticing a lump in her jeans pocket, he reached in and pulled out a cell phone. He crushed it with a Strength-powered squeeze. The last thing they needed was for her to call the cops or dispatch. Maybe this was a chance to practice his exorcism.

He took her by the wrist and concentrated, his Virtus pulsing into her. No sooner had he opened his mind than he felt the familiar oppressive weight. Legion. He broke contact. He didn’t have the time or the know-how to face that challenge.

He pulled her out of her seat, hefted her over his shoulder, and headed toward the front of the bus. Melody drove down a two-lane road by a park. Helo told her to pull over and open the doors. He took the woman and laid her on the grass, hoping she would be okay. Her jaw was already starting to swell.

His phone rang, Corinth calling him back. “Talk to me,” he said as he got back on the bus. Melody closed the door and kept driving.

“They are deviating from their routes,” Corinth said. “Best we can tell, it looks like their going toward I-70. The first couple are headed west, out of the city. The other two we’re tracking are about there.”

“Any guesses why?” Helo said. “Avadan taking them somewhere?”

“Don’t know,” he said. “You want me to send someone to pick you up?”

“No,” Helo said. “I’ve got transpo. We’re heading up to 70 to get eyes on. I’ll get Sicarius Nox up there, too.”

“Great,” Corinth said. “I’ll head there too. I’m close.”

They hung up, and Helo dialed up Sparks to have his team reroute. Then he used the phone to guide Melody back to I-70. The westbound traffic on the freeway wasn’t as bad as in the stacked-up eastbound lane. Far ahead, he could spot the back end of a yellow bus. They drove ahead of the advancing desecration field, the world clear of the black carpet a nice change.

Corinth called. “Helo,” he said, voice sober. “The first bus full of kids just went into the Missouri River. I . . . I think he’s planning on dumping them all in there.”

Helo froze for a moment in disbelief. It was go time. “On it.” Just when he thought Avadan couldn’t sink any lower. Murdering children? A fire ignited in his heart.

“Melody,” he said. “Step on it. We’ve got to get to the bridge right now.”

Chapter 32

The Bridge

Melody gritted her teeth and floored it. The bus didn’t exactly leap forward, but the engine roared, and they picked up speed. Weaving in and out of traffic in a big yellow bus reminded Helo of standing on the deck of a boat. The entire cabin of the bus lurched back and forth with the sharp lane changes. Melody’s driving earned her a number of middle fingers and irritated honks.

“Get up there,” Helo said, mostly to himself. He could just make out the bridge in the distance. Then a horrible idea occurred to him, but it was a way he could prevent more buses from going in. He was going to have to cause an accident. The idea of hurting someone to save busloads of kids stabbed him, but he might have to do it.

They passed the bus they had been chasing, and there in the driver’s seat was a Dread, red aura blazing through the window. The kids seemed oblivious to the danger. The bridge rose steadily ahead of them, traffic slowing. Several cars had pulled off to the shoulder of the bridge, the drivers staring down at the water below. Then it struck him: he didn’t need to use another car to cause an accident. He could slow traffic to a standstill on his own.

“I’m going to dump it, Melody,” he said, grabbing the wheel. She was belted in. He would have to hold on. With a firm yank, the bus turned so hard to the right it tipped over, slamming onto its side and skidding along the ground. He kept a death grip on the steering wheel as metal groaned and glass shrieked. The bus ground down the asphalt, blocking the center three lanes.

But as their momentum had about run out, something rocked the bus so hard it slammed him onto his back. Helo grunted, and Melody screamed. He ignited his Toughness to keep the force from cracking his bones—he couldn’t afford a broken body.

The bus settled again.

“Helo!” Melody said, unfastening her seat belt. Out the cracked windshield he could see the bus they had passed. The Dread driver had rammed them, but not without paying a price. Fluid from the bus’s guts leaked onto the pavement, the left side of the engine compartment smashed. But it was still moving, crawling along, limping toward the hole the first bus had punched through the guardrail.

Melody shattered the windshield with a Strength-powered kick.

“You get the driver,” Helo said. “I’ll heal.”

He Sped toward the bus, passing Melody, and jumped up on the back bumper. With a burst of Strength, he pulled the back door off, and Melody jumped inside. Elementary students wailed in pain and fear. Several squirmed in the middle aisle, trying to push themselves back up into their seats. Blood leaked from their noses, and bumps bloomed on their terrified faces.

Melody made her way to the front, the Dread bus driver unbuckling and standing to face her. The gap in the destroyed bridge rail loomed large in front of them.

Melody sent of sloppy column of Angel Fire that ranged around the Dread’s torso before finding the heart. Dust and clothes rained to the ground. Melody jumped into the driver’s seat, killed the engine, and engaged the parking brake. The bus jerked to a stop five feet from the edge.

A girl in the back seat wasn’t moving, face pale, and Helo poured Healing into her until her eyes snapped open. Melody worked her way back to him. They provided triage for the kids, healing a broken arm, a busted nose, and a sprained elbow.

“Melody,” he said. “See if there’s anyone in the water we can help. I’ve got to contact the team.”

She nodded, and he hopped off the bus and onto the asphalt. As he had hoped, traffic had backed up behind the accident. Sirens wailed in the distance. He peered over the bridge, Melody coming to his side. Part of the side of the bus stuck up above the water, a black backpack jammed in a window, waiting for the current to take it away. There was no sign of anyone in the water. Vexus swirled around the atrocity site, waiting to be collected. Avadan was the only one who could collect it anymore. Would he show up?

The black desecration washed beneath them a few moments later and engulfed the bridge and the water, and when the desecration field touched the Vexus, it absorbed it. So that was it. The black desecration could capture the energy for Avadan. The torching effect drove normals to violence, and the desecration collected energy and sent it on to Avadan. Helo didn’t even want to think what it was all for. He dialed Sparks.

“Sitrep!”

“We’re stuck in traffic,” Sparks said. “There’s at least three buses ahead of us. We can see the first one pretty well, and it’s got a Sheid in it.”

“You’ve got to take care of it,” Helo said. “Use a sanctified weapon.”

“But if we touch the ground, we’re toast,” Sparks said.

“Car hop.” A series of banging noises drowned Sparks out. Back down the road, a bus was mashing its way through the cars on a path for the bridge. “Gotta go.”

He killed the call. People dove out of cars to get away from the marauding bus. The driver was another Sheid, its Vexus swirling around it as it plowed through traffic, the front of the bus a dented, smoking mess. The kids’ screaming rose above the crunching of metal and the shattering of glass as the bus shoved cars aside on its way to the bridge.

Helo Sped forward and Strength jumped right at the windshield. In midair he switched to Toughness and Supermanned right into the Sheid. It exploded in a cloud of darkness, and Helo drilled the seat hard, breaking it and denting the metal behind it. He righted himself and brought the bus to a halt, killing the engine and engaging the parking brake.

“Stay put!” he told the kids. More blood. More bruises. More broken bones. There wasn’t time, and he couldn’t get them off the bus in the middle of traffic. A quick look out the back window sent his heart into his throat. Another bus was powering down the path cleared of cars by the Sheid driver. It was headed right for him.

He turned the key, but the engine just turned over and over. He stomped on the gas. Turned the key again. Banged the steering wheel. It was no use!

“Get your heads down!” he yelled at the sea of bewildered faces staring back at him. Two seconds later the oncoming bus and its Ghostpacker driver rammed them from behind. The middle-school kids shrieked, and the bus whined, its tires howling against the pavement as the Ghostpacker’s bus pushed them inexorably toward the bridge and the other bus a scant five feet from the edge.

Helo clenched his fists and charged down the aisle. At least three kids were unconscious. He’d help them later. This had to stop. With a Virtus-powered kick, he blasted the rear escape door off, then Strength jumped through the windshield of the bus behind them. The Ghostpacker groaned as Helo’s full weight plowed into his torso, knocking the breath out of him and snapping a few ribs. Helo ripped off the driver’s seat belt and threw him at the bus door so hard the door folded halfway in. Again he stopped the bus and killed the engine, securing the parking brake.

He ordered the kids to stay put, then cleared the rest of the folding door with a glass-shattering kick. The driver fell onto the pavement writhing and holding his chest. He was neutralized. Another crunch sounded, this one back from the direction of the bridge.

“Helo!” Melody yelled, her voice barely audible above the racket. He Sped back through the wreckage, but it wasn’t until he got to the bridge that he knew what was wrong. Melody pointed frantically to the eastbound bridge on the other side of the water. Another bus had hit the railing farther down the eastbound side, but it hadn’t made it all the way through the barrier. The concrete and metal rail was broken, but just the corner of the bus had penetrated it, one tire hanging out over the water. Another Sheid driver.

Great.

“Time to jump,” he told her.

He got up on the rail, boosted his Strength, and went for it, sailing over the river below. The bridge girders made the jump tricky, and he ignited his Toughness as he landed awkwardly on the hood of a car and rolled off onto the road. He spun around in time to see a wide-eyed Melody sailing through the air, Strength landing on the rail, and rolling gracefully over the hood of a white Cadillac and onto her feet. Nice.

He used his Speed to tear through traffic. Good Samaritans had surrounded the bus to see if they could help, a black man in a business suit yanking at the emergency door. It swung open, and the Sheid, dressed like a middle-aged woman in sweatpants and a T-shirt, kicked him square in the face, sending him to the ground hard. Everyone backed up in shock, and then the Sheid hopped down, turned, and started pushing the bus toward the river from behind, grinding it forward with its dark Strength.

“No!” the assembled crowd yelled.

Helo was almost there. He had to distract it and fast. He blasted it with Angel Fire, and it dropped the bus and turned. The Sheid shoved aside a woman who had been beating it with her purse, and Helo Hallowed the ground, but it jumped on top of the bus, heading toward the front. The bus wasn’t at the tipping point yet, but it slid bit by bit as the Sheid worked its way toward the front.

Helo extinguished the hallow. “Get those kids out!” he told the onlookers.

Then he leapt on top of the bus, the roof denting under his weight. The Sheid stood at the very front. As Helo approached, it crouched down and then leapt into the air like a rocket. Damn. It was aiming for the hood. A good hard landing and the bus would slip into the water. Helo Sped forward. Only one thing to do. A crazy thing.

As the Sheid dropped out of the air like an anvil, Helo jumped at it, nicking it enough to send it off kilter, both of them heading down into the river. It fell about five feet from him, too far for him to try to destroy with a punch. The Sheid turned its palm toward him, its arm now a fiery tentacle. Helo blasted it with Angel Fire to throw it off.

Then he hit the water. Hard. The Ash Angel body absorbed the initial impact, but then all of his feeling returned. His heart began to beat. The cold water shocked his skin. He sank. The river swirled murky brown around him, and he fought for the surface. He had to get out. The Sheid had all the advantage in the water. Helo shed his leather jacket and breached just before his lungs ran out of air. He gasped and bobbed in the relentless current of the river. The shore wasn’t far. Time to be a Marine and get this done.

He thrashed his arms and legs for all he was worth but felt an intense burning in his ankle, and he howled in pain. He turned to see the middle-aged woman, surrounded by Vexus, fifteen feet behind him, effortlessly treading water. A Sheid tentacle had ensnared his ankle, and he yanked his leg to get free. The more he pulled, the more it felt like someone was holding a blowtorch to his foot. He knew what was next: a trip to the bottom. The Sheid sank slowly, its grin that of a crocodile ready to take its prey into the murk of the river and kill it. This was the end.

That’s when Melody slammed into the water with perfect diving form, hands first, going right through the Sheid’s head. It exploded into dark mist, and she went under. He was free, but his ankle hurt like hell. Melody surfaced a moment later, hair plastered to her head.

“Helo!”

“I’m good,” he said, grimacing. “Let’s get to shore.”

She swam over to him. “What’s wrong? Did it get you?”

“My ankle,” he said. “I can manage.”

Together they struggled for the shore, and the moment he pulled himself out of the water, the blessed numbness returned. The Sheid’s tentacle, however, had burned through the flesh of his lower leg, right down to the bone. His Achilles’ tendon was severed, his calf muscle knotted into a ball below the back of his knee.

He kissed the side of Melody’s head through her damp hair. “Thank you. Thought I’d killed myself that time.”

She grinned. “See, aren’t you glad you let me come along?”

Time to see if his phone really was waterproof. He pulled it from his jeans pocket and dialed up Sparks. There was one more Sheid driver to worry about.

“Yeah, we got it,” he said. “Shujaa gets the honors on this one. Andromeda and I are pretty fried. What’s next?”

“Meet back at Rafael’s Goodwill Barn,” Helo said. “We’ve got to assess the damage. If you come across any other buses, stop them if you can.”

He hung up. “Melody, help me walk.”

She pulled him up, and they moved into the trees. He made a call to Corinth. “We need a ride.”

Black desecration had covered the floor of Rafael’s Goodwill Barn, so they decided to find somewhere else to meet, somewhere with a second floor. Corinth searched real-estate listings until he found a new home for sale in a wooded, rich neighborhood. With a Strength-powered squeeze, Helo crushed the lockbox and retrieved the key, and in an hour the upper floor had become headquarters.

Helo ordered Faramir to heal him so he could walk around without needing support, then both teams gathered around one of Corinth’s monitors to watch the depressing news flow in. Between both teams they had saved seven buses. The Old Masters had saved two more. The bad news: the Missouri River bridge wasn’t the only strike point. Dreads, Shedim, and Ghostpackers had driven buses from all over the city. Twelve buses had gone under, killing hundreds of school children.

Law enforcement was befuddled. Parents were in shock. The whole city was in mourning for what was clearly a coordinated attack, but one that made no sense. The drivers—those they could identify—weren’t terrorists. Many had driven for years, and some even had kids of their own on the buses. It was the deadliest tragedy in the United States since Cain had downed three airliners in his quest for the Vexus needed to embody King.

Corinth ran his hand through his short black hair. “I’ve got to go report this,” he said like he’d rather stick his arm in a wood chipper. Helo leaned against the wall, then slid to the floor, Melody sinking down beside him. Now that he could think, a few pieces started pulling themselves together, something that could help them understand the desecration.

“Can we meditate?” Melody asked.

“Sure.” He could use the clarity of thought.

They faced each other, and she put her hands in his. In a minute or two they were in the meditation, the balls spinning around and around, orbiting opposite each other. It was comfortable and reassuring, his heart and mind settling into a welcome peace, but at the same time a wrongness struck him, the same kind of tantalizing problem the solo meditation had challenged him with.

Would the two rotating spheres be forever separated in their orbits? Could they get any closer to each other or touch?

His eyes snapped open. That was it! That was the question.

Melody’s eyes flickered open, face troubled for a moment, but then, like the dawn, a smile spread across her face. “You know the problem now,” she said.

“I do.”

“About time. Let’s get to work.”

Corinth walked back into the room. It was weird to see him so weighed down, shoulders pitched forward, eyes heavy. “Okay, everybody, the Archai is pretty bummed about what happened, but they’re not blaming us. They’re debating our next move. We’ve got to get back out there and patrol the major roads leading out of Saint Louis. They want to see if the evil parade packs it up and hoofs it off to somewhere else. But we’ve got to figure out this desecration. It’s making operations almost impossible.”

“I’ve got a theory,” Helo said.

“Let’s have it, bro,” Corinth said.

“When we got to the river where the first bus went under, there was Vexus swirling around like it always does at atrocity sites. As soon as the desecration field arrived, the Vexus disappeared into it, like it was absorbed.”

Faramir folded his arms. “Don’t see how that helps us.”

“I’m not done,” Helo said. “When Avadan attacked the camp, I noticed a glow coming from inside his sleeves, and it seemed like the desecration energy was flowing into him when he was transforming the children into Shedim. So—”

“He uses the Vexus to make this desecration field,” Faramir interrupted, and Helo could see the squirrels running wild in his head, “but he can also feed on it, and not only that—”

“It can trap Vexus to use,” Sparks continued. “It’s brilliant, really. Cover cities in a field that makes everyone mental and then collect the Vexus they generate from their violence. Even small amounts here and there would add up.”

“But,” Corinth said, “he wasn’t happy with small amounts today. He created one of the worst atrocities ever. Generated loads of Vexus.”

Helo stood up. “He’s got Legion and Shedim to create as much mayhem and Vexus as he needs to fuel whatever he’s up to. Maybe he’s thinking of cooking up another category-five Sheid to be his personal bodyguard or something. We’ve got to . . .”

The room went silent while they awaited the end of his weighty sentence. Melody stood up beside him. “What?”

“Something Archus Ebenezer said,” he answered.

“Ebenezer said something useful?” Corinth joked.

“Well, not really Ebenezer,” Helo explained. “It was an idea Micah had. It’s called Parity Plus One. Theoretically, the light and dark are evenly matched except the light is always able to prevail in some way—that’s the plus-one part. Avadan has seemingly flipped it to where it’s darkness that has the upper hand. But I don’t think it’s true.”

“We can’t Hallow anything as big as a city,” Faramir said, “so I think maybe it’s true.”

“No,” Helo said, “the point is we don’t know how to Hallow anything as big as a city. The Dreads didn’t either for six thousand years. It’s something Avadan figured out how to do through study and experimentation. The point is, we’re missing a piece of some puzzle.”

“Okay,” Corinth said, tone skeptical, “but what’s it matter when we’ve got to act right now? He’s probably on his way to desecrate and maybe terrorize some other city. I don’t think we have time to put on lab coats and figure this out.”

“For now we do what command says we do,” Helo said. “First job is to figure out where Avadan’s going. Second is to figure out how to stop him. I don’t have a solution, people, just a direction right now that I could use your help thinking about. It might help if we knew what he was trying to get done.”

Andromeda folded her arms. “Easy. Create misery and feed on it.”

“Yeah,” Melody said, “but there’s more to it. He’s theatrical. He gets off on spectacle and drama. He’s like the world’s biggest circus ringmaster. If he’s going to make people miserable, he’s going to do it so they’ll pay attention to him . . . somehow.”

She was onto something. Helo knew Avadan to be crazy, but it was flamboyant crazy with a purpose. Mommy and daddy issues were thrown into the mix too, but would those really influence him after six thousand years? Maybe. But Avadan’s parents had passed on now.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that most people didn’t change much at all, period. According to Aclima, Avadan never felt like Cain thought he was good enough—something Helo could relate to. Avadan felt rejected by his mother, and he had already demonstrated how angry he was about that. Six thousand years and he hadn’t moved on. How did all that baggage influence what he was doing now? It all came down to attention seeking, but as yet the only ones who knew of his “performance” were the Ash Angels, and Helo doubted that was good enough for Avadan.

“Let’s get out there, guys and gals,” Corinth said. “We need to figure out where he’s going next. For now, we have the same game plan. Go after him with everything we’ve got.”

Chapter 33

Detroit

Detroit.

Two days after the bus massacre in Saint Louis, the Dreads, Shedim, and Ghostpackers all headed northeast in an informal caravan. Avadan, of course, was nowhere to be found. Was he going to Detroit, or was he just sending his minions there so the Ash Angels would follow them and leave him free to do whatever he wanted elsewhere?

But Detroit it was. The city hadn’t recovered from the economic wreckage of the market crash of the early 2000s and was a perfect place for Avadan to do his work. Few places in the United States were as ripe for violence and terror. Sicarius Nox followed Corinth’s team through a completely abandoned neighborhood late in the afternoon. A brief rain storm had moved out, the air now thick with humidity.

To Helo, it felt like they’d driven into a creepy postapocalyptic movie. Vegetation choked everything, the new spring growth veiling the dumpy brick-and-shingle houses it surrounded. Grass and weeds ran wild in yards, in landscaping beds, in cracks in the sidewalks. They had their pick of where to congregate, and Avadan’s forces had plenty of places to hide until Avadan called them out of the shadows.

The time spent waiting around had provided Helo and Melody ample opportunities to try to solve the meditation problem—to no avail. If he tried to speed up the orbit of his sphere to catch hers, her sphere sped up. If she slowed hers down to let him catch up, his slowed down. And vice versa. It didn’t seem like they both could exert their will on their own sphere at the same time. It was maddening, but Melody seemed happier than ever, always a bright star in the gloomy sky that was Sicarius Nox. Only Sparks rivaled her happiness on the morning Helo gifted him with Angel Fire, Melody doing the same for Shujaa.

At the moment, Melody was clandestinely loading up the hood of Faramir’s hoodie—which was draped over the seat in front of her—with bullets. Andromeda had convinced Melody to do a wardrobe switch from athletic to more inner-city grunge, so now she had jeans with fashionable tears on the thighs and a black sweater, also with a few strategic tears. Andromeda went full punk, morphing her hair short and spiky and adding a few metallic accessories to her ears and nose. Faramir got the hoodie, but nobody else on the team felt like bothering with a new wardrobe. Helo wished Shujaa would change. He looked like a preacher minus the white collar tab.

“Angel Born,” Shujaa said, “are you sure it is wise to invite the Old Masters? They do not have the loyalties we do.”

“Magdelene trusts them,” Helo said, “and I do too. I spent some time with them, and they are good people who want the same thing we do. They just go about it a different way.”

“We’re here,” Finny said. “Looks like Corinth and a few Old Masters beat us.”

Their chosen meeting place was a two-story home with wide white siding. It had probably been built thirty years ago and had a simple A-frame roofline, black shutters, and a concrete driveway warped by the roots of a soaring bur oak that hid most of the front of the house.

Corinth’s ten-person team had arrived in three cars. The rest of the vehicles—an assortment of motorcycles and discolored and dented compact cars—belonged to the Old Masters. Helo made a mental note to spread the cars out. If the cops showed up and saw a used-car parking lot around one building in an abandoned neighborhood, he was sure there would be trouble.

Inside, the home was a dusty, musty wreck with discolored walls, peeling linoleum, and stained brown carpet. A few pieces of furniture remained, but the Ash Angels in attendance stood against the walls talking in low tones, the Old Masters and the members of the AAO in their own separate cliques.

A pair of Old Masters looked familiar, and it took Helo a moment to remember who they were. They were Oakes and Lotus, a pair of female Old Masters who had come through Arizona and visited Dolorem at the Redemption Motorcycle Club. They were motorcycle riders and just as good with the machines as Dolorem had been. They had the do-rags and leather and were morphed to looked stout. Helo walked over to them.

“Hey, I remember you,” he said, shaking Oakes’s hand. She was the master, Lotus the apprentice.

“Looks like you went back to the machine,” she said, meaning the AAO.

“It’s been a bumpy ride but not a boring one,” he said. “I’ll tell you about it sometime. What are you seeing out there?”

Oakes folded her arms. She had morphed to middle-age, as was the custom for Old Masters with an apprentice. Her light-brown hair was streaked with gray, her brown eyes a century deep.

“Honestly, we’ve had way fewer problems with Dreads and Possessed than usual. We thought things were getting better until Magdelene called—and then that thing in Saint Louis. I’m still not sure I believe this black-desecration thing, but honestly, I’m more interested in seeing Micah’s book. That’s like scripture to Old Masters. And she said you’re Angel Born?”

“Yeah,” he said, “and Melody. Melody, this is Oakes, and this is her apprentice, Lotus.”

“Nice to meet you,” Melody said, face practically beaming.

“So, what are we doing in Detroit?” Oakes asked.

“We’re trying to keep what happened in Saint Louis from happening here. We need your help. We couldn’t stop half of the buses in Saint Louis from going into the water. You’ve got to understand that Avadan has absolute control over all creatures of evil. He tends to park them while they’re not in use, which is why the Dreads haven’t been giving you much trouble.”

“You know that fighting isn’t our way of life,” Oakes said, looking at Lotus as if to remind her of this fact. “But if we can prevent another Saint Louis here in Detroit, we are with you.”

“Thank you,” Helo said.

Helo signaled to Corinth, who joined him. Then he whistled for silence. The room came to order, and for the benefit of the Old Masters, he talked about what had happened in Kansas City and Saint Louis, about the discovery of Micah’s book, and about the insanity and cruelty of the Loremaster Avadan. He got nervous glances and stunned silence from the lot of them.

“So what do you want to do?” Oakes asked.

“Set up patrols,” Helo said. “We need to know the minute the desecration starts to spread so we can track Avadan down. We have sanctified weapons, and we will attack him as a mob. If the location permits, we will have others at a distance distracting him with gunfire.”

One of the Old Masters’ apprentices, a dark-haired young man, said, “Can anything evil be so powerful?”

“I didn’t exaggerate when I told you about Avadan,” Helo said. “I’m warning you that he can torch with such power it almost took me down, and I am an Angel Born Unascended.”

Every Old Master in the room stiffened. Oakes’s eyes narrowed. “You’re Unascended?”

“Yeah. Now—”

“Magdelene didn’t say anything about that,” Oakes said. “Can you prove it?”

“We don’t have time for that,” Helo said. “We’ve got to—”

“He is Unascended,” Melody cut in.

“It is true,” Shujaa added in his usual reverential tone.

Helo took in the shocked faces in the room. Was he going to get through this briefing or what? “Okay, people, now that we’ve established . . .” His voice trailed off as every Old Master in the room knelt and drew a knife from a boot, belt, or coat. “What are you doing?”

They extended the hilts toward him.

“We ask a blessing upon our blades,” Oakes said, “and they are yours to command until you are taken home again.”

Sicarius Nox and the rest of the AAO operatives glanced at each other.

Sparks rolled his eyes. “Just great. Here’s the rest of your congregation, Shujaa.”

“Get up,” Helo said. “I . . . I will Bless the blades, but I’m not going to force you to act under my command.”

They stood, and he Blessed the blades of Oakes and Lotus first. “Now,” he continued, walking from Old Master to Old Master and Blessing their blades, “Corinth is going to set up the patrol grids. We have no idea what Avadan’s going to pull, so planning in advance isn’t possible. We’ll have to react as the situation unfolds. For those of you who choose to participate, we’ll need to exchange contact information so we can communicate effectively.”

One Old Master raised her hand. “My apprentice is new just this year. Unless you command it, Unascended, I would ask that we not be involved in this mission.”

Helo raised his hands. “Like I said, I’m not ordering anyone to do this. If sitting this out is what you think is best, then do it. That goes for any of you.”

“Thank you, Unascended,” she said with a nod. Then she and her apprentice left the house. The rest of the Old Masters had pulled out their cell phones. “All right, people, let’s get to work.”

Rapture. He and Melody basked in the powerful radiance as long as they could, the meditative scene washed away in the pure-white brilliance. When his vision faded, Melody’s green eyes met his, pure and inviting, and soft, for some reason. They had chosen to meditate in the basement of the house before they headed out on their separate patrols.

“We’ve got to figure this out,” she said.

“What?”

“The answer to the problem. How to get the two spheres to connect.”

He stood and pulled her up. “We’ll get there.”

She sighed and looked to the sky like a teacher exasperated by a slow student. “I want the answer now. I just can’t seem to wrap my head around it.”

“Melody, we will get it,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “But we’ve got a lot going on, you know.”

She dropped her hands to her hips. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said with a teasing grin. “Always busy.”

It was the fourth morning since they had met with the Old Masters, and still Avadan had done nothing. The Dreads, Shedim, and Ghostpackers had infiltrated the city, but they just aimlessly milled about or stayed indoors. The patrols took out what evil they could. Avadan’s apparent delay afforded them the extra time they needed to get more eyes in the area—two more sets of Old Masters and two patrols of six Michaels each. The Old Masters insisted on going out in pairs, each master with an apprentice, but Ash Angels from the AAO went singly to get more coverage on the city. Everyone got a four-hour break at the house, he and Melody choosing the same shift so they could meditate together in the mornings.

Helo squeezed Melody’s shoulders, feeling a stab of guilt. He had been busy, and he hadn’t had a lot of time for her outside of their daily meditations. And it wasn’t because he didn’t want time with her. He did. She was unfailingly alive and warm, and he found it addicting.

“Look, Melody, to make it up to you, I’ll help you play your daily prank. What’s it going to be today? Covering Sparks’s motorcycle seat in two-year-old hot sauce was probably going a bit too far.”

“You can’t prove I did that,” she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “How about this? We each get to ask one question of the other person, and they have to answer it honestly no matter what.”

He had to think about that. This sounded suspiciously like one of those traps women liked to throw men into to get them to reveal their feelings. Was there really anything he didn’t want her to know? He really couldn’t think of anything, but there was something he wanted to know about her.

“Okay,” he said. “You first.”

Since she was the one who had suggested the activity, he expected that she would have a question at the ready, but she thought about it for a good while, or at least made a good show of it. When she did ask it, he was surprised.

“For you, what’s the best part of being in love with someone?”

Now it was his turn to think. His relationships all spun around in his head, including his one steady girlfriend in high school, which had lasted all of two months. He’d dated two women while in the military, though he wasn’t sure he would even call that love anymore. Then there was Terissa, who he thought would be the love of his life. As an Ash Angel he had tried jump-starting Aclima’s heart with little return.

But surveying his past brought a realization. What he wanted from love had changed from when he was a young man, and even from where he began as an Ash Angel. But he had largely shoved love aside while they fought against Avadan, something he knew bothered the ever-patient Melody, who never missed an opportunity to let him know how she felt.

“Tough question, huh?” she said, smiling.

He nodded and looked away for a moment before answering. “I’m sorry, Melody. I just . . . well, love’s not been easy on me. I guess the idea of someone being there for me and me being there for them is what it’s all about. Maybe it’s a Marine thing, but knowing someone’s got your back—I mean really has got your back—well, it takes the fear out of just about everything. Not what you were looking for, I bet.”

“There are no wrong answers,” she said brightly. Everything about her was so bright. “What you said is beautiful. And I don’t mean to get all up in your business, but if what you said is true, then I can see why Terissa’s betrayal hurt you so bad.”

He scratched his head. “Yeah. Your turn.”

“Ask away,” she said.

“What do you see when you get torched?”

Her face fell a couple of notches, and he immediately felt bad for asking. “Sorry. That’s really personal. I’ll come up with another one.”

“No, no,” she said. “That’s how this works. All questions are fair.” She sighed. “I see you with her. You choosing her over me. You kissing her. You making love to her. Sometimes Aclima, too. It’s stupid, I know, but I see that stuff in my head sometimes even when I’m not being torched. You must think I’m an obsessed nut job, but like I said, I’ve had it in my head that you were mine from the time I was a little girl. From what you’ve told me, when you get torched, what you lost makes you feel like you’re not good enough. When I get torched, it’s what I don’t have that makes me feel that way.”

He reached out and touched her cheek, and she grabbed his hand and pressed it against her skin. He hoped he could let her in someday, hoped he could get beyond the darkness that always set his mind and heart to war. If anyone could pull him out if it, she could. He wasn’t sure if he was more afraid of failing to meet her expectations or of opening up and risking losing her.

“Be patient with me,” he said.

She kissed him lightly. “Be faster. Come on. It’s time for another lonely day out on the mean streets of Detroit.”

They went outside to find an overcast morning, bands of gray clouds stretching across the horizon. The Old Masters had loaned them two motorcycles, and considering who her father was, it wasn’t any surprise that Melody could handle a Harley with the same ease she could handle a guitar. And she looked way better in the leather than Dolorem ever did.

“See you tomorrow morning,” she said and then powered away to her patrol area downtown where the concentration of evil creatures was greater. Blanks got the “hot routes,” his just east of hers. He didn’t like sending her out there on her own, but he bit back the instinct to keep her out of harm’s way.

He was lifting his helmet to put it on when Oakes and Lotus drove up in a junky old car they had borrowed. A Ghostpacker was lying in the back seat, a slice of the evil spirit sticking up in the rear window. The Old Masters got out.

Oakes pulled her hair behind her head and secured it with a scrunchie. “We were hoping we could catch you. We snatched one of Legion’s victims. We know the Ash Angel Organization hasn’t had any luck exorcising the thing, and we haven’t either. But there is something you probably haven’t tried. It’s an Old Master technique, but I will share it with an Unascended.”

They opened the back and pulled out an unconscious black female. She was young, scrawny, and wearing a short black skirt and black shirt that showed her midriff. Her hair was short, makeup heavily applied.

“Where’d you find her?”

“Wandering the streets,” Oakes said. “Let’s get her inside.”

Helo grabbed her legs. “And what did you do to her?”

Oakes produced a syringe from her coat. “A little night-night juice, as we call it. Much better than punching them until they can’t see straight.”

Helo made a note to get the recipe for the night-night juice. The AAO seemed to favor a good beating over drugging. Perhaps the AAO had its reasons, but drugging seemed a little kinder. He and Oakes hefted the woman to the basement, where he and Melody had meditated together. After laying her out on the carpet, Oakes signaled for Lotus to come over. Together they put their hands on the unconscious woman, Oakes on the head, Lotus on the arm.

“Put one hand on the Possessed, Helo,” Oakes instructed. “We’ll do this together if we can.”

“Hold on,” Helo said. “You mean you can team Exorcise someone?”

“Yes,” she said. “It takes a little practice, and it’s usually not necessary. But with Legion, I don’t think there’s another way. Lotus and I have tried . . . and it isn’t pretty. We are hoping that with an Unascended, it might work.”

Helo shook his head. “I tried earlier. Legion kicked my ass.”

Oakes nodded. “Together, then. Let’s see what we can do. Lotus will take my hand. You take hers. We must all be connected to each other and to the Possessed. Inside the exorcism, our minds will be open to each other. The trick is to focus on Legion, not on each other. Don’t let Legion turn you inward. Got it?”

“I think so,” he said, taking Lotus by the hand and taking the Possessed’s hand with the other. “Let’s go.”

Oakes looked at Lotus. “Follow my lead. When I begin to Exorcise, the two of you join in.”

Virtus flowed from Oakes, then Lotus. Helo closed his eyes and Exorcised. Immediately, the crushing weight of Legion was dumped onto his soul like an Abrams tank, its malice and multitude of whispering voices close in his head. He could sense Oakes and Lotus inside his mind like they were some kind of phantoms. But with that sense came an impression of who they were, what they were like. Oakes was disciplined and dedicated, a true believer who took satisfaction in the life she lived. Lotus was younger, more adventurous and ambitious, and someone who craved an afterlife a little outside the lines.

“Helo has returned,” Legion mocked. “Are you ready now to receive your name, Unascended? Ready to learn what you really are?”

That scene from Christmas exploded back into his vision, right where it left off. His sense of Oakes and Lotus vanished. He had to get out of his own mind! It should be easy; he didn’t want to relive what Legion wanted to show him. He fought back, trying to find Oakes and Lotus again, shoving away the weight Legion brought to his mind. It was like trying to bench-press a hundred pounds too much, the bar dropping toward his neck.

Then he was out, back in the basement. Lotus had pulled his hand away from the woman.

“Have you ever Exorcised anyone?” Oakes said, face concerned.

“No,” he said. “My first try was Legion.”

Oakes stood and nodded like she understood. “You need practice. The mind is like a fortress, and the walls around yours still have some broken places where the enemy can get in. Exorcism is a great way to find those places so you can shore them up, but Legion’s a bit too strong of an enemy to cut your teeth on. We’ll see if we can find another one and get you up to speed.”

He felt a bit slow and weak but was grateful Oakes didn’t seem too disappointed. With the way they were all kneeling and offering him his service, he felt like he had some huge reputation he had to live up to.

“Thanks,” he said. “And thanks for showing me that technique. I’d better get out on my patrol. See you tomorrow.”

As he walked up the stairs, Corinth called.

“Talk to me,” Helo said.

“Avadan’s show is starting. The Dreads and Ghostpackers are on the move.”

Helo picked up the pace, heading outside toward his motorcycle. “What is it this time? More buses?”

“No. Hospitals.”

Chapter 34

Cowboys

Helo’s phone blew up for the next two minutes with reports. Possessed and Dreads were loosely congregating around hospitals, some armed with pistols, knives, and bats. No Sheid sightings so far, but at least three hospitals had been targeted. Avadan continued his awful pattern: pick on the helpless. Compared to Avadan, Cain seemed to have some scruples.

Detroit’s day of pain had started. But they had a fighting chance this time. He and Corinth farmed Ash Angels out to the three locations to deal with the threat, but if this was anything like Saint Louis, Helo knew what would come next and that it would come soon. He needed to be in the middle of it, and after all the assignments had been distributed between the teams, he hopped on his motorcycle and burned down the street.

Sure enough, he hadn’t even left the neighborhood when Melody called it in: the desecration was spreading from somewhere near the Motor City Casino. He pulled Sicarius Nox and one of the Michael teams off hospital duty: the hunt for Avadan was on. After a warning to everyone else to get in a car or on a second floor, he zoomed away toward the south side of Detroit where Melody patrolled.

Again the morning traffic confounded him. Was Avadan choosing rush hour on purpose? And why the mornings? Dodging cars and slipping down the shoulder kept his thoughts occupied, especially as he drove into the spreading desecration field. It was like walking off a concrete sidewalk into sand. It took a minute to adjust.

He found Melody in a parking lot next the Motor City Casino complex and pulled in next to her. The main structure was a mixture of glass, stone, and brick, the roof a big, swooping dome, parking garages and parking lots clustered around it. Thankfully, not many people wandered nearby streets and sidewalks.

“Where did you first see it?” he asked after killing his engine.

“Somewhere over there,” she said, pointing north.

He got behind her on her bike. “We’ll find him by the feel. Let me call the teams.” She nodded and put her visor down. He sent tracking information to Sicarius Nox and the Michael team and then wrapped his arms around Melody’s waist. “Let’s go.”

She accelerated into the street with the same easy command of the machine as her father, navigating the traffic and the road like she had spent her life there. Helo closed his eyes, blocking out the noise of the engine, the rush of the wind, the hum of city traffic. He extended his senses. Avadan was out there somewhere pushing his black carpet out over the city, waiting for the desecration to absorb the Vexus from the hospital attacks to make him even more powerful.

After about five minutes of riding around, Helo felt the poison of hopelessness brush against his heart, just a hint of it. The feeling wafted in and out of his heart like a fickle breeze until Melody pulled onto Perry Street. Then it hit him like a gale. A redbrick parking garage rose to their right, and Helo directed her inside. They drove around the first level and then went up a ramp to the second. And that’s where they found him—and four Shedim.

Avadan’s choice of vehicle surprised him: a jacked-up Dodge Ram pickup. It was electric blue with fog lights, knobby tires, and a lift kit that set the running board almost two feet off the ground. He had pulled the truck backward into a stall—probably for a quick getaway—but the desecration flowed out of the truck, spilling down the parking-garage levels and out into the street. Two Shedim dressed like cowboys, with hats, boots, and flannel, leaned against the front of the truck. Avadan and two other Shedim sat inside the extended crew cab.

Helo directed Melody to park in a stall about fifty feet away to put them out of sight behind a Cadillac Escalade. Avadan and his Sheid crew eyed them but made no move. Being a Blank had its advantages. Helo knew they had to wait for the rest of the team to even have a shot, but he had to get them and their conspicuous auras in without tipping off Avadan that he was about to get ambushed.

He and Melody got off the motorcycle and hung their helmets on the handlebars. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her in—just a young couple out for a day at the casino at a ridiculous hour. She played the part like a true Gabriel, laughing like he’d told her some hilarious joke and kissing him on the cheek.

He led her out of sight of the Shedim, behind a wall, and stopped. She kept up the affectionate show while he dialed in Sicarius Nox and the Michael team and gave them the information. The play was simple: Sicarius Nox would use the Ford Expedition kamikaze style to disable Avadan’s truck, and then everyone would unload with all the bullets, Bestowals, and sanctified weapons they had.

A thrill started to build within him. Finally, finally, they had a chance to drop the hammer on Avadan. They had him cornered. They had his hospital attack covered. They had the manpower ready to go. It felt good.

“Hey,” Melody said in a sultry voice, “you didn’t sneak me out of my parents’ house to this Casino just to stand around in the parking garage. You ready to roll the dice, hotshot?”

She really would have been great as a Gabriel. Cassandra would have loved her. He had a hard time with the acting bit, but he’d give it a go. He grabbed her hips, and she put her arms around his neck. “The last time I snuck you in somewhere I rolled snake eyes. Remember that amusement park?”

“We got interrupted,” she said, kissing him and putting her forehead on his. “I think things might be a little different this time. But,” she said, pulling away a little as a car drove by, “I don’t think I want to be a parking-garage sideshow. We should really get inside.”

“Just waiting for my friends to show up,” he said.

She leaned in close and whispered, “I think we’d have more fun by ourselves, but if you want to be with your friends . . .”

Helo chuckled quietly. “You should have been an actress,” he whispered.

She kissed him slow. “Who’s acting?”

What had he ever done to deserve her? He wanted to believe it. It was there in her eyes as bright as gold and as real as her body beneath his hands. But how could he trust her love when he didn’t feel like he’d earned it? It would be like someone knocking on his door and telling him he’d won a lottery he hadn’t bought a ticket for.

“Why do you doubt it?” she asked, running a finger down his cheek.

And she could read him like a book. “It’s not that—”

A call from Sparks saved him from having to answer a question he didn’t have an answer for. “We’re outside the parking garage entrance and ready to unleash heaven on this guy. Michaels are right behind us.”

“Second level,” Helo said. Turn right at the end of the ramp and floor it. You’ll see it. Hard to miss.”

He hung up and rubbed Melody’s cheek with his thumb. “Are you ready for this?”

“I’ve been ready forever,” she said, though he didn’t think they were talking about the same thing. “I’ll be right beside you. You ready to show them who the real cowboy is?”

He could hear the engine revving, tires squealing. He let her go. “Faramir tell you that?”

“Yep. I’ll do the Hallowing. You do the rest.”

The red Expedition roared up the ramp and around the corner, and Finny gunned it. The engine growled as it whipped past, the Michael team right behind it in an old Chrysler Town and Country minivan. Helo waited until the awful crunching sound of SUV on truck before exploding out from behind the wall.

Then a supernatural pyrotechnic show worthy of the Fourth of July went off, the evil and divine slinging everything they had at each other. Red torches. Blasts of Glorious Presence. Angel Fire. Sheid Fire. Gun Fire. The glow of sanctified weapons. The radiant pool of Melody’s hallow. It was beautiful and chaotic. The Expedition had ruined the front of Avadan’s truck, caving in the driver-side corner, tilting the whole truck up and angling the big tires at a forty-five-degree angle.

Andromeda and Sparks bolted out of the Expedition first, Finny and Shujaa blasting away at Avadan through the windshield, dismantling the truck from the top down with a shredding volley of hot lead. The Michaels piled out of the van and kept up the pressure, blasting at the Shedim. One Sheid went down after a swipe from Andromeda’s sanctified knife. Helo dove into the fray and took out another Sheid with a punch to its gut.

This was going to work. Avadan’s minions were overwhelmed.

Then Avadan ruined it. He shot through the roof of the truck and let loose with what Helo feared the most: the black torch. It hit Helo like a brick wall made of his worst memories. He fought it off. He could not fail now.

Opening his eyes brought nothing but bleak news. Every Ash Angel except for him and Melody had slumped to the ground or were doubled over in agony. The hallow was down, and Melody was up but stumbling around like a drunk.

Avadan hopped to the ground, the two remaining Shedim forming up beside him. The wacko was dressed like a Nebraska farm boy with a handsome face, wheat-colored hair, and a youthful look in his blue eyes. Helo half expected to see a shaft of wheat sticking out of his teeth. Avadan’s black aura and evil spirit turned his good looks into a horror show. The Loremaster smiled like seeing Helo was the best thing that had happened to him all day.

Helo pulled Melody back. He remembered something Cassandra had taught him: Glorious Presence could help people recover from a torching blast. He needed to get everyone back up. He strobed Glorious Presence like he was the light show at a concert.

The boyish Avadan winced a little, like he had just walked from a dark room into sunshine, and the Shedim slowed. It was working. Sparks was on one knee. Shujaa opened the door to the Expedition. A couple of the Michaels had crouched down and were gathering their weapons from the asphalt. Helo reached behind his back, grasping the hilt of the sanctified dagger under his coat.

Then Avadan did it again. The black torch hit like a wrecking ball this time. And there Helo was, he and his brother by the stair rail looking down at their drunk father with his hand raised, his dog tags dangling on top of his white undershirt. His mother down on her butt, blouse torn, cheek already red. Her hand was raised to fend off another blow.

No. He couldn’t stay in the memory. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to. His eyes snapped open. Cowboy Avadan had his hand in Helo’s chest, pouring Vexus into his body. Helo felt unsteady, knees weak. He backed up a little, and Avadan yanked his heart out with a slurp. Helo dropped to a knee. One of the Shedim Sped forward and drilled him with a rib-snapping kick before he could even get Toughness up. He tumbled backward twenty feet, getting to know every inch of the asphalt as he went.

He got to his left elbow. His other arm looked like it had fought with an angry sledgehammer and lost. Everybody was down again. The Sheid had formed a war hammer from Vexus and was darting around pounding and de-forming sanctified weapons, their glow fading away.

Avadan examined Helo’s heart. “Not as big as I thought it would be.” He tipped his hat. “Been a pleasure, Helo,” he said with an aww-shucks country accent. “Look forward to seeing you at my first rodeo.”

And with that, Avadan and the Shedim Sped off into the parking garage. Helo ground his teeth, every swear word he’d perfected in the Marines running through his head. This couldn’t be it. Helo got up, finding his knee a bit wobbly. Avadan couldn’t get away! They might never get a better chance. But it was pointless. The Loremaster was gone, the shroud of hopelessness with him. He called a strained sounding Corinth to tell him Avadan’s last position and to keep an eye out, but Helo had a new job: get a whole crew out of the parking garage before the cops showed up.

He strobed Glorious Presence, which got some of them up, and then he used Inspire on the others. The gaping wound in his chest ached, and using the Bestowals was even harder than the black desecration had made it. He felt tired. He Hallowed the ground so Sparks could heal him, but his wounds wouldn’t close. Dark poison again. He couldn’t worry about it now. They had to get out.

Sicarius Nox crammed into the van with the Michaels. He and Melody got on the motorcycle. Melody was still a bit wobbly, but he couldn’t drive. He wrapped his good arm around her waist, and they raced out of there, cop cars whipping past as they drove away. Once they could no longer hear sirens, Melody pulled into a park and killed the motorcycle. They took off their helmets, and he grabbed his phone. He had to find out what was happening at the hospitals.

Melody grabbed his wrist. “Why didn’t the healing work?”

“Dark poison,” he said. “He didn’t want me healed. He got my heart.”

Melody’s hand went to her mouth. “No!”

“It’ll be okay, Melody,” he said. “It’ll be fine.”

“It’s not fine!” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “It will not be fine! He will kill you! This can’t happen. Won’t happen. We’re going to find Avadan. We’re going to destroy him. We’ll get your heart back right now.”

She went to put on her helmet, but he pulled it away from her. “No, Melody. We’ve got to—”

“Let go!” she said, yanking it back.

“Melody!” he said, “we’re not going to find him. Even if we do, what are we going to do? He just took out two teams of Ash Angels and the two of us like it was nothing.”

“Then I will give him my heart,” she said with barely controlled fury. “We can face him together.”

“We’re not doing that, Melody, and you know it.” He put his palm on her cheek. “We might be able to save people at those hospitals. Let’s make a difference where we can. If I don’t have much time left, that’s how I want to spend it.”

Her face was twisted in a mixture of sadness and fury. He grabbed her and pulled her close. “It’s going to work out, Melody, one way or another. Let’s go do some good, okay?”

She pulled away and wiped her eyes. “I hate this. I hate it!” She turned toward the park, and Helo pulled out his phone. Corinth sounded more relaxed than the last time he had called.

“Hey, Helo,” he said. “Sorry about Avadan. Good news. We mopped up the hospitals pretty quick. We smashed them pretty hard, and then they all ran for it. We’ve got a couple Ash Angels in police custody, but we’re working it. Let’s get back to the house and see what command wants to do.”

“Got it. See you shortly.” He hung up. At least some good had come from their plan.

Melody, pale and drawn, only nodded as he relayed Corinth’s news and instructions to her. She might have heard him, but her gaze seemed to be a thousand miles away. Silently she put on her helmet, and together they drove back into traffic.

As they passed through the corridors of the city, his thoughts didn’t turn to Avadan and whatever tortures the Dread Loremaster probably had in store for him. All he could think about was Melody in a dangerous world without him, about not knowing where she would be or who she would be with. She would be miserable, and there was nothing he could do about it.

And those thoughts punched a gaping hole in his soul to match the one in his chest. It burned. Being apart from her was wrong, powerfully wrong. Wherever his heart was, it was heavy. It was hours until the dawn would tear them apart, and he missed her already. By the time they arrived at the house, he figured he probably looked as pale and drawn as Melody. When they went inside, she held his hand fiercely, as if clenching it would keep him there when the dawn came.

When everyone had arrived and all the wounds but his were healed, Corinth tried to put a positive spin on what had happened, tried to turn it into a victory, but Helo felt like everyone was staring at his chest and the aura of poison around him. They knew what it meant. Helo had been Avadan’s prisoner before, but this was different. Avadan was fully in control now. He held the reins to all things evil, possessed unimaginable power. What he didn’t have was Melody, and Helo would do whatever he could to keep it that way.

After the debrief, he and Corinth spent time on the phone with the Archai, speculating on what Avadan would do next. Desecrate another city? Attack the Foundry? None of the above? Helo couldn’t focus. Through the window of the living room where they held the conference, he watched Melody sitting restlessly on her motorcycle, which was parked by the curb. What could he say to her? Even from a distance she exuded a kind of agitated sorrow. She was fidgety and frustrated.

The meeting ended without any firm plan, the Archai wanting to debate it more. Helo promised he would do what he could to fight Avadan and let them know where he was, but no one sounded too optimistic about his chances.

Corinth laid a man hug on him. “You’d better go take care of that young lady out there, bro. She’s going to eat that motorcycle if you leave her out there much longer.”

“Got it,” he said.

He was headed for the front door, but Shujaa intercepted him, coming up from the basement, where Sicarius Nox had set up camp. He handed him a fresh white T-shirt. “Angel Born,” he said, his brown eyes fervent, “this is not a setback. This was ordained to happen to bring about the purposes of light. You need not fear. Help and protection will be put in your path. Grace will attend you.”

Helo hoped so. Hadn’t he always escaped? Why did this time feel like such a funeral? “Thanks. Look, I need you to do something. When I’m not here, I need you to look after Melody, okay? She’s a good fighter, but she might take risks she shouldn’t, especially where it concerns me.”

“Yes,” Shujaa said. “She loves you.”

Strange as it was, to hear Shujaa say it in his matter-of-fact, deep voice hit Helo like a mortar shell. She did love him. It still made no sense. He still didn’t deserve it. But he couldn’t escape it. He could wall it off. Back away. Wait for a better time. But he no longer wanted to.

“Thanks for the shirt.” Shujaa helped him as he peeled off his jacket and replaced the holey shirt with the fresh one and then replaced the jacket to hide his mangled arm. Much better. He slapped Shujaa’s shoulder. “Thank you, my friend.”

Shujaa smiled. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“Give it to me, Angel Born.”

He handed it to him. “Good. Now go. Be with her.”

“I need to talk to Sparks,” he said. “He’s in—”

“—charge,” Shujaa said. “He knows. Now go before I throw you out the door!”

Helo left, navigating the patchy, broken walk. Melody stood and grabbed her helmet, then tossed him his. “We’re getting out of here,” she said.

“Where to?”

“You’ll see. Hop on. I’m driving.”

She went to swing her leg over the bike, but he pulled her back and patted her down until he found her phone in her jacket pocket. He tossed it as gingerly as he could into an overgrown bush by the chain-link fence running along the property line.

“I should have thought of that,” she said. “You already get rid of yours, or do I need to give you the TSA treatment to find it?”

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“I wasn’t complaining.”

“It’s gone. Let’s go.”

Chapter 35

Unity

By the time Helo downed his second jalapeño double-bacon cheeseburger, double order of large fries, and extra-large mango shake, the couple sitting to their left was starting to stare. They probably thought he and Melody were trying for some sort of gluttony world record. Melody was right up there with him, though she got the cheese fries and had eaten two triple burgers with a strawberry shake.

After they ordered two enormous banana splits, the couple shook their heads and left. They’d been eating for half an hour, Melody relaxing as the comfort food did its work. Her eyes were still tight, but Helo appreciated the effort she was making. This was for him. She wanted it to be special, a date, even.

“You know,” Melody said, “it took me a good three months as an Ash Angel to realize I could eat whatever I wanted. Dolorem’s terrible food choices while I was growing up finally made sense. Pretty smart of him to fake having a heart attack when he left me. It fit his habits.”

“My mom thought eating out was the devil’s plot to destroy the family and our health,” Helo said. “If we ever ate out, it was like we had won the lottery or done something bad and gotten away with it. Anyway, I’m glad you like this stuff. Terissa thought it was white trash to eat at places like this.”

Melody downed a big helping of ice cream. “Sounds like she was a snob.”

Helo laughed. “She wanted to be upper class, that’s for sure. Still can’t figure out why she married me.”

Melody put her spoon down and took his one good hand. His other lay conspicuously in his lap. “That’s the only smart thing she did. Can we not talk about the Wicked Witch of the West right now?”

“Melody . . .”

“Well, she is,” Melody said, letting go of his hand and picking up her spoon. “Anyway, is this what a typical first date with Trace Evans would have looked like?”

“Pretty much,” he said. “Not very original, I know, but if it didn’t work out with the girl, then at least I got to eat what I liked. You date much? I know you were on the road a lot.”

“No,” she said, spreading the whipped cream around until it evenly covered the ice cream. “My dad made me go to the prom with this kid named Robbie from our home-school group. Just for the experience, you know? Even then I felt like I was cheating on you or something.”

“That is messed up,” he said. “How could you even have known that I was a real person?”

“I just knew,” she said, pointing her fork at him. “I knew I would be with you . . .” She swallowed hard and blinked, face flushing, and wiped her eyes before a tear could escape.

He took her hand and squeezed it. “You’re with me, right here, right now.” She nodded, and he couldn’t help but think about how Cassandra and Dolorem had told him how not awakening her had delayed some celestial timetable. What was supposed to happen that was so important? Had he screwed something up?

“Look,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t awaken you. I can see that it was a mistake now. I should have trained you. I should have been with you this whole time. I . . . I wanted to awaken you into a world without Avadan and black desecrations and, well, all of this mess.”

“I know,” she said. “You want to protect people. I love that about you, even if you overdo it. You know, your name was the first one I said after Goliath awakened me. I didn’t even care about the Ash Angel back-from-the-dead stuff. I was angry you weren’t there for maybe a month. Well, two. Goliath told me about your attempts to save Aclima. Total jealousy. But after what I saw with you and her at the river . . . well, it was beautiful. That’s when I really saw the man I had dreamed about for so long. That’s when I knew.”

“Knew what?” he asked.

“That what I had felt for you was real,” she said with a sad smile. Her voice cracked a little. “And now Avadan will take you away from me. I will search until I find you. I promise. I won’t have anyone else. If you’re gone, I will go down to the river myself so I can be with you on the other side.”

“Melody . . .”

“I’m serious,” she said, green eyes driving home the point. “I have loved being with you. And I won’t have it any other way. Not anymore.”

After that she attacked her banana split with urgency. He picked at his, thoughts wandering from Melody to his impending heart travel into danger. Maybe Shujaa was right. Maybe there was a reason—a divine purpose—that Avadan had taken his heart. He had no idea what heaven, the universe, or fate had ordained to happen, but he would just do what he had his entire life: make the best of it.

“Let’s get out of here,” Melody said. “We’ve got six months of being with each other that we’ve missed out on. Let’s go and do everything.”

He knew what she was doing—distracting herself from the inevitability of what was going to happen. But he didn’t have anything better to do. Sitting around regretting the past wouldn’t help anything.

The entire day, they did what Melody had suggested. They spent most of the daylight hours at the Waterloo State Recreation Area riding horses around lakes and through the vibrant greens of spring. She told him how Dolorem made a habit of stopping at all the state parks they could make time for, though she had never been to that one. After that, they ate out again—barbecue this time. She really was his kind of girl when it came to food.

Then they morphed into old people and caught a gory horror film. He’d taken her for the romcom kind of person, but it turned out she liked watching people get killed by the vengeful dead—which struck a little close to home. Watching her, a granny in bike leather on the edge of her seat, eyes wide, hand clawing his thigh had him laughing when he should have been disgusted.

Then he got to choose a movie, but all that was left was an animated kids show about a dolphin princess with a controlling dad who thought she should stay in the kingdom when all she wanted to do was explore . . . blah, blah, blah. To honor Dolorem, they both bought jumbo buckets of popcorn, jumbo drinks, and a package of Red Vines.

“The old people can really put it away,” one of the clerks said as they walked off. And put it away they did. Once the movie was over, they availed themselves of the theater’s bowling alley, which was a bit tricky for Helo with only one good arm. She was good at that, too, which didn’t surprise him: Dolorem was a bowling kind of guy. After a few rounds of tossing heavy balls that would have destroyed the backs of actual geriatric players, the movie theater closed.

One a.m.

They morphed back to their regular selves, and he realized the morphs now came much quicker to him than they usually did. Melody drove around the city for a while, and he put his arm around her and enjoyed her closeness. After about an hour, they gassed up the motorcycle and headed south. She pulled into the Willow Metropark Golf Course, and they sneaked out onto the wide expanses of grass. He let her lead, and they walked for a good mile before she found a putting green and lay down flat on her back. He settled in next to her and took her hand.

The gloomy clouds that had dimmed the entire day had only broken up a little, their movement allowing little windows of stars to slide across the sky. The clouds never allowed a complete picture of the glory above them, just fleeting hints and random glimpses. The moon was a fuzzy spot that rarely escaped the heavenly curtain.

They watched in silence as the eternal stars and the ephemeral clouds warred against each other above them. For the microsecond he had been a Boy Scout, one of the only merit badges he had earned was astronomy. But the patterns in the sky were lost to his memory now.

“I’d like to do astronomy,” he said.

Melody chuckled. “Where did that come from?”

“Think about it,” he said. “We don’t sleep. We have all this time at night. Ash Angels should be the world’s best astronomers.”

“And the world’s best lovers,” Melody said. “I guess every relationship needs someone who thinks of the sky and someone who is a bit more . . . earthy.”

He smiled. “They tell you how the whole sex thing works?”

“Are you kidding?” she said. “That’s the first thing I asked about. Wasn’t it . . . oh. It was probably the last thing you asked about.”

“No Wicked Witch of the West references. Your rules.”

She rolled over onto her side and put her hand on his chest. “I didn’t mention her. But you did feel the connection with Aclima. That’s when you found out about it, I’m sure.”

“Maybe we should stop talking about the women in my past, unless you want to dish up some details on Robbie to make it even.”

She rolled onto her back again. “Ah, Robbie. The poor guy. I’m sure he was expecting more than the very hands-off date he got. Don’t regret it. Hadn’t thought of him in years. I’m surprised I could even remember his name.”

Helo pitied Robbie. He’d been on a couple of those kinds of dates in high school too. “I’m glad Robbie behaved himself. Thanks for today. I had a great time.”

“Me too,” she said. “We could have been doing this kind of stuff for six months. Just saying. Then maybe . . .” she finished dreamily.

“What?”

“Never mind,” she said cryptically. “Would you mind trying the meditation with me?”

“Sure,” he said. It was a great idea. Anything to keep their minds off the impending dawn.

They sat up and faced each other, and she put her hands in his. Maybe it was the Vexus Avadan had poured into him, but getting to the image took longer than usual. Now that he knew what the problem was, it hit him hard: the spheres seemed destined to spin opposite each other, forever separated in their orbits. No amount of thinking or concentration or exerting his will could get his sphere to speed up or slow down independently of hers.

Inside the meditative bond, he could sense her frustration, her attempts to do what he was doing. But the spheres resisted every persuasion, every attempt to hasten or delay them. It was maddening, even fatiguing. A mental and emotional exhaustion settled in on him like a virus, dragging him down, sapping his strength.

Then the sprinklers hit them.

Melody stood up and spun around, taking a sprinkler jet to the gut. She stumbled back and ended up in his lap. He laughed and used his good arm to pull her into him. The clouds had lightened a little, and his mirth died. Dawn was coming.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get away from the machine-gun nest.”

She stood and pulled him up, face sad, frustrated. “It’s hopeless. There’s no time.”

“There’s more time,” he said, angling for a little copse of trees just off the green. “Let’s not give up.”

And as soon as he said it, something clicked in his head.

Give up.

That’s what the scene in the meditation wanted them to do. To throw in the towel. To get tired. To surrender. And that was it! Surrender. Everything that orbited something else was continually trying to escape the gravity of the thing that imprisoned it. But why would one want to escape the gravity of light and joy? Orbiting them would always leave one half of life dark, always keep love within view but at a distance.

“Come on,” he said.

“What is it?” she said, face alarmed. “Your face . . . it’s . . . it’s glowing.”

They got into the copse, and he pulled her down in front of him and assumed the lotus position. She pressed her palms into his, and he could feel her, that warm, alive knowing of another he had enjoyed for a brief time with Aclima.

She inhaled sharply, eyes wide.

“I know,” he said. She was tearing up. Trembling. “We have to do this now, Melody. Come on.”

He found the vision easily, but it took a while for Melody’s sphere to appear. To him, the sun blazed more brightly and more invitingly than ever before, the gravity of its call overwhelming. Its invitation had been there the whole time. There was no word for it. It was a mother yelling in the woods for a lost child to come home. It was a lover waiting at the window for the beloved’s car to pull into the driveway. It was a father watching a long way off for the prodigal to come home.

Now that he knew what to do, it came easily. No escape. No pulling against gravity. No more spinning in circles. Surrender. Complete surrender. His sphere tumbled out of the circular path it had long traversed, half bathed in light, a path that was an unending circle to nowhere. The sphere fell, trailing fire, around and around, faster and faster. His soul burned. His mind lit up. His heart hammered, pumping light. The sphere crashed into the sun.

And then he stood in a world of white, like the White Room, but in a sea of shifting white flame. He was naked, his body alight with an aura only real angels possessed. There was peace here, but not yet for him, a restless nagging biting at him. He was incomplete. She was missing. But a calm assurance rested on his mind. Melody was smart, especially about symbolism. If he had understood, then she—

And she was there. And then there was peace. And then there was joy. There was only light between them.

She embraced him, and he her.

Rapture.

Chapter 36

Billy Wickett

Rapture almost consumed him, almost burned him to the point of annihilation. As strong as Ash Angel bodies were, the glory of Rapture with Melody in his arms—in his heart—was about all his immortal frame could take. It was joy. It was light. It filled him to the brim. Virtus crackled inside of him, threatening to explode into the world around him.

His vision took a moment to fade from white, but when it did, he found himself in what looked like an empty, rusty bank vault lit by a single recessed light. But what blew his mind was that Melody was with him, in the flesh. Her eyes burned with Virtus, like she was about to zap him with it.

“Are my eyes doing the glowy thing like yours?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“That’s fun.” She threw herself at him and kissed him for everything she was worth. Now that he could feel her, really feel her, it was a moment of complete joy, of flesh and spirit. One he would never forget. Her passion was infectious, a virus he hoped to never be cured of.

But this was enemy territory. And there was this whole thing where she had somehow heart traveled with him. As difficult as it was, getting lost in Melody would have to wait. Six months. He could have been enjoying this for six months. He was more disappointed than Cassandra and Dolorem put together.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” he said.

She put her forehead on his. “Work, work, work,” she teased. “Is that the way it’s always going to be with you?”

“Not always,” he said, “but as far as romantic getaways go . . .”

“. . . this is not the best.” Melody sighed. “You’re right. Where are we?”

Then the whole room lurched, throwing them against each other on the back wall.

She grinned saucily. “I thought you said we needed to work.”

The cell lurched again. They were moving. The lurches were gears shifting. This was a mobile prison cell. At least Avadan didn’t have them tumbling in a cement mixer. Maybe they were in a delivery truck or the back of a semi.

“Help me look around,” he said. “Maybe we can bust out of here. He wasn’t expecting two Ash Angels.”

The solid metal prison Avadan had trapped them in was unremarkable save for two holes about the diameter of a quarter in the ceiling, a small drain in the floor, and what was probably a small speaker high on the wall behind a thick grate. Helo breathed in to smell rust and mildew. This wasn’t just a prison. It was a tank. Avadan could drown them or put them up to their necks in water. They really needed to get out.

He told Melody his suspicions.

“I think you’re right,” she said. “You know what else? This is on a semi. I can tell by the way the gears shift. I grew up in one of these.” She ran her hands along the wall, stepping out the distance. “This can we’re in is about twelve feet long. If this is a standard forty-eight-foot trailer, that means there’s plenty of space for this room we’re in and a tank of water that could fill it. Still, it would be heavy. I mean, this metal box has to weigh a bunch, and to fill this with water? It would take another tank about this size, which would be, let’s see . . . twelve long, seven wide, and twelve tall . . . about ten thousand more pounds for the water, not to mention the other equipment. This has got to be close to an overweight load. Probably not legal on the axle weights, either. Tires are probably stressed.”

Suddenly his pop singer had turned into a Department of Transportation official. “Who are you?”

She smiled. “I was homeschooled in a truck, remember? This load is heavy and probably unbalanced. I’m thinking if we combined our Strength and started bashing the sides we could throw the trailer off, maybe tip it or cause tire failure. With this much weight, it will take a lot of force to budge it.”

“It’s a good idea,” he said. “I knew there was a reason I liked you. It’s not going to be good on our bodies.”

The speaker crackled. “Now, before you go and do that, let good old Billy give you another path through this corn maze we all find ourselves in.” It was the same practiced drawl Avadan had used back in the casino’s parking garage. Was he driving the truck? Or was this one of his Shedim?

“Billy?” Helo said. “Is this Avadan?”

“I’m Billy Wickett,” he said. “Or the artist formerly known as Avadan. I’m just a small-town kid from Nebraska driving truck to scrape by so I can take care of my poor mother with cancer. Just waiting for someone to discover my talent and good looks. Make me a star.”

Melody raised her eyebrows.

“Okay . . .” Helo said. Would the craziness never end?

“So how are there two of you?” Billy asked. “I threw one lonely heart back there. Some new trick? You stuff one heart in another turducken style? Not going to answer, huh? Well, I suppose I can’t blame you. So, Helo, from the um . . . frivolity . . . earlier, I suspect you like this lovely lady. She is mighty fine. Slender as a cornstalk.”

Helo suspected there was a camera in the speaker grate, so he stuck his hand in front of it to deny Avadan a view of Melody’s naked body.

“Cut the crap, Avadan,” Helo said. “What do you want?”

Water began to pour from the two holes in the ceiling, jetting downward.

“If the water gets too high, we won’t be able to get any momentum against the wall,” Helo warned.

He and Melody backed up to one side, flared their Strength, and slammed into the side of the prison. The water sloshed a little as the trailer rocked ever so slightly.

“Again!” Helo said.

They beat against the wall over and over, the trailer rocking a little but not enough to tip it. Then the water was up to their waists. Too much resistance. After another minute it rose to their armpits, setting their hearts to beating and robbing them of their Bestowals.

“That’s better,” Billy said over the speaker. “Now listen up, y’all. I’ve got a deal for you—somethin’ I think even you’ll have a hard time turning down. So here’s my question: you want to kill a bunch of Dreads?”

“Yeah, Avadan,” Helo said. “We want to kill Dreads. I can think of one in particular.”

“How about you, lovely lady?” Billy said.

“Yes,” Melody answered.

“Well, that’s just great, I tell ya,” Billy said. Helo rolled his eyes. If he heard Avadan say “yee-haw” at any point, Helo swore his head would explode.

“What do you want?” Helo asked.

The truck hit a nasty bump, and the tank creaked and sloshed. “Sorry ’bout that, folks!” Billy said. “I either hit a big pothole or a Smart car. Not sure which. Anyway, as you know, I have some pull with the Dreads, and I’m interested in downsizing. So you help me with a little theatrical production—just a few minutes of your time, mind you—and I will help you rid the world of its Dreads. It’ll be more fun than stomping cockroaches in high heels.”

Helo looked at Melody, whose face had the same what-the-hell expression as his. “Why would you do that?”

“That’s none of your beeswax, mister,” he said. “All you have to do to get this once in a lifetime opportunity is play a couple of little kids for a while. That’s it. I know, I know. You think it’s a trick. But it’s not. No normals will get hurt. Just a little production for Billy Wickett’s coming-out party.”

“We’re not going to help you do anything,” Helo said.

“Ah, well,” Billy said. “I guess I’ll have to sweeten the deal.”

The water sprayed out of the holes in the ceiling again, and in a few minutes they had to tread water. It kept rising.

“How’s my deal sound now?” Avadan said. “In a few minutes there won’t be any more deal, just drowned Ash Angels going down the drain. Not for the first time, I might add.”

Their heads banged against the tank’s ceiling. Still, the water kept coming.

“Helo,” Melody said, face panicked and sad.

He couldn’t let her go out like this. He faced the speaker. “You promise?”

The water stopped.

“Promise what, Helo?” Billy asked.

“No normals get hurt.”

“Absa-positutely, partner!”

Helo hated him. “We’ll do it.”

“Great!”

The water level lowered, a whirring pump sucking it out the drain in the bottom of the floor until it was about waist level, their Ash Angel numbness returning. Helo closed his eyes and breathed out. That was close.

“So here’s the what’s what,” Billy said. “I need you two to morph into a couple of kids. I was only expecting Helo, but a little girl in the mix will make this all the more powerful. So, Helo, let’s have you be an eight-year-old, and the lovely lady will be your six-year-old sister. Go ahead and get that done, then I’ll tell you what’s next.”

They did as Avadan asked. Melody was a cute kid, though her eyes cut like a knife. Helo found the morph easy again. He shagged his hair like it used to be at that age and added a few freckles across his nose.

“We’re done,” he said.

“Just dandy!” Avadan said. Then his voice switched out of Billy mode and back to what Helo was used to hearing. “Now, just as a precaution, I need you to expend your Virtus. All of it. I warn you that I have done studies and I know how long it takes to completely drain an Ash Angel of Virtus, with the given variances between people. I’m guessing you don’t know how long it takes, so it’ll be pretty easy for me to tell if you hold back. And you both can Hallow, I believe.”

Helo’s mind ran in circles. With being Angel Born and with whatever Virtus he and Melody had been given during their meditation, they had more energy than most Ash Angels. Still, he had no idea how long he would have to Hallow before Avadan would find it convincing, and after seeing all the books filled with Avadan’s research, he absolutely believed the Loremaster knew how long it would take. But Avadan wouldn’t be able to tell he was Hallowing from a camera feed. Divine auras and energy didn’t show up on video.

“You first, Helo,” Avadan said. “Hallow from the back of the truck toward the front until I tell you to stop. Then hold it until your Virtus is expended. Any tricks and I turn the water back on and make a little ash soup. And go!”

So that’s how he could tell. He would wait until he felt the hallow. Shaking his head, Helo complied, letting the hallow stretch forward until Avadan barked over the speaker to stop. Helo didn’t know how long it took, but it was a good while before the energy ran out, leaving him drained.

“Good!” Avadan said. “That’s the best time I’ve seen. The lady’s next.”

Melody frowned and let the hallow flow until Avadan told her to quit extending it. Helo put his arm around her, and it did feel a bit like comforting his little sister. She leaned into him, and after a long while it was over.

“The little lady wins!” The Billy voice was back. “That’s a new state record! Got you by a full thirty seconds, Helo. Better luck next time, cowboy. Now, we’ve got a ways to go before we get to our destination. Please enjoy the complimentary music—Billy Wickett’s demo tapes!”

Helo could hardly believe it, but sure enough, Billy’s dulcet tones poured through the speaker. It was an entire country album. And while Helo wasn’t into country, he had to admit Avadan had skills.

“What’s the verdict?” Helo whispered to Melody.

“He’s really good,” Melody whispered back as if sickened by the thought. “Even over the crappy speaker. Great vocal range. Great expression and phrasing. And the lyrics and music, well, they’re typical but with a unique flavor. This is so . . . bizarre. A Loremaster recording a country-music album?”

“He’s insane.”

“Yeah,” Melody said. “I get that. But he’s got all this immense power. He could wreak devastation like the world has never seen. Strike fear into the hearts of the world. Rule over creatures of evil with an iron hand. But he’s using all of this immense power to do what? Become a country-music star? Why?”

Helo shrugged. “Maybe country music is more evil than people think.”

She punched him in the arm. “This is serious.”

“We’ll get him,” Helo whispered. “Sooner or later.”

The demo tape eventually ran out, and Avadan—apparently proud of it—let it run a few more times before shutting it off for good. For hours Helo and Melody sloshed around, making small talk. The truck stopped at some point, and not long after that, the water drained all the way out of the holding tank.

The vault-like door swung open, and Avadan as Billy and a Sheid accompanying him morphed as a bearded hipster appeared in the doorway. Behind them the truck’s trailer door was shut, but the sound of a couple cars passing filtered into the tank.

“Almost showtime,” Billy said, his handsome face smiling like a million bucks, though the feeling that came with him and the evil spirit jutting out of his back ruined the benevolent famous-guy effect.

The Sheid threw them towels and clothes. Melody got a hand-me-down pink dress with a few stains on it, and Helo pulled on a pair of jeans with holes in the knees and a white T-shirt that appeared to have barely survived a red-and-blue popsicle massacre.

Billy clasped his hands together and then extended them with glee. “Perfect! The cameras will love you. Just a few more minutes now. Hold tight.”

The tank door closed, and Melody took Helo’s hand. “The cameras? This is a bad idea. Maybe we should have let ourselves be killed.”

“No,” Helo said. “If there’s a chance we can survive this, we take it. You and I are the best chance for ending this war once and for all.”

In a few minutes, Billy and Hipster were back. Billy looked them over and then turned to the Sheid. “Break her arm and smash his nose. Helo, if you could bleed for me. And morph a few bruises on your face and chest.”

Helo’s face pinched. What was this about? The Sheid did as he was told, snapping Melody’s left forearm and punching Helo square in the nose.

“Bleed, Helo!” Billy said. “And bruises, you two. Quick!”

Helo did it, staring Avadan right in his dark eyes.

“Great,” he said. “Let’s get them into position.”

Hipster hoisted both their childlike forms under its arms as Avadan opened the rear doors of the trailer and jumped down, the Sheid following. The air was thick with humidity. Night had fallen, the sounds of insects and frogs thick on the air. They were on a stretch of lonely highway somewhere. Avadan shut the doors.

Helo craned his neck around to get a better look as Hipster lugged them toward the front of the truck. To their right, a lake or pond reflected their headlights. A banged-up white pickup had pulled off the highway and parked in front of the semi, a Dread in the front seat. But what caught Helo’s attention was a gray sedan with its back end in the water, headlight beams shooting up into the sky at an angle. An unmoving woman was slumped over the steering wheel, blood matting her hair.

“I thought you said no normals would get hurt!” Helo said.

Billy waved off the accusation. “Oh, her? She wasn’t a normal. She was a Possessed. But for now, she is—was—the abusive, drunk mother who spun off the road and into the water. Her poor children are trapped in the back. How awful. In you go, my little trapped children. If you could scream and cry and holler, all the better. Put them in.”

Hipster jumped into the murky water, opened the sedan’s door, and dumped them into the back seat. Like any good safety-conscious Sheid would, it buckled them in, the water up to their bellies.

“Showtime!” Avadan yelled.

What happened next was one of the weirdest things Helo had ever seen as an Ash Angel. The Dread in the truck—dressed like a redneck—got out and darted into the water. But rather than rescue them, he reached in and snatched the dead woman’s purse. As he struggled back up to the shore, Billy Wickett jumped out of his semi.

“Hey!” Billy said. “What are you doing?”

The redneck Dread pulled a gun out of the waistband of his pants, pointed it at Billy, and fired. Avadan stumbled back, hand over his gut. The redneck turned back toward his truck. Billy rallied, charged, and knocked the Dread to the ground, smashing the man in the face over and over. The Dread went still, head lolling to one side.

Grimacing, Avadan got to his feet. He kicked the gun away and ambled toward the car in the lake while holding his gut, blood trickling between his fingers. His face was a mask of perfect earnestness and concern. “Ma’am!” he yelled frantically. He splashed into the water. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

Avadan checked her over. Only now could Helo see the Sheid through the windshield, mobile phone up, recording the whole thing. This was a publicity stunt.

Avadan took the woman’s head and lifted it. “No!” he said with pitch-perfect sadness and alarm. “You kids okay?”

The car groaned and slid backward right on cue, the clammy water rising. Melody sucked in as the water covered her heart enough to set her broken arm on fire. Helo’s busted nose made his eyes water. But like a hero, Avadan yanked the door open and hauled them both to the shore before collapsing and staring at his wound.

Hipster walked forward, and Avadan leaned up on an elbow. Somehow he was even more handsome for having been soaked in the lake. “Turn that thing off,” he scolded the Sheid. “Help me with these people!”

The Sheid shoved the phone in its pocket, and Avadan rolled onto his back. “That’s a wrap! Nicely done, though a little kicking and screaming would’ve been great. So, the police and ambulance will be here before long. Keep playing your part, and I will keep my end of the bargain. In a few hours, your nice auntie Magdelene will come to get you. Do you call her Magdelene or Maggie? Archus Ramis couldn’t pick one when I was interrogating him.”

Helo didn’t respond. Sirens wailed in the distance.

“Shiver, kids. Whimper,” Avadan admonished. “The show isn’t quite over yet.”

Chapter 37

Rising Star

It went down just like Avadan said. They got hauled off to the hospital—which was in Nashville. Helo felt used. Worse, he felt ashamed of going along with Avadan’s little play. But what could he have done? He couldn’t live with watching Melody die in a tank of water, and in the end, both of them were still alive. That was a win. Didn’t feel like one, though. So far Avadan hadn’t desecrated the city, but Helo wondered if it was only a matter of time.

Attentive doctors in blue scrubs set his and Melody’s broken bones. The nurse assured Helo and Melody a relative was on the way. After about an hour, Billy Wicket shuffled in with his IV on a pole, a young female nurse adoringly helping him along. He held his hand against a bandage beneath his gown.

“You should get back to bed,” the nurse said.

“Just wanted to see these kids, you know?” he said. “They were so brave. Hey there, kids! You doing okay in here? They treatin’ ya right?”

Helo nodded, biting his tongue.

“That’s just great,” he said. “I want to leave a little note for you to give your aunt.” He glanced at the nurse and then winced in pain, clutching his side.

“You should really get back to bed,” the nurse said with such concern Helo had to wonder if Avadan had other evil tricks up his sleeve.

“I will, darlin’. You mind getting me a paper and pen? Just want to leave my contact info for these two kids, you know? Can you help me out, sweetheart?”

She blushed. “Sure. One sec.”

She returned a moment later and handed Avadan the pad and pen. He wrote on the paper and then tore it off and folded it in half.

“There you go,” he said, placing it in Helo’s palm. Then he winked and threw them the million-dollar Billy Wickett smile. “You’re great kids. Best of luck to ya.” He turned back toward the nurse and winced. “I think you’re right. Better put me back in bed.”

They left, the nurse fawning all over her favorite patient. It was sickening. Helo unfolded the piece of paper, fully expecting “Suckers!” to be written on it. But there was a GPS coordinate and “Coming Soon!” double underlined. Avadan had even scrawled a smiley face at the bottom.

Magdelene showed up not long after. She had morphed into her thirties and wore jeans and a long-sleeved, white pullover. She played the part of concerned aunt to the letter. Hugs. Kisses. Even tears! Promises that they would be okay. She listened dutifully to the nurse’s instructions and brought a minivan around while the staff rolled Helo and Melody outside in wheelchairs.

The side door hadn’t been shut for more than a second when Magdelene said, “Okay, you two, start talking.”

Helo told her the story about the tank and about the weird bargain Billy Wickett had made with them. Magdelene handed him her phone and had him look up the GPS coordinates. The Foundry.

“So he’s promised to hand us a bunch of Dreads to kill. Sounds like another invasion, hopefully without all the clowns this time. Well, nice of him to tip us off.”

“Don’t trust it,” Helo said. “He’s not trying to help us.”

“I know,” Magdelene said. “The real question I have is for Melody. How did you get here? The after-action report said Avadan had only taken Helo’s heart. Did he get yours?”

Melody smiled and took Helo’s hand. That wonderful alive feeling was still there. “He didn’t,” she said. “It’s hard to explain, but when Helo heart traveled, I somehow heart traveled with him. We don’t know exactly how it happened yet.”

Magdelene glanced over her shoulder. “That is extraordinary . . . and wonderful. If you figure it out, let the rest of us know. That would be a useful trick. So are you two, um, together? Bonded?”

Melody looked at Helo, and he said, “Yes, we are.” It was weird coming out of his eight-year-old mouth, as was the adoring look on Melody’s six-year-old face.

Magdelene nodded, lips turned up in a smile. “Good.”

“So,” Helo asked, “where are we operationally?”

Magdelene’s grip tightened on the wheel, and the smile disappeared. “We’ve got Kansas City, Saint Louis, and Detroit all desecrated. Violence and unrest are surging. The outer border of the desecrations seems to fluctuate as much as two miles in and out. Not sure why. Honestly, we’re stumped. And after Avadan’s antics tonight, who knows what’s next? But what really worries me is that Helo is not dead.”

“Why?” Melody asked.

Magdelene glanced in the rearview mirror. “Avadan has to know Helo’s the most powerful Ash Angel alive. He had a chance to kill him and didn’t. That leads to one very scary conclusion: Avadan believes he is so powerful that what Helo can do doesn’t concern him.”

Helo sank in his seat a little. It was true. If the parking garage had taught Avadan anything, it was that an Angel Born was no match for him, even two Angel Born.

“Where are we headed?” Melody asked.

“The Foundry,” she said. “We’re pulling everyone back until we can get our feet back underneath us. And it sounds like Avadan’s going to bring the fun to us again, so we’ve got to fortify the area. I can’t believe he would let us kill off his army without a fight.”

“He’s definitely doing his own thing,” Melody added. “He doesn’t act much like a general in a war. He’s more like, I don’t know, a diva? I mean, what do Dreads even mean to him?”

Helo wondered about that too. The whole time Avadan had the pendant, he had used the Dreads without any thought for their numbers or safety. He had treated them like worthless automatons. It made no sense. If he could use them, why get rid of them?

“I don’t know what Dreads mean to him,” Magdelene said. “But letting us destroy them weakens his power.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want power,” Helo said. “At least not in the way we think of it. Cain used his power to collect the best of everything—money, cars, women, status symbols—to show them off to people to prove his superiority. Avadan doesn’t seem interested in that stuff.”

“I don’t think understanding Avadan is as hard as we’re making it,” Melody said. “Helo’s right. Avadan isn’t exactly like Cain, but in a way he is. At least biblically, Cain felt slighted because his sacrifice from his fields wasn’t seen as good as Abel’s. His wife wasn’t as good as Abel’s. So he spent six thousand years making sure his stuff was always better than the Jones’s stuff. Now Avadan—”

Helo saw where with this was going. “Wants attention.”

“Yes,” Melody said. “From what you’ve told me, he worshiped a father who saw him as deficient. His mother was disgusted with him. He doesn’t want domination. He wants recognition. Applause. Attention. Facebook likes. His name in lights. As for killing off his fellow Dreads, he wants what every diva wants: to be the only one.”

Magdelene was silent for a while. “Sounds like we’re all suffering because a couple of ancient men had bad self-esteem. How could someone still have unresolved daddy issues after six thousand years? We thought it was mostly impossible for Dreads to change their stripes—they are sort of frozen as who they were. But Aclima showed us it can be done. But still. Avadan can’t get over Cain’s and Aclima’s bad parenting in six thousand years?”

Helo thought he understood Avadan better than he wanted to admit. “What was your father like, Magdelene?”

“He was a great man,” she said. “Not perfect, but he tried. He was devoted to my mom and to me. Just a pillar.”

“Dolorem was awesome too,” Melody added. “Also not perfect—not by a long shot—but I always knew he cared. Always.”

“That’s great,” he said, grateful they didn’t reverse the question. But they couldn’t understand. It was easy to look at Avadan and wonder why he couldn’t get over his issues. But maybe Magdelene and Melody didn’t know how a father’s dissatisfaction and neglect could sculpt a child who forever staggered under the weight of his own insufficiency. How it punched a hole in the heart that could never quite be filled. How it turned every betrayal and rejection into an unforgiving knife cut to the soul. How when it came to bleeding, every soul was a hemophiliac.

Thinking of his own father brought a weight back to his soul. The next time he attempted to Exorcise Legion, it would show him the rest of his awful Christmas memory, the place where he had really begun to bleed. Somewhere inside, he knew he would have to face his memory and that Melody would see it. Would she think of him the same way after she saw what he had done?

They didn’t get to meditate before Rapture hit while they sat in Magdelene’s van on the shoulder of the road. Even without the preparation of meditation, the joy and Virtus flooded in like a dam had broken. His and Melody’s eyes didn’t glow, but an aura surrounded them for a good minute before fading away.

“Must be nice to be Angel Born,” Magdelene said offhandedly. Melody winked at him.

Before heading into the Foundry, Magdelene stopped in Branson, Missouri, and bought them adult clothes so they could morph back to regular size. Melody went the active-wear route again, with black leggings and a formfitting green top matching the color of her eyes. Helo joined her with some black training pants and a black, long-sleeved hoodie that didn’t make much sense given the weather, but he liked the martial-arts look of it.

For the rest of the one-hour ride, they morphed and changed, and as they pulled down the gravel road leading to the Foundry, memories of the clown attack returned. The road curved gently along the river, a canopy of trees sheltering the road from the sweltering late-morning sun.

“Can you let us out?” Melody asked. “I’d like to walk the rest of the way with Helo.”

“Sure,” Magdelene said. “Just don’t disappear on us again. And hurry. There’s a lot to discuss. Your team wants to see you again.”

“No promises,” Melody teased.

They got out, and Magdelene pulled away, gravel dust kicking up in her wake. Helo went to grab Melody’s hand, but she went behind him and hopped on his back, putting her head next to his.

“Hey!” she said after kissing his cheek. Feeling her against his back, that alive rush of sensation reminded him that they were bonded now. It had almost gotten lost in discussing all of Avadan’s machinations.

“Hey,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

“Mmmm,” she hummed pleasantly. “Our honeymoon, of course.”

“Don’t you want a wedding?” he asked. Women liked that. Terissa and her parents had put on quite a production. Too much. They’d flown everyone to California and had this whole sunset ceremony. Terissa had been decked out like a goddess. Everything was filmed and photographed and catered, with pavilions and expensive alcohol and live music. All of it scheduled down to the minute. The entire day he’d felt like an actor in a play, terrified of missing a cue.

“No,” Melody said. “Ash Angel lore says we’re one, so that’s good enough for me. Who wants to go through all that planning when there’s love to be making? When I daydreamed about you and me, we always eloped when Dad had left the semi to clean out a convenience store. You would swoop in next to the big rig on your motorcycle and carry me away into the night. What I have always wanted is a spectacular honeymoon.”

“And what does that look like?”

“A lot like you, of course,” she said, giving him a squeeze. “But in my elopement fantasies, you whisk me off to some fancy hotel—and I mean really fancy, like a pool in the room kind of fancy—and we would go to big ticket concerts and expensive restaurants. Some creeper would come on to me, and you would pound them to mush before whisking me away to our room for a night of ecstasy.”

“Branson’s just around the corner,” he said. “We could make most of that come true. Maybe not the assault part—not saying that I wouldn’t pound a creeper into mush if he laid a hand on you, because I would. But like I said, Branson’s nearby . . .”

“Right,” she said, “but here’s the thing. Being an Ash Angel has changed everything. We don’t need to eat or sleep or use the bathroom. We don’t get cold. Bugs don’t bite us. We can walk and run forever. I’ve seen most of the big cities, but Dolorem wasn’t an outdoors kind of guy. We could hike the entire Continental Divide for our honeymoon without breaking a sweat. We could get a boat and float in the middle of Lake Coeur D’Alene for weeks and just stare at the stars. But I’m going on and on here. Where does Helo want to take his girl?”

This was one of those questions he knew he could get wrong, and if he got it wrong, he’d have to endure the sadness in her eyes for the rest of the day. And it wasn’t fair. She’d been fantasizing about this for years, and up until a few hours ago, he’d doubted he’d ever have a relationship like this again. She wanted to see if he’d been thinking about a honeymoon when Avadan had completely occupied his mind.

In truth, he wanted the same kind of out-of-the-way honeymoon he’d had with Terissa—though he wouldn’t tell Melody that. After Terissa and her parents had railroaded the wedding, they’d been nice enough to let him choose the honeymoon. Terissa had wanted what Melody had dreamed about—big cities and big hotels. But Melody was right. Being an Ash Angel did open up the possibilities, and his mind went to work.

“I like the mountains. So how’s this: a little tent high up in the peaks way off the trail by some ice-blue cirque lake. Cold mountain air. Pine trees. Campfire. Stars. Puffy sleeping bags and some marshmallows. And absolutely no one but you and me. Whatever we do, that’s the most important thing. I don’t want to see or hear another human being except you. If some Scout troop wanders by, I’ll kill them all.”

She squeezed him again and laughed, something wet sliding down his neck. Was she crying? “You okay?”

“Of course I’m okay. That was beautiful.” She wiped her eyes.

“Killing Boy Scouts is beautiful?” he said.

“You know what I mean. I love it—the tent by the lake, not the Boy Scout slaughter. That is 100 percent the plan. As soon as we can steal someone’s phone or tablet, we’re going to find the place, set a date, and do it.”

“Deal,” he said. “Though I don’t think I can wait that long to liberate you from your clothes.”

She kissed his neck. “I know I can’t wait that long.”

Corinth and Scarlet rounded a bend in the road, walking side by side.

Melody stiffened and whispered in his ear. “And boom! goes the start to the best conversation I’ve ever had in my life.”

Scarlet really was the last person he wanted to see at the moment. Corinth had his hands in his pockets, eyes to the ground, and Scarlet was staring blankly out into the woods. Their conversation clearly wasn’t the best conversation they’d had in their lives.

“Hey, there!” Melody said from the perch on his back, her light tone a little forced. “We’re back!”

Corinth and Scarlet slowed and then stopped as they approached. Scarlet’s face struggled for an emotion.

“Is she hurt?” Corinth said, face concerned. “I thought you could heal.”

“Didn’t want to get my shoes dirty,” Melody quipped. “What are you two up to?”

Corinth and Scarlet looked at each other. Corinth shrugged. “Just out for a walk.”

“Are you okay, Helo?” Scarlet said. “Did Avadan torture you?”

Helo opened his mouth, but Melody seemed determined to bear the load of the conversation. “No, he didn’t torture us. Helo and I were naked in this water tank for a while.” She put a bit of a saucy flavor on the word naked, and Scarlet frowned. “That’s about as bad as it got. It’s a weird story. Walk with us back to the house, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

They fell in on either side of them, and Helo set a leisurely pace. Truth be told, he wasn’t all that anxious to get back to headquarters. Talking with Melody about their honeymoon had actually cleared his mind of Avadan and desecration for a solid minute. He wanted to stay there.

“What I totally want to know,” Corinth said, “is how you both ended up there. Your heart wasn’t snatched.”

“Well,” Melody said, “we’ve been doing this couples meditation thing. We should teach you two. Anyway, we think it has something to do with us being bonded now.”

Corinth’s and Scarlet’s expressions went in opposite directions. “Really?” Corinth said, face brightening. “Congrats, you two!”

“Thanks!” Melody said.

Helo kept his face neutral. Scarlet’s ire felt like a bitter wind. He knew the look on her face all too well. It was like the time he had insisted they have a stay-at-home evening rather than go to her friend Rachel’s party. She had been frosty for a miserable week. Why wouldn’t she just go be happy with Corinth? They really were perfect for each other—if she would commit to it. Then again, Scarlet and loyalty . . . he didn’t want to go back there. He carried a woman he adored on his back, and that was his world. No more falling into Scarlet’s gravity.

Melody narrated the tale all the way back to the farmhouse, then he and Melody got to tell it all over again to the Archai and the team leaders, including Corinth. Then they told it to Sicarius Nox. By the time that was over, Helo was sick of it. Could he and Melody just go off by themselves somewhere?

“It’s viral!” Faramir announced from the couch in the farmhouse. “Check this out.”

They gathered around his tablet. Melody yanked his knit cap off, getting the dongles out of the way of the screen. And there he was, Billy Wickett saving the day getting plastered all over social media and the news. And he played it to the hilt, just a humble kid supporting his mom through cancer, waiting for his big break. They even let him play a song for them during the interview. And it was good. Whatever Avadan was, he was a good actor, and according to Melody, a virtuoso guitar player. His aw-shucks sweetness and country charm oozed off the screen.

“Look out world, here comes Billy Wickett,” Helo said glumly.

“Dude’s got chops,” Andromeda said. “But really, if his evil plan is to sell lots of country music and do big concerts, who cares?”

“I doubt that’s all he’s up to,” Finny said. “He’s crazy. He can’t help but do some evil.”

“Needs to be put down,” Shujaa grumbled. “Country music just makes it more necessary.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. No country-music fans in Sicarius Nox, though Melody seemed to appreciate his gift for music.

Sparks wandered over to the window and looked outside for a few moments, face pensive. “About that. I’ve been thinking. Helo, you and Melody are still affected by the water, right?”

“Yep.”

He turned back toward them. “So here’s an idea: no matter what, Ash Angels and Dreads are always weakened by those elements, water and fire, no matter how special they are. Maybe he still has problems with fire.”

“Maybe,” Helo said. “But it’s hard to say what he is. Is there even a Dread left in whatever abomination he’s become? We know an explosion will kill a Dread most of the time because the heart is fried. Shedim blow apart and re-form. Bullets just seemed to deform him a little.”

“Explosions and fire are both worth a try,” Melody said, “but you’re missing the other part of his genius plan. If he gets famous, he will constantly be surrounded by normals. Constantly. And he’s too powerful to kidnap. There’s no way to drag him off to a volcano Lord of the Rings style.”

Shujaa grunted. “I know you do not like this idea, but mortals may have to die if we are to kill him. It would be worth the sacrifice. If explosions will kill him, then we must light the fuse. If fire, then we make it burn no matter where he is or who he is with. More will die if we don’t.”

“Last resort, Shujaa,” Helo said. “We’ve got a lot of options to try before we start burning things down with normals around.”

Mars walked out of the office and looked them over. “You guys really think Avadan’s going to send a bunch of Dreads here for us to slaughter?”

Sparks snorted. “No.”

Mars nodded toward the window with his beefy head. “Take a look.”

Outside, a line of ten Dreads marched down the road, eyes straight ahead, pace and expressions zombielike. Three Michaels followed them, though the Dreads seemed unaware of them or anything else, just like the Dreads at the Red Angel Theater. But second in line in tattered pants and no shirt was Archus Ramis. Ramis’s hand rested on the shoulder of the Dread in front of him, no doubt to guide him down a road he couldn’t see. They followed Mars outside and gathered around the Dreads, their march halting right in front of the Grand Archus. The eyes of the first Dread cleared. He was the bodybuilder type and had tattoos on his neck and a hoop earring. He was practically busting out of the dusty gray business suit he wore.

“As promised, my master sends you his first gift,” he said with a slightly Russian accent. “More will come.”

Chapter 38

Seed

A pair of Michaels dragged the Dread Ramis inside the house and burned the rest of the Dreads while they stood dumbly by and let it happen, collapsing into little piles of dirt and clothing on the gravel drive. No one could quite believe it. Avadan had left Ramis “switched off,” and the former Archus stood around like a hideous statue until they dragged him away down into the Foundry proper.

The next week, scores and scores Dreads showed up at the house at random times. Sometimes singly, sometimes in groups. Some had suitcases. Others looked like they’d been living in a ditch. Several groups arrived in cars, but most plodded into camp with shoes worn by miles of walking. There simply weren’t enough Stingers for them, so Sicarius Nox provided the Angel Fire to burn their hearts and send them packing for a trip to warmer climes.

For every group that marched in, a crowd of Ash Angels would gather in morbid curiosity to watch them be destroyed. By now, most Ash Angels had become accustomed to Avadan’s insanity, but to Helo, throwing away Dreads made little sense. Layers of psychosis. That was the family of Cain.

In the mornings and evenings, they reviewed Billy Wickett’s rise to fame, already a guest on morning and late-night shows. Best of all, charming Billy had decided to give a benefit concert for all the children lost in the massacre at Saint Louis, a massacre he had orchestrated.

“Clever trick,” Magdelene had said. “Create problems and find ways to profit from them.”

The benefit concert was in two days, and Sicarius Nox had been given the nod to scope it out. There wasn’t much they could do with Billy surrounded by mobs of people, but they hoped they could avert any tragedy he might orchestrate. Before they left, Mars prodded Helo to try to Exorcise Legion again, something he’d been avoiding.

So, on a sunny summer day much better suited to a long walk with Melody by the river, the two of them went to the southern barn in company of Sicarius Nox to see what they could do. Corinth had brought the white-haired woman he’d captured in Saint Louis, only now she didn’t look so fancy or so cocky. Her blue dress had been replaced by an oversized pair of blue jeans and a man’s button-down red flannel shirt. They held her out of sight in the loft under constant guard. Others had tried their hand at exorcising Legion, but so far, no one had fared any better than Helo.

Her dirty face regarded them with anger and contempt from the wooden chair where she sat. “You again,” she said, eyes on Helo. “You must have an appetite for failure. This woman is mine. She is a worthless human being. Just let me have her.”

Helo reached out to take her arm. She grinned savagely, like she had been anticipating this. He had explained to Melody about team exorcism, and he had gifted her the Bestowal two days ago, her fifth. She intertwined her fingers with his. Virtus flowed from her into him and from him into the woman.

The whispering voices and ponderous weight fell on him immediately, and then Melody was gone. He broke contact.

“Sorry,” she said, eyes wide. She breathed out roughly. “That was unexpected. I . . . I am ready.”

“You sure?” He wasn’t.

She nodded.

Again the Virtus flowed. Again the oppressive voices, the weight, and the malice. Melody was there. As with Lotus and Oakes, he could feel who she was. What she was like. Generous. Determined. Eager. Did she sense him the same way?

“You have returned,” Legion said. “At last you want your name. Let us begin.”

Before he could even think to exert his will, Legion dragged him back to that bedroom on Christmas Eve, walked him down the hall toward the stairs. But unlike before when Lotus and Oakes had disappeared from his mind, Melody was still with him. It was like their hands were still locked together but inside the vision.

The landing where he and his brother had stopped to watch the scene on the living room floor waited just ahead. He knew he needed to get out, had to push into Legion’s mind instead. But the vision drew him deeper inside himself, like an anchor attached to his ankle. White Christmas lights and a garland twined around the wrought-iron banister, something his mother had put up the day before.

His father’s yelling reverberated through the house, a harsh but familiar noise that twisted Helo’s stomach and sent burning bile into his throat. No matter how often his father yelled, Helo never got used to it. His mind had never numbed to the pain of his father’s incessant bad temper. His dad wore a black pair of slacks and an unbuttoned white shirt revealing a white undershirt with a sweat stain around the neck.

Helo and his brother lay on their bellies, staring down. His father’s hand was raised, his knobby high-school ring turned upside down. He’d do that when he thumped them on their heads. It left knots and welts.

His mother wore a green Christmas-tree sweater with a reindeer pin and black pants. She cowered before her husband on her knees, hand up, palm out, to protect herself. Red already bloomed on her cheek. Helo had no idea what offense she had committed. Not that it mattered. When dad was drunk, everything was an offense.

And in the glow of the Christmas-tree lights—and white was the only color his Mom ever used—his father’s hand came down. She turned her face away. The blow was so powerful it knocked aside the arm his mother put up against it and drove right through to the back of her skull. She crumpled to the ground, scattering the presents at the edge of the Christmas tree.

Horror. Shock. Frozen.

But not Brandon. His brother roared as he tore off down the stairs. Their Dad towered over their squirming Mom, and he watched with an amused sneer as Brandon slammed into him, pounding his chest with his fists. Helo knew he should help. Knew his father deserved whatever hell he could give him. But he couldn’t move. His body wouldn’t do it. Fear gripped him. Warm urine soaked his underwear.

His father caught Brandon’s arms and tossed him to the ground next to their unmoving mother. Brandon pushed up to his hands and knees and shot at him again, only to get kicked down hard with a foot to the gut. His brother sucked air. Then his father’s gaze fell on Trace at the top of the stairs, and he snorted derisively. Then he looked back down at Brandon, but instead of disgust, there was pride.

“At least one of you isn’t a coward.”

Eight years old. Trembling. Pee-soaked.

A coward.

“There’s your name!” Legion said, the vision frozen on his father’s last word. “People think you’re brave, but you’ve just been trying to outrun who you are. But you can’t. It’s always here, always the seed from which your character was grown.”

Was it true? Was redemption from cowardice why he’d rushed into danger to save Prescilla as a Cherub? Was that why he’d fought Dreads in a graveyard? Thrown himself at Whirlwind?

Melody bloomed into his mind with enough force to silence Legion. “It’s not the seed that matters,” she said. “It’s the fruit. That is how a tree is known. You’re not eight anymore. You are not Trace. You are Helo. You are Angel Born. You are Unascended. And while Legion may not fear justice or any man, by God, they will fear you!”

Her words cut through the tangle of Legion’s persuasions. He was Helo. He was Angel Born. Legion wanted to give him another name, but he trusted Melody. Her voice held power. It always had, especially to him. If his fear and failure before his abusive father had driven him to become the kind of man who would rush into the very flames of hell to rescue someone, then what did it matter? Cowardice wasn’t the seed. His failure had only painfully harrowed the soil of his soul. He had chosen the seed to plant, and what had grown from it was good.

And then he was out of the memory, Melody’s presence ever nearer, ever stronger, Legion’s weight lessening for two people bearing it together. The voices whispered more frantically now. But where to begin? How to extract a name from an entity of thousands all fighting against him? Having Melody helped, but would they need a chain of thousands of Ash Angels exorcising at once to get the job done? It didn’t seem possible.

There had to be a leader, though. Legion spoke with many voices, but every legion had a commander, and somewhere in all of the whispers rasping around him like sandpaper was the evil spirit who had organized this whole mess. Legion had banded together and united under someone’s voice, taken a single name. He had to find that spirit. That was the place to begin.

“There’s more we can show you, Helo,” a deep male voice said. “So much more that contributes to your name. Every minute you spend with us, we get closer to knowing it.”

Melody drowned him out. “Focus, Helo. Stay with me.”

He clung to her in the darkness but tried to extend his mind outward, filtering through the oppressive noise. The whispers carried emotions, persuasions. The more he immersed himself in them, the more they pricked at him like hungry ticks trying to get under his skin for a little blood. Melody was his anchor, his armor. Like a blindfolded man he scanned the dark, beginning to press the voices with his own demands.

“Who brought you together? Who do you follow?”

The voices scattered from him like he had just pulled a gun during a knife fight. He needed to find one voice, one weak link, to show him the way. Now it felt like he was playing tag, the swarm of whispers darting away from him every time he got close. But with a burst of will he caught one, exerting all his power to trap it.

“Who do you follow?”

He was thrown out into the barn. The woman had yanked herself away. Helo turned, only to watch her throw herself headlong from the loft to the concrete below. The sickening crunch made him wince. Everyone jogged over to the edge of the loft. The woman’s body—free of its evil spirit—was sprawled on the floor below, neck bent at a wild angle.

“Whoa,” Faramir said, turning away. “I take it you made some progress?”

Helo took Melody’s hand again and nodded. “Yeah. We need to capture another Ghostpacker possessed by Legion. I think we’re close.”

Sparks Strength jumped down to the lower floor, next to the body. “I’m sure Legion’s a big fan of Billy Wickett. And that’s where we’re going.”

“Let’s have respect,” Finny said. “That poor soul is somebody’s daughter. Let’s take care of her.”

“We don’t bury the dead,” Shujaa said, jumping down to the floor next to Sparks. “Leave that to others. Let’s get to Saint Louis.”

“Sorry we couldn’t do better than this,” Magdelene said as she handed Finny the keys to the beat-up gray Chevy Tahoe. “The incoming Dreads have given us vehicles to use, but they’re all about as good as this one so far.”

“No worries,” Finny said, patting the hood. “As long as the engine works, I can drive it.”

Helo didn’t care much about how pretty a car was but understood Magdelene’s frustration. The Ash Angels and their seemingly unlimited resources dwindled with every mission. At least the Foundry ensured they possessed an ample supply of weapons, but he had to believe Avadan would come for the Foundry sooner or later. Or, since he was busy trying to become some big-deal pop star, send one of his Shedim to do the job.

The rest of Sicarius Nox grabbed gear out of the Foundry while Magdelene gave them their instructions. A pleasant summer breeze attended them while they got everything ready, and Helo had to admit that a farmhouse by the river had an appeal to it. Melody certainly thought so. She had seemed like more of a suburban, city girl to him but had shown a fondness for the outdoors and solitude while they had been together. Maybe he was rubbing off on her.

“Now there’s one more thing,” Magdelene said. “We’ve received reports from both the Old Masters and Ash Angels in Kansas City, Saint Louis, and Detroit that at precisely 1:20 p.m. this afternoon, all of the desecration fields shrank a mile simultaneously. We’re not sure what it means.”

“He’s pulling power from them,” Helo said. “That has to be what they’re for.”

It was his own personal theory, and the Archai mostly agreed with him, probably because they didn’t have any better guesses. But just as Avadan was a hybrid of some kind, Helo was sure the desecration fields were too. They not only desecrated but stored Vexus that tempted people to commit acts that added to the Vexus. It was like a self-recharging battery of evil.

Magdelene looked away, swiping at the strands of red hair the wind kept pushing across her face. “If it is like you say, he’s done something bad, so watch yourselves. Remember, recon only on this one, but if it looks like he’s going to try to commit some kind of atrocity on the crowd, put a stop to it if you can.”

“Got it,” he said. “We’ll report in when we get there.”

She hugged him. “Good luck, Helo. We’re all praying for you on this one.”

“We’ll need it,” he said. Sicarius Nox hadn’t exactly had a lot of success lately.

Maggie walked back toward the farmhouse, and Finny walked over wiping oil off his hands with a rag. “Fine woman,” he said. “The car, not so fine. Leaks oil, and by the smell of it burns it, too. Quart low.”

“Will it get the team there?”

Finny shrugged. “Probably. You and Melody taking the motorbike?”

“Yep,” he said. “We’ll morph and get inside the concert. We’ll get everyone else set up around the perimeter.”

Finny nodded. After a thoughtful moment, he said, “I’ve got to confess I haven’t given much thought about the ladies. Hardly had time as a soldier in my mortal life. Sparks and I would hit up the pubs between missions, but nothing serious. But seeing the way Melody looks at you—even when she’s mad at you—makes me think I might be missing out a bit, you know? How’d you, I don’t know, work that out?”

“Don’t know,” Helo said. “Still have a hard time believing it.” He pointed at the Tahoe. “Look, you get this thing ready. I’m going to make sure the motorcycle is gassed up.”

Finny gave him a two-finger salute. “Catch up with you later, boss.”

The Ash Angels had recovered the motorcycle he and Melody had used in Detroit. It was parked next to the porch of the house, and Scarlet loitered nearby, walking aimlessly around a small section of lawn. Her face was tight and brooding. He closed his eyes. What would she do now? He was still mad at her for stiffing Corinth.

“What’s up, Scarlet?” he said.

She rounded on him, brown eyes troubled. “You really bonded with Melody, then?”

“Yeah. Is that a problem?”

She folded her arms. “Yeah, it’s a problem, Helo! I mean, can’t you see it? I know we’ve been over this before, but I can’t shake the feeling that we’re supposed to be together again, that we’ve been given this second chance.”

Aclima had believed that. He never had. “I thought you and Corinth had bonded. You two are great for each other.”

She sighed. “He is a good guy, Helo. I know that. He’s just not . . . you. I mean, look at you. You’ve become everything I knew you could be back when we were married.”

“More like my brother, right?” As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t.

Her eyes welled up with tears. “That’s not fair! I have paid the price for that, Helo.”

“I know, I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. Look, the point is I have been shoved into this fight just like everyone else. If there wasn’t a war on, I’d be the same, regular ex-Marine who bored you when we were married. I’m not a charming bad boy like Brandon. I’m not outgoing and fun like Corinth. I wasn’t good enough for you then, and I wouldn’t be now. So quit torturing Corinth, okay? He deserves better.”

Melody rounded the corner of the house with the rest of Sicarius Nox, smiling at some joke Sparks had made. Her hair streamed around her, eyes bright. She didn’t have an aura, but she exuded one. A good one.

Scarlet followed his gaze and then rolled her eyes. “You barely know her.”

“I know her better than you think,” he said.

“I won’t give up,” Scarlet said. “We’re meant to be. You’ll see.”

She stalked off before Melody arrived. Melody set her rucksack down and watched Scarlet move away.

“What was that about?”

Helo didn’t want to talk about it, but something told him not to keep secrets from Melody. “She wants me back.”

Melody’s face hardened. “Can I shoot her?”

“Save your bullets for the Dreads,” Helo said.

Melody hefted her rucksack. “Okay, but if she touches you, I’m shooting her.”

She was serious. “Got it.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m going to put this in the Tahoe, then we can get this Harley on the road. I’m driving.”

“Let’s flip for it.”

Chapter 39

Enmity

Helo admired his morph job, probably the best one he had ever done. He and Melody had spent two hours getting everything just right—and laughing themselves silly in the process. It was the most fun he’d had since . . . well, the last time he’d been alone with Melody.

It was imperative that Avadan not recognize them in the crowd, so they had gone whole-hog on looking different. For him, it was the beer belly, mullet, ratty-cowboy hat, white tank top, oil-stained jeans look. And sunburned. And hairy. A bit greasy, too. Melody had absolutely insisted he wear cowboy boots and an American-flag belt buckle big enough to hide behind.

She had plumped up everything on her body and wore black jeans a size too small, muffin-topping it big-time. She morphed her hair short, wore a cowboy hat to match his, and had a button-up black shirt with silver threaded designs buttoned one level too low. Add to all that some makeup aggressively applied, and she looked like a former rodeo queen who had married a washed-up high school offensive lineman. Maybe they had taken their disguise a bit too far, but seeing Melody happy and carefree for a couple hours was worth any price. She was contagious.

But driving back into the desecration zone muffled whatever happiness they had conjured during their morph session. Signs of the desecration’s effects slid past them on every side. Police cruisers and ambulances rushed here and there. A plume of smoke rose from the city somewhere to the north. But most of all, the joyless, somber looks of the people on the streets surrounded them. The desecration seemed to have crawled inside them like termites, eating away at their hope, even on a sunny blue day without a cloud in the sky.

They’d arrived at the Hollywood Casino Amphitheater five hours early to beat the rush. He and Melody stashed the bike and joined the team in the Tahoe. A hole in the desecration stretched in a three-mile radius in every direction around the venue, providing welcome relief.

“So he can control it,” Faramir said.

“Yep,” Finny agreed. “The old bloke wants all the news to be about him to be happy and not about road rage and people getting jumped in the parking lot.”

Helo agreed. But still, Avadan had to be up to something more than just good press.

Sparks leaned around from the front. “Does that mean the rest of us can do something besides sit in the car while you and Melody have all the fun?”

“It’s a risk,” Faramir said. “If we’re right, he could close that hole at any time, and any of us caught out there would be fighting a torch.”

Helo nodded, but as soon as he saw the venue, he decided. The Hollywood Casino Amphitheater was enormous. There was covered seating, with room for thousands more on a green hill behind the main structure. He’d need his whole team out in the crowd.

“That place can fit twenty thousand,” Faramir said, checking the information on his phone. “I doubt an unknown like Billy Wickett will pull in that many, though.”

“We’ll all be going in,” Helo said. “We’ve got three Blanks. We’ll get up close. The rest of you spread out on the grass. We’ll use phones to communicate.”

Faramir’s eyes shot wide. “You’re letting me out of the car? I get to go into the field?”

“Yes,” Helo said. “I need all eyes out there looking for anything Avadan might pull. Even if he doesn’t get twenty thousand, there will be enough there for him to create a massive atrocity, and we don’t need him getting more Vexus.”

Faramir was wrong. Billy Wickett’s viral video in combination with cheap tickets and a good cause had lured the crowd, and ten minutes before the seven-thirty start time, the place was jam-packed.

Everyone in Sicarius Nox was in place and ready to roll. Still, Helo didn’t feel optimistic about their chances. With so many people in attendance, trouble could be anywhere, and his team couldn’t come loaded and armored. There were Possessed. There were Dreads. And he could feel a Sheid around somewhere. It would probably be Avadan’s bass player. Helo didn’t see any other Ash Angels. Probably all driven away by the desecration in the city. It was a perfect setup for Avadan to do whatever his warped mind wanted.

Melody squeezed his arm and leaned in. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?” he said, keeping an eye on the stage.

“That ‘I’m on a mission to kill stuff’ look,” she said. “I don’t think you’re even breathing.”

She was right. He sucked in and then belched for good effect. They were four rows back from the front, a family with three kids to their left, and a group of college age girls to their right. He wondered if he could switch them places so he and Melody could be near the aisle. They might need to get to it quickly. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, not that anyone was going to notice one edgy redneck in a crowd like this.

“Better,” Melody said. “Now put that meaty hand on my thigh, and I’ll snuggle this soft body right into yours.”

He tried to still his mind, but even with Melody snuggling into him, it was no good. He’d never liked crowds to begin with, and now, here he was in the middle of a mob waiting for the world’s most evil country music singer to trot out onto the stage. He half hoped applause really was all Avadan wanted, that the Loremaster would come out, do his thing, and leave. But Helo’s unbeating heart told him otherwise, and he couldn’t shake it.

At seven thirty sharp, the strobes lit up red, white, and blue. Helo got to his feet like everyone else and clapped as Billy Wickett strode out onto the stage with his acoustic electric guitar. Sure enough, his band was a collection of Shedim—probably some of his kidnap victims. Maybe the Ash Angels could save them.

The crowd roared as Billy approached the edge of the stage and bowed. A projector cast a giant-sized version of Billy on a large screen behind him, every strand of his wheat-colored hair and dreamy blue eyes in high-def perfection. He’d chosen a straw cowboy hat, blue flannel shirt, and tight, ripped-up jeans to complement a pair of brown cowboy boots that looked like they’d seen actual dirty work. Billy the homegrown country star done to perfection—except for the evil spirit clinging to his back and his evil aura. Helo forced the name Billy Wickett out of his head. This was Avadan, Dread Loremaster.

“Wow,” Avadan said, tearing up and putting his hand over his heart. “That means so much to me. Thank you. Thank you!” The crowd quieted, and Billy pulled the guitar strap over his shoulder. “When I told my mom I was going to play a benefit concert for the lost children of Saint Louis, she wanted to come so bad, but she’s too weak.” He seemed to fight down some emotion. “But I promised to sing this first song for her. It’s called ‘Angel Mother Mine.’”

Watching a Dread Loremaster packing an evil spirit and his swirling Vexus Sheid band play country music had to be like dropping acid. Pulling up to a drive-through to find Hitler serving tacos wouldn’t have been much weirder. The crowd ate him up. Helo looked everywhere but the stage, trying to think like Avadan. Would he set up snipers to massacre the crowd? Had he planted bombs under the seats? Poisoned the beer at the concession stands?

But all the ideas didn’t quite fit. If he really did want to be famous, then why would he murder his crowd of adoring fans, and by the end of the third song, they really were adoring. Avadan glowed with joy as he soaked up the applause and basked in the fanatical, lovesick screaming from women young and old. How much of Avadan’s pleasure was an act or genuine emotion Helo couldn’t guess, but the longer the concert went, the more Helo was certain the crowd was in no danger.

Melody, while dutifully stomping a foot to the music, had a pensive look on her face, probably a lot like the mission face she had scolded him about. He nudged her and leaned in close to her ear.

“What are you thinking?”

“That he’s enjoying himself,” she said. “And I wish I was that good at the guitar. There’s no way we can get to him here, though he’d probably like that.”

“Why?”

“If he survived, it’d be great press. I mean, attacked during a benefit concert only to survive to play another day? The media would eat it up.”

He hadn’t even considered that. If they attacked Billy Wickett, they had to make sure he was a goner. Any failure would make him famous. Avadan’s song ended, and Helo clapped to keep up appearances, glancing around to see what the Dreads and Possessed were up to. Nothing. They might be screaming and jumping and dancing a little more enthusiastically than everyone else. Avadan’s crowd plants.

Helo’s phone buzzed. A text from Andromeda.

I can’t find Shujaa, and he won’t respond.

Helo showed Melody, and her brow furrowed. Shujaa had taken position near the back edge of the green. Helo tried texting him. A song went by. Then two. Helo ordered Andromeda to keep searching for him. There were a lot of people, but the massive Shujaa and his aura should be easy to find. Had a Dread gotten to him? Jumped him, maybe?

Avadan announced his last song, though Melody told him an encore had to be in the works. Helo checked his phone. Still nothing. He ordered Sparks to look outside the concert venue. The last song ended, Billy waved goodbye, and the crowd thundered for more. Helo barely heard it. Something awful was going to happen. He just knew it. Was it some Angel Born sense or just worry over losing Shujaa?

His eyes darted everywhere as Billy and the Shedim resumed their positions on stage. Avadan was playing everything to the hilt. He actually seemed ready to weep with gratitude for the honor of being asked to perform an encore. As Avadan sang the first strains of a what was sure to be a softhearted tearjerker, the glowing forearms Helo had seen before flared beneath Avadan’s light flannel shirt.

The desecration collapsed in on them.

Fighting it off came naturally now. Melody weathered it well. “Here it comes,” Helo said. The audience quieted like someone had thrown cold water on them and they hadn’t found their lungs to gasp or scream.

Helo dug out his phone and asked everyone to respond. Sparks and Andromeda did. Faramir and Finny were both probably facedown in the grass. He grabbed Melody’s hand and pulled her toward the aisle past the group of college-aged women. They needed to be mobile. They’d just reached the aisle when a black mist rose from the desecration like the energy was evaporating. But it was what was in that mist that froze Helo’s heart.

Evil spirits, free floating, filled the air, a veritable army of them above the crowd. Red, glowing eyes punctuated their ghostly gray forms, hungrily fixed on the crowd below them. The mist had turned the entire amphitheater into a black sky full of hungry red stars. Helo could see evil spirits that were not attached to bodies, and that was wrong. Not even Dreads saw that.

“What is happening?” Melody said, her hand clenching his.

“I don’t know. We’ve got to get clear of here.”

After a glance back at Avadan—still singing his touching song—they worked their way toward the exit to their left. Evil spirits moved aside for them, seemingly by instinct, eyes never leaving the people around them. It was a glare of wanting, a desire to enclose themselves in mortal clay and experience the pleasures of the flesh.

They had almost reached the exit when Helo felt his heart wrench with a wrongness he couldn’t name. It was like what he’d felt when Ramis had crushed the vessels the evil spirits had been trapped in. But now it was some kind of signal, for, as one, the evil spirits dove into the crowd like sharks in a feeding frenzy. A man walking casually toward them stopped dead in his tracks as an evil spirit took him over, the red pinpoints in his eyes flaring to life after the ghostly head merged with his and the spectral hand gripped his heart. He stood dumbly for a moment, grinned, and then marched forward, staring at his hand like he’d never seen it before.

By the time they got out, every man and woman in the crowd was a Ghostpacker. Even teenagers. Only children seemed excluded. Helo sprinted for the parking lot, Melody right behind him. To his right, the sight of thousands of Ghostpackers on the green sent a terror through his heart. How could this happen? It was against all the rules! Only those who had given themselves deeply to some compulsion became Ghostpackers, but now Avadan had figured out a way to get around even that.

When they reached their Tahoe, no one else in Sicarius Nox was there. Helo pulled his phone out and sent a group text. They needed to get out and regroup. Avadan’s song ended moments after Helo tapped send, and a thunderous applause rose over the amphitheater, the mist dissipating. The evil spirits didn’t dissipate, however, all comfortably attached to their new victims.

Helo was about to dial up Mars when he spotted Sparks jogging through the parking lot, a limp Finny over his shoulder. Helo Hallowed the ground, and Melody opened the car door, dumping Finny in, then Helo blasted him with Glorious Presence to get him up.

Finny rubbed his face. “Were there Ghostpackers everywhere, or was that part of the torching?”

“They’re everywhere. Either of you seen Faramir or Andromeda?” Helo asked.

“Passed Faramir. Unconscious on the green,” Sparks said. “I’ll go back for him.”

“Melody,” Helo said, “go with him. I’ve got to find Andromeda and Shujaa.”

For once, Melody didn’t complain about being separated from him, and she and Sparks darted back toward the concert, which was breaking up. How would that many Ghostpackers react to Ash Angels? Suddenly he didn’t feel so good about sending Melody back into the mob. He glanced in the direction she’d just gone, but she and Sparks had already disappeared into the rows of cars.

He texted Andromeda asking where she was, and she called him back.

“No, I haven’t found him,” she said. “I don’t think he’s anywhere in the crowd. I’m searching behind the amphitheater. You have to jump a couple of fences, but there are buildings back here, and the bus Avadan rode in on. If they grabbed him, they might be holding him back here somewhere.”

“Okay. You don’t find him in two minutes, get back here as fast as you can.”

“Got it,” Andromeda said.

“Hey, boss,” Finny said. “There’s a heart in the back seat.”

Helo yanked open the passenger side door, and sure enough, a heart lay on the middle seat on the last row. While he couldn’t recognize Shujaa’s heart on sight, an idea popped into his head. He went around the car and popped open the back. The entire container of C4 was gone, along with a sanctified sword they’d brought. Helo felt numb. Shujaa had gone after Avadan by himself.

Helo slammed the back shut and went to Finny. “Tell the others to get back here and stay put. Get the engine running and ready. Call command and let them know what happened. I’ve got to find Shujaa.”

“What’s up?” Finny asked.

“I think he’s gone after Avadan.”

Concertgoers—a mass of Ghostpackers the likes of which no one had ever seen—poured into the parking lot. There was no point in stealth now. Helo kicked on Speed, Strength jumped fences, and got behind the theater. A phone call later, he found Andromeda lying on the shingles behind the peak of a roof, peering down into a large parking area dominated by a long bus. A couple other cars, SUVs, and sedans were parked there as well, a few Possessed security guards lazily patrolling the grounds.

“He’s got to be down there somewhere,” Helo said. He relayed to Andromeda what he had found in the SUV. She nodded gravely.

He and Andromeda watched the parking lot for five minutes. Helo saw no sign of Shujaa, and Shujaa was easy to spot. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe Avadan or his goons had captured him and left his heart in the car as some kind of message.

Andromeda elbowed him. “Looks like Billy and his groupies are coming out.”

And there he was, strutting out of the door as big as life with two Possessed women on either arm. The Sheid band and a party of about twenty Possessed, mostly women, piled onto the bus. A pack of others walked out the same door and milled around, taking pictures and chatting like they’d been blessed by some heavenly being who had changed their lives forever. Helo shook his head. What would Billy Wickett do now?

Screaming, of women mostly, rose from the bus.

Then it exploded.

Chapter 40

Inside

Helo winced as the shockwave took his straw cowboy hat for a ride. Shujaa had done it. He’d exploded the bus with Avadan on it, but he’d killed at least twenty possessed normals in the process. The onlookers were down, some squirming in agony, others probably dead. Arms and legs and bus seats littered the asphalt, one arm in particular sporting a glowing rune, the same rune all the Loremasters had. Had the explosion worked?

Avadan stumbled out of the wreckage of the bus, wreathed in flame, evil spirit still attached. He was naked, and he looked like Avadan—a grimacing, exhausted Avadan missing an arm. The rune on his attached arm glowed like mad, Vexus from the desecration sucking back into him. Helo tensed. Was this his chance? Should he grab him?

But then the four Shedim re-formed. Avadan swayed unsteadily for a moment, then firmed up. His visage changed to Billy Wickett again, and he grabbed the arm and reattached it. Then he perfected his morph, creating singed, shredded clothes, bleeding wounds on his chest and legs, and a sooty, disheveled look. His Sheid band joined him nearby, morphing their appearance to add blood and burns. With a dramatic flop, Avadan fell to the pavement seconds before people poured through the doorway.

“Let’s go,” Helo said.

He and Andromeda slipped down the roof and jumped to the ground. Helo’s belly bounced, and he immediately started to shrink it. He didn’t need it throwing him off balance, but if he shrank it too far, his pants would fall down. They hopped two fences and arrived at the parking lot, the mass of cars at a standstill. Without a lot of care for bumpers or hoods, they threaded their way through to the Tahoe, which hadn’t even left the stall. Finny and Sparks sat in front, Melody and Faramir in back. He and Andromeda jumped in the middle.

“Let’s get out of here, Finny,” Helo said.

“Shujaa?” Sparks said. “Was that the—”

“Explosion?” Helo said. “Yeah. He went after Avadan solo. Killed a bunch of Possessed. Not good. He might be a Dread after this.”

“Did it work?” Faramir asked, sounding a little shell shocked.

“No,” Helo said. “But it hurt Avadan, that’s for sure. I think fire still weakens him. Sparks, you’re on to something.” Helo explained what he’d seen with the amputated arm and glowing runes. “I think if we could get both of Avadan’s arms off, he wouldn’t be able to use Vexus to fuel himself anymore. It might give us a shot.”

“That won’t be easy,” Sparks said. “If we could just trap the ruddy bastard. He’s going to keep surrounding himself with normals, daring us to do what Shujaa did.”

“The Possessed do anything when you were grabbing Faramir?” Helo asked.

“We got looks,” Sparks said. “That’s about it. They’re all acting pretty normal. I don’t suppose Avadan wanted a parking-lot brawl with Ash Angels to ruin his perfect little coming-out party.”

“Not so perfect anymore,” Finny said, wedging the front corner of the Tahoe between two sedans that didn’t seem willing to give up a spot.

“No,” Melody said. “It’s even more perfect. Imagine all the free press, the tragic story. ‘Billy Wickett survives bus bombing.’ Anyone who doesn’t know his name will now. Shujaa did him a favor, trust me.”

Helo spent the next thirty minutes on the phone with command, relaying the dire news, but once they sped onto I-70, it got worse.

Faramir straightened in his seat. “You guys seeing this?”

Helo nodded. It wasn’t just the concertgoers who’d somehow been unwillingly turned into Possessed. It was the entire city. Cars full of Ghostpackers streamed by in both directions. They stood in gas-station parking lots. Glared out of hotel windows. Ambled down sidewalks. Creepy eyes with pinpoints as red as the stop lights. The entire city!

“How many people are in Saint Louis?” Sparks asked.

Faramir leaned back and took off his knit hat. “The AAO estimated about four hundred thousand were inside the desecration zone Avadan created. Surely . . . surely it can’t be everyone.”

Helo felt like someone had unplugged a drain in his heart. How could half so many be Exorcised? It would take years to undo! Evil spirits wanted to live the lives of humans, and some could even act fairly normal. But how long until their depraved natures turned Saint Louis into a city of horrors? Then a worse thought struck him. What if Avadan had done the same thing in Detroit and Kansas City?

He called Archus Magdelene. The phone rang twice before a Jeep Wrangler whomped into the side of their Tahoe. Finny yanked the steering wheel one way, then the other, to keep the car on the road, but the Wrangler nailed them again and they sailed off the shoulder, launching through a wall of trees. Branches snapped, the Tahoe tilting and landing hard on the right wheel with a metallic thunk. Leaves and dirt and a section of chain-link fence flashed in the headlights before they slammed into the back of a weather-beaten detached garage. The wall gave way, and they crunched to a stop after hitting a truck as beat up as its enclosure. A dog inside the house barked, the sound muffled.

“Everyone okay?” Helo asked.

“That was some serious Dukes of Hazzard,” Faramir said.

“Dukes of what?” Finny asked, voice irritated.

“Never mind,” Faramir said.

“Let’s get the gear and get out,” Helo said. “Melody and I will take turns Hallowing until we can get another car. Don’t forget Shujaa’s heart.”

“Got it,” Faramir said.

Helo got out first and Hallowed the ground so the rest of the team could work without fighting the desecration’s torch. Sparks opened the hatch and passed out the few weapons they had, including four sanctified knives and one sanctified tactical tomahawk—someone being creative.

The back porch light clicked on, and an African American Possessed in a white tank top and light-blue sleeping shorts stepped out with a shotgun and fired. Helo took the buckshot in the leg and hip, his jeans tearing along with his flesh. The gun cocked again, but Sparks pulsed Glorious Presence, and the Possessed shrank away. Andromeda Sped over and grabbed the gun, breaking it in half. The Possessed retreated inside.

“Helo,” Melody said, tugging his arm and pointing back through the trees. They had caromed off an embankment. About five cars were parked along the side of the road near where they had cleared a path through the underbrush and the fence. Seven Ghostpackers charged down the embankment toward them. And it wasn’t a “We’re here to see if you are okay” kind of charge. It reminded Helo of zombie movies, the fast-moving horde coming to eat their brains or suck their blood.

“We gotta run!” Helo said. They had to hide, steal a car, and get out of Saint Louis. It would be really hard not to kill any Possessed if they started throwing themselves at them like maniacs.

Helo led them out to the street at the front of the house. It was an older neighborhood with small lots, the houses packed together under huge trees. Helo turned left, heading south. The crazed Possessed trailed behind them. Others—probably those who had heard the accident—rushed out of their houses, some in pajamas and bare feet, and came after them. Helo and his team hadn’t gone two hundred feet before a mob of about twenty had joined in the chase.

But the Possessed weren’t Dreads. And they weren’t cross-country runners, either. Some barely made it a hundred feet before dropping out. Very few lasted a quarter mile. By the time they had run a full mile, the streets were empty behind them. But Helo knew he couldn’t keep up the hallow forever. They quickly located a red Dodge Durango in someone’s driveway, and Finny hot-wired it.

Finny backed out into the street. “Where to, boss?”

“Faramir,” Helo said. “What’s the closest edge of the desecration? If we get out of the desecration, I think there won’t be as many Possessed.”

Faramir pulled out his phone. “Due west,” he said. “It’s only about seven miles or so, but we’ll have to get on State Highway 364 to do it. It’s got, like, five lanes of traffic, though.”

“Can you do it, Finny?” Helo asked. He didn’t want another trip that featured flying off the highway.

“I got it,” Finny answered. “Now that I know the Possessed will go all crash-up derby on us, I can be prepared. Might be good if we can hideout till it’s late, like two in the morning. See if most of these Ghostpackers will go to bed.”

“Any ideas, Faramir?” Helo asked.

Faramir swiped and tapped on his phone. Looks like there’s a Creve Coeur picnic area. We could go hide in the trees for a while, hope there aren’t any Ghostpackers making out or something.”

“Let’s try it.”

Helo spun a twig in his fingers, his back against a tree trunk. Melody leaned her head on his shoulder, humming softly to herself. The rest of Sicarius Nox loitered in the darkness. Finny and Sparks were playing their ridiculous “Would You Rather” game, currently debating whether it would be better to live the rest of your life eating pizza or hamburgers. Faramir listened in and messed around on his phone. Andromeda wandered around through the trees. As a Blank, she was harder to spot in the total darkness.

Here, hunkered down in the woods, was the first time Helo really understood how low Avadan had knocked the Ash Angels. The evil Loremaster was on a roll. The AAO hadn’t even slowed him down. Now he had an army of Possessed at his command and a horror-movie imagination.

The good news: Helo had received an update from the Foundry. Detroit and Kansas City had not suffered the same mass creation of Ghostpackers they had witnessed in Saint Louis. The bad news: the reports of the bombing of Billy Wickett’s bus. Eighteen normals killed, at least four in critical condition. And as bad as that was, Melody had nailed it on the head with her predictions. Billy Wickett had to be drowning in all the free press coverage. Rave reviews for his concert flooded in, along with massive support for the victims of the bombing. Helo knew he’d have to avoid television for a few days. If he caught any coverage of Billy or the bombing, he would send his fist through the screen.

He glanced at his phone: 2:30 a.m. They’d agreed to leave at three for the drive back to the Foundry. Mars, who always seemed so in control, had sounded frustrated and even a little lost on the phone. Helo couldn’t blame him. They just couldn’t get any traction, and Avadan kept pulling out more surprises when they hadn’t figured out how to counter the ones they already knew about.

“Let’s meditate,” Melody said. “Just for a while.”

“Sounds good.” Helo set an alarm on his phone and grabbed Melody’s hand. The meditative sequence was second nature to them now. They could go from spinning orbs to standing naked together inside the strange room of fiery light almost instantaneously. The blinding white flames writhed all around them, like they were walking on the surface of some holy sun. While the view was unvaried, the peace and joy of being together in this strange place couldn’t be beat.

“This is so different from the White Room,” Melody said.

Helo stopped. He hadn’t thought much about the difference. She was right. The White Room was just that: white. It was bright. It was divine in its own way. But it was utterly featureless. Wherever they were now had a bit more character to it, an immortal burning that radiated power, a sort of heat, but not the kind that burned. It coalesced all around them, and they moved through it, passing from one fiery veil to another.

Then it hit him. “This is another mystery.” They thought they had solved them all and that this was their reward, but that wasn’t right. Their meditative journey hadn’t ended.

Melody locked eyes with his. Their natural green color seemed so alive in this place. “You’re right!”

“And I figured it out first, so . . .”

“Oh, right,” she said. “Like that makes your totally slow performance on the last couple of mysteries okay.”

With the other mysteries, it had felt wrong to share them. But now there was no barrier. “The light here has power and shape,” he said. Then the floodgates opened. Micah. Parity plus one. “Remember Micah’s book? It bugged him that Shedim could shape the darkness of their creation to form weapons. Ash Angels have never been able to do that.”

“True,” Melody said. “Shedim are created from darkness. Ash Angels aren’t creations of light, at least not completely, just like Dreads aren’t completely creations of the dark. There’s enough flesh to us that it won’t work. Perhaps it’s the purity of the darkness that makes it possible.”

Helo looked around. Looked at Melody’s flawless body. Studied his own hand for a moment. “True, but what are we in this place? Not flesh. We have the form, but here . . .” He thought for a moment, reached out to the light and fire around him, and envisioned a rose. It appeared in his hand exactly as he envisioned it, open and the deepest red.

He smiled and held it out to Melody, her eyes wide with wonder. “What do you think?”

She took it and spun it around. “It’s perfect.” She tapped her lips with its petals for a second, and a dazzling golden dress appeared over her body.

“Tada!” she said. “Now my outfit is on point.”

“I liked the no-outfit thing better,” he said. He concentrated again. At the speed of thought, he could create any weapon he wanted to in his hand, just like the Shedim did. He could change his outfit and even his appearance.

Melody watched, amused. “You’re thinking too small.”

She closed her eyes, and the entire scene changed. There was the cirque lake at the base of the mountain. There were the boulders along the shore. Towering pine trees enveloped a bright canvas tent, a lantern within setting it aglow. The Milky Way spanned the dark sky, a vibrant river of jewels twinkling down at them.

“Nice,” Helo said.

Melody put her hands on her hips, a self-satisfied grin on her face. “Turns out we don’t have to go somewhere for the perfect honeymoon. We can be anywhere. Be anyone. Do anything. This. Is. Amazing.”

It was the coolest thing Helo could imagine. With a thought, he added fish to the lake, birds singing in the trees, a slight breeze. This was something Shedim could never do. And it cost nothing to do it. The power here wasn’t limited by the frames of their bodies. It was a never-ending fount of possibility.

“One more mystery,” he said. “Can we use this outside of the meditation somehow?”

Melody stared up at the branch of the Milky Way that she had created, face thoughtful. “You ever thought about that evil spirit clinging to Avadan’s back?”

He’d thought about it. It was, perhaps, the weirdest part of Avadan’s transformation. Even stranger, Avadan was still Avadan, not controlled by the evil spirit like a Possessed should be. He had a suspicion about what or who it was. “You’re wondering if it’s King. I’ve thought the same thing.”

“Right,” she said. “Why didn’t Avadan or Shedim or Dreads have any of these powers before? It’s the link between Avadan and King that has given him these new abilities. King is his link to a fount of darkness.”

“So if we can Exorcise Avadan—”

“No,” she interrupted, turning her brilliant green eyes on him. “I mean, yes, that needs to be done. What I’m saying is that it’s the merging of the two that gave him this power. Just like the merging of the two of us, the bonding, has given us this . . . whatever this is.”

Helo took her hand. The bonding had given him her, and he really didn’t need anything else from it. But maybe it was Micah’s parity idea again. Avadan’s bond with King gave him power, and his and Melody’s bond did the same, like how connecting both ends of a battery activated something.

“I agree,” he said, “but we still have the same problem. How do we use the power we have all around us here, out there?”

“We’re bonded, right?” she said, turning to stand in front of him. She was glorious all the time, but here? She radiated a deep power.

“A lot of Ash Angels have been,” he said.

She kissed him. “Yes. But none of them are bonded and know about this, at least not that we know of. The point is, we’re bonded whether or not we’re in here. As an evil spirit attached to Avadan, King still has one foot in the darkness while Avadan walks the earth. We know we can come to this place alone, so . . .”

He saw where she was going now. His eyebrows raised. It might work. As long as he was connected to her somehow.

She smiled. “You’re so cute when you figure stuff out.”

He concentrated and popped himself out of the meditation. The dark woods and loitering Ash Angels took a moment to become real to him again.

“Fifteen minutes,” Faramir said, startling everyone. “It’ll be nice to get out of these creepy woods.”

Helo ran his hand through his hair. What should he try? He ignited a hallow, and it poured out of him, running out into the forest in all directions, like a cup of white light had spilled out. It just kept going and going. His body felt warm, but the pool of power at his command seemed limitless.

Everyone jumped to their feet. Sparks hefted his gun. “Something coming?”

“No,” Helo said. “Relax. An experiment.”

“To prove . . . what?” Faramir asked with knitted eyebrows.

Helo killed the hallow—it might attract attention. He kept his hand on Melody’s and grinned. This was going to work. “Here it goes,” he said. With a thought, a katana of pure light, weightless yet thrumming with power, popped into his grip.

“No way,” Faramir said.

Helo let go of Melody. The blade stayed, but his connection to the infinite well of power was severed. Everyone gathered around.

“New Bestowal?” Sparks said. “If it is, give it to me right now.”

“No,” Helo said. “This is something different. I’ve got to talk to Melody. Give me a minute.”

Faramir threw up his hands. “You can’t just—”

Helo took Melody’s hand again and tuned him out. In moments he was back with Melody. It was now bright-blue daytime at their campsite, and she had made some improvements. She lounged in a hammock, hands behind her head. Instead of the golden dress, she now wore red flannel, denim shorts, and hiking boots with heavy tread. Their tent was now roughly the size of a bus, flaps pulled open to reveal rugs and brown leather recliners. A fancy bed with a thick mattress, a comforter as blue as the sky, and a dozen light-gray pillows artfully arranged on the top sat against one side.

“Girl’s got to have some comforts,” she said. “And it appears there aren’t any real rules here. If you can think it, you can create it. I thought up a grizzly bear with the head of a unicorn, and it popped into existence. I mean, it looked totally wrong, so I got rid of it, but I could stay here forever. Wanna try out the bed?”

Of course he did, but . . . “Hold that thought. Did you sense anything that I was doing out there?”

She sighed. “Business again?”

“I know,” he said. “Could you tell what I was doing?”

“No,” she said, extricating herself from the hammock. “I was too busy having fun. What did you do?”

He explained about the hallowing and the katana. “I think as long as we’re touching and one of us is in the meditation, the other has unlimited Virtus. I think I can undo Avadan’s desecration.”

Her green eyes brightened. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Really.”

“So we’re not leaving Saint Louis?”

Chapter 41

Hallowed Ground

“So we’re not leaving Saint Louis?” Faramir said, frowning. “I was kind of looking forward to leaving Saint Louis. That many Ghostpackers in one place gives me the willies.”

“We’re heading back in while most of them are asleep,” Helo said, his fingers threaded through Melody’s. “The good news is, the hallow will keep the evil spirits from influencing them.”

“But will it be permanent?” Finny asked. “I don’t like the idea of going back in either. I don’t want to kill the Possessed. We go back in, we might have to.”

“I don’t know,” Helo said. “This is all new to me too. But even if the hallow doesn’t stick around like his desecration, if this works, we’re going to take out a third of Avadan’s Vexus collectors. That’s a major win we can’t pass up. We do it here, pack up, and get to the next one.”

“Won’t he just make more?” Andromeda asked.

“Maybe,” Helo said, “but he needs energy to do it. It took him years of storing Vexus to get this far. We keep on his tail. If we keep these desecration fields down, he’ll run out.”

“I’m in,” Andromeda said. “Better get your driving mojo on, Finny.”

Finny executed a little bow. “You got it. Ready to—”

“No,” Helo said. “Everyone with an aura, strip and put your hearts, clothes, and equipment in the back of the Durango. That should keep the Ghostpackers off our backs. Don’t forget to throw Shujaa’s heart in there.”

Sparks glared at Helo. “Fine, but I really didn’t come all the way across the pond to see Faramir’s glorious butt.”

Compared to getting out of Saint Louis, going back in was a piece of cake. Traffic was light, but Helo found himself tightly gripping the steering wheel every time they passed a car driven by Ghostpackers, and most of the cars were. Helo relaxed his jaw. An entire city full of Ghostpackers. The more he thought about Avadan’s plan, the more brilliant it was. Create zones of desecration that fed him Vexus. Use Possessed to create atrocities. Create more zones of desecration and on and on until he had access to a source of Vexus almost as endless as the source of light he and Melody had tapped into. Almost. Parity plus one. They were going to prove it.

An unhappily naked Faramir had provided them with the rough center of the desecration before he surrendered his phone, something harder for him than giving up his weapon and only marginally easier than throwing his hat into the back of the Durango. How the poor guy would spend the last hours until darkness without his precious electronics was anyone’s guess. Maybe Finny and Sparks would let him in on their “Would You Rather” game. Before Helo got in the car, the two had started debating whether super speed or flying was the superior superpower. That was right up Faramir’s alley.

From her place in the middle seat, Andromeda kept them up to date on all the Billy Wickett news. A massive outpouring of goodwill had propelled Billy Wickett aloft on a trending rocket to name recognition. The fiery blast had miraculously only singed the fortunate Billy and his band with minor burns. It was a little too miraculous, if anyone thought about it. Billy was anxious to put on another show, the proceeds to go to the victims of the blast. He was just waiting for morning to see if there was a venue that would help out. Helo could only imagine the offers that would roll in as soon as the sun came up.

“Billy Wickett is kinda hot,” Andromeda said. “If I didn’t know who he was, I’d be a fangirl even if it meant I had to listen to country. He’s going straight to superstardom if we don’t stop him soon.”

“Yep,” Melody said, resolute face lit by the glow of her phone screen. “Take this off-ramp.”

Helo pulled off, turned left at a stoplight, and headed downtown. A Possessed cop whizzed by in the opposite lane, jolting his heart. One of these days, their luck was going to run out, and they were going to have to explain to some bewildered civil servant why they had big weapons and a bunch of fresh hearts in the back of their car.

Melody guided him through canyons of stone, steel, and glass until they arrived at the Saint Louis Public Library, a massive building of light-colored stone, arched windows, and a wide set of stairs leading up to three tall arches. He eyed the little park across the street. He needed to be in contact with the ground, and the modest rectangle of grass and trees would do.

Helo parked, noting the meter. He turned off the engine and handed the keys to Andromeda. “Unless you have any quarters, keep a watch out for parking cops . . . and the usual bad guys. Ready, Melody?”

“Can’t wait,” she said. And she sounded like she meant it.

Touching his feet to the desecrated ground reminded Helo of why they were here, its ghostly black fog of filth a blight that had seeped into every alley and street. The worming evil pinched his face as they jogged across the street in their ridiculous country getups from the concert. If the cops showed up, they’d have to act drunk or hilariously lost. The little park was open and exposed, but Dreads and Shedim would avoid a hallow at all costs, and the Possessed would regain control of themselves when they entered. If he could do this fast, they’d be out before any bad guy could get within throwing distance.

Helo lay down flat on his back, Melody next to him, to present a small profile. He took her hand and smiled at her, then closed his eyes and got down to business. It was like clockwork now. Spinning spheres. Focus on the sun. Fall into the sun. The campsite she had conjured up appeared around them exactly as they had left it.

“You know, that bed is begging to be used,” Melody said, throwing him a sultry look. “I’ll just be in here hanging out while you’re at work . . .”

He ran a finger down her cheek. “We’ll get there. Yeah, and I know. Six months. No one regrets it more than I do. Be back soon.”

He kissed her and then fell out of the meditation and back into the warm spring night in Saint Louis. The city had a particular hum in the background, punctuated by the occasional car horn or roaring motorcycle. He held Melody’s hand tight and let the hallow flow across the ground. It expanded smoothly away from him, the desecration powerless before it, like weeds devoured by a wildfire blown on a gale.

But the power was there, flowing into him from his bond with Melody. Never ending. No exhaustion. No need to ration it. He pulled it in and redirected it out. He had no idea how long he needed to do it or how far it had gone. His body warmed with each passing minute. A glow settled on his skin, and before too long, the warmth flared into a genuine heat. He was surprised the grass around him wasn’t burning. It was like he was walking toward some enormous bonfire, the heat more uncomfortable with every step.

But he couldn’t stop. He glanced over at Melody, her face peaceful and content in the divine light. Then the flesh of his body started to peel like a piece of paper curling at a flame. He lifted the hand not holding Melody’s and watched it disintegrate, his muscles, his bones, his entire arm disappearing into nothingness. He had to stop before it consumed him completely. Had he done enough? Was the desecration gone? His legs were. The burning raced toward his heart and then consumed the hand that grasped Melody’s.

The hallow faded away. Only his head and torso from the belly button up remained. He took a moment to extend his senses. The city had changed. The weight had lifted like a fog, a place coming out of a depressed funk. Saint Louis was . . . normal . . . again. But his hallow didn’t stick like the desecration had. Even so, Avadan had to know by now that one feeder city had been cleansed.

The flushed sky looked ready to announce the arrival of dawn, but without hands, he couldn’t get to his phone to see the exact time. He needed to get his body and his team back and get out of Dodge in their stolen Durango.

He wasn’t touching Melody, and still she meditated. They always touched when they meditated, but what would happen now? He closed his eyes and went through the meditation sequence. And there she was, regarding the sky with the same expression an artist would use to evaluate a sketch she had just drawn. It was night again in their shared world, and three moons, all crescents, glowed softly in the sky.

“Too much?” she asked, pointing to the moons. “Two was weird and four too crowded. I guess I could vary the sizes and do, like, ten of them.”

Helo put his arm around her waist. “I think you’re getting lost in here.”

“It’s a great place to get lost,” she said, snuggling into him. “Did it work?”

“Saint Louis is free of the desecration,” he said. “We’ve got to leave. But some good news. I’m not touching you right now, and here we are.”

“That is awesome!” She leaned into him. “We really need to find some time to play around in here, Helo.” She turned her gaze back to the sky. “Stay there,” she said to the moons. “I’ll be back.”

Then they were out. Andromeda was running toward them, and she didn’t have to explain why. Red eyes everywhere. The Possessed had come. Just a few. A couple of security guards walked down the steps from the library. Others exited nearby buildings. They didn’t come running—probably because they couldn’t tell if the three people lounging around were Ash Angels or not.

“What happened to your body?” Melody said. She placed her hand on him and the healing energy flowed into him.

“I’ll explain later.” He donned his shoes and pants, and they took off across the lawn. Mistake. As soon as they started running, so did the Possessed. “Melody, Hallow. We can at least keep them from getting close.” Working the partner hallow with Melody hadn’t replenished his flagging Virtus from their first escape from the Possessed. Dawn was almost here, and then he’d have all he needed. Andromeda jumped into the driver’s seat.

Melody’s hallow extended out in a fifteen-foot radius. The Possessed closing in on them pulled back like it was lava. But the security guards pulled their pistols and let loose with a steady volley into the Durango. The windshield shattered, Andromeda ducking behind the steering wheel. One bullet clipped Melody’s shoulder, ripping her blouse as Helo pulled open the door for her. The guards stopped firing, reloading.

They clambered in, but that ended the hallow on the ground. The Ghostpackers leapt forward, sprinting for the car. Helo slammed the door and locked it. “Go!”

They couldn’t reverse without crushing the oncoming Possessed, so Andromeda pushed forward, taking out the parking meter, revving down the sidewalk, and arcing out into a clear section of the street. More bullets peppered the car. Helo took one to the leg, Melody one to the abdomen. It looked like Andromeda had a hole an inch behind her temple. She floored it, wind blasting into the cabin.

Rapture.

It wasn’t much of one.

The Durango had drifted right, and Andromeda nearly flipped it overcorrecting. A light pole ground across the side.

“What are you doing to my Durango?” Finny said. “And get your foot out of my face, Faramir.”

The cargo area had become a tangle of three naked men, a bunch of clothes, and a pile of weapons. And one heart. Shujaa’s heart. Or was it? They had assumed it was. If it was, it could only mean one thing.

“He’s a Dread,” Melody said quietly, eyes hard, like she had read his mind.

A gray SUV swerved out of its lane and rocketed toward them. Andromeda yanked the wheel, and the SUV narrowly missed the mother of all T-bone accidents, clipping their back bumper. The Durango fishtailed, and everyone swayed back and forth while she worked the wheel to get it back on course.

Sparks’s head popped over the seat. “So the hallowing worked. Brilliant.”

“Yeah,” Helo said. “It worked.”

“Can’t get my pants on if the car won’t hold still,” Faramir growled.

“Driving is my job,” Finny said, climbing over the seat in his tighty-whities.

A motorcycle angled at them, but the Durango won that battle, the bike and the driver tumbling off onto the sidewalk. The road looked clear ahead of them for a quarter mile, though the Possessed poured out of every building like ants out of a hole. Andromeda and Finny did a complicated driver switch while the car was still moving.

“Watch the master at work,” Finny said, leaning hard on the pedal. Air blasted into the cabin, the engine roaring. Then smoking. Then sputtering. “No! No! No!” The Durango slowed, warning icons popping up on the dash like Christmas lights.

“Behind us!” Sparks yelled.

Helo had just turned his head when a delivery truck slammed into their bumper. The back glass shattered, and the Durango lurched forward and careened off the road, tires squealing as Finny yanked the steering wheel. Another parking meter paid the price, but Finny kept it in the right lane. The delivery truck ended up inside a coffee shop.

“Yeah!” Finny yelled, pumping the gas. The suffering Durango shuddered, and with a final clunk and a clank, the engine died.

Finny slammed the steering wheel.

“Time for a jog,” Sparks said, handing out weapons. “Leave no guns behind!”

“Get Shujaa’s heart,” Helo said.

The Possessed swarmed the Durango, rocking it back and forth, pounding the windows. It was like a postapocalyptic movie except the zombies looked perfectly healthy and wore dull expressions, like they were reading a book on tax law. Two jumped on the hood. Helo knew they would torch, and he couldn’t let his team get crippled. He let loose a blast of Glorious Presence, and the Possessed staggered back.

“Follow me out on my side,” Helo said. More Possessed pushed through, and he blasted them with Glorious Presence again. After a kick to the door that sent two Ghostpackers sprawling, he stepped out and let loose a big hallow.

The Possessed inside the circle froze, bewilderment overspreading their faces. Helo shoved his way through, Melody and his team right behind. The Possessed outside the hallowing circle jogged along the fringes of the crowd, waiting for the inevitable depletion of Ash Angel Virtus.

And still they came, pouring out of buildings in their pajamas and sleeping shorts, mobbing around them. Helo clenched his fists. Avadan was clearly pissed and had sent a mob for vengeance. They had to find a car and get clear. They weren’t going to make it if they had to jog out of Saint Louis while shoving their way through a crowd they couldn’t use their weapons on. Helo shouldered his way through a tight clump, knocking three Possessed to the ground.

“Look for a car!” Helo shouted. “Something big.”

“It won’t work!” Finny said, eyes darting around the crowd. “We’d have to drive over these people!”

Helo glanced around at the swelling crowd. Finny was right. Even if he could Hallow the ground long enough for them to get a car, the Possessed were everywhere. What they needed was an aircraft. The Ash Angels used to have access to helicopters and private planes, but those days were long gone. But there had to be helicopters in Saint Louis somewhere, and Finny could fly anything.

“Stop!” Helo said, keeping his hallow up “Faramir, find us a helicopter.”

With trembling hands, Faramir dug his phone out of his pocket. The confused people within the hallow milled about, most leaving to head back to homes or jobs only to turn around and stare blankly at them when Avadan took control of their minds again. The crowd had swallowed all the cars on the road, their drivers stepping out to join their companions on the street, patiently waiting for the hallow to drop.

“Got it!” Faramir said. “There’s a helicopter tour company down by the river. It’s only a couple miles west of here.”

“Let’s do it,” Helo said. “Hallows and Glorious Presence to clear the way. You’re in the lead, Faramir. Take us to it. Melody, take over the hallow.”

Melody provided the hallowed ground, and everyone else took turns blasting the Ghostpackers with Glorious Presence and pushing them out of the way. Block after agonizing block, they churned through the throng. Helo was just waiting for someone to pull a gun or plow through the crowd in a car to get to them.

The massive Saint Louis Arch rose into the sky in front of them, seeming to grow taller the closer they came. They arrived at a walking bridge across the interstate, a cathedral just beyond. The bridge was stacked with Ghostpackers pushing and shoving toward them like the Ash Angels were discounted TVs on Black Friday.

“We’ve got to go through,” Faramir said. “We go past the cathedral and cut across some trails. The riverfront and helicopter tours are on the other side.”

“Try not to knock any off the bridge,” Helo warned. “How you holding up, Melody?”

“Good,” she said. “I think I can get us there.”

With another blast of Glorious Presence, they squeezed through the disoriented crowd. The interstate was a mass of cars sitting on the highway, doors open, Ghostpackers trying to climb at them. After a final push and shove, they cleared the bridge. The other side had fewer possessed and a lot more open space, which provided for good running. The arch glinted in the morning sunshine, the river a muddy snake winding through the city.

A road ran down the riverfront, and the helicopter-tour barge floated in the water, two gangplanks stretching to the shore. A blue-and-yellow helicopter waited on the pad.

“There it is!” Finny said. “That’s a Robinson R44. I think it can only hold four. We’ll need a couple of us to morph into children.”

They reached the waterfront road. A herd of Ghostpackers—only the healthy ones who could run a mile—swarmed toward them on either side, while others wheezed and fell behind. The obesity epidemic was bad, but it helped thin the pursuers’ numbers. To their left, a long stretch of concrete stairs led up to the arch.

“Shedim!” Sparks said a half second after Helo felt the taint creep into him. Two Shedim morphed like police officers bounded down the concrete steps in front of the arch with Strength-powered jumps. The helicopter pad was so close! Getting trapped between Ghostpackers and Shedim could get ugly fast.

He grabbed Melody’s arm. “Keep Hallowing. Finny, get to the chopper and get it going. Everyone else, dump Angel Fire on those Shedim before they torch! On me!” He really, really couldn’t afford to have torched Ash Angels right now.

Helo took point. Four streams of Angel Fire lit up the air, nailing the Shedim midflight. The Vexus of their creation steamed off them as they descended and landed fifty feet away. As soon as they touched the ground, they juked and dodged and then Sped forward, unleashing tentacles of smoky fire. One drilled Andromeda square in the sternum, blowing a hole through her chest and plowing her backward—into the crowd of Possessed.

One whizzed by Helo’s ear, and he Strength jumped as the Sheid whipped a tentacle meant to chop him in half. The Sheid threw out another once Helo hit the ground, and he rolled as it passed overhead. He Hallowed, catching the Sheid inside. It started to run, but Helo trailed it and drove his fist through its back. The black mist exploded, and a teenage girl flopped to the ground.

Another one of Avadan’s discount Shedim.

He turned to find Melody in half on the ground, still Hallowing. Faramir was missing the bottom half of his legs, but he poured on the Angel Fire. Sparks stayed inside the protective circle and was dodging for all he was worth, keeping up the Angel Fire on the Sheid. The Possessed dragged Andromeda toward the river while she thrashed, though only her arms seemed to work. She belted and squirmed, sending Ghostpackers flying.

Helo knew he couldn’t save her and help Sparks and Melody. Could they hold out long enough for him to do both? The Sheid torched, and Sparks flinched and stumbled before a tentacle sent him flying backward into the same crowd of Possessed hauling Andromeda off. Helo Sped forward and Hallowed before the Sheid could turn its attention on him. It too tried to run, but it was too late. Helo drilled it, and the darkness exploded, sending a teenage male to the ground.

He crossed to Melody and healed her and Faramir before her hallow went out. “That’s all I’ve got,” she said as he gave her a hand up.

Helo kept his hallow going, and they turned just in time to see Andromeda disappear into the water, disintegrating to ash. Helo’s heart sank.

“Sparks!” Melody said, yanking Helo out of his stupor.

The Possessed had surrounded Sparks, but the British Ash Angel was using bursts of Glorious Presence to keep the mob at bay. Helo, Melody, and Faramir sprinted forward and shoved the confused people around Sparks away. Helo grabbed him and dragged him down the gangplank, where the helicopter waited, engine whining, blades whipping the air.

Chapter 42

Shujaa

Magdelene’s eyes went wide. “At last, some good news,” she said after Helo related how he and Melody had cleansed Saint Louis. They sat on the back porch of Spade and Martha’s white farmhouse. The rest of the team had gone inside for brownies, but Magdelene had pulled him outside. She had morphed young, red hair back in a ponytail, but she seemed older than he’d ever seen her. Weeks of worry roosted in her eyes, in the tightness of her lips.

“We need to Hallow Kansas City as soon as we can,” Helo said. “If we can find fuel for the chopper, Finny says we can be there in under two hours.”

“Aren’t you both drained?” she asked.

“It doesn’t take any of the Virtus from us,” he said. “It’s hard to explain. And I can’t explain too much. It’s against the rules, if that makes any sense.”

“But one of you has to be in the meditation and touching the other for it to work, right?”

“Yes,” he said.

“So doing this in a combat situation isn’t going to work,” she said, leaning back.

“No,” Helo confirmed. He’d been racking his brain, trying to figure out some way they could take advantage of it when facing Avadan. If they could keep a hallow up around him, maybe he wouldn’t be able to use his black torching power, which disabled even the toughest Ash Angels.

Martha came out with the lemonade. Helo took a cool glass, then said, “The good news is the hallow doesn’t take forever. The bad news is it’s easy for the Ghostpackers to pinpoint where we are afterward. Honestly, I think it’s a bad idea to do this without an aircraft. Getting trapped on the street was not good. But we have to get there before Avadan can do to Kansas City what he did to Saint Louis. It’s hard to describe a city full of Possessed. Unreal.”

Martha stood nearby, hands in her apron pockets. Her face seemed troubled.

“We’ll try,” Magdelene said. “I might be able to call in some favors from the Old Masters. We’ve got people watching the hospital where Billy Wickett is being ‘treated,’ and he hasn’t been discharged yet, so we’ve got a little time. We can’t be sure if he’ll hit Detroit or Kansas City next. If he announces a concert, we’ll know for sure. If not, we’ll have to see which way he goes. You and Melody have to be ready,” Magdelene said. “Since you’re the only two who can do this partnered hallowing technique—”

“They’re not,” Martha said.

Magdelene twisted around. “Really?”

“Can I have a private word with Helo, dear?”

“Sure.”

“And can you fetch Spade for me?” she said, commandeering Magdelene’s seat. “He’s watching TV.”

Magdelene went inside, screen door banging shut. Martha leaned forward, voice quiet. “So, you and that cute little Melody,” she said. “You’ve been doing a meditation with the silver ball and the sun?”

“Yes,” he said. “You know it?”

She nodded. “And you’ve, um, figured out the mysteries?”

“Yes,” he said. This was great news! Maybe this technique was known by many Old Masters.

“All of them?” she pressed.

“I’m not—”

The screen door banged open, and Spade ambled out, hat off and flannel shirt unbuttoned far enough to reveal a nice bush of graying chest hair. “What is it, Martha? Bonus round’s about to start!”

“Sit down, dear,” she said.

Spade grunted, a wicker chair crackling as it took his weight. “Well?”

“It’s the meditation, dear,” she said. “He and that sweet Melody girl have figured out the mysteries.”

His bushy eyebrows shot up. “Now that’s a thing.”

“They used it to Hallow Saint Louis, heal it,” Martha continued. “We never even thought to try having one person in the meditation and another out.”

“That works?” Spade said, momentarily forgetting to use his old-man voice.

“Yeah,” Helo said, excitement pulsing through his veins. “You can take one city, and Melody and I the other. We can wipe out Avadan’s atrocity cities before the day is out.”

Spade thought for a moment. “And you’ve solved all the mysteries, right?”

“I guess,” Helo said. He lowered his voice. “We’ve found this place where we can create anything. It’s amazing.”

Martha and Spade shared a look, one that carried fond memories. “That’s right,” Spade said. “There’s one more mystery, but for the two of you to have solved what you have so quickly . . . well, you’re a couple of insufferable show-offs, really.”

Martha patted Helo’s knee. “Well, congratulations, dear. It’s kind of silly that more don’t know it, really. The meditation was such a sacred subject to the Old Masters it got lost in the last century or so. I’m glad you found it. What you have is really the greatest blessing. Well, Spade, I think we’d better pack our bags. How about we head on out to Detroit and let Helo and Melody rest up and take Kansas City?”

Spade grimaced. “Detroit’s a cesspool.”

Martha and Spade stood at the same time. “Come on,” Martha said. “It’s time to clean it up.”

“You’ll want help,” Helo said. “The Ghostpackers are chasing auras.”

“Help,” Spade muttered in the way men do when they’re told to read the instructions.

Martha swatted his rump. “Don’t be a jackass, Spade.”

Helo followed the old couple in. They took the creaky stairs to the second level. His team and Magdelene sat quietly on the couches in the living room wolfing down brownies and lemonade. Melody smiled at him from her seat by the window, sweating glass in her hands.

“Well?” Magdelene said, standing. “Can they?”

“Yep,” Helo said.

“Can they what?” Sparks asked.

“Hallow,” Helo said. “Like Melody and I can.”

“Okay,” Faramir said. “Does this have to do with that meditation thingy you guys do?”

“Yes,” Helo said.

Magdelene moved toward the front door. “I’ll go down to the Foundry to talk to Mars and Ebenezer. This is the best news we’ve had in weeks. I’ll see if I can get birds for both of you.”

“Okay,” Sparks said after Magdelene had left. “I’ll admit that I didn’t take this meditation bit seriously when you told us about it. But let’s just say I’m much more interested now. Explain it again.”

Helo reviewed the basic technique with his team. “Do that every day before dawn. Remember, the goal is to empty your mind of all worry and care.”

“But,” Sparks said, “if I’m reading between the lines correctly, I’m going to need to find a lady friend to, you know, get the most out of this?”

Melody laughed. “Yes,” she said. “You need to be bonded.”

Sparks frowned. “Brilliant.”

“Still has benefits for those of us who haven’t been so lucky,” Faramir said, briefly glancing at Melody.

“That’s your problem, Faramir,” Sparks said, tone serious. “It’s not a matter of luck. It’s all about a bloke’s attitude and skills.”

Faramir rolled his eyes. “I suppose you’re booked solid with dates all the time. Oh, wait, I haven’t seen a woman talk to you for more than two minutes.”

Sparks pointed his finger at Faramir. “Hey, the ladies have been lining up for my entire afterlife, but I like the unattached life, you know.”

Finny grinned. “Lining up, huh? You sure about that, mate?”

“That’s right,” Sparks said. “Too easy. Takes the fun out of it, you know? A man likes a chase. How about Archus Magdelene? She on the market? Or are she and Mars a couple?”

Melody smirked. “Mars in love. Now that’s hard to picture.”

“All right, everyone,” Helo said. “Let’s get back to business. We need to honor Andromeda.”

Silent nods followed, and everyone grabbed a glass of lemonade. Helo struggled for what to say. As the commanding officer, he had a tribute to perform, something to comfort and honor. But words weren’t his strong suit. Second-guessing himself was. If only he’d done this or that, she might be alive. He shoved it aside and raised his glass.

“To Andromeda.”

“To Andromeda,” his team said in unison, thrusting their glasses forward.

Melody took a drink and said. “Heaven welcomes another lioness home.”

“Here, here.”

They nursed their drinks in silence for a while, then Faramir glanced over at his backpack. “What about Shujaa?”

“We don’t know for sure that’s his heart,” Sparks said.

Helo was pretty sure it was. Shujaa made it quite clear he had no sympathy for the Possessed, and his passionate hatred had pushed him too far. It was weird not to have Shujaa’s shadow at his back or having him call him Angel Born every five minutes.

“I’ve got to take the heart to the Foundry,” Helo said, moving toward the backpack. “Magdelene said they’ve got Ramis down there in some room they’ve converted into a cell. They’ll put Shujaa in there.”

“They haven’t fried Ramis?” Sparks said. “Don’t look at me like that. After Aclima, I get that they want him back, but he’s messed up.”

Helo grabbed the heart out of Faramir’s backpack. Weird to think the slimy lump in his hand belonged to the mighty Shujaa. “If Ramis knows what he’s cost the Ash Angels, he probably wants to be burned. If we’re not gone by the time Shujaa comes back, we should talk to him. He might be a Dread now, but he got closer to killing Avadan than any of us.”

At five minutes to sundown, Helo sat in a chair inside the Foundry, staring at the cell where Ramis kept walking into the locked, metal door over and over and over. Someone had tossed Shujaa’s heart into the cell, just a lump in the middle of the tiled floor. What would he say to Shujaa? How would the man react to being a Dread? Shujaa hated Dreads for what they had done to his family, and now he was one.

Helo stood as the time neared, stepping close to the bars that had been spot welded onto an office to make a prison of it. He hoped they’d reinforced the door and the walls—Shujaa was a beast of a man even without Bestowals. There was only one sentry at the door around the corner, and he looked about half the size of Shujaa.

It was Helo’s first visit to the secretive compound beneath the old white farmhouse. The side he was on held the offices and the receiving area for raw materials, which were lowered on a large hydraulic platform. The line of offices overlooked the receiving floor, a metallic-grate platform stretching the length of the room. The office where they held Ramis abutted a common area in the middle of the stretch of rooms, and that’s where Helo had set up watch.

At two minutes to sunset, Archus Mars strode up with Archus Magdelene and Corinth. Magdelene wore the blue jumpsuit of an Archus, while Corinth and Archus Mars wore the black-and-gray battle fatigues of the Michaels, the same outfit Helo had changed into after morphing back to his usual persona. Helo laid a man hug on Corinth. It was hard to see him so sober-faced. Helo couldn’t be sure if Scarlet or the Avadan situation had sucked his energy dry.

Mars shook Helo’s hand. “Sorry to hear about Andromeda. Got you a couple of replacements for this next push.”

“Corinth?” Helo said, glad to have him along.

“And me,” Mars said. “I’ve had it with hiding in a bunker waiting for bad news. The AAO is on the edge, and I want to see this done.”

“Sicarius Nox is yours,” Helo said. In a way, it was a relief to be outranked.

“It’s ours,” Mars said. “I’m doing this to fight, not because I want to run anything. I’m tired of running things and want to get back to shooting things.”

“Yes, sir,” Helo said.

Magdelene looked into the cell, eyes on the pathetic Ramis. “Such a waste,” she said.

“How long’s he been doing that?” Helo asked, pointing to Ramis and his unending slam dance into the door.

“Don’t know,” Mars said. Mars poked his head around the corner. “Sentry, how long has Ramis been moving like that?”

“Couple hours,” the sentry said.

“We should let him out and see where he goes,” Magdelene suggested.

“Probably up top,” Mars said, folding his beefy, brown arms. “Just like the other Dreads who show up waiting to get burned.”

Phone alarms sounded, marking the coming of dusk, and in a flash, the heart on the floor turned into a dead-faced Shujaa, aura as red as the blood he had spilled with his explosive attempt on Avadan. Immediately, Shujaa turned and walked at the same wall as Ramis, knocking him to the floor. The two kept taking shots at the wall, Ramis getting the worst of it as the larger man shoved him out of the way.

“Hallow it,” Mars ordered.

Helo extended his hallow inside the room. Shujaa flinched and then turned. He studied his hands for several long moments and then sank to his knees, an agonized wail escaping his lips. Ramis added to the misery with a pained groan all his own. Helo swallowed, heart heavy. To see two powerful men brought so low! It was a warning against recklessness and pride, a reminder that no one was exempt from the pull of their darker natures. Avadan could turn anybody.

Shujaa set his forehead to the floor, hands cupped over the back of his head, and wept. There were no words. What could anyone possibly offer as comfort? Helo remembered Aclima. She had changed. It had taken millennia, but it had come. Shujaa could change. Helo wanted to believe it. Shujaa had to.

“On your feet, soldier,” Mars barked, face sour like he smelled a gas leak.

Shujaa hauled himself to his feet, his tear-soaked face a mask of agony. As he got closer to the bars, Helo pulled the hallow back, making it smaller, both to conserve energy and to end Ramis’s pitiful moaning. The former Archus returned to walking into the wall again. Shujaa grabbed the bars and hung his head.

“Shujaa,” Helo said. “What happened?”

“I failed you, Angel Born. I failed,” he said. “I grew impatient. After he changed all those people . . . I had to take the chance. I thought I could do it.”

“What happened, soldier?” Mars pressed.

Shujaa wiped his eyes and squared his shoulders. “I took a sanctified weapon and hid in the restroom on the bus. When he got on the bus, I waited until he was near. I surprised him. I thought I had him. Before he could so much as flinch, I cut him. Sanctified blade went clean through his arm and cut it off. It did not destroy him, but it seemed like it hurt him. The evil spirit squirmed like it was touching a live wire. I went to cut again, and he blasted me with that black torch. I had only enough sense to detonate the C4. That is all I remember.”

“Thank you, Shujaa,” Helo said. “We’ll—”

Shujaa reached through the bars and grabbed Helo’s arm. “You must beat him, Angel Born. You must. If he can’t control me, then I can work to be redeemed. Just like Aclima. Promise me.”

“I will,” Helo said. The pain in Shujaa’s eyes was almost too much to bear.

Helo dropped the hallow, and Shujaa’s face went slack. He turned and rejoined Ramis on his pointless assault on the wall.

“So not even sanctified weapons will kill him,” Magdelene said. “How are we going to win this?”

“It’s the arms,” Helo said. “If we can sever them both, I think he’ll lose his ability to draw on the Vexus and maybe even lose some of his power.”

“We’ve used up all the good sanctified weapons,” Mars said. “There are still some small knives, but you and Melody are probably the only ones who stand a chance at standing toe to toe with that monster.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Helo said. He wished he could say it with more confidence. It was what had to be done. But how? Getting close to Avadan had proved to be nigh impossible. They could create weapons of light, but only if Melody was in the meditation, and he doubted they could lure Avadan close enough to put the weapon to good use.

They had to take Avadan by surprise like Shujaa had. How to do it without hurting normals was the question. They could stun him with explosives, but if he kept surrounding himself with normals, even Possessed ones, they could all end up like Shujaa.

“We’ve about got transportation worked out,” Magdelene said, grabbing his arm. “Just a few more hours.”

Helo folded his arms and nodded. His heart was a stone.

“Hey,” Magdelene said. “It’s fate, right? You and Melody have been given gifts to see us through this hour. Parity plus one, remember?”

“I know,” Helo said. “I’ve never had so much light in my life, but the way ahead has never seemed darker.”

Someone was sprinting down the metallic walkway, and in a few seconds Sparks turned the corner. “You’ll want to see this.” He grinned. “Topside.”

They took the stairs up, exiting out the freezer in the basement of the farmhouse. They followed Sparks outside. The light had nearly drained from the sky. Out on the gravel road, a host of headlights gashed into the night, dust playing in the beams. Helo joined Melody there, threading his fingers through hers. She kissed his cheek, and together they enjoyed the arrival of a parade of Old Masters, Oakes and Lotus in the lead on their motorcycles.

Oakes and Lotus dismounted while a line of old cars and motorcycles piled up behind them. Helo’s heart warmed. The ranks of Ash Angels had thinned a lot lately, and to see this army of Old Masters helped shore up his flagging hope. He forced himself to remember that this wasn’t an army. The Old Masters didn’t think of themselves that way.

He shook Oakes’s hand and introduced her and Lotus to Mars, Magdelene, and finally Ebenezer, who emerged from the house.

Magdelene smiled. “We are thrilled to see you,” she said.

Helo expected to find Mars looking at them like they were a bunch of dirty orphan children, but his face actually seemed to register gratitude, even relief.

“Thank you,” Oakes said. “We’ve come to help. We’ve seen and heard what happened in Saint Louis. We do not like to fight, but we can’t ignore this. Divine rules we thought were unbreakable have been broken. If the time has come to fight, then we will do it. We will pledge our blades to the Unascended. What do you want us to do?”

Chapter 43

Atrocity

Helo spent the better part of the next two hours Blessing blades and meeting Old Masters—and trying to think of how to best use them. He took a quick poll to see how many had the Exorcism Bestowal, surprised to find that 20 percent did—about forty of the nearly two hundred who had come. The stats he had from Magdelene revealed that only about 5 percent of the Ash Angels in the AAO had Exorcism. It reminded him again about what both Dolorem and Spade had hinted at. How you lived as an Ash Angel influenced what Bestowals you received and how long you lingered in the afterlife. Helo guessed that meant he had lived too hard and too fast.

Spade and Martha, now morphed young and trim and ready for battle, hung around on the front porch. It was weird. He liked them better old. Now they just looked like two more soldiers. This place held so many memories, good and bad. The water flowing by had carried a lot of ash, but near those waters he had gotten Aclima back. And it was here that he and Melody had first fought together. He hoped they would see it again after confronting Avadan. He really wanted to make Melody’s dream of living in a place like this come true, but his confidence in beating Avadan sat at an all-time low. All Ash Angels stood a real chance of floating down a river as a lump of ash if Avadan’s power kept growing.

But even that he could accept. What really clawed at his heart was Avadan’s ability to torture and turn Ash Angels into Dreads. It had nearly killed him when Aclima had been turned. It would drive him insane if the cruel Loremaster got his hands on Melody. For about the fifth time that day, he considered finding some way to ditch her back at the farm while he and the rest of the team went after Avadan. He glanced over at her. She was talking to Lotus, who cradled a guitar. Melody beamed, and Helo had to smile. Two musicians talking shop.

Magdelene touched his arm. “Helicopters should be here in thirty minutes. You should get your team ready. You think you can handle Mars?”

“I think he just wants to have a little fun,” Helo said. It was probably true. Mars had never seemed like the type to sit behind a desk.

Her phone rang, and she picked it up. Helo got his out and messaged his team to meet by the southern barn. He had taken a step in Melody’s direction when Magdelene’s arm shot out and grabbed his in an iron grip. She was saying a stream of “uh-huhs,” and “Are you sure?” over and over again, eyes wide with horror. Then she hung up.

“We’re too late,” she said, voice hollow.

“What?”

“It’s Detroit. He just did it there. They’re all Possessed. All except children.”

Helo’s heart sank. “I thought we had eyes on him in Saint Louis!”

“We did,” she said, still not quite focused on what was around her. “One minute he was there in the hospital, then he wasn’t. I get the feeling he doesn’t need cars and planes to get around. The desecration field in Kansas City shrank when he did it, but it’s already starting to build again. We’ve got to find Mars.”

“We’ve got to go!” Helo said. “Any chance those choppers can get here faster?”

“No,” she said. “No. I . . . this is unthinkable.”

They found Mars and Ebenezer in the house in the office, Mars lecturing Ebenezer about what to do in his absence. Ebenezer looked annoyed, but then again, he always did.

“What’s happened?” Mars said, apparently reading Magdelene’s face.

She paced the floor. “Helo, you tell him. I’ve got to think.”

Helo relayed the news, Mars and Ebenezer listening slack-jawed. While he told the story, Magdelene’s phone rang again, and she stepped out to take it. When she came back, she looked like someone had just died.

“Avadan’s got them fighting and killing each other in Detroit. Guns. Knives. Bats. The whole city.”

Helo shook his head. Avadan knew he was losing control of his Vexus, so he was ramping up the violence to get what he needed. “He’s building up Vexus stores. He’s going to do something big. How about Saint Louis?”

“No reports yet,” she said. “It’s still clean of the desecration, so that’s some comfort.”

“There’s nothing to talk about anymore,” Mars said, jaw tight. “Let’s gear up and get to Kansas City. It’s now or never.”

“We’ve got to figure out where to go,” Magdelene said. “Kansas City is a big place. We know that an army of Possessed—probably Legion—has gone into the city.”

“What does it matter?” Mars said, voice exasperated, and to Helo it looked like his eyes were already in Kansas City.

“Because,” Maggie said, “Legion is the best recon force in the world. Their shared mind allows them to instantly report across the city where threats to Avadan are. He’ll know we’re coming. Surprise is the only advantage we have. We lose that, and we lose everything.”

Helo was never more grateful for the levelheaded Magdelene. He hadn’t even thought about that. Like Mars, he was sick of the whole thing and ready to go in guns and Bestowals blazing. “I think Melody and I can Exorcise Legion. We need to capture one and—”

“We’ve got one,” Magdelene said. “Well, Old Masters have been holding one outside the desecration zone in KC. They’ve been trying to Exorcise Legion for days. It’s done more harm to them than good at this point.”

“Then that’s our first stop,” Helo said. “We disable Avadan’s eyes and ears, then find a place to set up in the city.”

Melody caught up with him on the front porch as he was walking out of the house, her face contented, happy. Her hair was down—a rarity—and her green eyes beamed. She grabbed his hand. “Hey, Helo. You know, Lotus reminds me so much of myself it’s like she’s a twin. But . . . okay, what’s going on? You look like someone just stole your girlfriend.”

He stopped and wrapped her in his arms. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s Detroit. He did it again. They’re fighting and killing, kicking up all kinds of atrocity for him to use.”

“Oh no,” she said. “What are we going to do?”

“Plan’s the same,” he said. “Get to KC. Just a little detour first to see if we can Exorcise Legion. It’s up to you and me, Melody. I wish you didn’t have to be a part of this, but you do.”

She pulled back, a wistful grin on her face. “Thinking of ditching me, huh? Never again, Helo. We’re a thing, and this thing we have, well, it will save the world. I know it. Now, you have time for a little meditation? There’s that bed I made in the tent . . .”

He pulled her in again. “That sounds great, but there’s no time. We’re gearing up and going. As soon as the choppers set down, we’ve got to get out of here. But look, Sparks and Martha—they’ve done the meditation. They say there’s still one more mystery for us to figure out. So it’s a date, okay?”

She kissed him. “Okay, but you’re the busy one.”

“I’ll make it, trust me. And one more thing,” Helo said. “I want to give you one more Bestowal. This would be six, and your one-year clock would start ticking.”

He’d wavered between giving her Speed and Toughness. Both would help her escape and survive if everything went bad. He’d landed on Speed. Most of the Dreads were gone, and Ghostpackers couldn’t run worth a damn.

“Then I don’t want it,” she said. “I want more than a year with you.

“It’s Speed,” he said. “If it’s going bad—”

“By going bad, you mean you’re not going to make it. If you don’t make it, then I don’t make it either.”

“You don’t understand,” Helo said. “If Avadan gets ahold of you—you know what he can do. He can take the most innocent—”

Her lips pressed deeply into his. He tried to enjoy it, but his mind kept running down the awful road of Avadan turning her into a Dread.

“A kiss can’t fix everything,” he said.

She planted her forehead on his, her arms going around his neck. “According to you, that’s all we have time for. How about that meditation?”

“Hey!” Sparks yelled from out in the yard. “Wasn’t there a briefing or something? I think you’re the one who called for it.”

“Work, work, work,” Melody teased.

Hand in hand they walked across the yard to the barn where they had told the team to gather. Corinth and Mars stood off to one side, Finny and Sparks stuffing ammo into backpacks by the wall. A single light on the side of the barn shone down on the grass, and Faramir was there, tinkering with a drone. Magdelene strolled up, arms folded, lips in a line.

Helo explained what had happened in Detroit. He introduced them to their new team members, Mars and Corinth, and let them know about the detour to Exorcise Legion.

“It’s going to be a long, messy night,” he said. “When we get to KC, Melody and I will Hallow the ground to keep him from turning everyone into Possessed. Then we find him and give everything we’ve got to put an end to this.”

“How can we beat him?” Faramir asked. “We’ve tried. He’s too strong.”

“We have to chop off his arms,” Helo said. “That will sever his connection to the Vexus he’s using to do this stuff. That should give us a chance.”

“Piece of cake,” Faramir said sarcastically.

“It’s what we have to do,” Mars said in his deep, drill-sergeant voice. “So we soldier up and do it.”

“Shujaa was able to chop an arm off with a sanctified sword,” Helo said. “We don’t have those, so—”

“I found you some,” Magdelene said. “They should be here shortly.”

“Brilliant,” Sparks said. And he meant it. Missions always seemed to get his heart pumping, and not even a near-impossible death mission seemed to faze him.

“We still don’t know when and where Avadan will show up,” Helo continued, “so we’ll have to adapt. Any questions?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sparks said. “So, which of you two blokes is in charge of this little party?”

“Helo,” Mars said. “I’m just muscle on this one.”

Sparks nodded. “I’m still second, then?”

“Yep,” Helo said. “While Melody and I Hallow, you’ll be in charge.”

“Even better.”

A group of Old Masters walking toward them ended the conversation. There were seven and their apprentices coming forward, including Oakes and Lotus. Each held a scabbard, a little of the sanctified glow leaking out the top. There were a variety of swords, most of the scabbards old. These blades had history.

Oakes stepped in front of Helo and Melody, extending the scabbard. “This blade was sanctified on June 10, 1811, by my master’s master, Manwar, on the day before he was to ascend. He forged the metal and sanctified the blade, setting it apart to be plunged into the heart of darkness. To you it is given to safeguard and fulfill its purpose.”

Helo took it and examined the blade. It was fashioned after the pattern of a European longsword and had a raw, unrefined look, as if it had no other pretensions than to fight evil. It would do nicely. “Thank you, Oakes.”

Another Old Master, a man with a long gray beard, stood in front of Melody. “This blade was sanctified on April 4, 1620, by my master’s great-grandmaster, Wenna, on the day before she was to ascend. She forged the metal and sanctified the blade, setting it apart to be plunged into the heart of darkness. To you it is given to safeguard and fulfill its purpose.”

Melody took the blade—a simple shortsword—reverentially. “Thank you so much. It is wonderful.”

One by one the Old Masters relinquished their blades to members of his team, each with the same words. By the time they got to Faramir, the sounds of rotors beating the air pulsed in his ears.

“Thank you,” Helo said, feeling humbled. He didn’t understand completely what this giving of blades meant to them, but he knew enough to reverence the gift.

Oakes nodded. “You are welcome. What would you have us do, Unascended?”

Helo thought for a moment. “Even if we beat Avadan, there will be thousands upon thousands who need exorcism. The world’s going to be darker. Dolorem taught me how Ash Angels were meant to uplift God’s children. Well, we’ll need a lot of that after Avadan. If anyone wants to fight, make your way to Kansas City.”

“As you wish,” Oakes said with a little bow. Melody squeezed his arm.

“Actually,” Magdelene said, “we have about twenty soldiers who could use a ride to Kansas City if the Old Masters are willing to help out with rides.”

“If the Unascended asks it,” Oakes said.

“Yeah, that would be great,” Helo said.

Oakes nodded.

Two helicopters descended, rotors pounding, their Ash Angel pilots’ auras glowing through the cockpit glass. They came down in the field behind the barn, kicking up a swirl of dust as the landing skids sank in the dirt.

“Hueys,” Finny yelled. “And oldie but goodie—if they kept them up. I was kind of hoping for a Blackhawk.”

They gathered their gear and stowed it on one of the helicopters. The young Spade and Martha strode out of the farmhouse followed by a detail of soldiers. Helo jogged over to them, remembering something.

“Spade,” he said, raising his voice above the racket. “I forgot to warn you that when you do the hallow, the light will consume your body if you keep it up long enough. Just thought you should know beforehand.”

“Yeah,” Spade said, now back in his old-man voice. “Nice of you to bring that up. We can both heal, so we’re good. Good luck, boy. Don’t be stupid.”

Martha patted his cheek in a motherly fashion, and she and Spade’s team loaded up for their flight to Detroit.

Helo jogged back, helicopter blades whipping the grass, Magdelene waiting for him. She hugged him. “Keep me posted, okay? You see Cassie before I do, tell her I miss her. Good luck, Helo. I believe in you.”

Helo nodded, grateful for her trust. He turned back to the Huey and climbed in, finding himself between Corinth and Melody. Melody pulled the door closed, dulling the rotor racket. Finny had kicked the pilot out and taken over the controls, Sparks taking the copilot’s seat.

“You ever flown one of these?” Sparks yelled to Finny.

“No, mate,” he said. “But I’ve always wanted to. Does that count?”

“No,” Sparks said.

Finny grinned. “Come on, it’s a helicopter. I got this. Probably. How different can it be?”

“I’m just disappointed it doesn’t have a fifty cal or something,” Sparks said. “That would be a good time.”

Finny sent the helicopter soaring into the sky with greased ease, tilting forward and zooming over the river running darkly beneath them, the hills and trees ill-defined shadows on either side. Helo settled in. In his heart he knew this was the last mission for Sicarius Nox. If they defeated Avadan, there would be no more Shedim for them to hunt. If they failed, there wouldn’t be anyone left to hunt Shedim.

Melody leaned on his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. He turned, finding Corinth staring out the window with a blank expression on his face.

“Hey,” Helo said. “Thanks for coming on this. Full circle for us, huh?”

One side of his mouth raised in a grin. “Yeah. Guess it is.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you and Scarlet, but—”

“I’ll tell you,” he said, a little bitterness creeping into his voice. “You’re too awesome, that’s what’s up. I don’t want to talk about it, okay? And . . . look. I’m not mad at you. I know you and Melody are together.”

“Damn straight,” Melody said, leaning around.

Corinth held up his hands. “I know. I really thought I had found the one, you know? It’s just . . . I said I didn’t want to talk about it, so I’m going to stop talking about it.”

Helo nodded and pulled Melody closer. She snuggled into him. Helo kept his eyes out front, watching the blue-black sky unfold before them, the lights of small cities sliding underneath them. Being in the helicopter surrounded by soldiers took him back to his military days, to the dryness that would creep into his mouth, to the false bravado, dirty jokes, and swearing. To a heart that wondered if this would be the mission where it stopped. To the wandering thoughts about if what they were doing would really make a difference. His squad mates had accused him of thinking too much.

Now he wished he had more time. More time to prepare. More time to understand. More time with Melody. He kissed her hair, and she straightened up a little.

“Finny,” she said. “How long until KC?”

“About an hour and a half,” he called back.

“Great,” Melody said. “Hey, everyone. We need to meditate to . . . prepare . . . for what’s ahead, so don’t bug us unless it’s important—like, really important.”

“Let’s go, big guy,” Melody whispered. “No excuses now.”

He took her hand and closed his eyes, trying to shut out the thump and whine of the helicopter and the noise in his own head. It took awhile, but after his silver sphere collapsed into the sun, the campsite appeared around him. It was night in the little world she’d created, the arm of the Milky Way brighter than it should be. A green aurora played over the tops of the mountains. Their tent glowed, a faint reflection of yellowy light playing on the glassy lake, Melody’s shadow playing on the tent walls.

“I’m in here,” Melody said. “And I haven’t bothered to create clothes for myself yet, so maybe you should hurry before I feel like cooking up an entire squad of Boy Scouts.”

He laughed and jogged over. “It’s a troop—a troop of Boy Scouts.”

“Like you would know,” she said. “Get in here.”

Chapter 44

Gathering Dark

Making love as an Ash Angel was one of the best experiences Helo could imagine, so when Corinth yanked them out of their bliss over an hour later, the horrifying contrast with what waited outside the helicopter’s cockpit window gave him emotional whiplash.

“We’re too late,” Corinth said. “Again.”

They hadn’t quite reached the edge of the city, but what must have been hundreds of thousands of evil spirits floated over the desecration. They formed a hazy cloud of fuzzy gray with red pinpoints of light undulating like they floated on some invisible ocean. While the team watched, they darted down, streaking like comets to the city below, possessing bodies they had no claim to. In the backdrop, a storm from the west blew toward the city, an unnatural storm crackling with lightning.

“Damn,” Helo said. “How long to the first Landing Zone?”

“Three minutes,” Finny said.

“Is there any point to the exorcism anymore?” Sparks said.

“He’s got a point, son,” Mars added from the back. “Gig’s up.”

“The point’s still the same,” Helo said. “The rest of these Possessed can’t relay our position like Legion can.”

Faramir craned around. “Can you do the hallow from outside the desecration?”

“Not if we want to get all of it,” Helo said, explaining about his body burning away in the light. “I have to be able to Hallow the smallest radius possible.”

“But wait, Helo,” Melody said. “Faramir and Sparks can heal. We do the hallowing, they heal you to keep your body intact until it’s done. We stay by the chopper. As soon as you’re done, we go airborne in case a mob comes for us.”

“I like it,” Sparks said.

Helo did too. Going into the city was risky. “Okay. Hallow first. Then we grab the Legion Ghostpacker and do the exorcism in the air.”

Finny angled the chopper toward the top of an empty parking garage a couple miles outside the desecration zone. None of the streetlamps worked, but a beat-up blue sedan with one headlight sat on the top level, two glowing white auras and one Ghostpacker waiting by the car. The chopper’s skids dropped lightly onto the asphalt. Melody yanked the door open, and Finny spooled down the engine as they piled out.

A lanky Old Master with dark skin and graying hair left his apprentice next to the greasy old Ghostpacker they had bound with the belts off their pants. They had gagged him with what looked like an oil rag. Tasty. Helo shook the Old Master’s hand, and the Old Master identified himself as Kirk, his apprentice as Shale. Kirk offered him his blade, and Helo Blessed it.

“You want to take a crack at this nut?” Kirk said, the South coloring his words.

“Yes,” Helo said. “But first I need to get to the ground floor to Hallow the city.”

Kirk’s eyes went wide. “You can Hallow the entire city?”

“Yes. It’ll be faster if we can drive to the bottom floor. Can you heal?”

“Yes,” Kirk said, voice awed.

“Then let’s go.”

They left Finny, Mars, Corinth, and Shale behind with the Ghostpacker, cramming six into a sedan that could comfortably seat four. The trip was short, and they piled out onto the ground floor of the parking garage. Already Helo could hear the distant uproar in Kansas City. Car alarms. Sporadic gunfire. Screaming and yelling that sounded uncomfortably close. All mixed with the boom of an oncoming Sheid storm.

“Let’s hurry,” he said.

Hurry and meditation didn’t go well together. After he grabbed Melody’s hand, she appeared to be having trouble concentrating. He couldn’t blame her. He stroked her hair and rubbed her arm, and finally her shoulders relaxed. Once they connected inside, he fell out of the meditation, finding the well of power opening up within him, flowing from somewhere in her to somewhere in him.

He let the hallow flow, feeling his body grow warm, like a fire had started within his flesh. As the light disintegrated his legs, Sparks, Faramir, and Kirk would take turns healing him. Even then, his body vibrated with the power, feeling like it could turn to light and disappear at any moment. He couldn’t be sure how long he needed to Hallow, but after what seemed twice as long as Saint Louis, he ended it, Faramir providing the last bit of healing.

“Amazing,” Kirk said.

Helo helped Melody to her feet. “Wait till you see what I made this time,” she whispered to him.

They jammed themselves back into the car. A few minutes later, they were back in the chopper with the addition of one defiant Ghostpacker whose bleary eyes communicated hatred. But a little fear had settled into those eyes, too. He’d chipped Legion’s confidence during his last session. Now it was time to break it. But he didn’t have the diamond Mars had given him to cast Legion into. It had gotten lost somewhere during all the heart travels and frantic battles.

“Anybody got something to stuff Legion into?” Helo asked.

“Got it,” Mars said, digging into one of the pockets of his vest. He pulled a small velvet bag. Inside was another diamond. “These aren’t cheap, so try not to lose it.”

Helo took it, placing it in his left hand. Melody took his wrist, and Helo put his right hand on the angry man. The Virtus of Exorcism flowed away, and Helo closed his eyes, sinking into Legion’s mind. The weight was there, but so was Melody. They bore it together. Legion offered no snarky insults or promises of destruction now. The minds swirled away, trying to escape his grasp, their whispers frantic, rasping like a hundred snakes slithering across sandstone in the dark.

Like his last session, he focused on finding Legion’s leader, the one who sat at the core of the evil contract that bound so many evil spirits together. He needed to trap a spirit, force it to reveal its leader. Helo stretched out, pouring his energy into snaring one of Legion’s minions. It was like trying to catch a determined fly barehanded. But he got one, pressed it, trapping it with the Virtus in him. The Virtus revealed the evil spirit’s form, a ghastly gray body with piercing red eyes.

Who is your leader? Helo demanded. It squirmed. It yowled. It tried to break free, but it could not resist. In the profound depths of Legion’s collective mind, Helo could sense the direction, see the evil spirit faintly glowing amid a churning stampede of spirits trying to get out of the way of this Ash Angel who had come for them.

Helo pressed toward it, extending the influence of his Virtus at the spirit, not unlike the tentacles of Shedim, only of light. Legion dodged away but could not disappear. It was a chase through a formless void. This evil spirit radiated power, showed a determination Helo fought to match.

Then he was out, lurching hard against Melody, who’d braced herself against the helicopter door. He had been so close to trapping Legion. He had to get back in there, but the scene outside held him up.

“Hang on!” Finny yelled, working the pedals and yoke.

A hard wind gusted, lightning branching in angry streaks across the inky sky. Rain and hail pelted the helicopter. A Sheid storm for sure. The city lights bucked back and forth in the cockpit window as Finny righted the craft.

But something else caught Helo’s eye, or more his heart. “Is that . . . ?”

“Desecration?” Sparks said. “Yeah. It’s expanding. We’re trying to follow the flow of it back to the source. He’s here, all right.”

The helicopter bucked and shuddered as Finny tried to ride out the winds. Lightning blasted across the sky again, the thunder pounding right behind it. The flow of the desecration was more felt than seen. They were no more than a hundred feet in the air, the cockpit glass streaked with water. Another gust of wind pitched the helicopter up and back. Again Finny struggled to right it.

“Set it down,” Helo said, pocketing the diamond. “We’re going to get blown out of the sky.”

“I can handle it,” Finny said, pointing back toward the northeast.

The flash of lightning and boom of thunder arrived together, the instrument panel sparking. Electricity arced through the cockpit. The helicopter pitched and spun, the lights of the city whipping past in the cockpit window, everyone thrown against the walls.

“We’ve been hit,” Finny said, alarms screeching through the cabin. “Hang on.”

Finny worked the controls, hands a blur as he pulled and yanked and flipped switches. But for all his frantic piloting, the helicopter steadily dropped altitude, fishtailing. Helo strapped the Ghostpacker in and wrapped Melody in his arms. It couldn’t end this way! They had enough healers to patch everyone up, but if they burned . . .

A half-empty parking lot sprawled out ahead of them, and the chopper plowed into it, skids scraping and banging before slamming into a clump of parked vehicles. The helicopter tilted, blades chewing up cars and asphalt. Finny yanked it back and killed the engine, the helicopter crunching to a rest at a steep tilt against a car. The rain battered the hull as everyone tried to get off the bottom.

“Everyone good?” Finny asked.

“Nice landing, mate,” Sparks grumped. “I really don’t want to walk this one. What’s the plan, boss?”

“Finny,” he said, “hop out and find a car in the lot. I don’t want to Hallow our entire way. Mars, can you Hallow?”

“You know it,” he responded.

“Go with Finny. Melody and I will see if we can Exorcise Legion.”

As soon as Mars pulled open the door, water cascaded down like someone had turned on the world’s biggest showerhead. Mars swore, and he and Finny clambered out.

Corinth slammed the door shut after them. “Do all your missions go this way, Helo?”

“Pretty much. Melody, you ready?”

“Yeah,” she said. “But I should meditate. You could draw power from me without using your own.”

That was a great idea. He nodded and laid a hand on Legion. Melody got as comfortable as she could. He waited until she stilled, and then he Exorcised. Again he found himself back in the heavy void of an evil hive, Melody’s presence fainter than it had been but still there. With an unending well of power at hand and little effort, he ensnared one of the wandering minds and forced it to reveal the location of Legion’s commander.

Helo let the one mind go free and powered toward the other evil spirit veiled in the midst of the rest. It, too, tried to escape him, but Helo possessed too much power now, and he wrapped the commander’s mind in cords of light, binding him in place. The red, glowing eyes were capable of very little expression, but it wasn’t hard to sense the hatred and fear boring into him.

“Your name,” Helo said simply.

“I have thousands of names,” the commander hissed. “Will you learn them all? Do you have the time to discover all those secrets?”

Thousands of names and thousands of secrets for thousands of evil spirits. Trying to Exorcise them one at a time would take forever, but that thought was wrong. He could feel the deception, the attempt to send him on a time-wasting goose chase. The horde of evil spirits had bound themselves under a single name, and it was that name and that name alone that he needed.

“What is the name of your Legion?”

“It is Legion,” the commander lied.

This was the wrong tack. Goliath had taught him that the names were not necessarily words but the communication of identities, an understanding of character. It was like what Legion was trying to show him about his past, unearthing memories and decisions that had shaped who he was. Asking for a name wasn’t the right question.

“Who are you?” Helo said, asserting his will. But even that wasn’t right. If they shared a single name, then there was something they shared, some characteristic or idea or experience. “Who are all of you?”

Legion’s commander struggled against the question, squirmed against the cords of light that held him fast. And images started to flow through Helo’s mind, concepts framed as pictures. A big woman staring at a slender one, heart full of envy for a shape she could never have. A son who had been cut out of his father’s will burning with indignation while a brother got everything. A poor thief stealing a bike out of a yard and feeling justified by his own poverty. A glutton at a feast eating without consideration for anyone else at the table or the beggars at his door.

This was Legion, a horde of evil spirits, all believing they had been cheated, each drenched in wanting. Each felt entitled to what he or she could not and should not have. It all coalesced into a concept in his mind, that concept solidifying into a name in a language he did not know and could not pronounce. But the name he knew as well as his own. He had the power now, and the squirming Legion stilled. The battle was won. All that was left was to put Legion into the diamond.

As he went to do it, he was thrown out of Legion’s mind again. A car had rocketed through the front of the helicopter, tearing it open. His pelvis was smashed, his ribs shattered. Melody was trapped beside him, eyes wide, the side of a Honda Accord crushing both of them. The chest of the man Legion had afflicted was crushed, blood dribbling out of his mouth. He was dead. Legion was good at self-preservation. Who had Legion called on for aid?

Helo couldn’t see Sparks, but Corinth was trapped under a wheel that had crushed his legs. Faramir was lodged between the two seats, midsection a lot thinner than it should have been.

Rainwater and hail gashed inside the cabin, splattering against the car that held him down. Thunder boomed. Lightning flashed. Wind roared. The sick feeling of a powerful Sheid washed over him. It had found them, probably with Legion’s help. He couldn’t see Mars and Finny and hoped the Sheid hadn’t cut them to pieces already.

Helo healed Melody and then Faramir, who returned the favor. He couldn’t reach Corinth. “Strength push, Melody. Let’s get this thing off of us.”

Together they flared their Strength, pushing until the car tumbled off to the side. Helo healed Corinth, then peered over the side of the tottering chopper. There was Sparks, head mush, facedown in the desecrated parking lot. The Sheid stood about a hundred feet away. A cyclone of wind and rain swirled around it, powerful enough to move cars across the rain-soaked parking lot. The rain came down so thick it felt like standing in a double shower on full.

Mars and Finny huddled nearby in a pool of hallowing behind an old VW van. Helo jumped down and Hallowed the ground. Melody followed after and healed Sparks. Corinth splashed down beside them. Corinth pulled his blade out of its sheath, but the flying car had bent the hilt and the sanctification was gone.

He tossed it aside. “Not awesome.”

Sparks popped to his feet. “Hard to dodge an entire car. Let’s do this.”

Faramir threw his stuffed duffel over the side of the chopper and clambered down.

“Incoming!” Mars yelled.

A gold Honda Civic arced through the air, whirling like an oversized frisbee. They dove aside, the car ripping into the helicopter, both skidding backward with the shriek of metal and glass. The wind-blasted rain muddled Helo’s vision. This Sheid was playing the same game as Whirlwind, hanging back to stay out of hallowing range, keeping a wall of wind between itself and its prey. Would it come for them, or did it just want to pin them down to give Avadan time to do whatever he was doing?

Lightning flashed, blasting Sparks to the ground with a burning blue fire. And the Sheid could do that.

Sparks hopped back up. “You’ll need more than that! What’s the plan, boss?”

If they could lure it toward another C4 trap, they could do the same thing they did at the Foundry. But they had to do this fast. Hallowing was exhausting, and he’d lose half his team to the desecration if he and Mars couldn’t keep it up. Even worse, the hallowing made sure they had to clump together as one, allowing the Sheid to toss lightning and cars at the group of them.

The Sheid pulled a black Ford Focus into the cyclone, sending it aloft. It sailed at them like it was shot from a bow. Again they dove aside, splashing across the asphalt. The car hurtled by, bouncing end over end.

“Helo?” Melody said.

“I got it!” Faramir said. “I need a car.”

Helo’s vision filled with white, the harsh crack of thunder ringing his ears. Electricity arced around him, knocking him on his butt. Black holes pierced his chest and arms.

Sparks helped him up. The Sheid stayed where it was, content to let them burn their Virtus and pick at them.

“I need a car!” Faramir said as a van almost flattened him.

Helo nodded, and they jogged over to where Finny and Mars had already gotten inside a Chevy Colorado, which allowed Mars to drop his hallow.

“Get it started and get out,” Faramir said, digging into his pack.

“What’s the plan?” Helo asked.

“Kamikaze car bomb,” Faramir said. “It likes cars. I’ll give it one.”

Finny hotwired the car with experienced ease, the motor humming to life. “Maybe I should drive.”

“I can drive in a straight line,” Faramir said. “I’m done being the drone guy stuck in the van. Out.”

Finny and Mars stepped into Helo’s pool of hallow, and Faramir got in the cab, a lump of C4 in his hand.

“Let’s keep its attention elsewhere,” Helo said, moving the team away from the truck.

“How about some good old gunfire?” Mars said, unloading his BBR into the swirling cyclone. Everyone joined in. Sure enough, a red Ford F-150 went airborne, whipping at them. It crashed right in front of them, rolling in an unexpected direction. Mars and Melody got pounded hard to the ground by the truck bed as it rolled over them, bones snapping. Corinth escaped its trajectory by diving hard to the pavement.

Faramir’s Chevy reversed out of the parking stall.

“Melody,” Helo said. “Hallow you and Mars.” She nodded from the ground, an arm and leg pulverized. Her hallow spread around them. Helo edged over until Finny and Corinth could move inside her hallow.

“Speed, Sparks. Can you take the desecration?”

He nodded, clenching his jaw. Helo dropped his hallow, exhaustion already creeping in. At this rate he’d have nothing left to face Avadan with. The Chevy came up behind them, engine growling. It whipped by, spraying water, Faramir on a collision course with the cyclone. Helo and Sparks pulled their sanctified swords and ran after it. It was hard to calculate how far back to stay to keep from getting obliterated by the explosion. Lightning blasted the truck. It swerved and fishtailed a little, but Faramir gunned it and kept it on target. It hit the Sheid’s cyclone, and the wind picked it up off the ground, tires spinning, twisting it midair in a slow arc.

Boom!

The heat, light, and pressure should have knocked Helo down, but it was one of the Colorado’s tires drilling him in the chest like a tank shell that dropped him, his sword spinning away. His chest was mush, but he rolled over to get eyes back on the Sheid. The swirling maelstrom had dissipated with the Sheid’s Vexus, which was already re-forming. Sparks was on his knees, blasted down by the explosion. Helo Hallowed so Sparks could use his Bestowals. With a yell the Brit jumped up and poured on the Speed.

The Sheid re-formed before he arrived, morphed to look like a clown straight out of a haunted house. A tentacle of fire shot right for Sparks’s face. Sparks dropped to his knees, tentacle sailing overhead, his momentum sending him skidding across the pavement. The sanctified sword took the Sheid across the thighs, and it exploded, the sword’s glow disappearing.

Sparks got to his feet and turned around, letting out a primal yell with flexed arms. “That’s the stuff!”

Helo looked to the sky. The storm wasn’t fading. His heart sank. There was another Sheid out there, probably a worse one. As Corinth would say, not awesome. On the other hand, Faramir was awesome. Helo couldn’t believe he’d volunteered for self-obliteration. Then again, Faramir was all comfy in the White Room while the rest of them got rain-soaked.

“We got a problem,” Sparks said, jogging over. The exultant look on his face was gone, replaced by some grim realization.

“What is it?” Helo said.

Sparks knelt down and healed him. “Just look around.”

Helo squinted and turned in a slow circle. In the pouring rain everything seemed hazy, but Helo knew what Sparks was referring to. He closed his eyes in frustration. Coming at them from every direction, still hazy in the distance, was a horde of the Possessed. It looked like Avadan had emptied the entire city, their red eyes forming a constricting ring tightening slowly around them.

Chapter 45

Rain

Helo grabbed his still-sanctified sword. He and his team retreated into a beat-up Chevy Suburban littered with pretzels, M&Ms, and scraps of coloring-book pages. It smelled like dirty diapers. Finny ripped the vinyl off the steering column and fished for wires.

“We can’t drive over them,” Melody said. “Remember what happened to Shujaa? You kill Possessed, you go Dread.”

Corinth nodded, face sad. “This is messed up. Totally messed up.”

Mars slammed a magazine into his rifle. “We may not have a choice. This is bigger than any of us. If we have to be Dreads to stop this, we have to do it.”

Helo swallowed. It couldn’t come down to that. The Possessed didn’t deserve to get mowed down. They hadn’t asked for this, and it struck Helo as wrong that Ash Angels should have to risk their souls to defeat Avadan. There was only one desperate hope. It would be a little unconventional, but he had to try.

He turned to Melody. “Can you meditate?”

Melody exhaled. “I . . . don’t know. I’ll try.”

She closed her eyes, hands on her knees, but her neck was tensed. The engine roared to life. Outside, the horde of red glowing eyes closed in, a noose constricting the parking lot. Finny backed out.

“The Vexus is being pulled north,” Finny observed. “Faramir, what . . . oh, yeah. Anyone got a map?”

“On it,” Sparks said.

Helo rubbed Melody’s neck, his fist clenching as the faces of the Possessed came into view outside the windshield. The wipers beat back the storm but would have to go two times faster to keep up. Water pooled on the asphalt, deep in the low spots, the Possessed marching calmly toward the Suburban, drenched clothes sucked to their bodies. Like the mob they had faced in Saint Louis, the Possesseds’ expressions were absolutely blank, incoherent of anything around them.

Melody’s neck and arm relaxed. She had done it.

“What are we doing, son?” Mars said.

Helo cracked the door open, rain pelting in. His foot had to touch the ground. He kept a hand on Melody’s arm and scooted out far enough to get his boot on the pavement, his other hand inside to keep from falling out. He Hallowed, the pool of light bleeding out into the night, engulfing the mass of Possessed. As he had hoped, eyes cleared, bewilderment dawned, and shoulders hunched against the rain and cold. Now the Possessed would get out of the way of a Suburban about to run them down.

“Brilliant,” Finny said, putting it into gear and driving forward slowly.

“Work your way north,” Helo said. “Keep it slow. I may not have much of a boot or a foot left after this.”

The Possessed made way for the car, and before long they’d cleared the perimeter of the mob, though some ambled around lost in the parking lot.

Mars’s phone buzzed, and he tapped it. “This is Mars.” What followed was a one-sided report. Mars ended the call a few moments later. “The desecration field is spreading outward. It’s covered nearly half of Kansas and Missouri.”

“Faster, Finny,” Helo said.

No one knew how many evil spirits there were, but with more and more under Avadan’s control, he would have enough Vexus to desecrate the entire world. And whoever survived the mayhem would find themselves an unwilling Possessed.

“That’s got to be it,” Sparks said, the glow of the screen lighting his face. “KC Live!—it’s a concert venue about five minutes from here. It’s practically a straight shot.”

“Let’s go,” Helo said. A concert hall was definitely Avadan’s style.

“Keep an eye peeled for Dreads and Shedim,” Mars warned. “Corinth, keep an eye out the back. I’ll watch left. Sparks, take right.”

Mars and Sparks lowered their windows, the rain pouring in. Corinth spun to face the rear of the car, pointing his BBR at the back glass. “I can’t see squat. Should I knock it out?”

“No,” Helo said. “We’ve got to keep it as quiet as we can for Melody. She gets knocked out of the meditation, we’re all ash.”

“Got it,” Corinth said.

Once they cleared the parking lot and the remnants of the Possessed mob, they rolled down troubled streets, lonely stretches interrupted by scenes of chaos. Here the Possessed killed each other in streets flooded with water now ankle-deep. A group of three men beat on another until he fell, then turned on each other, fists and kicks flying.

A woman wrestled a boy, trying to force his face into the flooded street. Sparks blasted her with Angel Fire, and she staggered back, allowing the boy time to get up and run. Baseball bats. Knives. Gunfire. Bodies. Violence. The victims didn’t even scream, faces as vapid as their murderers’.

The Vexus thickened, and the water deepened the closer they came to KC Live!. The Possessed were up to their knees as they splashed through the water, the strong seeking the weak for murder.

“This is sick,” Finny said. His hands were trembling, and he clenched them harder on the wheel.

Sparks put his hand on Finny’s shoulder. “Would you rather fight a giant . . .”

“Not going to work this time, mate,” Finny said. “Let’s just get in there and get this done.”

A rumble vibrated the car, rocking it back and forth. The light posts swayed, and then the entire city went dark. Lightning flashed, reflecting off the dark, rising water. The shaking ceased, but the stain of a Sheid washed over Helo’s heart. Another powerful one. Getting closer.

“What was that?” Corinth said.

“Sheid,” Helo said. “How far to KC Live!?”

“Not far,” Sparks said. “We’re about to cross over 670, and then we’re practically there.”

Helo kept his foot to the ground, his boot heel grinding down. He was soaked already, so the water sloshing over his leg didn’t even register. The bridge over the highway waited just ahead, water pouring off it onto the asphalt below. His entire soul screamed with the presence of the Sheid. The tight faces of his team let him know the others felt it now. Helo concentrated and expanded the circle of his hallow to discourage the Sheid from getting close.

The ground heaved, and the Suburban rocked. “Whoa! Hold on!” Finny yelled, stepping on the gas. The bridge cracked in half, a section the size of a bus collapsing and crashing to the roadway below. Finny slammed on the brakes, tires skidding until the front bumper flirted with the edge. Melody slammed into the seat in front of her and snapped out of the meditation. The hallow died.

The Sheid slammed down on the other side of the crack like it had dropped from the storm itself, the Vexus concealing its form.

“Who’s got—” Helo didn’t get the words out, a blinding blast of lightning and a deafening boom of thunder blasting through the Suburban. The windshield shattered, spitting glass inside the cabin. When it cleared, everyone bore blackened scorch marks and holes, including one through each of their hearts. The car died.

The ground rumbled and shook, the water vibrating.

“Get out!” Helo yelled. “Melody, Mars, Hallow!”

The constant need to Hallow to negate the desecration field was killing them. Helo had barely stumbled onto the asphalt, trying to keep his footing, as the road beneath the Suburban crumbled. In a few moments, it would collapse down onto the 670 below, which was a river of water so deep and powerful it swept cars away. Helo practically pulled Melody out, Sparks, Corinth, and Mars piling out the other side. Finny kept trying to start the Suburban.

Sparks turned. “Get out, Fin!”

The Suburban turned over. “I got it!” Finny yelled. The road in front of the Suburban bent downward with the ground, which stopped shaking. Finny clanged the transmission into reverse. Then the Sheid struck. A tentacle of black fire shot through the windshield and burned off Finny’s head. Helo shot Angel Fire across the gap, Melody next to him, her hallow surrounding the team. The Sheid leapt into the inky black sky, invisible in the storm.

Sparks Strength jumped the Suburban and yanked off the driver-side door, and Corinth grabbed the car’s bumper, but the Sheid came down hard on the hood. The back end bucked up, pitching Corinth backward. Finny, the car, and the Sheid dropped into the torrential water seething below.

“Fin!” Sparks yelled, stepping up to the edge and scanning below.

“Wait,” Helo said. “We need to heal our hearts.”

“Hurry!” Sparks yelled, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic tone: fear.

Helo sloshed over and healed Sparks. It only took a few moments, and then Sparks dropped over the side. Helo shook his head. They would both die down there, but he knew better than to order Sparks not to go. He returned to Melody, Mars, and Corinth. Mars and Melody were the only ones with sanctified blades. Helo regretted leaving his in the Suburban.

“What now?” Mars said, wiping the rain from his face.

“Let’s get across,” Helo said, a pit opening in his stomach. The Sheid was still close, somewhere down the highway. The water on the other side of the bridge looked deeper, but it was hard to tell.

They leapt the gap. Mars and Corinth went first so they could leap from the hallow. Helo and Melody followed, landing in water past their knees and sloshing to an unsteady stop. A large, circular building loomed to their right, an arena of some sort.

“I think KC Live! is left down this street, then the first right,” Corinth said. He flung his arms outward, water snapping off his shirt. “Dude, this sucks. Never coming on a mission with you again.”

They turned left, putting the glass arena to their backs. Up to their thighs now, the water kept the going slow, the current pushing them along. It was like their legs weighed a hundred pounds each. And it kept getting deeper, feeling hungrier, anticipating its Ash Angel victims.

Redbrick stores and restaurants lined the streets, trees in planters thrashing in the violent air. Then that accursed feeling came again. Helo spun just in time to see the Sheid splash down fifty feet behind them. The ground shook. Hard. Helo’s knees buckled, but a hand from Melody kept him upright. Mars leaned on a planter. Corinth flailed backward into the water and popped up only to get a blast of Sheid fire straight in the chest. He crumpled back into the abyssal flow, his clothes and ash swept away.

Helo froze. Corinth gone, just like that. It didn’t feel real.

“Get Avadan!” Mars roared. The Archus Strength jumped into the air at a low angle, sanctified sword glowing in the night. Helo wasn’t about to turn away. He blasted Angel Fire at the Sheid at the same time as the Sheid whipped a tentacle at Mars. Melody extended her hallow outward. Mars couldn’t dodge the tentacle and got whipped in half midair before the Angel Fire nailed the Sheid. The Archus fell into the water and was gone. Melody’s hallow engulfed the Sheid, and a moment later Sparks dove from a rooftop and stabbed the Sheid through the head with a sanctified sword—the one Helo had left behind in the car.

The Sheid exploded. Sparks stumbled but caught himself on a wall before he dipped into the water. There was no exultant victory yell this time. His face was a mixture of rage and sadness. He’d lost Finny, Helo was sure of it. The two were like the left and right hands of the same body. Melody ended her hallow, which left Sparks’s face pinched as he trudged his way over through the deepening water. Still the storm raged. Was there another Sheid? That would just be cruel.

“My Virtus is about spent,” Sparks said. “Surviving that bastard Sheid almost did me in.”

“I’m about done too,” Helo said. This had to have been Avadan’s plan all along. Armies of Shedim and Possessed to drain them dry so they’d have nothing left to fight with when they found him. Not that an abundance of Virtus or Ash Angel soldiers had helped them before. “How about you, Melody?”

“Not much left,” she said. “What now?”

“Keep going,” Helo said. “I can feel him.”

“Me too,” she said, face sour.

The hopeless pull of Avadan’s presence tugged at his heart. It urged him forward not to victory but to a final defeat, an end of struggle. That poisonous feeling assured him that resistance was pointless, that a surrender to their destruction was the only option that made sense or was even possible. Come, it said, come and lie down. Let the inevitable wave of darkness wash you out of existence.

But Melody. The thought of Melody in Avadan’s clutches, tortured until she became a Dread, sent fear slicing through Helo’s heart. That nagging desire to force her to stay behind slipped back into his head. He could break her down, hide her somewhere the Ghostpackers and Shedim couldn’t find her. He and Sparks could take down Avadan, and if they failed, then Melody would be safe. At least for a while. But somewhere inside he knew that if they failed, nowhere would be safe. An entire world would be desecrated, its inhabitants fodder for evil spirits.

He took in Melody’s rain-drenched face. She looked back at him. And he kissed her. For just that moment, the rain and lightning and desecration faded. He’d never regretted his lost six months more than now.

“Let’s get on with it,” Sparks muttered, face tight. “This desecration might be a walk in the park for you two, but it’s a bit painful for the rest . . . for me. And would you do me a favor, Melody?”

“What?”

“Sing.”

It was a strange idea. Sing in the middle of a flooded street surrounded by evil’s henchmen? Melody’s face registered surprise, but after a moment she nodded with a speculative “Hmm.” “Lead Kindly Light,” one of Dolorem’s favorites from the Redemption Motorcycle Club, rose over the gloom. Sparks had the right idea. The gloom seemed less gloomy. The taint of desecration around them loosened its hold. Her angelic voice even dulled the hopelessness that radiated from Avadan, who was somewhere close, just around a corner ahead of them.

Together they waded forward. Helo peeked around the edge of a building. About a hundred feet away, the submerged sidewalk led to a set of concrete steps rising out of the water. A walkway at the top of the stairs disappeared behind the buildings.

Ghostpackers, at least fifteen of them, stood on those partially submerged steps, all of them statue still. All of them held guns to the heads of one of the other Ghostpackers. More of Avadan’s sick games. Vexus flowed past them up the steps and to wherever the sidewalk led.

Helo rounded the corner, Melody and Sparks following behind. Melody kept up her singing, and as they passed more immobile Ghostpackers, the evil spirits on their backs squirmed like they were trying to roll out of a fire. But their human hosts remained still, rainwater waterfalling down their chins and noses. As they got closer, the arm of a man in a police uniform started to tremble, and in a flash he switched the hand holding the gun.

“Don’t like the look of this,” Sparks muttered.

The walkway emptied out into an open commons. To their left, the commons was packed with Possessed, all armed and pointing guns at each other. To their right, a short set of stairs led up to a platform where bands might play.

Lightning flashed, and Avadan stepped onto the platform, then moved to the head of the stairs. For once he actually looked like Avadan, his dark hair flowing out from beneath his top hat. He wore a soaked, button-up white shirt with a bowtie, and dark slacks. It was the most coordinated ensemble Helo had ever seen him in. The runes on his forearms glowed a faint red beneath the shirt. Another Sheid trailed him, this one morphed to look like Billy Wickett.

“Welcome to my show!” Avadan said.

Helo went to blast him with Angel Fire, but Avadan was faster. The black torch hit like a wall. And there was no resisting it. Melody screamed. All he knew of the outside world was that he was on his knees in floodwater up to his neck. His mortal senses had returned, but it didn’t matter. The black torch had swallowed his mind.

Chapter 46

The Mysteries of Light

Helo had always thought of despair as a pool of dark, freezing water, a numbing killer that slowly sapped light from life, a gradual rotting of the soul. Somehow Avadan had turned despair into a sledgehammer. It pounded at Helo, breaking the very bones of who he was, imprinting his body with the bruises of a life that had so often beaten him down.

Coward.

Screw up.

Unloved.

Insufficient.

Unwanted.

Too little.

Too late.

It was cowering before his drunken, angry father again and again. It was reliving Terissa’s betrayal over and over. It was watching his brother blow his brains out in a shopping mall. It was seeing Aclima turned into a Dread. It was losing Melody to that same fate.

Fight! Resist! Stand!

Those words ran like jackrabbits away from him, impossible to reach. Dimly he was aware of hands on his body. Fight it! He was Angel Born! He had to snap out of it, had to get to Avadan. But why? Avadan was going to win anyway. He was too much. Too powerful. Nothing they had ever done to him had worked. It was folly to think they could ever get close enough to even touch him with a sanctified weapon. He would kill them all. It was probably moments away from happening. A quick burn through the heart and then a trip into the water. As long as he killed them. No torture. Please, please, let Melody escape or die with him. She couldn’t be a Dread.

That thought infused him with some grit. His eyes fluttered, vision watery, sounds echoing in his ears. Dripping. The rushing of water. Two Ghostpackers had looped their arms under his armpits and were dragging him forward, to the front of the stage. A generator growled somewhere, casting light around the stage. A framework of girders created an arched roof open on both sides, which protected it a little from the rain. But the quaking had opened up a chasm that gashed down the middle of the commons until it intersected with the stage, water from the incessant storm pooling at the bottom.

And on both sides of the crack, a crowd of Ghostpackers stood dumbly, and like the ones outside, they held guns to the heads of those around them. Randomly they would switch hands when one side got tired. Helo blinked and shook his head, trying to get his mind straight. The Ghostpackers dumped him right next to the crack on the floor, depositing a squirming Melody and a completely unconscious Sparks nearby. Avadan crossed the stage to stand over Helo, Vexus sucking into the Loremaster wherever he went. How big was the desecration field now?

Helo got to his knees, feeling wobbly. He reached out to Melody to Inspire her, but the Sheid Billy Wickett kicked him down and blew holes in both of their hearts. This was not going according to plan. At all.

Avadan trotted along the stage, peering down at them with his piercing, crazy-man stare. He raised both his hands, runes brightening, and blasted Helo and Melody with Vexus, poisoning their bodies.

“I was hoping not to have to deal with you this particular evening, but just as well. I am sad you won’t get to see the fruition of this little work.”

“What’s that?” Helo said. If he could lure Avadan down from the stage . . .

“You see,” Avadan said, “even though I kept King from taking my body, he and I agree on one thing: control is best. The evil spirits have to do what I say. It’s really quite convenient. Now, there really is only one reason you’re still alive. I want to know how you do it.”

“Do what?” Helo asked, knowing what Avadan would say. Melody was working her way up to her knees.

“Hallow an entire city, of course,” Avadan said. “The energy required to desecrate such a wide area is tremendous. My union with King enables me to pull from his connection to the infinite darkness, but there are limits, of course. You must have found a way to tap into infinite light. Is it an Angel Born thing? I have no record of it ever having been done. Either it’s new or it’s a secret, so which is it?”

Helo wasn’t going to tell Avadan anything, but Melody was looking at Avadan like he’d said something profound.

“No?” Avadan said. A gun went off, and one of the Possessed collapsed into the crack with a bullet wound to the head. The slack-faced woman who shot him turned her gun on someone else. “How about now?”

Helo’s mouth opened and then closed. It was a mystery, something he couldn’t even tell Ash Angels. Then again, what could Avadan really do with the information? He couldn’t use it himself, and if he told the Ash Angels, it would only help them.

Another gun went off, another Ghostpacker falling in a spray of blood. Helo felt sick.

“Come on, now,” Avadan said. “Is it an Angel Born ability? Micah never wrote of it.”

“It’s not,” Helo answered. He could reveal that much.

Avadan’s face brightened. “Really? Now that is fascinating! But if any old Ash Angel can connect to the infinite light, then why haven’t they been doing it?” He started pacing, tapping his chin. “If it’s not been done, that means it’s a new discovery, perhaps a lost secret. And/or it’s something with such high requirements that it’s difficult to attain.” Then he frowned. “And if you’ve figured it out, why aren’t you using it right now?”

While Avadan mused, Helo noticed Melody looking at him, a wistful smile on her face. She got unsteadily to her feet. “It’s the requirements,” she said. “They are, as you said, difficult, but a lot of fun to figure out. Right, Helo?”

She was up to something, wanting him to understand. Where was she going with this?

Avadan’s eyes lit up. “Yes! You have compassion. You will talk to save these people. What is the secret? I must know.”

She nodded. “It’s union, the joining of two as one.”

“Yes, yes,” Avadan said impatiently. “But how do you achieve this union with the infinite light? Achieving what I have with King was mortifyingly difficult. Be direct, or all these people will come down with a case of twitchy fingers.”

Melody looked at Helo meaningfully. “It’s not the union with the light. It is the union with the other that brings the light.” She turned back to Avadan. “Do you understand?”

Helo didn’t get it. By the twist of Avadan’s face, he didn’t either. A gun went off, another victim falling. Melody flinched, and Avadan strode forward, finger jabbing down at her. “I said a straight answer!”

“Okay, okay,” Melody said, hands up pleadingly. “I’ll let Helo give you the rest. I won’t do it.” She turned and looked at Helo, face sad and soft. Her eyes still seemed to want to tell him something he couldn’t figure out. “I love you,” she said. “And I’m sorry.”

Then she jumped into the chasm, a deep splash sounding in his ears as if with the force of thunder.

No! Helo surged to his feet. He would follow her in. If she was alive he would save her. If she was ash, he would be ash too. He would not stay in this world without her in it. He would go with her into the light. He jumped toward the chasm only to have the Sheid grab his backpack and hammer him to the ground. Helo wanted to Hallow, but there was nothing left. The Sheid sliced off his legs with a fiery tentacle. Avadan jumped down from the stage and lifted him up by the straps of his backpack so they were eye to eye.

“This must be a great secret,” he purred. “Both of you are willing to die to keep it.” A trio of gunshots went off, Ghostpackers falling, their killers retraining their pistols on new victims.

Helo stared him down. Then his body felt warm. It started as a seed within him, building and growing like Rapture in slow motion. It was Virtus, an infinitely deep well of it.

Avadan shook him. “How much blood do you want on your hands, Helo? How many deaths? Tell me your little secret, and I’ll throw you in the water to join . . . to join . . . your belo . . .”

Avadan’s voice trailed off, realization dawning on his face. “Damn!”

Helo headbutted him, sending the stupid top hat tumbling from his head. At that same moment, a glory filled Helo, a deep reservoir of light he had only felt for fleeting moments during Rapture and when he and Melody had Hallowed Saint Louis together. Now his body was suffused with it. The dark poison that Avadan had pumped into him washed away.

Avadan turned toward the chasm, ready to chuck him in, but Helo formed two swords of light and chopped Avadan’s arms off at the shoulders. The flow of Vexus stopped.

Helo’s legless body dropped to the ground in concert with the severed limbs. Avadan yelled. Helo immediately Hallowed the ground. The Sheid jumped away, and Avadan scrambled up to the stage, howling in pain and rage. The Possessed all dropped their weapons, now gawking in horror and confusion.

Helo spotted one of Avadan’s arms nearby and swept it into the dark water of the chasm with a sword.

“No!” Avadan yelled, looking longingly at the other arm lying a few inches out of Helo’s reach. He needed to get to it.

A tentacle of Sheid fire shot at Helo, but with a thought, the sword in his left hand morphed into a shield of light, the Sheid fire absorbed within it. The Sheid torched. Useless. Avadan looked at his other arm, gritted his teeth, and then fled. Ghostpackers ran out of the plaza in all directions.

Helo dropped the hallow for moment, pulsing Glorious Presence with the force of a hundred suns, trying to get Sparks to snap out of it. The gritty Brit groaned, curling up to his knees. The Sheid didn’t like the Glorious Presence either, and it turned and Sped away after Avadan.

Good riddance, but the storm still raged. Helo let the sword and shield he’d created dissipate, then dragged himself arm over arm until he touched Sparks, letting Inspire flow into him. In a few moments, Sparks sat up and wiped his face.

“I quit,” he joked. Or maybe he wasn’t joking. Losing Finn had hit him hard.

“I need my legs,” Helo said.

“Where’s Melody?” Sparks asked as he reached over.

Helo swallowed hard. “Gone.”

“Damn. Sorry.” Sparks healed him, Helo’s legs snapping back into place. “You got his arms off?”

“Yeah,” Helo said, kicking the remaining one into the water. “I’ll explain on the way. We just gotta find him now. I’ll Hallow. Heal me if you notice my body burning away.”

He had to Hallow far and wide to keep Avadan and the Sheid from escaping using their powers. This had to end here, in Kansas City, in the rain and thunder and lightning. He Hallowed, the well within him powering it outward with Speed.

Helo explained what had happened to Sparks while they followed Avadan’s path out of KC Live!. When they got to the street, Helo closed his eyes. Avadan was somewhere to the east, so they sloshed in that direction.

Walking through the waist-deep water was frustratingly slow. Bodies and garbage flowed by, lit up white by the lightning banging through the sky. They turned a corner, the huge circular building with reflective panels he had noticed earlier reflecting the flashes of lightning along the side. A line of Ghostpackers caught in the hallow milled about in the water outside.

“I think he’s in there,” Helo said, body warming from the hallow. “I think it’s a sports arena or a concert hall.”

“Makes sense,” Sparks agreed. “He does love an audience. One sec.” Sparks reached over and healed him. “Your hands were starting to disappear.”

“Thanks.”

“So how do we win this?” Sparks said. “You could chop him to pieces, but I think he’s still going to show up when dusk comes around.”

“We’ve got to separate him from King,” Helo said. “That’s what gives him all these new powers he’s been killing us with. I just don’t know how yet. A sanctified weapon did it when King took over Cain. But I think Avadan took over King. If we can’t beat him, we have to at least capture him, keep him contained, until we figure it out.”

The Ghostpackers wading away from the arena peered at them through the gloom but kept moving, probably anxious to get out of the storm. But the closer they got to the building, Avadan’s position shifted away from it. The Sheid taint went in the opposite direction, away from Avadan. Odd.

Helo led Sparks around the side toward a parking lot half full of partially submerged cars. The feeling of Avadan intensified the closer they came to the parking lot, the Sheid’s presence still moving in the opposite direction, its taint almost undetectable now.

“He’s hiding in a car somewhere,” Helo said, and Sparks nodded. Was Avadan unaware of the powerful feeling he created by his very presence? Maybe the Loremaster thought he had retreated far enough away, thought he could weather the search and escape. And where had the Sheid gone? Clearly the Sheid was meant to pull them away from Avadan’s hiding place or at least split them up.

Helo conjured a sword of light, trying to home in on Avadan.

“You can do that now, even without her?” Sparks asked.

Helo nodded.

“Brilliant. You get all the fun toys. And all this is a part of you and Melody and the mystery meditation bit?”

“Yeah,” Helo said.

“Gotta find me a lady,” Sparks said.

Avadan was close—somewhere in the cluster of cars ahead of them at the far end of the parking lot near a street. Helo took a step, but his feet didn’t feel right, his hands either. Sparks healed him again. “I think you’re going to boil the water or melt if you keep the hallow up.”

Helo nodded, trimming the hallow down to a circle about a hundred yards in diameter, glad to see the desecration cleansed wherever they went. They walked slowly now, Helo trying to pinpoint where the feeling was strongest.

Sparks leaned in and whispered, “We’ve got a fish.” He pointed off to the side of one of the cars at the edge, and there, underwater, outlined by the hallow, was a shadowy form, almost invisible. They took several tentative steps forward. Then Avadan popped up.

“Shahbaz!” he yelled. And in that instant, his Sheid appeared on top of the car next to him, tentacle already stretching toward Sparks. Helo formed a big shield and stepped in front of it, deflecting the tentacle. Lightning blasted them a second later, ripping through their bodies, scorching their flesh. Sparks stumbled, but Helo caught him. They had holes in their hearts again. The Sheid kept flailing its tentacles at the shield.

Sparks stood shoulder to shoulder with Helo and healed him. Helo would have to drop the hallow to return the favor and the Sheid would come for them.

“You’ve got to get Avadan,” Sparks said.

Helo couldn’t see Avadan anymore. “Sheid first. Let’s get closer. I have to be able to hit it.”

They inched forward, the Sheid beating on the shield over and over. Every time they closed in, it would hop to a different car top to stay out of the hallowed ground. It was buying Avadan time to escape. And it was working. If they turned away to chase the Loremaster, the Sheid would blast them.

“Let’s see if we can distract it with Angel Fire,” Helo said.

He dropped the hallow, and the two of them blasted the Sheid as one. Helo pulled energy from within, and what came out of him, white hot and blinding, burned into the darkness, warping the very air. It struck the Sheid in concert with Sparks’s, whose fire seemed barely a flicker in comparison. In a matter of moments their combined fire ate the Sheid away to nothing, like a flamethrower charring a scarecrow.

“That is awesome,” Sparks said. “I’m definitely finding a lady friend now. My Virtus tank is close to empty, though.”

Helo tried not to think about his. “Come on.”

Sheid destroyed, the storm that had plagued them for what seemed like hours dissipated almost immediately, stars winking into the sky again. Helo offered a silent prayer of thanks, healed Sparks again, and kept going.

They found Avadan trying to get over a wrought-iron fence without arms, which had to be testing his mental powers. He finally managed by jumping until he’d draped his body half over it and then teetering awkwardly into the water. Helo sped up his wading, which was starting to get really old. It was like a dream where you couldn’t get where you wanted to go. Avadan disappeared around the corner of a tan brick building.

Helo and Sparks had an easier time with the fence and discovered that Avadan hadn’t gone far. The building next to the parking lot was a bar, the front door’s glass broken out, and Helo could feel Avadan inside. Sword lighting the way, they crossed into the dark interior. Helo Hallowed the ground, extending it outward to keep Avadan from bringing any Possessed in to complicate matters.

The wrack inside was a testament to the power Avadan had wielded over the Possessed. At least six bodies floated facedown in the water, along with bottles and barstools. Avadan had wormed his way onto the bar itself, his sharp face pale in the light of the divinely burning sword. His dark eyes regarded them both with resignation.

“I would pour you a drink,” he said, “but you cut my arms off.”

Helo kept his sword out, approaching cautiously. Without the runes on his arms, Helo hoped the Loremaster didn’t have access to the black torching power he’d crippled them with earlier.

“So, what does the illustrious Helo have in store?” Avadan said. “You know you can’t kill me. You’ve tried and tried, but it doesn’t work. Do what you want to this form, but tomorrow at sundown I will return just as powerful as before. You see, I may have cheated King, but he’s stuck with me.”

Helo remembered the foreign heart Avadan had taken from the boy, the awful scene where Jumelia had assisted him in using that heart as his own. It was part of some dark mystery, something Avadan had used to create the abomination he was. But it was King hanging from him who gave him his ability to control every creature of evil, who gave him the ability to gift evil spirits the possession of bodies they had no right to.

“How’d you cheat King?” Helo asked.

Avadan shrugged. “You tell me more about your mysteries, and I’ll tell you more about mine. But why don’t we all get out of all this water? Seems like an Ash Angel would be dying to get out of a flood zone. Just take me where you’re going to take me, and let’s be done with it. Or you could let me go. I’ll escape sooner or later anyway. You can’t beat what you can’t kill.”

Was he right? Was their only option to try to lock him up and then find some way to fend off waves and waves of the Possessed he would summon to free him?

“Let’s cut his head off,” Sparks said. “I’m tired of hearing him talk.”

“That’s not nice,” Avadan said. “I always have interesting things to say, don’t I? Shall we wait here? If you drop your hallow, I can have some Possessed come and serve our every need. What do you say? A royal procession back to Ash Angels headquarters? Oh, right. I destroyed it. Holing up at the Foundry these days? Well, my Possessed will carry us there like a trio of kings!”

Kings. The word reminded Helo of what Satan liked to call himself, and it was accurate. He controlled the creatures of darkness, had subjected them to his will. Through trickery, Avadan had stolen King’s power, had tricked him and robbed him of his victory. And that was the key. Of all the creatures of good and evil on the earth, there was one who was probably more angry at Avadan than anyone: King himself. His union with Avadan was forced an unequal, King taking the unfamiliar role of subservience.

So for perhaps the first time in the history of the world, Ash Angels and King shared a mission: to rob Avadan of his powers by robbing him of the evil spirit bound to him. And to do it, Helo knew what he had to do: talk to King himself.

Chapter 47

No Deal

Steeling himself, Helo regarded the smirking Avadan. King had visited Helo’s mind before in the hold of the Tempest. He was a master liar, a master perverter, a master at taking truths that should set one free and making them seem like chains of despair. It was hard to believe the gray, ghostly form attached to Avadan—one that looked like every other evil spirit—could actually be the master deceiver, the being of legend and scripture.

Helo turned to Sparks. “I’ve got to drop the hallow to do this, so—”

“To do what?”

“Just trust me,” Helo said. “Avadan may be able to summon Possessed to come to his aid. Keep them out of here. I’ll try to hurry.”

Sparks nodded. Helo turned back to Avadan and walked toward him.

Avadan’s forehead crinkled. “So what are you going to—”

Helo grabbed Avadan’s throat in a viselike grip, squelching his question. Helo closed his eyes and let Exorcism flow. And nothing. It felt like he was in Legion’s mind but without the voices or the weight. Then he remembered: King wasn’t controlling Avadan. The Loremaster had somehow blocked that aspect of being possessed while retaining the power that came from the unholy union. King had to be there somewhere, even if silenced. But how to find him?

Then Cassandra was there, shining in the darkness.

“Hey, Jarhead,” she said. “This is by far the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, and that’s saying something. You sure you want to go through with this?”

“Hey, Fleuramere. I think I have to do this. I can’t see any other way. And how are you here?”

She smiled. “I’m not. It’s got more to do with your head than Avadan’s. But I want to hear it again. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Her tone took him aback. Was he doing something so colossally dumb that an angel was trying to stop him? Or was she encouraging him? He took in her severe face. That mocking half smile was gone. This was serious. He wished there was another way, but what else could be done?

“Yes,” he said.

She nodded, smile sad. “You’re still that crazy Helo I knew, for better or worse. Well, if you insist on doing one more stupid thing, then who am I to stop you?”

A light appeared behind him, and he turned to see Aclima’s flawless face. “I will be your rearguard.”

Rachel appeared to his left with a smile as big as the world. “I will be on your left hand.”

Dolorem appeared to his right. “And I will be on your right.”

“And I’ll be out front because I called it,” Cassandra said. “Prepare yourself, Helo.”

To be surrounded by all these people he had loved, admired, and respected filled him with a confidence he doubted the devil himself could break. He kept turning and looking at them. All he got was smiles and a wink from Aclima, but to be with them was like being with family.

At some unseen command, they moved forward. It wasn’t really walking, but there was the sense that they were headed somewhere in the gloom. Then they passed through something.

Helo gasped. It was like someone had dropped him in a day-care center full of the loudest, sickest, screaming bunch of selfish brats he could think of. Legion’s weight was a feather, King’s mind a cement truck. Now he knew why his angel friends were there: without them, his mind would have been flattened. Even their brilliance was dimmed, like he was seeing them through dark sunglasses.

It took time to get his bearings, to accustom his mind to this place. All the chaos came not from a single mind but from many, many unhappy ones. Like Legion, they were all connected by a single will, an army under an absolute commander who could control them all. This was like Legion but so much worse. The anger, bitterness, and envy was like an acid eating away at his soul, and he didn’t doubt that if he stayed here long enough he would go insane. But his experience with Legion had given him the knowledge he needed. He had to search out the one who bound this miserable mob together.

No sooner had he bent his will to the task than King appeared, making no attempt to hide. He was just like he was back in the Tempest—pale, arrogant, and radiating malice. This was King, and his very bearing conveyed his desire for a throne and to have others worship him.

“Helo,” he said, tone like a duke addressing a dirty peasant. “Decided to visit me in my house? With company this time, I see. What do you seek? Do you wish to know others who betrayed you? Those whom you have betrayed? Have you seen clearly yet?”

“I want to separate you from Avadan,” he said. “I know he tricked you, robbed you of a body and took your power.”

It was only a flicker, but King couldn’t quite hide the twitch of annoyance that crossed his face. “He still does my work,” he said flippantly, like he might be happy to enjoy a little vacation.

Helo’s mind raced. What was it Avadan had said? That he and King agreed on one thing, that control was the best. If King was a control freak, then that was where to stick the barb.

“Oh,” Helo said. “And I thought the Lord of Darkness might be a little pissed about being a prisoner in his own mind, stuck riding piggyback for as long as Avadan wants to run the show.”

King’s dark eyes stared through him like he was reading Helo’s bones, his glare a strange mixture of the ice of malice and the fire of anger. “And I doubt you’re here to help me.”

Helo shrugged. “You tell me. What’s worse? Being a free-roaming evil spirit again, or letting Avadan use your power and call the shots while you spin circles in your own mind? I mean, if there’s no deal, there’s no deal. We’ll just take Avadan and throw him in a hole somewhere.”

“What exactly do you want?” King said.

“To kill Avadan and end whatever bond there is between you.”

King seemed to consider for a moment. “I make a counterproposal,” he said, voice silky and deep. “I will tell you how to let me take control of Avadan’s body, as was the original covenant he broke. I promise I will be far more discreet in my use of power than Avadan. I don’t wish for destruction and mayhem as he does. I am the subtle snake, not the preening peacock.”

Helo shook his head. “No deal. You just said that Avadan was doing your work.”

The grin that slid across King’s lips chilled Helo’s heart. “I must say, you seem a bit wiser than the last time we met. I really would like to get back into that mind of yours and see what else I can dig up. Did my revelations help you?”

Helo bit back a reply. King was trying to distract him. “Do you accept my terms or not? We’re not going to let you take a body. Tell us how to kill Avadan and you can at least go back to . . . whatever it is you do.”

Helo knew the reason King wanted a body so badly was so he could exert direct control over the mortal world and experience the pleasures and pains of the flesh that had long been denied him. But that brought up a question. If other evil spirits could occupy bodies under certain conditions, why couldn’t King? There could only be one answer.

“Why should I give you what you want?” King said. “I barely get anything from this deal.”

“You get to be you again, the king,” Helo said. “You were cursed, right, so you couldn’t take a body like your followers. So you’re not really losing anything. Cain and Avadan failed you, failed to break that curse. You must accept that. If Avadan is killed, at least you get your kingdom back. Isn’t that worth it?”

Again the penetrating stare. “No.”

Helo’s irritation rose, and he tried to force it back down. Of course King would be stubborn. Of course he would play games. But what was there to bargain with? Helo knew he could end it here and do what he had threatened King with earlier—throw Avadan in a hole. But the consequences of that would be terrible. They would have to Hallow the space all the time to keep him from ordering the evil spirits to massacre innocents or charge at the Ash Angels in droves in an attempt to free himself. King’s answer had to be a bluff. Helo was going to call it and salt the wound a little.

“You sure, your majesty?” Helo said. “You going to ride piggyback for years and years like a helpless little kid? Behold the mighty King, now reduced to little more than a glorified extension cord plugged into the socket of evil so Avadan can power his toys and order your warped little subjects around.”

King smirked. “Extension cord plugged into the socket of evil? Good one, Helo. You make that up all by yourself?” He took a step closer, face regal. “I am not so powerless as it seems, Ash Angel. If it weren’t for your angelic entourage, you would be a gibbering pile of snot in a flooded bar right now. Why don’t you be a big boy and step outside of their protection? Then you’ll see why I don’t need your help. I’ll get Avadan’s body sooner or later. You can help me get it right now—with my promise that I will bring order where Avadan has brought chaos—or you can leave. It might take me a year or ten or a hundred, but I promise you that Avadan will make those years far more miserable than I ever would. So do we have a deal, Helo? You want to save lives, or do you want to let Avadan keep senselessly destroying them?”

This wasn’t going to work. Maybe King was lying about being able to break Avadan’s control over him, but it didn’t sound like a lie. But then again, the father of lies was probably really good at it. There was literally no way to know if he was telling the truth. He could let King have his way and hope he kept his word, but it was no good. King might bring order as he said, or he might make Avadan’s attempts at mayhem look amateurish in comparison. No. King couldn’t have what he wanted under any circumstances. King would just have to ride around on Avadan’s back in an Ash Angel prison until they could figure out how to destroy him on their own.

As he was about to let himself fall out of King’s mind, a memory prodded him, a memory of when he’d first seen Avadan with an evil spirit attached. It hadn’t really sunk into him then that the evil spirit on Avadan’s back was King himself because King really didn’t look different from any other evil spirit. An idea bloomed in Helo’s mind. It was desperate. It was crazy. But it had one virtue that every other idea hadn’t had: it would end the entire mess once and for all.

“Helo,” Cassandra said. “Don’t do this. We can’t go where this road leads.”

“I understand,” Helo said, though he wasn’t quite sure where the road led. But this was what had to be done. It was like when he had rescued Prescilla. He couldn’t abandon the world to Avadan or King. It would be like 44-2ing the entire planet.

“Well, Helo?” King said, face confident. “Do we have a deal? I’m growing impatient, and I think you’ll find your Ash Angel friend can only fight so many of my servants at one time.”

“Avadan’s servants,” Helo said, just to rub it in. “But, no, King, we don’t have a deal. There’s only one thing I want from you before I go.”

“And what’s that?”

“I want your real name.”

Chapter 48

The Devil You Know

King laughed, a cruel expression of haughty mirth. “I was hoping you would say that.”

Fear struck Helo’s heart. Why would King hope for that?

Cassandra. Dolorem. Rachel. Aclima. Gone. The image of King disappeared, leaving him in darkness, disembodied and lost.

The entire weight of King’s mind, the howling and clamoring of his subjects, dropped on Helo like a granite mountain. Crushing was hardly the word. Pulverized was the sensation. He wanted to cover his ears, but in this place he didn’t have any. He wanted to run, but he had no legs to do it with. He was suffocating but had no lungs to pull air for relief.

Unlike Legion, King didn’t try to hide. King’s embrace enveloped him, surrounded him, locked him with cold iron links. This miserable, constricting chain squeezed and squeezed until its prisoner was broken. King’s voice dropped to a whisper, carrying the same persuasive confidence it had back in the hold of the Tempest. “You already know me, Helo. You know who I am, what I am. I am you. You are me.”

The hopeless feeling that exuded from Avadan raged with power here, joining in with the cacophony of voices in the darkness who screamed at Helo to give up, to let go. Helo searched his heart for the infinite well of power, that connection given him when Melody had thrown herself into the watery chasm. It was gone. She had thrown herself away for nothing.

“Knowing my name comes with a price,” King said. “But in the paying, you will know me, and thus you will know yourself.”

Helo felt uneasy. Did King actually want him to know his name? Why wasn’t he afraid of being Exorcised? The word price echoed through Helo’s head. Facing Legion had cost him, but he had gotten through it with Melody’s help. What would knowing Satan’s name do to him?

Helo mustered of his courage. “I don’t want to know you. What is your name?”

“You know better,” King said. “You cannot know my name without knowing me. The names of the mortal world are little more than labels, stickers slapped on boxes mothers and fathers don’t know the contents of. I am King, Satan, the devil, Lucifer, the deceiver, the trickster, and on and on. But those are just a few pieces of a puzzle too big for anyone to put together. But here you’ve come to try, to literally walk where angels fear to tread. You will look good with a red aura.”

Helo struggled against King’s will. This was a mistake. A huge mistake. What kind of arrogance had tempted him to stand toe to toe with King? He had to find some way to escape, some way to get back to Sparks and take Avadan to the Foundry. He tried to back out, to wake up, to will himself out of King’s mind, but it was no use. Those cold chains he could sense around his soul tightened like a hungry boa.

“Let’s begin,” King whispered with relish. “You love a puzzle. Let’s throw a few pieces around.”

He was five. Brandon was seven. Their mom browsed the shelves of a clothing store, considering the merits of a blue blouse while he and Brandon got bored. Despite the dull task of sitting around while their mom browsed clothing, Helo looked forward to these trips, which always ended with their mother buying them a chocolate bar. Brandon stood behind him by the shopping cart and stabbed his finger into Helo’s back, hard. Helo yelped.

“Be quiet,” his mother scolded.

Brandon smirked and did it again. And again. And again. Helo’s anger rose, and he shoved Brandon into a rack of clothes that tumbled to the ground with a horrible clatter. Helo swallowed. His mother’s eye twitched, and her cheeks bloomed red. She slammed the hanger down, eyes scanning the store to see if anyone had noticed.

Helo swallowed and flinched. His mother grabbed him by the arm.

“Why, Trace? Why would you do that? Are you trying to disgrace this family? Make me look stupid?”

She spanked him right there in the store, right in front of everyone. Brandon smirked again and stuck his tongue out, then put on an Oscar-worthy “my arm is hurt” display.

His mom bought the candy bars, but she gave both of them to Brandon. The whole ride home he would hold pieces out to Helo like he was going to share and then snap them back and wolf them down.

Helo felt the chains bite into him. This was years ago. This memory had long been buried. Even so, the injustice and the shame and the anger rushed back with redoubled force. It wasn’t fair. Why could Brandon abuse him and his mother not even care?

“Remember what I told you before, Helo?” King said. “Do you think you can face God with these memories resurrected inside you with their perfect power and still count yourself worthy?”

“It was just kid stuff,” Helo said, trying to convince himself. “It doesn’t matter.”

King chuckled. “It matters. You can feel it, and I can feel it in you. But that’s not the problem. The problem is you keep dismissing and excusing the people who have robbed you over and over again of what you deserved. From the very beginning your brother has taken and taken and taken from you, and you just keep on saying it’s okay. He stole your chocolate—and maybe that’s not important in the grand scheme of things. But he stole your parents’ affection. He stole your girlfriends. He slept with your wife! Your wife! And yet when you see this brother—this thief of a brother—stick a gun to his head and blow his brains out, you still feel pity and sorrow. You should have rejoiced!”

A spark of anger spit into Helo’s heart. There was truth in that. Why had he always worshiped an older brother who had so often treated him with cruelty, who had betrayed him?

King pressed on. “And I know we spoke of your treacherous wife before, but again, here is a woman whose infidelity nearly destroyed you, yet when she shows up as an Ash Angel, you are happy for her, you wish her the best. She should have fallen on her knees and begged—begged!—for your forgiveness. Not that you should have given it. Even now she shows she can’t be faithful. I know Legion tried to paint you as a coward, but what you really are is a doormat who lets everyone walk all over you and take the dignity and respect that are yours! When do you stand up, Helo? When is enough, enough?”

Terissa’s wandering heart did irritate him. She’d already beat him half to death with it and then made Corinth’s last weeks as an Ash Angel miserable. When would she ever learn? Who would teach her?

“And the Ash Angel Organization,” King chided. “They should have laid you out on the receiving floor of Deep 7 so everyone could wipe their boots on you on the way in. I mean, how much grief and suffering did they put you through? But like a stupid little dog you keep on going back for another helping of humiliation and suspicion. Sure, they made you an Archus when they realized they would get crushed without your power, but trust me, you won’t have any real power. They won’t let you have it. As soon as they feel they’re safe, they’ll strip you of the influence and recognition you deserve. Can’t you see that you should be the one leading that pack of buffoons? You should be sitting in the chair of the Grand Archus.”

A swell of anger burned through Helo’s veins. The AAO had not been kind or even reasonable to him. Not even close. King was right. He kept going back to the AAO time and time again, even when Dolorem hadn’t wanted him to, had warned him against it.

“Now you’re understanding,” King cooed. “What has your life and your afterlife been but long stretches of surrender to other people’s indulgence and cruelty? Is this the gift God gave you, Helo, to live a life of misery under the boot of people who are your inferiors in every way? And you’re not alone. Even those with so called ‘good lives’ find no peace from disaster, disease, and the unrelenting pounding of other people’s selfish, warped decisions. But neither your life nor your afterlife have been good. So what are you doing? Why persist in living a life that has brought you nothing but horror?”

Helo’s invisible heart hammered to the drumbeat of King’s logic. Was surrendering a path to freedom? A path to power over those who used and abused him? Could he ever get what he deserved or dish out what others deserved if he remained in the light?

If there was some grand plan for joy, it had certainly skipped him over, like King said. He had run from one misery to the next his entire life while the very people who had made him miserable smiled and deceived and kicked him down whenever he tried to rise. It was like Melody’s dream where people sawed and hacked him apart while he screamed, cutting him to pieces until there was nothing left. She had seen it.

Melody.

The chains loosened. How cold those chains had become! How they bit into his soul and numbed it! Melody. Undeserved. That’s what she was. Her love came from nowhere. It was almost like she loved him simply because he existed, saw something of worth in him when he didn’t. His inflamed heart cooled in the river of gratitude he felt for her.

“You didn’t deserve her,” King said. “You deserved better. She—”

Deserved. King said that a lot. But Melody’s love was perfect because he didn’t deserve it. He hadn’t won her or wooed her or worked for her. She was a gift. The best gift. One he had never doubted. He’d never loved anything as easily as he loved her. She had loved him first without reservation, and how could his soul not reach for such a pure offering? Her love was a reflection of what God offered to everyone, as bright as the sun with a gravity he could not escape. He could never deserve it. He could only accept it.

Something warm poured into him, a feeling like Rapture, a connection to the light that had gone entirely missing in King’s domain. His mind settled, and he pulled in the brilliance suffusing him, the chains around him loosening. And in that clarity, the darkness King had tried to raise within him revealed a handful of pieces of the puzzle of King’s own name.

Slighted. Bitter. Vengeful. Entitled. Angry. Outcast.

“What was taken from you?” Helo pressed, pulling on the connection of light and forcing it into the abyss of King’s mind.

King snarled. “EVERYTHING! Everything was taken from me! You should understand! You have felt what I feel!”

Helo pulled in more light. “What is your name?”

Helo found himself back on the stairs that awful Christmas eve, watching as his dad brutalized his mother and his valiant brother. Fear had vibrated through him, his underwear soaked with urine, his heart blackened by his father’s disappointment. More pieces of the name fell in place. King wanted the power and control of his father but felt as helpless as Helo had that night.

Fear. Shame. Humiliation. Weak. Powerless. Insignificant.

“I am not powerless!” King said. “You have felt my power! Seen what it can do!”

“What is your name?”

“No!”

King asserted his will, a wall thrown up against the intruding question. But King’s walls couldn’t stop the battering ram of light Helo now threw against them. The core of what King was, the face he wanted no one to see, was locked deep within him. The wall shattered, and Helo dove into the murk. He thought he would see into King’s mind, view King’s memories. But as before, one of his own memories surfaced, the last of his mortal life.

Helo pulled his hand back from the bullet wound on his leg, finding it sticky with blood. It slicked the steering wheel of his truck as he tried to negotiate the dark highway, his vision blurred. His life had just been crushed. His wife had never loved him. She had cheated on him with some jerk from her office. The vision in his head of love and family when he had married exploded into vapor, his future obliterated.

He drifted into the left lane, head swimming, and overcorrected. The truck rolled and crashed through the unknown forest, his body tumbling within the cab, body and soul breaking in unison until it all stopped upside down in the night. Bones snapped. Blood pooled. Vision black. This was the end. All alone in the dark.

Blind. Lost. Broken. Wrecked. Hopeless. Ended.

“You see?” King snarled. “You see! You and I are the same! You know who I am because you know who you are. The difference between us is that you accept what was done to you. I am not weak, Helo. I don’t accept it. I will never accept it. And neither should you.”

King’s tone was frenzied, his emotions a hurricane of ill will. His mind was a twisted warren of tantrums and rants and fits with no exit, nowhere to go except one place: vengeance. There was no victory. King knew that. He just wanted to corrupt and burn what he could out of corrosive spite.

And all the puzzle pieces fell together, all the images and words and ideas. Satan’s name was long, miserable, and unpronounceable, but it was him. It was everything he was, everything he stood against, and most of all, the lonely nothingness he was steadily becoming. Alone was the closest any mortal word came, but it couldn’t express the utter annihilation of connection King had brought upon himself, the terror and finality of his severance from light. King was no king, the very name a laughable fraud.

If King’s name were a puzzle, Helo knew he would find many of the pieces familiar. But every moment he spent with Melody painted a new picture, and his own name took on a new meaning every time it fell from her lips.

King’s grasp broke asunder, the light flooding into Helo without barriers now. King let loose a yell of bitter frustration, a sour note of anger so potent it curdled Helo’s soul. King’s howl of despair he would never forget, the rot of a hate that had fermented for thousands of years without relief. All the voices of the evil spirits connected to King’s mind went silent as one as if to reverence the pain of their master.

And then Helo was out. One hand still squeezed Avadan’s throat, the armless Loremaster shaking. In Helo’s other hand was the diamond he had somehow grabbed during his visit with King. It buzzed with fury, and if he opened his fist, he knew it would jump out and ping around the room like a ricocheting bullet. A feeling radiated from the gem, a whispered yell of malice heard in the soul. Of its own accord, the stone cut into his hand, buried itself inside his skin, and went still. The evil spirit on Avadan’s back was gone.

“’Bout time,” Sparks said. He had blood on his knuckles and a veritable barge of beaten people floating around the room. It looked like he’d tried to stack them out of the water, which had lowered to about thigh level. But none of the people had an evil spirit clinging to them anymore. Not one. A few people milled about the front of the bar, wondering where they were.

“You good?” Helo asked.

“Oh yeah,” Sparks said. “Nice to brush up on my boxing. You Exorcise Legion? All the evil spirits disappeared at the same time. And so did Avadan’s! What’d you do?”

“You learned his name!” Avadan said. “You Exorcised them all!” The Loremaster’s eyes bulged, expression eager. “What was his name? You must share it with me! It is the greatest secret!”

“How do we kill this one?” Sparks said, wading over. “Part Sheid. Part Dread.”

Helo thought for a moment. “Sanctified weapons kill Shedim, and Angel Fire to the heart kills Dreads. I say we do both and see what happens.”

“No!” Avadan said. “I can help you. There are more prisons. More prisoners you can save!”

“We’ll find them without you,” Helo said.

“No, no, no!” Avadan begged. “Let me do one more concert, just one more.”

“Ridiculous,” Sparks answered.

Avadan swallowed and his face settled. “I tell you this in all seriousness, Helo. I swear it is the truth. Cain was not the only one who made deals with the devil. You kill me, they go free!”

Helo formed a long dagger of light in his hand and shoved it into Avadan’s body. The Loremaster yelped, struggling against the grip on his throat. Helo pinned him, keeping the dagger firmly inside Avadan’s chest.

“Sparks,” Helo said. “If you would do the honor.”

“Hell, yes,” he said. Angel Fire erupted from his palm and tore into Avadan’s chest. The holy flames fried the Loremaster’s heart, and Avadan crumbled into an insignificant pile of dust, disappearing to join the muddy, impure water of the flood.

It was over. All the Loremasters were dead. There were no more Shedim. No more Possessed. There were at least two Dreads left, probably more. But their days were numbered. The world was finally free.

Chapter 49

Bonded

Kansas City was a mess. The Old Masters arrived a couple hours after they had defeated Avadan and immediately began the work of helping to clean streets, help the wounded, and comfort the bereaved. The water receded quickly in the absence of the storm, leaving a soggy, suffering city behind.

Helo spoke with Magdelene for over an hour, and it was confirmed. There were no more Possessed. There were no more desecration zones engulfing entire cities. Confusion. That’s what there was. The normals had no explanation for why cities full of people had suddenly lost their minds and gone after each other. Not even the people who had rampaged for a couple hours that evening had any idea of what they had done.

But the healing could begin now, and the Old Masters were perfectly suited to the task. Counseling, soothing, inspiring—it was what they lived for, and Helo wished Dolorem were still around to help. He would have been perfect. The Ash Angels from the Foundry had arrived a couple hours after the Loremasters and gotten right to work, their auras joining with those of the Old Masters to brighten the streets in their divine glow.

Helo helped for a while, trying to fend off the emptiness of losing Melody, an emptiness compounding with every passing hour. He tried to lose himself in the work, and for a time that helped, but the ache of Melody’s sacrifice ate at him hour by hour.

After helping reclaim bodies from the receding floodwater, he stole away to be alone, finding his way back to KC Live! and to the crack in the earth where Melody had turned to ash.

He sat down in the predawn darkness and dangled his legs over the side. Water dripped into the dark pool at the bottom, but it was still too dark to see. He was tempted to stab himself in the heart and throw himself in just to be with her, but he knew he wasn’t quite done. But surely the purpose that left him Unascended was accomplished. It couldn’t be long before he would be taken home, taken to her.

Within himself, he could still feel the connection to infinite light Melody’s sacrifice had brought him. How had she known? She always had been quicker at solving the mysteries. Though he reminded himself he had figured out one of the key ones before she had. How he treasured that rapturous feeling, meeting her there in the light, naked with nothing but joy between them.

He pressed his thumb against the lump in his left palm. The quiet diamond slept within his angelic flesh. What would they even do with it? They had to find someplace it could never be found, some pit so remote and so impossible to get to that no one would find it for a thousand years.

Outside, an ambulance flashed its lights and blared its horn, tires splashing on the wet street. The National Guard was on its way. With the sky lightening, Helo decided he should meditate. He could use Rapture right now. He hoped maybe he would find Melody in their little campsite, but when his solitary sphere collapsed into the sun, she wasn’t there. She had done some work, though. It made him smile despite his pain.

To the already brilliant night sky she had added a small planet the color of a sapphire. The lake now had a small island with a little cottage made of wood and white plaster that gleamed in the moonlight. And their tent? It now had a shower, jacuzzi, and guitar room. She’d been missing those modern conveniences, after all. He tried not to look at the bed as he left the tent. Simply being here was like being with her in a way, but in a way that would only hurt and never satisfy.

“Helo!”

He was jerked out of his meditation by a familiar voice. It was Scarlet, her face sympathetic. Helo turned back to the chasm. Of all the people he didn’t want to see. He’d forgotten to tell her about Corinth. Did she even know? Would she even care?

She sat to his left at the edge and looked into the dark crack with him. “So is this where . . .”

“Yeah,” Helo answered. “Corinth died just down the street, there. I’m sorry.”

“I heard,” she said, pulling a scrunchy out of her hair and shaking it loose. “He was a great guy. I wasn’t very fair to him. I am sorry for that . . . but . . . I can’t help but see that I was right about us. I’m not asking for anything right now, Helo. I am not that selfish. But I hope in time you will remember what I said to you back at the Foundry. I meant it, and in time I think you’ll see it the way I do.” She put her hand on his arm. “There are second chances, Helo.”

Helo felt cold. How could he ever explain to her how what she was asking was impossible after what he and Melody had experienced together? He had the feeling that even if he told her he never wanted to talk to her again, she would just smile and keep believing he would come around someday.

Then Rapture.

It didn’t come with the power he had hoped. It would have been better if Scarlet had left him in the meditation. But for a brief moment in time, his mind emptied of nothing but light, a relief he desperately needed but couldn’t hang on to. It rolled out of his heart, and when it left, his connection to the infinite light had gone with it. No!

In shock, he opened his eyes . . . to find Melody sitting at his right, as naked as the day she was born. Helo’s heart soared, but his mouth found nothing to say. He didn’t dare question it, didn’t really care about the whys or wherefores. She grabbed his hand. She was real. She wasn’t some trick of his imagination or some ethereal vision.

“Hey, Scarlet,” Melody said, leaning around him. “Would you mind, you know, leaving? Like, right now?”

Scarlet’s open-jawed surprise melted into tears, and she got to her feet and stalked out crying. Helo closed his eyes. That sound was like a magnet that pulled him toward her, begged him to follow her and try to make it right. He hated it. Melody squeezed his hand.

“You know,” she said, “from all you’ve told me about her, I always pictured her as a bit flighty, but she really is kind of persistent.”

“In all the bad ways,” Helo said. Then he kissed her. She kissed him back. And after a few pleasurable moments, the universe seemed to level out and firm up.

She smiled and tapped his nose. “Aren’t you wondering how I’m back?”

“Another mystery?” he said.

“The best one. I didn’t know this one until after I had gone into the light,” she said. “I really thought I was saying goodbye for good . . . or at least for a good while. After what Avadan said about his connection with King giving him access to power, I realized that our bonding would do the same for you if I was permanently in the light. Or temporarily, as it turns out. But—lucky me—since we have bonded—like, all the way—as long as one of us is still here in the mortal world, the other will always return. That’s the last mystery. We literally can’t be without the other. Cool, huh?”

It was perfect. It was perfect because it was her. “Better than cool. Let’s get you dressed and get out of here, just you and me. We can find a little place to meditate and work on that little cabin on the island. What’s in there, anyway?”

“You saw that, huh?”

“I went looking for you,” he said.

She kissed him. “Well,” she said, voice turning dramatic, “it’s Melody’s mystery cabin of love and sexy secrets. Okay, not really. It’s like this library slash listening nook slash coffee bar thing. It’s great. I can’t wait to show it to you, but before we can have our little getaway, I promised one Cassandra, aka Fleuramere, that I would send you back for—what did she call it?—employee evaluation or some such thing.”

He chuckled. “Sounds about right. But let’s just sit for a while. Cassandra’s business can wait.”

They sat in silence for time uncounted at the edge of the chasm. His life really couldn’t get much better now. What they had together was the last piece of his puzzle, the one that made his picture whole.

Sparks marched in, Faramir trailing wearing someone else’s clothes. “Look what I found,” Sparks said. “Kamikaze truck-bomb boy. He’s . . . wait a minute. She’s dead.”

“Surprise,” Melody said.

Faramir’s mouth dropped open. “Is this more of that couples meditation thing you guys do?”

“Yep,” Helo said.

“That’s it,” Sparks said, digging a phone out of his pocket. “I’m texting Archus Magdelene right now. Time to get this metro on the tracks.”

Sparks’s fingers flew across the keyboard. Faramir strolled over and peered down into the water. “What’s Sicarius Nox supposed to do now?”

“There are no more Shedim to hunt,” Helo said. “Right now we help the Old Masters help the normals.”

“Done and done,” Sparks said, pocketing his phone. “Let’s get out there and get some dirt on those fingers, Faramir. Lots of damp carpet and mud to move around.”

“Joy,” Faramir grumped. “Maybe I could, you know, do something else.”

Sparks put his arm around his shoulder. “Let’s go, drone boy. See you around, Helo, Melody. So, Faramir, would you rather go through life without electronics or without pizza?”

“Dude,” Faramir said, “That is an impossible question . . .”

Helo watched them go, wondering what the future held for either one. What would the hunter Sparks do now that there wasn’t much left to hunt?”

“Hey,” Melody said, “Cassandra was pretty serious about seeing you, so . . .” She looked around. “Could you grab that pistol over there?”

“Yeah, sure.” There were a number of guns left behind by the Possessed after they’d been freed. He grabbed a .38 revolver.

Then he remembered. “Wait, before you shoot me . . .”

He dug into his hand and pulled out the diamond. As soon as it left his body, it went crazy and he almost lost it in the crack. The agonized, angry feeling that radiated from it when it left his body made Melody flinch away.

“Take it,” he said. “Let it burrow under your skin.”

Her eyes widened. “This is it!” She took it gingerly, and it vibrated and cut her hand until it was inside her. “I knew you had Exorcised him, but I didn’t even think about where he had ended up.”

“Well, don’t lose it,” he said.

“Duh, Helo.”

She shot him in the heart. “Okay. Clothes, please. I’ll have to move some fat around to give myself a man bod so they kind of fit.”

He stripped and handed her his Michaels uniform. They kissed again. He was ready for another honeymoon right now. But if Cassandra wanted to see him, he knew better than to delay more than he already had.

“See you tomorrow morning, dear,” Melody said, and with a smile she shoved him into the yawning crack to be swallowed by the dark water and then awakened into the light.

“Hey, Jarhead.”

His trainer stood in front of him, blonde hair spilling over an exquisite robe of blinding white. Her person was electric, his very bones vibrating with the glory of her presence. It was the most angelic she had ever been.

“Hey, Fleuramere.”

Her blue eyes sparkled. “You finally made me look good, so a big thanks for that. Now I don’t have to pretend I didn’t train you to the other angels.”

He laughed. “You’re hilarious. So, am I done? Can Melody and I come sing in the choir or whatever it is you do up here?”

Fleuramere shook her head. “No. You still haven’t accomplished your purpose. Besides, with that little bonded meditation you do, you’re about as close to heaven as you can get without actually being there.”

“I haven’t accomplished my purpose?” A fear struck him that there might be more Avadans out there to put down. “That whole Avadan and King thing wasn’t my purpose?”

Cassandra cocked her head. “Oh, that was all well and good, but the work’s never done, especially when you are the project. I gotta say—that Melody, she’s a real keeper. Just gorgeous. Six months, Helo . . .”

“I know, I know,” Helo said. How long would he have to apologize? “I should have done what you said. I get it.”

“He can learn!” Cassandra quipped. “There has been some debate about that. Well, good. You’re all grown up now. Mama Fleuramere can finally do something besides worry about you all the time.” She reached a hand out and placed it on his cheek, his nerves all waking up at once. “But, seriously, Trace, Helo, Angel Born, Unascended, and an angel name to come, I don’t think I’ve been more proud of anyone in my life. I don’t know exactly when I came to believe in what you could do, but I did. You were a blessing to me.”

He felt like making things light by reminding her of all the times he drove her crazy, but this wasn’t the time. Cassandra always seemed to be joking or mocking or sarcastic, but in this moment he understood to his core that she spoke what she really felt. There could be no misunderstanding.

“Thanks, Cassandra, Fleuramere, and all those other names I called you under my breath. Thanks for everything.”

“You are welcome,” she said, dropping her hand. “I will miss you, Helo, but it’s time for you to focus on that woman you don’t deserve and make sure she never regrets choosing you.”

Dolorem appeared beside Cassandra. “That’s right,” he said. “She’s still my girl and always will be. And if she ain’t happy, well, I’ll come down there and do that whole angel-with-a-sword bit on your . . . posterior.” Dolorem looked at Cassandra. “Is that okay to say?”

Cassandra shrugged. “I’ve said worse.”

“Great. Anyway, good work! You saved a lot of people. Go eat a deep-fried-donut bacon cheeseburger for me. Say hi to my Tela for me.”

“I will,” he said. “She misses you.”

“Now don’t make a grown man cry,” Dolorem said. “Oh! And remember the Redemption Motorcycle Club! If you get bored, maybe feeling a little like doing some good . . .”

Helo smiled. “You mean helping people fall asleep sitting up.”

“You were improving,” Dolorem said.

“No, I wasn’t.”

Dolorem put a hand on his shoulder. “I think you’ll find you’re a lot better at the preaching thing than you used to be. I’m not pressuring you or anything, just an idea to rattle around in your head.”

“Okay,” Helo said. “No promises.”

“Good enough.”

Then Aclima flared into view with a softness in her almond eyes that had been such a rarity when he knew her. She said nothing but wrapped him in her arms, a white blinding glory filling his vision, a burning filling him with such intense heat he thought he might crumble to ash right there. She released him, eyes full of tears.

“I owe you everything,” she said. “Thank you for believing in what I could be. If anyone makes you miserable during your remaining days, I swear to you I will drop on them like fire from heaven and fill their last moments with burning regret.”

She wasn’t kidding.

“Can she say that?” Dolorem asked Cassandra.

“I’ve said worse.”

“Now,” Aclima said, “do you remember when I told you I wanted to take you some place away from all of Cain’s anger? Somewhere you could hide and live your days in peace?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Have you found that place?”

“I have,” he said, anxious for time alone with Melody.

“Good,” she said, her smile wistful. “I understand that you think you don’t deserve Melody’s love, but who deserves love more than the one who loved someone who didn’t deserve it? I would warn you to treat Melody well as my fellow angels have already done, but I don’t need to. I know you will. She is a lucky woman. So was I. Believe it.”

He nodded, heart full.

“Okay,” Cassandra said. “I’m afraid the love-in is over. Time for us to go. Oh yeah. One last thing. That little diamond you have. It goes to Ramis. It is his penance to carry it.”

“But he’s a Dread!” Helo said. “He’s—”

“It is his task,” Cassandra thundered in her angel voice, presence brightening, eyes fiery.

Helo put up his hands. “Got it.”

She returned to normal and smiled. “That is so much fun. Tell Ramis I will visit him. It will help.”

“I will.”

Fleuramere regarded him softly for several moments. “We love you. Good luck, Helo, and may God be with you.”

“Bye!” Dolorem said with a little salute.

Aclima just smiled.

Then they were gone, and he was left standing alone in the White Room, a whisper of sadness passing over his heart. Those three had been family to him, people so important he could never forget them or let them out of his heart. He’d miss them. Maybe if he did something really stupid they would feel compelled to visit him again.

“Don’t even think about it,” said a voice behind him. It was Rachel, smiling at him, arms outstretched. “And the first shall be last. How are you, my boy?”

“Good,” he said, hugging her. “Great, actually.”

“Serves you right,” she said. “I know we only had a scant few moments together in the mortal world, but I think you know now that Melody and I have had you skulking around in our noggins for a good number of years before we met.”

He nodded. It actually led to a question he didn’t think he’d ever have answered. “Why me?”

Rachel tsked. “So sure it was about you? More about her than you, really.”

“Melody?”

“Who else?” Rachel said, eyes mirthful. “A heart as good as hers couldn’t be entrusted to just any man. You may think you’re the one who expelled King from the world, but when you reflect on it, it was her love that did the work, that gave you the strength. You understand me?”

“I do.”

“Good. Well, have you been told to treat her right?”

“Several times.”

“Open doors for her,” Rachel said. “She opened them for you.”

That was true. “I will.”

“Now,” she said. “There is another mission for you. When you return to the mortal world, Melody will have a vision and receive her final Bestowal, a Bestowal that will make her on the outside what she is on the inside. She will tell you where to go and what needs to be done. Be good, Helo. That’s all there is left for you to do until your time is done.”

With a parting wink she disappeared, leaving Helo waiting impatiently for the dawn.

Chapter 50

Caretaker

Helo materialized in the living room of the white farmhouse. Melody had thoughtfully remembered to bring a blanket and wrapped him up in it when he appeared at her side. She held her guitar. No one else was in the room with them, though the squeaky boards upstairs and the growl of a tractor out back hinted that someone was around.

“Welcome back,” she said. “Fun, isn’t it? It’s such a comfort to know that if you do something crazy and get yourself ashed, I can get you back. So, what did Fleuramere have to say?”

Helo recounted the experience to her, including everyone’s dire warnings about treating her well. “We’ve apparently got one more mission to do. You’re going to have a vision and get your final Bestowal sometime soon.”

She sighed. “Work? Really?”

“I know.”

The creaking stairs heralded Martha. She held a bundle of clothes in her arms. She was back to her old farmer’s-wife self, which Helo preferred. “There you are, Helo,” she said, putting the clothes on his lap. I’ll find you some boots before lunch. You hungry?”

“Any brownies around here?” he asked. They were the second or third best thing he’d found in the afterlife.

“This early in the morning?” Martha said.

“And lemonade?” Melody added.

Martha pursed her lips. “You know, I think I’ll make an exception for you two, just this once. Spade will want his eggs and sausage when he’s done plowing. You want some?”

“Yes, please,” he answered.

When Martha’s back was turned, Helo pulled on the clothes, a pair of jeans and a blue flannel shirt just a little small on him. Probably belonged to Spade.

“Martha,” Helo said, “what was the mystery we needed to figure out? The one you knew?”

Martha glanced over her shoulder and returned her attention to the mixing bowl. “Just that trick where both of you appear near the other one’s heart. Until yesterday, we had no idea it would work after one of you was turned to Ash. Or about the power the other can get when the partner passes into the light. We’re delighted. We need to start teaching the meditation again. We’ve been living way below our potential for a long time.”

Melody put the guitar down and snuggled into Helo. For a long while he cradled her and listened to Martha hum absentmindedly in the kitchen. After a while, the room filled with the smoke and smell of sausage with an undercurrent of baking brownies.

“So, where is everybody?” Helo asked Melody.

“Lots of cleanup to do in Detroit and Kansas City,” she said. Archus Magdelene and Ebenezer are coordinating everything. Ramis too.”

“He’s an Ash Angel again?” Helo asked.

Melody’s face turned somber. “He turned about the same time King was bound. I’ve only heard stories about him from before, but he’s not the same man.”

Helo felt a surge of hope. “Shujaa?”

“No,” she said. “Not under the influence of Avadan anymore, but still a Dread. They let him out. He’s wandering around somewhere. Not sure who is worse off, Ramis or Shujaa. Sparks and Faramir are off helping in the cities, which we should be too.”

Helo nodded. “Yeah. It’ll be nice to do some good that doesn’t involve Angel Fire and hallowing. I’m actually sick of hallowing.”

“Ugh, me too,” Melody said. “Wonder what my new Bestowal will be.”

“I think I know,” he said.

“What?”

“It’s a surprise.”

A timer dinged, and Martha pulled the brownies out of the oven, then placed the lemonade, eggs, and sausage on the table. No sooner had the sausage plate tapped the wood than the tractor noise outside died. A dusty Spade wandered in.

“Get cleaned up,” Martha said. “Breakfast is on.”

“I know,” Spade said. “Brownies for breakfast, huh? Lowering your standards?”

“It’s for them,” Martha explained, her eyes guiding Spade’s to the living room.

“Oh, right,” Sparks said. “Well, nice to have you two for breakfast. Usually can’t stand company until dinner time, but you two apparently aren’t idiots, so I’ll make an exception.”

“Thank you,” Melody said sweetly.

A little while later they gathered around the rectangular dinner table. Melody said grace while they held hands. And then they dove into their unorthodox breakfast, and if Spade or Martha had any scruples about brownies, lemonade, and sausage for breakfast, they didn’t show it.

About halfway through the meal, the door banged open and Magdelene, Ebenezer, and Ramis walked into the room. Spade threw Ramis a sour look and went back to his plate.

“Come on in,” Martha said, standing. “Let me get you all a plate. Probably not enough eggs to go around, but I’ll whip up more if anyone’s interested.”

Ramis was changed, and from what Magdelene had told him, his transformation had coincided with Rapture the morning after Avadan had been defeated. While Ramis’s aura had returned, his shoulders were still slumped as if carrying a great weight. Magdelene and Ebenezer joined them at the table, but Ramis wordlessly walked to the living room and stared out the window like none of them existed. Helo knew the look. Self-loathing. His very presence brought weight to the room. Everyone made mistakes, but his arrogance in putting on Cain’s pendant had cost thousands of lives, something he probably hadn’t even found out about until a day ago.

They made small talk while they ate, and Helo reported everything that had happened during the mission and the exorcism. He learned that Spade and Martha had only partially cleared the desecration in Detroit before it and the evil spirits had disappeared. The abilities of the truly bonded couples astonished both Archuses.

Ebenezer shook his head. “That such powerful lore was lost is strange. How did it become so secret that it died out? Anyway, I’ll want to record every step you took in this meditation. It needs to be disseminated as—”

“It’s sacred,” Spade said. “You don’t get to record it. And that’s all we should say about that. The meditation needs to be taught, though. If you aren’t a selfish moron, you’ll figure it out.”

“But—” Ebenezer started.

Spade stabbed a sausage. “But nothing.”

Martha grabbed Spade’s hand. “It took us decades. Melody and Helo figured it out a bit quicker.” She winked.

“The big question,” Ebenezer said, looking a bit annoyed, “is what to do with the diamond that is now the most important physical object in the world. We’ve got to find some way it can never be found and never be damaged. I’ve had some ideas.”

“It’s Ramis’s,” Helo said. “Cassandra strictly told me to give it to him in that I’ll-fry-you-if-you-don’t-obey-me angel voice of hers. She’s already ticked at me for not awakening Melody.”

“So is Melody,” said Melody.

Helo glanced at Ramis, who regarded him with dead eyes. “Ramis, Cassandra said she would visit you.”

His expression brightened a little. “I’ll do whatever she told you. I will take this thing, and no one will ever see me or it again.”

Helo nodded, heart heavy. Ramis’s words hung in the air like ghosts. He wondered if anyone had tried Inspire on him. Helo had never liked the guy, but to see him so badly hurt . . . Melody scooted her chair out and went to him. The former Archus watched dully as Melody used her kitchen knife to pry the diamond out of her palm.

“Put your hand above mine,” Melody said. “It jumps a lot. Close your palm around it.”

The busy diamond rattled against the knife until Ramis got his hand around it. In moments, it had vibrated its way into the flesh of his hand and was still. “Is that it?” he said.

“Yes,” Melody answered, rubbing his shoulder. “It just sits there.”

He nodded. “I’ll take my leave, then,” he said.

Magdelene frowned. “Where will you go?”

Ramis cracked open the door. “That’s the point, Magdelene—not to know.”

He walked out and closed the door softly behind him. Through the window, Helo watched him walk down the road a few paces and then veer off into the woods. Melody returned to the table, face troubled, and launched into another brownie.

“The walk will do him good,” Spade said. “Always helps me clear my head.”

Martha wiped her mouth with a napkin and stood, grabbing her plate. “I don’t think it’s quite the same thing, dear.”

Magdelene wiped her mouth and leaned back. “So, what’s next for you two? We can use all the help we can get, but no one would blame you if you wanted to disappear for a while before getting back to work. You are Helo, the new Archus of the Michaels.”

He almost choked on his lemonade. He’d forgotten all about that. “No,” he said. “As my first act as Archus, I dissolve the Michaels. We don’t need them anymore. And I resign, effective immediately.”

“You can’t do that,” Ebenezer said. “We still need the Michaels. We still need to find the rest of Avadan’s prisons. There are still some Dreads wandering around, especially overseas.”

“You need investigators, not soldiers,” Helo said. Then he had an idea. “Take Shujaa with you. He’ll be happy to squash Dreads even though he is one. If he’s to be an Ash Angel again, he’s going to need a purpose. But Melody and I have a mission. Rachel said it would come today.”

“How?” Magdelene said.

“When Melody gets her last Bestowal,” Helo answered.

“Helo,” Magdelene said, “we could really use the two of you. There’s a lot of work to be done. The Ash Angel Organization is in ruins. Rebuilding will take years.”

“The world doesn’t need Dread hunters anymore,” Helo said. “There doesn’t need to be some huge organization. Just make the world better. Melody and I are going to try to enjoy the rest of this afterlife. We don’t know how long we have left, but we want what Spade and Martha have for as long as we can get it.”

“Amen,” Spade said, getting up from the table. “Well, got work to do out in the fields. Helo, Melody, it’s been a pleasure.”

He grabbed his hat and went out the back.

Magdelene looked at them. “Good for you. If you ever do want to come back, we’ll be here, picking ourselves up.”

“Thanks.”

Magdelene stood. “Ebenezer and I have got work to do. Oh, and do you know why Sparks wants to date me all of a sudden? I hardly know the guy, and he keeps sending me all these texts asking me out for coffee.”

Helo shrugged. “He’s a hunter at heart. I guess you’re in his sights.”

Magdelene shook her head. “Like I’ve got time to date.”

“Find time, dear,” Martha said from where she was rinsing dishes in the sink.

They left, and Helo and Melody helped clean the kitchen. Martha thanked them and then went upstairs.

“Should we meditate?” Melody asked, face bright.

“I want to see Shujaa, then—”

She raised her eyebrows and gave him “the look.”

“Um, Shujaa can wait.”

They found Shujaa an hour later sitting cross-legged in the loft of the barn where they had tried to Exorcise Legion. He had an array of weapons spread out around him in various states of disassembly. The red aura surrounding him was still foreign to Helo, like seeing someone with a radically new haircut that took time to get used to.

He stood as they approached. Like Ramis, his somber countenance conveyed everything Helo needed to know about how he felt. To be what he hated, to be left out of the final battle against evil tortured Shujaa probably as much as Ramis’s failures tortured him.

“Angel Borns,” he said. “You have accomplished your destiny, as I knew you would. I have failed you, and for that I am sorry.”

“Thank you for believing in us,” Melody said, face sad. “There is still hope, Shujaa, still a chance for redemption.”

He breathed out heavily and sat down, eyes and hands back down on his weapons. “The battle is done.”

“It’s not,” Helo said. “I have a mission for you, Shujaa.”

Shujaa froze, raising his head, a little fire in his eyes. “What mission, Angel Born?”

“It’s Avadan and his prisons,” Helo said. “When he knew I was going to kill him, Avadan tried to bargain for his life by offering to tell me where more of his hidden prisons are. I couldn’t let him live. But I can’t get it out of my head that by killing him I’ve probably stranded Ash Angels and even some normals in some dark hole somewhere. There may even still be Dreads guarding them. I need you to find them. I need you to save them. This is how you will find your Ash Angel aura again.”

Shujaa’s brown eyes lit again with the hungry fire Helo had seen so often before. “Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “Yes. I will do it. This will be my purpose, my task until I am clean again. Thank you, Angel Born, for entrusting this to me.”

“Magdelene will be forming a team to do the same,” Helo said. “You could join them—”

“No,” Shujaa said, snapping a BBG together with blinding speed. “This is my task. My path. God will guide me. I will leave immediately. I will not fail you.”

Helo put his fist out, and Shujaa bumped it with his. The 3:24 that was normally scrawled on his knuckles wasn’t there anymore.

“Maybe we’ll see you around,” Melody said.

“Maybe,” Shujaa said, but his mind was clearly elsewhere, already running down streets and alleys and buildings in search of Avadan’s lost prisoners.

They climbed down from the loft and walked back out to the road, wandering on the sunny summer morning, listening to the river flow by. Melody told him about all the improvements she had in store for their campsite, including a barbecue pit and a modest outdoor kitchen. Helo was sure that what began as a simple tent would turn into a full-fledged resort before too long. He didn’t care. Her creative energy pulled him to her, and he couldn’t imagine life without her tireless imagination.

They had just turned a bend in the river when she collapsed to the ground. The vision had come. He scooped her up in his arms and waited until she came to again, eyes wide.

“Wow,” she said, eyes darting around but gaze inward. “I . . . well . . . this is not what I was thinking it was. Not even close.”

“What is it?” Helo asked, setting her back on her feet.

Melody grabbed his hand and stood there, bewildered. Helo waved his hand in front of her face. She was practically in shock.

“You in there?” Helo asked, starting to get worried.

“Oh. Yeah. Look, do you remember that girl Avadan turned into a Sheid? Yoletzi?”

“Yeah, the Hispanic girl, right?”

“Yes,” Melody said. “You remember how she said she didn’t want to go home, said she wanted to stay with the angels?”

“Yeah,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“A lot. We’ve got to get her out of her house. Like, now.”

“Okay,” Helo said. “Let’s go see if we can borrow a car.”

They turned back toward the farmhouse. There were still a handful of cars around. While he’d hoped for a little time with Melody before the mission began, saving a kid from a bad home sounded like something he could dig his teeth into.

Melody took his hand again, eyes tight, as if she still saw the vision in her mind. But it was time to see if his guess was right.

“Hey,” Helo said, “what’s the new Bestowal?”

Epilogue

Yoletzi

Yoletzi sat in the Redemption Motorcycle Club next to Uncle Lear and surrounded by bikers. Everyone seemed hot, fanning themselves with the fliers Father Storm had handed out announcing the barbecue next week. The tattoo on the man’s neck in front of her mesmerized her. It was the vertebrae of the neck needled into his skin like an X-ray showing his insides. It took her a moment to realize it led up to a tattoo on the back of his head that his hair covered up. It was probably a skull. She could barely see the lower part of a jaw.

Being the adopted daughter of angel parents was a bit weird. Her dad was preaching about David and Goliath up front. She always thought it was funny when he made his belly big and grew his beard. He would shake it around at her and chase her through the garage saying it was hungry. And her mom. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. She was sure of it. The biker sitting next to her had whispered to one of his friends how it made no sense that such a smoke show was married to Father Storm. Yoletzi didn’t know what a smoke show was, but she guessed it meant her mom was hot, something other men said about her all the time.

She loved her angel parents, though she couldn’t tell anyone who they really were. She had promised. So far, no one had asked how two white people had a brown daughter and how that brown daughter had a black uncle. But no one in the RMC seemed to care, and that was why she loved it. Besides, she knew Uncle Lear was an angel too. Her mom and dad had never told her, but she knew anyway. A few angels had come to visit over the last year, and she could pick them out with ease. It was just a feeling, really.

“And so,” Father Storm said, “who are the Goliaths in your life, brothers and sisters? What is the obstacle so high you cannot see over it, the problem so strong you don’t think you can break it? If you can name your Goliath, then pull your faith together, and God will give you the stone and the strength to drop even the most fearsome foe with a single shot between the eyes. This I witness to you, my brothers and sisters.”

Yoletzi said amen with everyone else. The man in front of her raised his hand. His name was Dallin. Mom said to cover her ears if he started saying naughty words.

“Father Storm,” Dallin said. “Did you go to preacher school? That sermon sucked way less than usual.”

The congregation chuckled, and her dad smiled. “Something like that, yeah. Now, to finish up, Mrs. Storm will bless us with a rendition of Amazing Grace.”

Everyone gasped with delight. Mom sang a solo every so often, and more than anything her parents did, her mom’s voice gave her away as an angel. Nobody sang like she did. Nobody. Even the scariest looking biker in the RMC stared at her when she sang. And they cried, even the really big ones. Yoletzi could understand. She cried too. It was her mother’s songs that erased the memory of her real mother and her boyfriend, even if just for a while.

It had been less than a year, but the memory was fuzzy in her brain. Her mother’s boyfriend had killed her mother, that she knew. Her new father—Father Storm—had put a fist in his face. She could still remember the sound of his nose breaking. But the strongest memory of that day was her new mom singing to her for what must have been hours in the back of the car. She had loved her new mother from the beginning. She had come to love Helo just the same.

Melody’s song fell from her lips like leaves of gold on the air, and the place went perfectly still. The song called to Yoletzi, but that tattoo on the man in front of her kept dragging her attention to it too. Her parents told her not to stare at all the crazy tattoos and piercings and clothes, but she couldn’t help herself. She loved the designs, the characters, the words on skin she knew had stories a mile long behind them. One biker had a naughty picture of a topless woman Melody made him cover up when he came into the chapel.

But her favorite tattoo belonged to Darcy. She had one with a cool skull with a rose stem going in the mouth and the flower coming out the right eye socket. Yoletzi had asked Melody if she could get that tattooed on her arm. She said no. Not until she was eighteen. That was forever away.

Yoletzi glanced over at Darcy, and there it was on her shoulder. The skull and rose stem were in green ink, the rose a dull red. It was so pretty. But Yoletzi didn’t want it on her shoulder. She turned her arm, palm up. She wanted it on her forearm. It would be perfect there. Not too easily seen but not too hard to find, either.

And as she envisioned it, it appeared, an exact replica of the one on Darcy’s shoulder. It was beautiful! Maybe she was like her parents, after all. Maybe their angel powers were rubbing off on her. She looked up to find Uncle Lear staring at her. His face was usually so bright and friendly, but not now. Now he looked at her like something was terribly wrong.

Yoletzi’s heart pounded, and she swallowed. The tattoo had disappeared.

Thank you for reading Ash Angels!

Learn more about the author and his books at briankfullerbooks.com and facebook.com/briankfullerbooks

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