
### Excerpt

I asked if you knew Dante because it's important," he said. "Now give me your hand."

He snatched it from my side. Before I had the chance to protest, he'd already drawn a small blade across the fleshy pulp of my hand. Blood pooled to the surface as I watched for any reaction from him.

There was none. It was all business.

At least that was reassuring.

Suddenly the floor disappeared out from underneath us, leaving only a bright vortex in its wake. The sound of wind rushing loudly past our feet drowned out any chance of me hearing anything else.

Even Goat had to yell for me to hear him. "Are you ready?"

Apparently I wasn't. "Ready for what?"

He shook his head disappointedly as if I had missed something important.

"For Hell."

###  FALL FROM PARADISE

By

M. Dylan Blair
Copyright © 2014 by M. Dylan Blair.

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the author.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

PUBLISHING HISTORY  
Paperback edition / August 2014

Ebook edition /August 2014

eISBN: 978-0-440-42334-8

Cover design: M. Dylan Blair

Back Cover Illustration: Fredrik Strømme

http://www.mdylanblair.com/

v2.0
Table of Contents

EXCERPT

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Books By M. Dylan Blair

Author's Note

Map

Quote

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

PART TWO

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

PART THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Acknowledgments

THE CELESTIAL COMPENDIUM

The Seven Heavens

The Celestial Hierarchy

The Council of the Seraphim

The Demonic Hierarchy (ArchDemons)

Locales & Terminology

The Celestial Alphabet

The Enochian Alphabet

Novel Playlist

PREVIEW FOR EYES LIKE MINE

About The Author

####  Dedication

> To Kyle, you were the one who inspired me to keep writing even if you didn't know it. Always and forever.
>   
>   
>

Books by M. Dylan Blair

The Nine Worlds Saga

Burning Eden * forthcoming 2016

Redemption of the Damned * forthcoming 2017

The Genesis Trilogy

Fall From Paradise

East of Eden * forthcoming 2015

Other Novels By M. Dylan Blair

Eyes Like Mine * forthcoming 2016

####  Author's Note

> While this book is considered a work of fiction, it incorporates and alludes to the beliefs, dogmas, mythology, folklore and histories of several religions and studies including but not limited to: Christianity, Judaism, the Kabbalah, the Books of Enoch I – III, Dante's La Divina Commedia (The Divine Comedy), De Coelesti Hierarchia (The Celestial Hierarchy), Demonology, The Greater and Lesser Key of Solomon, Greek Mythology and Angelology.

>   
>   
>

> This information is used to entertain, educate and enlighten.

>   
>   
>

> I tried to only include what was pertinent for a basic understanding of this book. Additional information can be found after the acknowledgments in the back.

####  MAP OF THE REALMS

"It matters not how straight the gate,

how charged with punishments the scroll.

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul."

~ Invictus, William Ernest Henley

### PART ONE - ADAM

####  CHAPTER ONE

I had no idea how long he had been standing there in the dark at the end of my hospital bed, almost like a whisper. Had I not seen the streetlight glimmer off his wings, I would have scarcely thought him real.

The room was silent, save for the harmonic beeping of the monitor tethering me to this world, letting the overnight staff know that I was still alive and kicking even if it was only for a few more hours.

Had a more devout person been in my place, they would have faced the shock of a lifetime. This man did not stand before me dressed in white and beautiful enough to make one weep.

He looked human, haunted even.

His five-o-clock shadow furthered his disheveled appearance; his chestnut hair was tousled slightly. Short and unkempt, it hid his face from view.

Minutes passed before either of us finally said something. My haggard voice broke the near silence. "I—I don't know who you are, but if you don't leave, I'll call the nurses' desk."

"Somehow I highly doubt that." He didn't even glance in my direction but merely reached to the plastic cup on the rollaway cart and poured a glass of water, holding it out for me in the process.

I reached cautiously for the water, and the man took notice of the IVs taped to my hands and arms. "Why are you in my room?"

My gaze never left his darkened face. His tangled web of hair hid his eyes from sight. A rush of sound, like flapping in the darkness, diverted my attention just long enough for something to glisten in my peripheral.

With any luck, his wings were nothing more than a morphine-induced hallucination.

"I didn't poison it, if that's what you're thinking."

"What?" I blinked.

"The water."

My palms began to itch, and I looked down, remembering the cup was still in my hands. I took a quick sip before setting it next to the phone on the nightstand. "Thanks, I guess. So are you going to tell me what you're doing in a stranger's room at two in the morning?"

He snorted or maybe laughed; I couldn't tell without seeing his face.

Voices lied. Words lied. Only eyes told the truth.

"We're not strangers," the man said as he sat down on the corner of my bed.

I felt something brush my cheek in the darkness, and I almost jumped out of my skin. "You had me fooled."

"That's where you'd be wrong." He smiled briefly.

"Listen, buddy. I've never seen you a day in—"

That same rush of sound echoed in the room, and the man who had been avoiding my gaze was now inches from me. Suddenly his breath burned my face, belying my thoughts and emotions.

It was raw, pure, and hovered in my direction.

His eyes struck me like peridots lost in an ocean of blue, with an intensity blazing in them that I knew better than to question. For a moment, I was scared he would hurt me, and he must have noticed the look on my face because he backed up instantly.

I couldn't bear to look at those eyes again. "So this is a normal thing?" I asked as I fingered the holes in the crocheted blanket keeping my legs warm. "You coming to the hospital to visit people?"

"No," he said quietly. "Just you."

I mustered a smile even though a voice in the back of my head screamed in warning. He could have been a serial killer, a pervert, or a deranged psychotic that snuck into hospital rooms at night to scare the damned and dying.

The same disturbed look I had on my face now crossed his.

Could he have heard me? I had no idea, but I was sure I didn't want to find out.

Luck, it would seem, did not fancy my cares. "Amelia, please," he whispered in the dark. "Stop this foolishness. You know better than to think that of me. I would never hurt you. Never."

The pain in his beautiful eyes nearly choked me. I had no recollection of the stranger before me, but obviously that meant little to him.

"What do you want?" I took another sip from the cup.

"You."

"What?" This time I choked for an entirely different reason.

"You asked me what I wanted," he said simply, as if the words required no forethought. "I want you."

I fidgeted even more as I struggled to regain some control over the madness unfolding around me. My hands dug into the blanket and pillow as I forced myself upright to stare this man in the eye. I said nothing, knowing anything I would say was futile.

Instead, I did the most unnatural thing to me. I listened.

"You're dying, Amelia, and there's nothing I can do to stop what happens after that, but for now I can give you a choice. Right here, right now. I can't stop your death, but I can slow it down. Maybe not long enough for grandchildren but time to do what you want, go where you want. Time to be happy. Time to live."

I finally mustered the courage to speak. "And in what capacity am I supposed—"

"When the time comes, Mia, you will follow me unquestioningly. You will be mine and I, yours. Together, forever, at last."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because you asked me to."

I could only blink. The man stared at me with such longing that I felt ashamed beneath his gaze, as if he'd just caught me with my hand in the cookie jar. He reached for me one final time, extending a gentle hand to my thigh. I couldn't deny the rush I felt, nearly choking me with desire. A burning fire whipped down his body and into mine, leaving my breath caught in the back of my throat.

Our eyes locked, and it was evident we both knew the effect his touch had on me. My body knew him even when my mind didn't.

"Say you'll come with me, Amelia, please," he begged. "I can't bear this much longer without you."

"Bear what?" My voice struggled to get out.

The room was suddenly stifling. Suffocating even. I began to fidget even more.

And then came an answer I wasn't expecting.

"Eternity."

### CHAPTER TWO

Orderlies bustled about the hallways. The RN came in every few hours to jot down notes on a brown clipboard, a foreign language scrawled for the entertainment of the doctor. All seemingly innocuous activities that daily life at a hospital begot.

Just as I was coming around for what felt like the thousandth time, the brunette nurse must have noticed my movements because she scurried out of the room like the hounds of Hell were chasing after her.

I closed my eyes long enough for those seafoam-colored irises to haunt me once more until the sound of Dr. Willard's voice broke my reverie.

His salt and pepper gray hair did little to mask the alarm on his face. I expected the worst.

"I have to tell you, Amelia," his Case Western-educated voice began, vying for my attention. "When Stacy told me about these readings, I thought she was mad, but she insisted that I come see for myself. While you were unconscious, we ran three panels, two biopsies, and a CT scan." He patted my hand with a triumphant smile. "There's no cancer anywhere in your body."

I blinked. What?

He must have noticed my reaction because he slipped past me to the view-box on the wall, placed the scan in his hand on it, and flipped the switch. "See for yourself."

I inched over onto my side, taking great care to brace myself for the pain that didn't come.

Maybe he was right.

I didn't know which terrified me more: the idea of my cancer actually being gone or the truth behind how it happened. What should have been a cathartic experience instead left me frightened as I glanced at the images again and again.

He was right.

Not a speck. Not a mar on the screen.

I was healed. Yesterday I was dying. Weak and frail, my veins were flooded with poison in hopes of keeping me alive a little longer yet. Thrown into a whirlwind of beeping monitors and bright lights, time had lost its meaning in a way I had not expected.

I had expected panic, terror even. I had expected something. Anything.

But not this. Instead I felt numb, hollow.

I felt the chemicals eating away at my energy, eating away at my soul.

My mother didn't even know I was here. Or that I was dying. She and my stepfather were away on business for three months in Washington D.C. I had left her two messages but hadn't heard anything back. Her phone had been off both times.

I was alone in this. Alone save for the strange man who visited me in my dreams. It was becoming quite apparent that my brain's way of coping might have actually been something else entirely. Maybe I did have a guardian angel watching over me—watching in ways I didn't even want to know about.

"As long as nothing changes, we're going to release you the morning after tomorrow." Dr. Willard's voice broke my train of thought yet again.

"What?"

"We're releasing you back to your life," he said amicably. "Now, we are going to want to set up a follow-up appointment with the oncology ward to be on the safe side, but as far as we can tell, it's as if you were never sick to begin with. Call it a miracle if you want."

My disbelief reared its ugly head. "A miracle?"

Dr. Willard unclicked his ballpoint pen and stuffed it back in the chest pocket of his lab coat. "Well, someone's looking out for you then. Remember to send them a nice Christmas present."

For a moment I was a tongue-tied, my defenses caught with their pants down. Appreciation had never been one of my strong suits.

"Take care out there." He smiled at me, and for a moment, I didn't feel the wolf at my door anymore. With a gentle, reassuring pat on my shoulder, he was gone, back out of my life. I was alone in the stark white room once more.

I stared at the monitors beeping harmonically at my side for several minutes before I finally pulled the tape off my skin and the IVs along with it. I ran my hands along my arms, checking for any foreign objects still tethering me to this place, finding nothing. My fingertips grazed the patch of hair missing from the side of my scalp where they had shaved away my humanity.

Just a strip at first. They didn't know whether more would be necessary if the surgery didn't work. But my hair was gone; my scars real. With that reality, so too came my truth: I was healthy.

I glanced through the double-paned windows at the encroaching storm. The skies had turned a muted gray as the winter weather fast approached the city. The streets were all but deserted save for the large dump trucks launching salt into the blackness. Like a moth cocooning itself for a long slumber, the darkness blanketing the firmament soon covered everything in sight.

Before too long, it would be pitch black and freezing cold, with ice laying waste to the pavement and grass, trapping us like birds in a cage.

I threw a shawl around my shoulders and pulled on my pair of slippers with the little piggies on top. Taking care not to draw the attention of the women at the nurses' station, I disappeared down the emergency stairwell.

By the time they realized I was gone, it wouldn't even matter.

I had no intention of ever coming back.

### CHAPTER THREE

Spring had settled into Middleton, the town I had chosen to start my new life.

Two thousand two hundred fourteen miles away from my hometown, I was as free as I could get without leaving the country entirely. The Pacific coast now crested the cliffs encompassing my new home, bringing a never-ending ocean smell to my nostrils, reminding me of the fresh life I had chosen.

The cabbie started to help unload the lone duffel bag I had brought with me but stopped when he noticed I had already slung it over my shoulder.

My dark auburn hair, once long and flowing, now bordered my face and shoulders. It only accentuated my small features, delicate, as my mother would call them, like some dainty flower dancing in the wind. I had never been that person, that image my mother had of me. My rash decision to chop off my hair did little to dissuade my prognosis. I was my own person, my own entity, and I had realized this long before my self-proclaimed exile.

After slamming the trunk shut on the cab, I passed the guy a twenty. It had been a ten-minute drive from the airport, but he had done it in silence without trying his best to get to know me.

I hoped the entire town was the same way.

I hadn't come to Middleton to make friends; I had come to disappear.

The driveway snaked its way up toward the rental house at the top of the cliff above William's Ferry. I followed the pavement slowly, taking notice of the azaleas and hydrangea bushes along the trailing landscape. The lack of care for the property conveyed that it had sat abandoned for months, if not years. The overgrown weeds and ivy covering the verandas and stone pathways leading to the front door soothed me.

No one would come looking for me in a place forgotten by the rest of the world. It was perfect.

I reached the stained glass door, its off-blue color mimicking the ocean a few hundred yards below, and slipped the key into the lock. I was in the house in less than a second, dropping my duffel bag on the entrance rug at my feet.

For having been deserted for so long, the inside of the house was in far better condition than the outside alluded. A large oak table sat in the center of the foyer, serving as a makeshift dividing point to the rest of the house. To the right, a sitting room decorated to my grandmother's taste, and to the left, a dining room complete with ornate china on display in a cabinet. Hell, there was enough china and flatware tucked away in the curio that I could host the entire town council given the opportunity.

Beyond the foyer, a wooden stairwell led to the bedroom upstairs while the kitchen sat even farther toward the back of the house. The old floors creaked as I familiarized myself with the place, moaning their disdain at having new company.

I slipped through the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the small concrete slab that served as a patio to the backyard where a small fence protected the drunk and careless from plummeting to their deaths. Scouring the overgrown yard for any sign of the previous renters, I found a swing set with enough rust holding it together that I could sit down on its plastic seat without fear of the chains snapping beneath my weight. I closed my eyes and leaned against them, digging my heels into the sand.

Two thousand miles away and I was still haunted by the sudden spiral of events that had taken hold of my life last Christmas.

Not long ago I was studying for the Bar exam in Massachusetts though my heart had never been in it. Now I sat here a different person, one that had been torn apart and spliced back together, left to the wolves gnawing at my soul. The life I had didn't seem like my own. It felt like some far off dream, more surreal than the one I had experienced in the hospital.

I would never be the same person again. I didn't even want to be.

I don't know how long I remained there, my thoughts lost in the whirlwind, but by the time I finally realized it, dusk had already come and gone.

The owners of the property had left the place fully furnished. Once I lit the table lamps, the place was awash in manufactured light. On either side of a fireplace which I doubted I'd ever use, was a wall of shelving encased in books, something of a security blanket for a bibliophile like me. My eyes scoured the shelves for anything of interest, the well cared-for tomes a testament to the meticulousness of the caretakers.

Eventually, I spotted something that shouldn't have been there.

My name, clear as day, on the spine of one of the novels.

Amelia.

The likelihood of it having anything to do with me was nil, but my paranoia was unending and undeniable, like some caged beast snapping at the darkness.

Just as my fingertips grazed the cover, I felt something tug me backward, yanking my awareness away, and suddenly the caged beast didn't seem so crazy anymore.

Ω

The first thing I realized upon waking was the fact that the rental house no longer surrounded me, but instead I stood in a wide expanse of white, the four corners of the room indistinguishable. Almost blinding.

My vision struggled to focus through the pounding in the back of my head. My hands jumped to my arms and legs instinctively checking to make sure that, wherever I was, I had reached it in one piece.

"Did I startle you?" A warm, masculine voice sounded from behind me, forcing me to turn around.

It was him, the man from my dream or, more aptly, my nightmare.

He took a step toward me; I took a concurrent step back. "Who are you?" I demanded.

Sorrow overcame his handsome features. His haunted blue-green eyes disappeared beneath his wavy mane of hair. "You really don't remember me, do you?" The innocence in his voice belied his haggard appearance.

Though I somehow felt sorry for the man, it didn't change the fact that we were somewhere I couldn't explain. For some reason, I expected the room to dissolve around us and bring us back to reality, but instead my prison remained.

"My name is Adam," he said simply, never once taking his eyes off me.

"OK, Adam . . ." I cleared my throat and waited. It was quite apparent that I had no control of my surroundings. No hallucinogens in the world would induce me to have a conversation with a winged man who only visited me in my nightmares. "What do you want?"

He thrust his hand into his pants pockets, once again staring down at his feet, though I couldn't see them in this white. "I came to make sure you were okay."

Had he been real and not a figment of my imagination, perhaps I would have been attracted to him. Any woman would be. He had an innocent sensuality to his rugged frame.

I caught him staring at me in my peripheral vision as I walked about the room, searching for any sign of an exit.

"There isn't one."

Once again I felt my insides rear up like a cat hissing in defense. How did he know what I was thinking? Was it that obvious, or could he hear my thoughts?

The thought of that was more than I could bear. There was no such thing as a mind reader.

"That's where you're wrong, Mia." He laughed. "But out of respect for you, I won't do it again if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable?" I barked. "That doesn't even scratch the surface. Why don't you stop playing games and tell me what you want."

"I already have," he said as he sat down on a wooden bench that hadn't been there moments ago.

"Yeah, yeah. Me." I rolled my eyes. "Like I'm supposed to believe that."

He shook his head. "You're alive, aren't you? Disbelief will get you nowhere, Mia. You never used to be like this. This whole ordeal has changed you, so much that you don't even believe what's right in front of you."

I ran my tongue over my teeth, taking a breath to keep from screaming. "I've had enough of this, Adam, if that's even your real name. I don't know you—I don't want to know you. I want to wake up from this reoccurring nightmare and be left in peace."

"You don't really mean that, do you, Mia?" For a second I thought I saw his eyes glisten.

Oh, this was getting ridiculous. I was sick of this crap. "Call me that again, and I will make you regret it."

"Have it your way then," he said, almost quiet enough that I had to lean in to hear him, and then he was gone as if he had never been there in the first place.

I blinked and found myself back in the den, my hand still touching the burgundy hardback. Instead of my name etched down the spine, it said America with the same ambiguous author's name scrawled in gold inlay.

My breath felt ragged in my chest as I backed away from the shelf as if it were poisonous.

I spun around for anything else out of the ordinary but found nothing. Although, truthfully, I would not have known what to look for in this place. The reassurance, as insane as it was, gave me peace. Peace that would be short-lived as I made my way past the chaise toward the stairwell.

Sitting calmly on the ornate rug beneath the chaise was a feather, black and iridescent, glistening as if it weren't really there, but I knew better. I bent down to pick it up, to feel it flex beneath my fingertips.

I would have liked to say I passed out again, but this time I wasn't bestowed with such luck.

Alone in a house over two thousand miles from home, I was losing my damned mind.

Reality, it seemed, had forsaken me. 

### CHAPTER FOUR

Unpacking took all of five minutes as I threw the clothes I had brought with me into the wicker dresser in the upstairs bedroom. The savings account I had drained in coming here would carry me for a few months, but I planned to make my way into town in search of a job as soon as I had closed the last drawer. Though the rent and utilities were paid in full until August, groceries and other necessities didn't buy themselves.

Spring in the Northwestern United States was entirely unpredictable. It would rain one day, and then the sun would glare high in the sky the next. I pulled my arms through the sleeves of my hoodie and threw a thin argyle scarf around my neck, more for warmth than style. Stuffing the key into my back pocket, I pulled the door shut and stepped out onto the front stoop, nearly colliding with a harried, gray-haired woman holding a bundle of packages.

Her eyes widened at the sight of me; she obviously wasn't expecting anyone. She eyed me warily as I held out my hands to help keep the packages from falling. "Amelia?"

I nodded. "I assume you're Mrs. Henry?"

The older woman beamed. "Yes, indeed. Mr. Henry passed last winter."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I stuttered, always feeling awkward in situations like this.

For being a recent widow, she seemed to have a handle on her emotions.

I still couldn't imagine losing someone I had spent the better part of my adult life with. Perhaps that was why I had remained single all these years. I was never a fan of Alfred Lord Tennyson's adage: ' _Tis better to have loved and lost:_ _Than never to have loved at all_.

Or perhaps it was my own cynicism that kept me from finding anyone.

"Did you find the place pretty easily?" she asked as she slipped around me and produced the proper key out of a cluster of rings and slid it into the lock.

Before I could even help push the door open, she already had the brown parchments inside and set onto the table in the middle of the foyer. She turned in my direction, her hazel eyes aglow with delight. "I didn't know if you had a job lined up, so I took the liberty of purchasing a few groceries to get you started. I hope you don't mind."

I remembered to close my mouth. "No, not at all. Thank you."

She smiled again. It was obvious that ever since Mr. Henry had died, she hadn't anyone to dote over. Apparently this change of pace delighted her. But then again, who could blame her? At this point, we both needed the company.

We each carried a bag into the kitchen, setting them down on the marble island top in the center. I pulled a bundle of bananas from the paper bag and dropped them into the fruit basket hanging over the counter. "I was actually headed out to look for work when you came."

Again, the older woman's eyes lit up. "I have just the thing if you're interested."

I continued to unload groceries into the cupboard and refrigerator, which took only a couple of minutes since she hadn't known what to expect. I was thankful for the food none-the-less.

She was surprisingly hospitable for not having met me before today. "I have a friend who's in hospice care down in Lake Charles, and she was just telling me about the girls complaining about not having enough help because the administrator hasn't been able to get anyone to stick around long enough."

The look on my face must have said it all. "I don't know, Mrs. Henry," I managed to respond. "I'm not sure if I'm really the best fit for that kind of thing. I'm not really a people person. I'm more the work-in-the-background type."

Apparently it didn't diffuse her efforts as she patted my hand gently. "No matter, dear. Everyone dies. It's not pretty work, but it pays well enough." There was no dissuading her. She must have been the ox-driver in the relationship. I could see how some men would find her intimidating. Luckily for me, I wasn't a man.

When I finished emptying the paper bag, I moved around to the bar stool and sat down. "Well, I'm not a nurse or anything. Don't you need certifications or licensing to work somewhere like that?"

She shook her head as she pulled a terrier-shaped post-it from the pad by the phone and jotted something down quickly. "My number's at the top; the hospice, at the bottom. Ask for Mary in administration. She'll take care of you."

She thrust the post-it into my hand and started back toward the foyer. "Don't worry so much, Amelia. You'll like it in Middleton. It's a good place with good people."

And with that she was gone, leaving me alone to question what kind of world I had stepped into. Back on the East Coast, you were lucky if someone held the door open for you, let alone went out of their way like this. With nothing to lose, I too struck a path, but as I did, I couldn't shake the growing apprehension I felt as I locked the door behind me.

Ω

Dusk fast approached as I strolled the sidewalk. The old-fashioned, domed streetlamps turned on as I passed. I could imagine how serene this place might be in the wintertime, my favorite season. Christmas decorations hanging from the posts would bring a festive look to an otherwise dull world. Here kids ran down the sidewalks unaccompanied without parents fearing for their safety.

I had no idea what had made me choose this place. It was completely opposite of everything I knew.

It didn't occur to me how small the town really was until I stopped into a hole in the wall bistro for a cappuccino and was immediately greeted by a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed barista. "You must be the girl renting out the old Henry place."

I blinked. "Um, yeah."

She beamed at me, and it made my head hurt to think of how far up her eyelids turned. Not just her mouth but her eyes were smiling.

I felt my soul bristle back further toward the darkness, afraid and on edge over these strange people. I wanted a fresh start, yes, but I wanted peace more.

"Well, she's a real old lady," the girl cooed, obviously happy to have something to gossip about. "Comes by every morning and orders peppermint tea and a cherry scone."

I stood there awkwardly with my hands in my jacket pockets, wondering when this woman would stop talking and just take my order. Eventually she caught on. "Well, what can I get for you?"

"Just a medium hazelnut cappuccino with a shot of espresso."

She keyed something into the cash register and then returned her gaze to me. "Any sweets today?"

"No." I shook my head. "Just the drink."

"That's three seventy-nine."

I dug into my pocket for a five and paid the girl. For another couple of minutes, I stood at the end of the counter and waited for her to finish my drink.

Over the bar, the news headline on the television mentioned something about the next town over preparing for the annual spring festival. The anchor talked about school board budget cuts for the fall and a few other menial stories that made it obvious that nothing ever happened in Middleton, Washington.

Perhaps it was more aptly called The Middle of Nowhere.

"Miss?"

I glanced up to find the girl holding out my drink toward me.

I didn't even hear her tell me goodbye; my attention was already back on the screen, enraptured by the first actual thing of import.

"Police are still searching for a white male in his late 20s this evening. Brown hair, blue eyes, somewhere between 6'1" and 6'3", weighing between 175 to 185 pounds, matching the picture seen here by a local sketch artist. The police wish to question him in regards to several deaths and disappearances linked to patients in local hospitals and hospices around the area. If you have any information on this man, please contact Sheriff Woods or the news station here.

"At this time there is no reason to believe he is a threat or armed, so if you run into this person in public, do not panic. Call one of the above numbers and someone will direct you to the proper authorities."

The sudden scalding feeling on my legs broke my attention, and I realized the floor and I were both now wearing my overpriced coffee.

It was the man from my nightmares.

### CHAPTER FIVE

As I wandered in a trance back to the rental house, I couldn't help but wonder if Mrs. Henry knew about this when she mentioned the job. The strange book and feather had appeared in her library, after all.

The crackling of thunder and lightning in the clouds sent my footsteps into a hurried pace. I no longer wanted to explore the world outside my new home. Instead, I wanted to tear it apart from the inside. Anxiety welled inside me, stripping my lungs of oxygen as my logic sought to override itself. The possibility of a murderer visiting me in my nightmares was enough to put me over the edge.

I knew better than to believe anything else, but it didn't change the fact that my anxiety wasn't easing. It only increased.

It was absolute—

"Madness?"

The sound of another human's voice made me turn, spinning around to find Adam in the same outfit I had last seem him wearing, plain as day and very real.

And very handsome. More so than the last time I'd seen him or perhaps imagined him.

Those same eyes stared at me once again with that same intensity of roaring waves cresting against the cliffs at dawn. He was tall and broad shouldered; his build, undeniably strong yet lithe, the build of a man who never had to work out a day in his life but retained the same muscles he'd always had.

I stared at the face of the man who stared back, studying him for any sign of weakness. His chiseled features accented his face; his brow and jaw distinctly defined. I couldn't help but stand there and contemplate what to say or do.

"Amelia."

"Did you know the police are looking for you?" It seemed like a good enough icebreaker.

He nodded slowly. "I do."

I extended my hands through my jacket pockets. "And?"

He shrugged. "And what?"

Another crack of lightning. "Did you have anything to do with those people on TV?"

He stood in front of me as the first bit of rain broke through the clouds that had taken hold of the afternoon sky. "Why ask me something to which you already know the answer?"

My body instinctively moved away. "So you did kill them?"

"I didn't say that, Mia."

"Then what?" I snapped. "Why are you following me?"

"I came to check on you."

"Came to check on me, my ass," I snarled back. "You're like a fucking stalker."

"I've been called worse, Amelia," he said, calling me by name for the second time.

I noticed he seemed as fazed by the rain as I was.

"I came to get away from everything, and next thing I know, you show up like a bad penny, so I'll ask you again: What are you doing here, right now, at this very minute?"

He looked childlike for an instant as he stood across the sidewalk. "I'm waiting."

"Waiting." It was more of a comment than a question.

He nodded. "Yes, Amelia."

"For me, right?" I mocked, though my sarcasm was lost on him by the way his eyes gleamed.

"You're finally starting to get it," he breathed in relief and grabbed ahold of me before I could resist. His strong, calloused hands latched onto my forearms. Adrenaline riveted through my body like electricity. I could barely catch my breath long enough to steady myself before he had already let go of me.

My clothes were already dry, my hair already back in place as if the storm had never broken over us.

"Do you know where you are, Mia?"

I spun about to find Adam barefoot and shirtless behind me. Long healed scars ran over his entire body like lashes of a whip.

As much as I hated to admit it, he was beautiful. And damaged.

Maybe more damaged than me if that were even possible.

"Should I?" I glanced around to find nothing distinguishable, nothing out of the ordinary. To me, it looked like the average public park in the city. Its winding sidewalks, a jogger's delight as several paths crested at the top of a short hill.

He walked over to the wooden bench and sat down, signaling for me to join him.

My brows shot up at him. "Where are your clothes?"

He flashed me that same grin I had only seen once before in the hospital. "Don't worry," he answered. "I won't need them."

"Alright . . . if you say so." I inched closer to the bench, pausing just out of reach. "You aren't worried about catching a cold?"

He laughed so roughly that he nearly choked. "No, Mia. I can't catch colds."

It seemed a strange response, but I sat down anyway, once again stuffing my hands into my pockets as I leaned back against the wooden bench.

"It's because we're not really here." He smirked at me.

My mouth twisted into a little O. "Then where are we?"

"Somewhere in between."

Okay, I'd bite. "Between what?"

"Between life and death," he said simply before staring back out across the wide plain.

We watched a couple walking their dog and another family throwing a Frisbee back and forth. Everything that seemed like normal, everyday life.

I sighed. This game was growing tiresome, but I had to know. "Adam?"

The beautiful, scarred man turned to me, his wondrous eyes meeting mine.

"Why are we really here? What's going on?"

He didn't speak, his jaw set firmly as he returned his gaze to the wandering folk.

"Why did you drag me here, wherever here is, despite my best efforts to avoid you," I said as calmly as I could manage given the circumstances. "And then you freeze up like a statue and say nothing?"

His jaw muscles flexed. "Because you're not ready."

I snorted under my breath. All of this was insane, but he was right. I wondered what he needed me to be ready for, yet his presence strangely calmed me now that I had finally resigned myself to this insanity. "Hey, Adam?"

"Yes, Mia?"

I fiddled with the zipper on my hoodie. "So if you didn't kill those people, then what did you do?"

He didn't even meet my gaze this time, though I longed to see those eyes. That handsome face of his was apparently growing on me. "I offered them a similar deal to the one I offered you."

"And what did they say?"

He smiled, his eyes aglow at my interest. "Well, I can promise you that they weren't as excited about the options I gave."

"I take it you didn't promise them eternity."

His smile faded instantly. "No."

I had struck a nerve, and with it came his solemn gaze. Obviously, he didn't want to discuss it, so I didn't press further. My eyes shifted to the people who went innocently about their lives, unaware that we were even there. "Can they see us?"

"Not at all."

"So is this what you do when you're not stalking people?"

There was that smile again. At least he couldn't stay depressed for long. "That, among other things."

I shifted awkwardly in my seat. "I can only imagine."

He snorted that time, the corner of his eyes lifting delightfully. "No, no. You really can't."

"Why don't you try me?" I snapped. "The man who believes he saved me from death is afraid of telling me the truth?"

"I wouldn't say afraid, Amelia," he said, his tone softer.

I stood up and turned to face him. "Then what is it?"

"I don't want you to leave me again." His voice was barely discernible above the soft wind that blew past us.

He must have noticed the insane look I gave him because his head dropped almost immediately, his long wave of chestnut curls hiding his face from my scorn.

"Do you know how insane you sound?" I shouted. "How can I leave someone that I was never with?"

His face fell as if I'd killed his only puppy, a look that nearly broke my heart. It might have actually succeeded had it not come from a manic-depressive angel who was also my kidnapper.

He stood up from the bench, reached into his pants pocket, and pulled out a silver lighter and metal carrying case. Slipping a cigarette into his mouth, he lit it, taking one long drag as he stared up at the heavens for a few moments before finally exhaling.

"That seems a little ironic, don't you think?" I asked.

"What?" He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.

"An angel smoking."

A coy smile crept over his face. "Smoking doesn't matter for someone like me."

"Like you how?"

He looked at me, and this time my heart did break. "Someone who's damned."

### CHAPTER SIX

I blinked and found myself standing once again on the sidewalk, only this time I was on the walkway outside my house. The rain that had disappeared on the other plane had found me once again now that I'd returned to the real world. Or perhaps more adequately put, the world I perceived to be real.

With my clothes drenched and only a cacophony of questions bouncing around in my skull, I pulled the key back out of my pocket and slipped inside the warm shelter. I was nearly naked the moment I made it through the door, dropping my clothes wherever they landed, racing up the stairs until I thrust myself into the bathroom and into the old-fashioned claw-foot tub.

Steaming water poured in like a waterfall as I sank to the bottom of the cold porcelain, letting the blessed heat rush over my freezing skin until I, too, disappeared. I don't know how long I lay there in the steam. The water sloshed over the edges when I moved too quickly, and I opened my eyes long enough to turn off the stainless steel nozzles to keep from overflowing the tub and cast myself into silence once again. Sinking back down to the bottom, I quieted my mind, as if only to forget my cares for the shortest time.

I silently wondered if I had somehow brought this on myself. In thinking that I had gotten a fresh start, I had only increased my burdens, strengthening the chains tethering me to the ground. What deal, I wondered, had Adam offered those people, and why had they declined it? Did they know something more than I had at the time? Did they know more than I did now? As much as my mind wanted to run away with me, I assumed their deals had been nothing more than the Reaper come a'calling.

But in all of my wondering, I never once asked myself why I was so afraid. Those people had died, and I had lived. They had not even been offered the chance. Perhaps Adam could have turned back the clock for the old the same way he did for the sick.

And now I sat here alive, and I wondered if it was because of Adam, or if I was alive because of something else. The nagging feeling in my gut told me things were only getting started.

Ω

"Tell me, Amelia," the redhead Mary asked me as I sat across the wide mahogany desk from the forty-five-year-old freckled woman. "Why do you think you'd be a good match for Lake Charles Hospice?"

My gaze darted to the strange, brown glass bowl at the corner of her desk that could be more aptly described as an ashtray. I stifled a smile as Adam crossed my thoughts. As much as I hated to admit it, he was growing on me, strange as he was.

"Did I say something to amuse you?" I couldn't tell if the older woman was offended or not.

My cheeks flushed. "No, no. I'm sorry, Ms. Mary. I was just admiring your bowl."

Apparently this woman didn't get many compliments because her entire demeanor changed immediately. "I got it at an estate sale last fall," she gushed while quaffing her bangs. "Real bargain, it was."

"So," I began, once again trying to distract her from meaningless small talk, "how long have you been administrator here?"

"Almost seven years." She made her way to the server and poured herself a cup of tea. "Would you like one?" She held up a small teacup.

I nodded even though I was never a tea person; I was up for anything that distracted me from the idea of Adam.

"Here you go." She handed me a cup and saucer and sat back down across from me. "I have to be honest with you, Amelia. Working in a hospice isn't for everyone, least not the faint of heart. You're not a CNA, so I'm not going to make you help with bathing and feeding patients, but you can handle filing, visits, coordinating with myself and RNs on the floor, stuff like that. It's decent enough pay, rotating shifts on holidays, medical, vision, and dental.

"You will mainly assist the staff on the floor and boost morale among our patients. Most of our patients are dying and won't see Christmas. The few that are here long term are even worse—they see everyone dying around them and can't help but wonder if they're next and wish they were. They're lonely, they're depressed, and they're spiteful, but more importantly they need company."

I took a sip from the still steaming cup. "I won't lie and say I'm a people person, but right now a job's a job."

"Honesty," she laughed. "I like that. They're not so bad once you get to know them. We've got an Easter egg hunt planned in the common room this month, and I'd love to see you there if you want to give it a shot. Eleven bucks an hour. Monday through Friday. Ten to seven." She beamed at me like a cat waiting for a spoonful of milk.

Everyone had that same infectious enthusiasm around here. It was unnerving.

"Sure thing," I answered my new boss, both of us standing up at the same time to shake on it.

"We'll see you Monday morning then."

"Alright."

I made my way past the curio filled with photographs, my eyes taking notice of the man standing centerfold among a crowd in an old black and white one.

It was Adam.

Nearly stumbling over the coffee table between it and me, I rushed to the cabinet with Mary staring at me as if I had grown two heads.

"This man," I choked as I pointed to the photograph. "Who is this man?"

"Who?" She slipped around to where she could follow my finger. "My grandfather?"

I nearly gagged. "I'm sorry?"

"The man third from the left?"

"Yes," I gasped, my breath swelling in my throat.

"That's my grandfather," she repeated. "He was a UNICEF worker in Africa. He died in 1928. Why?"

"No reason." The words rushed out of my mouth almost as quickly as I raced from her office. "I'll see you Monday, Mary. Thanks again."

Before she could ask anything else, I was out of her office, flying down the hallway toward the red glowing sign that signaled my reprieve. I slipped out of the building and leaned against the warm brick, desperately wishing I could slam my head against the masonry. I don't know why it bothered me so much. If Adam was dead, it made sense that he had lived before. In fact, it was expected.

Actually, I think it made him more human, although realizing he was over a hundred deeply disturbed me. Perhaps he really was an angel, and if he was, then it made sense that he hovered around a hospice helping those closest to death pass over to . . . to wherever it was they passed over to.

Heaven, I guess?

I had never even thought about it. If I believed in him, did that mean I believed in Heaven and Hell—the whole God thing? When Adam had mentioned being damned, did he mean literally a fiery, burning pit of torture?

The pressure built at the front of my skull as I conjured more questions. What did it mean if I believed him? More importantly, what did it mean if I did have feelings for Adam?

I wanted to like him though the logical part of my brain tried to dissuade me.

The back door flew open, nearly bowling me over, as a large trash bin shoved through, pushed by one of the orderlies. The young blond man apologized profusely when he saw me nearly jump out of my skin at a time when my nerves already bordered their limits.

"Don't worry about it," I said as I waved that I was alright. "It's my fault, really. I shouldn't even be out here."

The guy flushed scarlet, obviously not used to being shown such kindness. Or perhaps it was the fact that, as I leaned forward to steady myself on my knees, he could see down my shirt.

"I'm Matt." He threw the overstuffed trash bags out of sight before wheeling the large container back over to the door. He pressed his photo badge against the security panel on the wall and waited for the little red light to flash green before reaching for the handle.

"Here let me help you." I grabbed ahold of the door and swung it open for him as he eyed me suspiciously.

"No, it's okay," he huffed as he glanced me over one more time. "This door is for personnel only."

I raised my hands innocently. "I start Monday."

He nodded as he let the door swing back, all but closed, catching it with his foot. "Well then, I'll let you hold all my doors starting Monday, new girl."

We both laughed. "I'll try and remember that. The name's Amelia, but I go by Emily."

"Well then, Emily," he said. "I'll see you then, and again sorry about startling you."

"Don't worry about it." I waved as he let the door clink shut behind him.

With Matt gone, I leaned back against the red brick and slid down to the ground, burying my head in my knees for what seemed like hours. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, a hand jolted me awake with a shake of the shoulder.

Adam stood a foot or so away, his perfect features hidden beneath a tan trench coat, staring at the sky as he took another drag off his cigarette. "Want to go somewhere?" He cocked his head toward me enough that our eyes locked as he waited for an answer.

I couldn't even muster a response before he was in front of me, holding his hand out for me to take. He pulled me gently to my feet, and I felt myself transported somewhere again. It was like a rush of vertigo whizzing past me as we found ourselves a stone's throw from the ocean.

The sky had taken on a burnished hue as it covered the horizon in an iridescent glow. It seemed as if the entire area had changed in color, all the way down to the sunset glistening off the ocean waters. Doubtful as I was by nature, even I could not deny the magic in this place.

Adam let go of my hand when he realized I was safe and took off down the white sand, which reminded me of the first snowfall in winter.

I didn't think most people alive had seen such a sight, even in the places that resorts considered paradise.

This was Paradise, and Adam knew it.

And he wanted me to see this with him.

I noticed the thin, white linen shirt and pants that clung to the rugged contours of his body as he padded down to the waterline, the tide rushing up to meet him eagerly. I glanced down at my own bare feet and wiggled my toes in the sand, silently amused by my hot pink nail polish peeking out to meet me.

"Amelia," he called, and it made my spine shiver. He was the only one who could say my name like it was something good, something sensual. I didn't dread hearing him say it as I did with everyone else.

I gasped the moment I looked up.

Adam stood knee-deep in the shimmering ocean tide, his white linen tunic gone, leaving his only means of dress the thin khakis now drenched in saltwater. But it wasn't his body that took my breath away or even the way his eyes stared at me from across the way.

He had an eighteen-foot expanse of downy, black feathers veering from his shoulders in either direction.

His wings.

Here I could see them in all their glory. Not white like cute little cherubs or church angels would have you believe but black as night and dark as sin. He had told me he was damned and perhaps he was right.

But his wings were far from the most shocking event of the evening. As I stepped into the cool water beside him, I saw the truth for myself—my own set of blackened wings towered off my tiny frame and nearly forced me over into the ocean.

Was this what he didn't want me to know?

That it wasn't just him but me too?

We were both damned.

### CHAPTER SEVEN

I didn't know if it was where we were, or the fact that things were rapidly spinning out of my control, but when Adam reached to catch me I didn't fight. Instead, I sank into his arms as he gently pulled us out of the ocean and back onto the shore.

"Do you believe me now, Mia?" he asked as he brushed my bangs from my face.

"Yes," I whispered, my voice barely audible. Had he not been standing so close to me, I doubt he'd have heard me at all. "Why are you doing this?"

He turned me around to face him, holding me close enough that all I could do was look into those pale eyes. I could have ran had I wanted, but I didn't. I had gotten the answer to my question; it just wasn't the one I was expecting.

"Because I need you to remember," he said simply.

"Remember what?" I asked. "How can I remember something I don't know I forgot?"

He stepped back from embracing me so tightly though I could see it pained him to have me so close and leave it at this.

"Our lives depend on it." His voice had finally reached a frantic level. "And I love you. I know you don't remember, but you have to try. They're looking for us even now. I don't know how much longer we can stay here, but you have to figure it out quickly."

"Who, Adam?" My eyes went wide. "Who's looking for us?"

After a moment of silence, he answered, "The ones who clipped us and trapped us here." His grip tightened on my arms, and I could feel a bruise starting.

"Trapped us?" Try as I might, I still drew a blank. "Trapped us where?"

"On Earth, Mia!" he yelled.

My gaze darted back to the wings on either side of me, my awareness of their presence only escalating the soreness my shoulder blades now felt. It wasn't like they were something that grew slowly, giving me time to acclimate myself to their girth and power. Instead, they had been there the entire time, just unseen to the naked eye. It felt like the soreness that comes after tearing every muscle in one's body and lying down for the first time, the way lactic acid builds to overwhelming proportions. Every nerve ending burned at the same time.

I wanted to double over and claw at my back, anything to distract myself from the pain I felt. But my respite would not come. It vied for my attention as I struggled to focus on Adam's words.

"Please, Mia," he begged, his voice choking much like the first time he had called me by such a name. Now I recognized his emotion as more than love; it was desperation.

I collapsed to the ground, my knees drenched in sand and salt, a cleansing that would have been cathartic had it been somewhere else. Instead it only brought tears to my eyes, foreign and unfamiliar, as if the process were something I had never known.

And then I wept for reasons unbeknownst to me, millennia's worth of sorrow boiling to the forefront. I couldn't even stop had I wanted to. I no longer knew who I was or who I had been. All I could do was pray that Adam was telling me the truth and would stay by my side.

It was a very human way of thinking after it became very apparent that human I was not.

"Seeing them for the first time in forever . . . It's like finding a dear friend you never knew you lost," he said as he laid a comforting hand on my shoulder and rubbed it gently. He stayed there next to me while I cried tears that continued to form though I knew not why. "I'm going to leave for a little bit while all this gets sorted out," he said as he squatted down in front of me in the rolling tide.

"But . . . I thought you said someone was coming after us." I stifled my tears and inhaled sharply. The thought of snot running down my face in front of him did little for my self-confidence.

"They will be," he said softly as he cradled my face, my body turning instinctively to meet him.

My body knew him in ways that my mind didn't. I was too scared to be afraid of him when there were so many other things to be feared. I was alone in the darkness, being guided by someone I was forced to trust if I wanted to survive.

"That's why I have to leave." He looked dead into my eyes, his face solemn and serious. "You will be safer without me around. You're still considered human so you won't stick out as bad. I'm not. They'll find me."

I wanted to scream and wake up from this madness. A stranger in a strange land, I was being abandoned by my guide in the wilderness of the world we now faced. "What do they want with you—with me?" I stood up and sighed, strengthening my resolve as I steadied my balance.

For the second time in such a short time, he dammed up.

"What is it, Adam?" I repeated myself. "What aren't you telling me?"

Silence answered me again . . . and then it came.

The drop in the pit of my stomach. "They want to drag us back to Hell."

### CHAPTER EIGHT

I stepped back, suddenly blinded by the light that overcame my senses. I now found myself back in the middle of the hospice parking lot with no one the wiser that I had disappeared. Paranoia clung to me like a second skin. This place, this city I had chosen, now seemed as damaged and dangerous as the rest.

Like a wild animal that caught wind of its predator, I felt the instinctive urge to run, to leave before my own survival was threatened. Middleton, Washington suddenly seemed like a tomb, a one-way hole into Hell.

I clutched my jacket tightly around me and began the trek back to the rental home. The sun had begun to wane in the time we'd been gone, and now shadows danced where they shouldn't have been. I didn't know what to think, what to do. Hell, I didn't even know what to be afraid of.

I had done a lot of things in my life, but nothing bad enough that it warranted eternal damnation. It was so ironic that I wanted to cry all over again. Even if I did die, it wouldn't matter. I'd never get to rest. Apparently I was meant to wade through the bowels of perdition.

I had walked into something far larger than myself, something I could never have foreseen.

I made it back to the rental house at lightning speed, closing the door behind me as I slipped inside. The four walls seemed comforting, as if they knew what terrors awaited me and only sought to help. I slid the deadbolt closed and twisted the main lock, letting myself collapse against the door's wooden frame and slide down to the floor, my face already buried in my lap.

The sudden scorching pain in the back of my head should have been an indication that something was amiss, but it wasn't until the door splintered into a thousand shards around me that it clicked.

Stumbling to my knees, I turned around to face what terror loomed on my front stoop, only to find that my assailants already had me surrounded. Before I could even scramble out of their grasp, steel chains pinned me in place. A burgundy pillowcase swooped over my head, drowning out any chance I had to see their faces.

They spoke in tongues I'd never heard before and doubted that I would ever understand. It wasn't Hebrew, Assyrian, or anything I could recall from the years of Linguistics courses I had taken while in college. Even if I could identify it, I still wouldn't be able to understand anything.

I knew enough to know I wasn't going to get out of this easily. I felt the ground spring up around me, meeting me as they forced me to it. The weight of someone's knees in my back pinned me in place.

There was no point in struggling; that much was evident. Too bad they didn't see it that way, a notion I further realized the moment they rammed my head into the wooden floor.

Ω

Of all the changes that had recently taken hold of my life, finding myself in unfamiliar surroundings was becoming the most regular. My hands were bound, roped off behind me so that I couldn't escape from the chair where I found myself tethered. The distinct smell of concrete and iron permeated my nostrils, setting my senses ablaze. A cold wetness clung to the air like a second skin. Dampness sunk into my bones and left me hollow. I would think that death felt a lot like this, except someone tore the pillowcase off me, reminding me that I wasn't dead.

We were in a warehouse, some place off the map, somewhere I doubted I would ever see again should I survive. Two men stood before me with a battalion behind them, all in matching trench coats. Every single eye poised in my direction. The man on the right was blond, fair-skinned, and embodied the arch-type of the Aryan race, but the man on the left stole my attention.

Gray-eyed with a solemn expression much too serious for one so young, his dark black hair clung to his face like an extension of his soul. At first, he simply stared at me with those piercing eyes, as if he were reading my mind. He was gorgeous, breath-taking even, but his steel gaze held me captive.

He spoke first. "Where is the other Nephilim?"

I blinked. "What?"

"The other Nephilim!" the gray-eyed man snapped at me, each word seething with disdain. "Where is he?"

I stared down at my arms for a second, searching for the words to respond to these crazies. Bruises and cuts lined my pale skin, and my head throbbed. "I don't know what you're talking about." I did, but a lie could buy me time. At least, I thought it could.

"The Nephilim you've been gallivanting around with."

I closed my eyes for a second. "I don't even know what that word means."

The gorgeous man blinked. "What word?"

"Nephilim." I stared him back in the eye though it took everything I had not to pass out. "What in the hell is that?"

He made some sort of clicking sound and looked back at the other men standing close to him before diverting his attention back to me. "How can you be this ignorant?"

The other man came to my rescue. "A Nephilim is a fallen angel. A damned one. A blood-betrayer."

They were all seven sheets of crazy. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Answer me!" The alpha's gray eyes pierced into me, bidding me to do as he commanded.

"Listen, pal," I said through gritted teeth. "I think you've got the wrong person. I don't know who you are or who he is, so why don't you let me go, and we'll forget—"

"Silence!" he snapped again, his voice lashing out like a whip. "Don't play me for a fool. I know you're hiding the other of your kind. You cannot convince us otherwise."

One of the others cleared his throat uneasily. "It would be in your best interest to tell him what he wants to know, Eve."

"Do not speak lest you wish to find yourself in her place." The alpha snarled at his subordinate, the lesser of the two cowing down in submission.

I was running out of ideas; these guys were nuts. "Guys, please. I really think you have the wrong person. My name's Amelia, Emily. Not Eve."

Half-yelling, half-growling, the leader turned in my direction, his gray irises ablaze. His energy was palpable and real as it focused on me. Like a forceful gale before the brunt of a storm, an invisible force nearly knocked me on my ass. I struggled to keep from tipping over, a difficult feat with my limbs bound. The unsteadiness ceased long enough for my shoulder blades to burn like fire.

My blackened wings burst out from beneath my clothing, showing the world what I was.

Here in the world I'd always known, they looked as bold and beautiful as anything that existed on this plane. Like a horse shaking out its mane, they flapped and shook themselves free from their invisible chains.

The man's eyes poured venom in my direction, the disgust present on his face. "Still think we have the wrong person, Eve?"

### CHAPTER NINE

Hope, as always, was a lying bitch and fickle to the very end.

My eyes widened in horror, my reaction exactly what he had expected.

He grinned widely like a primal chimp bowing up in warning. "There's that recognition. You do know who we speak of, don't you, Eve?"

Adam had been right. Of course he'd been. But why hadn't he warned me earlier, told me when I had enough time that I could do something to protect myself? Instead, I was defenseless and kidnapped, bound and tethered to a chair that wouldn't support my massive wings. This day couldn't get any worse.

Most people, as children, think of how "cool" would it be to have wings, but they fail to realize the simplest thing: wings, no matter how strong they were, could not free me from the ropes binding me in place.

There was no point in lying. They knew everything already. "I don't know where he is."

The man stepped toward me, the tanned-leather soles of his boots smacking against the cold floor as he approached. He stood just out of my reach, his eyes smoldering. "Why don't I believe you when you tell me that?"

"Probably the same reason you kidnapped a young woman and dragged her to some random warehouse. You don't seem like a very trusting guy." My fear was making me brave, stupid even.

He struck me across the face before I could even dodge it, once again sending my chair rocking, only now my wings flapped to steady me. Blood pooled at the corner of my mouth, and I ran my tongue over it just to be certain. His breath latched onto my skin as he stood inches from my face, close enough that I could smell the mint on his breath. I thought breath mints strange for someone like him. Too human.

"We could make you rot and burn in Hell for every single century that you've missed and escaped from our grasp. You will despise whatever force that has brought you here and kept you alive for all these millennia."

I watched the first drops of blood fall into my lap from where my head hung, doing my best not to make eye contact with the maniac. But what did I expect? Though it had come too late, Adam had, in fact, warned me. I knew someone would be coming, but I never expected it to be like this.

The others, all but the one, had remained quiet the entire time, vigilant and respectful of their leader. I could tell they lacked any real authority and existed here only as a buffer between the worlds. If nothing else, they were here to serve as backup in case I proved too much of a problem.

The fact that they saw me as a threat made me want to laugh.

I had wings that did me no good. Much like their threats.

The leader stared, his gray eyes piercing me to the core, almost as if he could see into my soul and devour it. "Listen," I said, "you're wasting your time. I don't know where he's gone or when he'll be back. I barely even know the guy."

The man laughed as he dug into the pocket of his trench coat for a set of leather gloves. "You really don't get it, do you?" He thrust his hands into their fine material and pulled them up around his wrists, smoothing the gloves around his flesh like a doctor prepping for surgery, afraid of the contaminants he might encounter.

"Camael, wait," the same man who had said something earlier spoke again, apparently this time upset enough that he chose to involve himself.

"Uriel, stay out of this," the leader snapped as he set his sights on the metal chains piled next to my chair. Scooping them up with one hand, he lifted them into my line of sight. "Do you know why we brought you here, Eve?"

"Because people like you don't carry identification and money?"

Camael smiled, amused by my weak attempt at sarcasm. "I brought you here to prove a point. Two, if you want to get technical."

"Camael," Uriel echoed again, his voice more insistent in his warning. He glanced at me for the first time, and for a second I thought regret lurked behind his nearly blank features.

I would have thought that regret was my imagination, save for the fact that he glanced away the moment Camael draped the steel chains across the exposed parts of my neck and chest.

The significance of which didn't hit me until the smell of burning flesh flooded my nostrils and I realized that it was my own. My nerve endings were dead so fast that I didn't even have time to feel the shock ricochet through my body. This hurt like nothing I'd ever felt before.

The idea that the blond had somehow spared me a few seconds of pain crossed my wishful mind, but I would have no respite, a lesson I would soon learn. Camael took the second set and started to drape them over my wings. He moved so fast my eyes could hardly keep up with him.

The metal chair no longer tethered me in place, but instead kept me stayed by the pulley system above me. The chains holding me felt like a strait jacket as I hung like meat on a butcher's hook. The pain ebbed and flowed, careening through my body as it damaged what was left of me.

Plop. Plop. Ploppp.

I didn't even have to look down to know that it was fragments of my wings melting like tar and covering the ground in thick, black pools.

The screams came almost as quickly as the pain did, ripping its way out of my lungs and into the air surrounding me until there was nothing else. My breath came in ragged gasps as I struggled to maintain some sort of airflow between the agonizing, guttural noises my body continued to make without my permission. There wasn't much I could do to keep the tears from falling as the pain escalated.

The blond one diverted his gaze as I hung there for all to see. "Camael, please. Enough is enough. She's done nothing—"

Camael reached over to a button on a metal contraption and pressed it, sending me even higher into the air. "She's done plenty, Uriel, or have you forgotten that I was the one to find them all those years ago?"

"No, no." The man stepped toward him, rubbing his brow vehemently as he shook his head. "No one is questioning that. I just think there has to be another way."

Camael's icy gaze settled on me once again as he watched a cluster of black liquid fall to the ground. "There are plenty of ways, but none that will get my point across as quickly. Isn't that right, my dear?"

"Fuck you," I choked through the waves of agony.

"My, my," he snorted. "The things you learn in a few thousand years' worth of evolution."

"I've already told you," I spat. "I don't know where he is."

"No," he said as he pursed his lips, "but I do, and that is the part that matters. Elias, if you please."

My attention darted to a scrawny brunet standing at the far end of the warehouse, where strips of vinyl divided the areas. Elias produced Adam in a far worse state of disarray. Unlike the burns that had seared and blackened my flesh and left my wings in pieces, Adam's whole body was a spider web of red and black where the flesh bordered on charcoal.

Blistered. Boiled. Destroyed.

Had I thought that been the worst part, I would have been wrong.

The shackles on his wrists and ankles were nothing compared to the ones binding his wings together. Like something reminiscent of a pterodactyl, all of the beauty and serenity was gone. There were no lush feathers covering the skeletal frame, only shreds and pieces of skin. He stood there before me, a silent understanding passing between the two of us as he did. He had been here the entire time, forced to watch the torture inflicted as they tested my resolve and commitment to a man I could not recall.

We both knew that, for better or worse, I had accepted my fate.

The one called Elias shoved Adam roughly to the ground. My broken angel with eyes like the ocean knelt before me, his clothes just as tattered as his soul, blood caking what remained.

For a long time he said nothing. With silence my only friend, it took everything I had just to keep from screaming. But now that I saw him still conscious and half-dead, it seemed foolish to open my mouth again except to speak.

Camael stepped between us. "I'd like to take this opportunity to let you know, my darling Eve, that Adam here has refused to cooperate either. You two really are two of a kind."

"Fuck you, you spineless dick," I seethed. "Stop playing games and just tell me what you want. Why are you doing this?"

"Why I'm doing this?" Camael balked at me, blinking confusedly. "Are you daft?"

"I'm truly pissed," I said, squirming and twisting as I struggled.

"I'm sure you are, dear," he snorted again. "Then you'll be really pissed to know what I'm about to do next. Elias, if you please."

Elias and another guy yanked Adam to his feet, holding him in place. "Got 'em."

Camael nodded and held his hand out to his side, a whirling nebula of crimsons and yellows emanating in the air beneath his hands. The cluster whirled and condensed, solidifying into the shape of a sword.

He held up the flaming blade, admiring its evanescent form as it ebbed and flowed. "Adam, you remember Lamafuere, don't you? I borrowed it from a friend."

Adam only stared at him, his jaw tempered like steel as we all awaited what we knew would come next.

The gray-eyed man signaled for the others to bring him forward, leaving Adam just enough time to struggle in vain once more. "Adam, it's been a long time since anyone's seen you in that tropical paradise. Do send my regards."

And with that, Camael plunged the flaming sword between the chains encasing Adam, straight into his chest, severing his heart instantly.

Blood pooled from Adam's lips as he struggled not to cough. His two captors released him as he collapsed to the cold concrete beneath him.

He was dead.

Tears flooded from my eyes before I could help myself. I was trapped with no way out. I closed my eyes, unable to look at the dead man at my feet. I barely knew him, and yet I was certain he had not deserved it. "I will kill you, you bastard!" I spit through my teeth.

"One day I'm sure you will, my dear," Camael laughed, his amusement never ceasing. "But for now, I have a more fitting present for one such as yourself. Elias?"

Elias reached into the chest pocket of his overcoat, pulled out an ornate gold Peacemaker, and handed it to the gray-eyed man.

Camael admired the pistol for a moment before rotating open the chamber. He reached into his pocket, producing a bullet from its depths, and loaded it into the gun.

"You're human, right, Amelia, as you call yourself these days?" he quipped as he waved the gun in my direction, settling the barrel right between my eyes.

I could feel the cold steel against my forehead, my eyes locked on Adam's corpse below me.

"You don't mind if I use this, do you, Amelia?"

"Screw you." I mustered what spit I could into his face, more of it blood than saliva now that the chains had worked their magic long enough.

He wiped his face with the back of his glove. "You always were a scrappy one, weren't you?" He pulled back the hammer on the pistol. "Do send my regards to your betrothed should you see him again, though I must imagine it won't be for some time."

### CHAPTER TEN

The realization that I wasn't dead hit me the moment my body jolted awake in bed. I stared wildly at my surroundings, trying to take in everything that had just happened. The wet, metallic smell had left my senses, leaving behind the sterile scent that could only accompany a hospital. IVs snaked their venom down my arms. The pale green hospital gown hid my body from the harsh fluorescent lights that plagued my sight. And I knew for certain where I had ended up.

I slid off the end of the bed and raced to the window, the same window I had been standing at months before. Snow lined the sidewalks and grounds around St. Mary's. The frozen liquid was tinted red from the lights of parked ambulances unloading intake patients. People raced across the blacktop, scurrying to their cars in the bitter cold. The weather was the complete opposite of where I had just left. Somehow, I traveled the two thousand miles back across the country without any action on my part.

There was a light rapping on the door and in walked an overly joyous Dr. Willard with two interns in identical lab coats bounding in after him. "Good evening, Amelia. It's good to see you're up and about. You're feeling better I take it?"

"What?" I ignored the curious glances from the interns, their eyes rapt on the IVs traversing the air like spider webs as they made their way over to where I stood.

The doctor's confusion matched my own, forcing him to flip through the chart he carried. "You haven't been out of bed and on your feet since you were admitted two and a half months ago."

"What are you talking about? You just released me, like three days ago," I whispered in disbelief. "What day is it?"

"It's Monday," Dr. Willard answered cautiously, staring at me for a second before reverting his attention to the paperwork. "Are you telling me that you don't remember what day of the week it is?"

There was an underlying warning in his tone that told me I needed to tread carefully, that there were worse places than the hospital. What he didn't know was that even the psych ward compared little against the threat of Hell.

It didn't matter. They'd never believe me. "I need to leave, doctor," I said simply.

The man in the lab coat set down the clipboard on the rollaway cart at the end of my bed. "Amelia, would you please come sit down with me?" he asked as he held out his hand for me to take.

Once some of the shock had worn off and I stepped toward him, I found myself weaker than I expected.

"Easy now," he said as he grabbed my elbow and helped me back onto the uncomfortable cot. "Now why don't you tell me what's going on?"

I licked my lips, searching for the words that would keep me out of a straitjacket. "I appreciate everything you've done for me, but something important has come up." I fondled the intake band on my wrist.

He smiled at me and nodded to the interns behind him, allowing them to leave us to ourselves. "Does this have something to do with what we discussed the other day?"

The blank look escaped me before I could help myself. "I— I don't—"

"I understand this has been very difficult for you. Most people in your position go through the same thing even if it hadn't reached this level of severity."

"I'm sorry?"

"Your reaction," Dr. Willard answered. "It's completely natural. Anyone told they're dying goes through some denial. I wish it could be different, Amelia; I really do, but God has a plan for each of us, even if we don't understand it."

I blinked. Not only had time reversed, but apparently so had my condition. "I'm dying?"

The oncologist looked even more somber, almost as if it hurt him to re-explain it to me. "Amelia, it's metastasized into your brain, and we can't operate without risking permanent paralysis."

"This is ridiculous," I snapped. "I've already gone through this. I was cured. You discharged me."

"No, Amelia."

"I know this sounds crazy, but you have to believe me," I said as I reached for my sweater-coat on the chair beside the bed. "I can't explain it, but I promise everything will be okay."

There was that frown again. "Amelia, we just took an MRI yesterday. I am under a legal and moral obligation not to release you until you have a mental health evaluation which I'm doubtful you'll pass."

At that moment I realized I wasn't going to get anywhere with the guy. Either I could wait for him to leave and escort myself out, or I could say damn the consequences and escort myself out now.

I looked around and made a quick mental note of what it would take to get me out of here. Three IV cords, a heart rate monitor, and two other cords I had no idea what they did, bound me to this place. I could get out of here in about thirty seconds if I took the time to throw on my jeans, a good idea given the weather outside. The idea of forcing myself past him and managing to escape this wing of the hospital before security caught wind of my trail was far less likely than if I just waited for him to leave.

The sight of Adam was burned into my mind, haunting me with every breath I took. I didn't even know how long I had to waste. How long could someone last in a place like that?

I didn't think to question whether Camael was telling the truth or not after what I had seen.

There was no need to question him; his threats were real.

If I wanted to help Adam, I had to get out of here. More importantly, I had to find someone or something that could help.

I flashed Dr. Willard a dazzling smile. "I'm sorry. I'm just really tired. I must not be thinking clearly."

I could see the suspicion in his eyes, but for some reason that that I couldn't fathom, he trusted me. Had I been a person of lesser character, I could have taken advantage of his kindness. All I wanted from him was solitude; I'd handle the rest.

Disappointment lined his face. It didn't take four years of medical school to know what I was about to do, but at least this way, he could not be held accountable for my actions. It made me feel less guilty.

He was a nice enough man; I wasn't purposely trying to sabotage his career.

I waited until he left the room and had enough time to reach the nurses' station before shoving my jeans on under the hospital gown. I glanced at the machines tying me in place; none of them threatened to alert the nurses should one of them go down. Hospitalized I might be, but I wasn't about to take any chances. Gathering the rest of my things took all of twenty seconds. Packing light had served me well.

Before I could convince myself not to, I ripped the three IVs out of my arms and hand and sought to undo the remaining cords. Like a marionette breaking free of its puppeteer, I shed my ties and slipped my jacket over my head, zipping it up to hide the fact that I was naked beneath it.

Upon arriving at the hospital, I had thrown up so much blood that it was a wonder my pants and jacket survived. The cotton tank top, once a pearly shade of white, had looked more like a can of red paint had exploded on it. The nurses had made sure to dispose of it before I even had a chance to protest.

Before the machines could start making any noises, I reached around the equipment and yanked the cords from the wall. I'd be long out of the room by the time they realized there was no longer a signal coming from room 221. The door was ajar enough that I could see the hallway clearly now that the doctor had gone. A serving cart divided the corridor in half, hiding me from prying eyes should they be aimed in my direction.

Just as I turned to leave, something knocked the wind from my lungs before I could do anything. A solid wall that wasn't there moments before. I glanced up to find that my worst fears had been realized.

Camael stood inches away, his eyes burning with unspoken delight. It was like meeting the eyes of a viper and not knowing whether to fight or flee. "Good to see you again, Eve," Camael the orderly purred.

The fear suddenly threatened to choke me. "What do you want, Camael?"

"I'm impressed you remembered my name." He smiled again. "Most people would be clawing their own eyes out after being in our presence. I'm amazed your brain hasn't turned to pudding after so many years in the human world."

"What have you done with Adam?"

Camael laughed. "He's back where he belongs, somewhere a little more fitting for one of his nature. It's been so long since Hell's seen him that I'm sure they'll welcome him with arms wide open."

I tried to slip past him only to find his arm barred me. "I will kill you for what you've done to him," I growled as I slapped his arm away.

The angel laughed wholeheartedly. It only pissed me off more to know he truly thought it funny.

"Good luck with that, ma chere."

He was gone in a flash, disappearing from my sight as quickly as I could blink. The only distinguishable tell that he was ever there was the slight rippling his wings made as he left, distorting the air around me.

I glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was closing in on midnight, and I had nowhere to go.

Two thousand miles away from where all of this had started, I had no idea who or what could help me. I knew nothing about Heaven and even less about Hell. Like most people of a non-religious nature, I'd considered angels to be the stuff of fiction, a figment of mans' imagination created to exact both divine retribution and mercy. Two sides of a coin, controlled by God, but I knew them for what they were: unpredictable, fallible, immortal, illogical, and archaic. They were as varied in nature as the colors in a kaleidoscope.

My first stop once I made it off hospital grounds was to the antiquated payphone across the street. Calling anyone at home would serve no purpose, let alone the fact that it was risky had I cared even the slightest about those I left behind. I no longer had any room for my old life; that much was evident.

I had become someone new, or more aptly put, someone old.

Adam. The first man upon the earth and I, his consort, Eve. It all sounded so ludicrous, so insane that a trip to the psych-ward didn't sound so bad. But it was all true, and I couldn't remember a damned thing. Nothing that could actually help me.

What was I? Human, angel? Alive, dead?

As the second oldest Homo sapien on the planet, evolution be damned, I wasn't religious enough to spout Genesis. I needed help; I needed to go somewhere that would make sense of all of this.

Before I could read too much into it, I noticed St. Christopher's Cathedral a little down the street. An over-the-top, old-fashioned cathedral that headed the Catholic diocese in the area, St. Christopher's was a spectacular display of early Christian art and modern mosaics.

The cobblestone path leading into the church filled me with trepidation. With each step I took, the walkway shortened. I couldn't help but worry about what would happen once I crossed over the threshold. The likelihood of me bursting into flames seemed almost as insane as the thought that my biography was written thousands of years ago by people in robes whom I had never met.

A daughter of Eden, of Paradise, the one place where all of humanity strove to return to without thought to the consequences. Countless wars had been waged, countries destroyed, lives obliterated, all for the chance to return to God's kingdom. And I had left it willingly—some would say swayed by the Devil—the first true demonstration of the free will of humanity.

And I was completely screwed.

I pushed open the large oak door. The brass handle was cold in my hands as I slipped into the tabernacle. As the door slid shut with a muted thump, there were no devils rising from the pews or priests surrounding me to send me on my way. Instead, it was quiet, like one would naturally expect of such a place. The only light came from the half-burned candles piled at either corner of the cathedral and the enormous chandelier softly glistening above me like stars in the firmament.

The haunted sound of my footsteps against the marble tile was all the noise in the deserted building. There were no church organs ringing out, no rosaries being said by old women kneeling around the statue of the Virgin Mary. If others were in the cathedral, they were probably in the rectory, and that was fine with me.

I had to figure out what to say.

One of the grand stained-glass windows that nearly stretched to the ceiling caught my attention as I reached the end of the center aisle. Even from where I stood, I could see the mosaic for what it was.

The Archangel Michael plunging his fiery sword into the chest of Lucifer.

I was suddenly thankful for the fact that I hadn't had the luxury of meeting the man thus far.

Camael had been more than enough. Meeting someone whose extra-curriculars comprised of sword-fighting demons to the death didn't really seem like the best way to prolong my already jeopardized lifespan.

The door to one of the confessionals opened quietly and out walked one of the priests donned in black. Probably no older than his mid-forties, he quickly took notice of my disheveled appearance.

"Welcome to St. Christopher's," he said as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked over to me. "Is there something the Church can help you with this evening, child?"

My body language mirrored his as my anxiety drove my hands into the depths of my jacket pockets. "I'm not sure," I admitted as my gaze lifted upward to meet his, deciding it was easiest to start with the truth. "I'm looking for someone."

The priest stared at me curiously. "Are they missing?"

"Possibly." I pulled my jacket tighter around me, but a chill permeated the fabric even within the warm building.

"And you thought that this person, who may or may not be missing, would be somewhere within our halls?"

I couldn't tell if he thought me crazy or not, but I had no alternatives. "I honestly don't know, Father, but I had nowhere else to go," I said, hoping to prey on his humility.

The older man nodded. "I understand. The house of the Lord is not a place to turn away those in need. We have a kitchen in the back. I'll heat us up some soup and a pot of tea."

"Oh, that won't be necessary." I tried to stop the man. "Honest. I just need to find my friend."

"And find him you will," the priest replied, "but you can't fight demons on an empty stomach, let alone angels."

I gawked, and he realized he'd struck a nerve. The feeling of being in a game where I didn't fully understand the rules seemed to hover behind me like a malevolent shadow, like a waking nightmare I couldn't escape.

"Come," he beckoned me to follow as he circumscribed the grand altar and made his way to the back section of the church where only clergy were allowed. This man knew far more than I had originally expected, but did he know anything that would help me?

My only choice was to follow.

### CHAPTER ELEVEN

"You're probably wondering why I said what I did." Father Duncan handed me two large bowls and spoons and nodded in the direction of a hideaway table that only seated two.

I sat the items down on the placemats, the porcelain blue color an ideal comparison to the chill in my soul. Like Alice, farther and farther down the rabbit hole I went. I shoved my hands back into my pockets and shrugged at the priest. "I'm quickly becoming accustomed to the fact that I'm a part of something where I'm the only one left in the dark."

"In the dark, aptly put." He put some finishing touches on the stew before bringing it over to where a potholder sat between us on the table. "It doesn't bother you that others know you better than you know yourself?"

I shrugged again as he handed me my bowl, and it wasn't long before I shoved a large spoonful of the stew into my mouth. For some reason, I couldn't honestly remember the last time I'd eaten anything. There was the latte in the cafe, but when had that been?

Three days ago? Three months? Years? There was a wide, gaping chasm of memories and thoughts I couldn't put my finger on, like it had all been stirred into one ambiguous blur.

Only one thing remained constant: Adam. He was there in every image, every afterthought. I simply had to close my eyes, and he was haunting me from his damnation.

"Stop."

"What?" I looked up, my mouth full of food.

"That thing you're doing." He nodded at me and set down the spoon, letting it clang against the bowl. "Feeling guilty."

"I— I wasn't—" I stared at him uneasily. Was everyone able to read my thoughts?

"Trapped. Powerless. Guilty," he mused. "Whatever you want to call it, and no, I can't read your thoughts any more than anyone else could."

It was a good thing I had already chewed and swallowed my food, otherwise it might have landed on the table.

Father Duncan frowned and loosened the Roman collar from around his throat, setting it down on the table beside him. "Let me try and explain this. I am no psychic, nor am I a telepath. You, dear Amelia, have thoughts and emotions like a beacon in the darkness. I don't want to hear you, but I don't have a choice."

"Does that mean even people on the street can hear me?" I forced another bite into me, fully aware that future opportunities for a meal could be few and far between if I didn't get a handle on time.

"There's a good possibility." He smiled at me again, doing his best not to alarm me in any way. He took another hearty spoonful of stew himself. "It's something you'll have to work on if you are going to survive down there."

Again my eyes met his in an instant. "There?"

Father Duncan nodded. "Hell. Purgatory. Whatever you want to call it."

I tried to keep my pulse steady. My chest already ached with anxiety. "I thought there was a difference between the two."

He sat back into the chair and wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin beside his bowl. "There is, if you want to get technical, but the main thing you'll need to focus on is finding Adam."

A laugh escaped my lips. "So you do know who I am."

"I would be a bad Catholic if I didn't," he answered.

For a moment we sat there, saying nothing, but simply staring at each other. Truthfully I didn't know where to start, what to ask. I just continued to eat until I did. "Why don't I remember anything?" I finally broke the silence, the hot stew hitting my stomach like a ton of bricks. Perhaps though, it was just my nerves.

"You will. In time," he said simply. "Several millennia's worth of memories don't come rushing back all at once. It's going to take some time."

I pushed myself away from the table and stood up, filling my lungs with as much oxygen as I possibly could. I hadn't even done anything yet.

I felt a rough hand turn me about; Father Duncan was inches from my face. "Perhaps I'm not the best person to help you through this right now." He let go of me suddenly only to snatch a thick black pea coat from the coat-rack near the window.

Within seconds, he had bundled himself with a bright red scarf tucked around his stubbled neck and a wool beanie hiding his salt and pepper hair.

"There's someone I think you should meet."

Ω

A rush of arctic air blasted us as soon as we pushed open the back door to the rectory, freezing us to the core as I struggled to chase after Duncan. In the time since entering the church, dusk had fallen, and with it so had the salt on the roads and sidewalks.

I fought to keep pace with him each step of the way. "So where are we going?"

"To see a friend." He didn't even bother to look back at me.

"And this friend . . .?" Thrusting my hands in my pockets did little without gloves. The cold made them ache in a way I hadn't imagined. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt this cold. So many firsts it seemed.

A streetlight nearly distracted me from my cares, flickering just long enough before finally going out. Father Duncan paid it no mind, or if he did, he made no outward showing of it.

"What kind of friend?"

"Like I said," he said briskly, "someone far more equipped to handle this sort of thing."

This sort of thing. How many sort of things could there be, really? How many people were living incarnations of biblical figures that were being stalked by angels?

Eden. As hard as I tried, I could not remember a damn thing about it. Not a sight. Not a sound. Not a smell. Not even the faintest glimmer of recollection, but it didn't matter. I had seen the wings for myself.

I realized that it didn't matter what I believed: Eden. Angels. God. Hell. My faith would change nothing.

"Eve," I heard Father Duncan call to me even though only Camael had called me such.

My eyes darted to meet his. "Does this mean that I'm damned, too? That God really hates me? Did I really do all those—?"

He laughed. "Easy, child. I'm sure the truth won't be as bad as it seems." The older man's vain attempt to comfort me failed with the fact that I was the second oldest soul in the universe. It seemed somewhat foolish to take advice from someone several millennia younger than myself.

Duncan stared at me, knowing the endless cacophony of noise bouncing around in my head and said nothing but simply kept walking. Snow pelted us as we made our way down Bricker St., one of the oldest streets in the city.

After what seemed like hours, we came upon an old industrial building, its old, metal door rusting peacefully as Duncan held it open for me. I crossed through the threshold, the temperature warming rapidly once we were inside.

Whatever life this place had during its heyday, there was almost no trace of it now. Everywhere around me there were small, two-seater tables and a smattering of secondhand couches. In the far back corner of the room, a man sat in one of the chairs beneath one of the wrought iron wall sconces dully lighting the place.

If one could even call him a man.

I glanced at Duncan who simply nodded, and I slipped on ahead past him.

The closer I got I realized what it was about the man that didn't sit right. It was his entire face, his entire being. Like a skyscraper on the horizon, he loomed ever larger. By the time I stood less than a stone's throw away, it was evident that he had to be upwards of 275 and almost 7 feet tall. But it wasn't his overwhelming girth that sent me into stunned silence.

Endless spider webs of burns and raised flesh covered his skin as if something got ahold of him and clawed its way across his face from the inside out. Where his hair should have been, there were only knobs of flesh, like dreadlocks sculpted by children out of modeling clay. "This is a friend?" I couldn't help but gawk.

Duncan slid out of the white-speckled pea coat, folding it neatly before laying it over the back of the couch. "Yes, he is."

"This is the guy who can help?" I couldn't hide the disbelief in my voice.

"Easy, love. I don't bite." The man sounded like someone who had survived on bourbon and Camels for far too many years.

Duncan sat down on the lounge chair beside the man and pointed to the adjacent one. "Sit down. There's a lot to discuss and not a lot of time. Whatever you did really has both sides of the fence jumping."

"I'm sorry?" I stood there, dumbfounded by them both.

"You. Sit. Down," the creature mocked.

"Are you sure this guy can help?"

"Yes," Duncan nodded dramatically, bobbing his head slowly and deliberately as he pulled out a cigarette from the metal case stuffed in his chest pocket. "This is Goat. Goat, this is Amelia."

"Goat? You have to be kidding me."

Goat took a cigarette from Duncan, both of them using their own lighters, and the area was suddenly awash in smoke. "You're going to be an obstinate little shit, aren't you? A real peaches and cream."

"And apparently you're going to help me free Adam?"

"Do you know how to beat the Seraphim?"

My arms unintentionally crossed. "And what help you can be, Goat?"

"I've been there," he answered simply. "Many times."

"Been where?" I asked, reluctantly dropping into a seat. They were both staring at me by this point. I obviously wasn't getting the picture, unable to connect the dots.

"Hell, lovey," he said, grinning widely at my dumbfounded face. "And I can tell you they're jumping at themselves for a chance at you."

A waitress with a snake for a tongue walked up to us with a serving tray and passed us a round of drinks, forcing one into my hand without permission.

"Excuse me," I yelled when she began to turn away. "I didn't order anything."

A cough erupted from Goat. "No, I did."

"How did you—"

Father Duncan shook his head disappointedly at me. "Didn't I tell you that you were like a beacon? You'd be amazed what you can hear when you listen."

At that moment I realized everyone in the room was staring at me, each of them more obscene and grotesque than the last. It was very apparent that I had walked into a room of freaks with me being the headliner. The increasing glares meant they had heard that too.

"The first thing you need to realize about us, dolly," Goat mused, "is that you need to watch whatcha say—and even whatcha think. If we can hear everything that little hamster wheel of yours is rattling around, then your feathered friends will roll through you like butter."

The Seabreeze in my hand suddenly looked inviting, so I took the largest swig I could manage, gulping down nearly the whole thing in a matter of seconds. The vodka burnt my nostrils, causing me to shake my head in disagreement with it. "Woo, that's strong."

"Of course it is. It's a hundred and eighty proof and nearly two hundred years old," Goat laughed as he poured himself another splash of bourbon. "Were you expecting something shittier?"

"I— I don't know," I stammered as my eyes darted back and forth across the room. It seemed that our conversation had become the main attraction. "Something that doesn't taste like muddled piss. I can tell you that."

The bloated scars at the edges of his eyelids upturned jovially as his laughing began anew. "I like this one, Dunc," he said to the priest. "She's a real firecracker. Might 've half a spitting chance."

Ω

"There's three things you need to know if you're going to survive a war with the White Wings," Goat said as he stepped around me and the clearing we had made in the center of the room.

All of the patrons had either cleared out of the place or stood behind the bar on the far side of the room. "Out of harm's way," Goat had said. But out of harm's way from what?

Before I had long to wonder, a small, pixie-haired blonde scurried around the two of us, her two hands pouring a container of white crystals in a circle around us.

My eyes darted to Goat's. "Salt?"

"Sea salt to be precise," the man answered, another cigarette burning steadily from his lips.

"What do you need that for?"

"Protection." Burning embers fell to the floor.

"Protection from what?"

The look on everyone's face, including Duncan's, said me. I tried to take a step forward, but my body immediately froze, unable to move. "I thought you were here to help me."

Another drag. "I am."

"So why are you caging me in like some rat?" I tried to take another step, this time to the left. The same result, I was penned in.

Goat slid off the closest barstool and stepped outside the ring containing me. "More like a bird, sweetheart. Just because your wings are broke, don't mean you can't fly."

The tension in my back eased just a bit. "Are we talking figuratively or literally?"

The gnarled man took one final drag and dropped the butt to the ground, stomping it into the concrete with his boot. "Have you ever heard of Dante Alighieri, dollface?"

His terms of endearment were really starting to get old. "Are you talking about the Inferno guy?"

He nearly balked at me, his black eyes darting to Duncan's. "This is what's wrong with America's youth. Cell phones and internet porn."

I shot him a twisted look. "And I'm sure you're the King of Morality."

He snorted and stepped into the circle, an audible hiss echoing quietly as he did. I could feel the circle buzzing with energy like an electric fence, and I was scared to step back across its threshold.

"I asked if you knew Dante because it's important," he said. "Now give me your hand."

He snatched it from my side. Before I had the chance to protest, he'd already drawn a small blade across the fleshy pulp of my hand. Blood pooled to the surface as I watched for any reaction from him.

There was none. It was all business.

At least that was reassuring.

I wondered if, like Adam, Camael, and the others, the patrons here were far from human. The look coming from Goat's direction answered my question for me.

He was right. I had to figure out a way to contain my thoughts, an extremely difficult process when I didn't even know I was broadcasting half the time. If Goat and the others in the cafe were demons, did that make me one of them? If I was an enemy of angels and cast out of Heaven, did that mean I had a place in Hell? Is that why Goat was so willing to help me—because I was one of his own, a damned soul without any hope for salvation? Questions whizzed through my mind, each one more confusing than the last.

A sturdy hand gripping my shoulder brought me back to reality, or at least the one I knew. Goat looked at me in earnest, his black pupils staring right into the core of me. But for once, I was not afraid. Somehow I knew there was nothing to fear from this mutilated imitation of a man.

"I want you to pay attention to this," he said as he turned my palm face down and let three drops of blood fall to the ground between our feet. Almost instantly, the borders of the circle flared up around us, an ice-blue veil dancing incandescently around the two of us.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of black writing scratched into the stone floor. Circumscribing the entire area, letters snaked their way around the circle's edge until they encircled the entire distance. Light emanated from the scrawled words, the lettering foreign and archaic.

I stared down at the lettering in awe, never having seen such a thing before. "What language is this?"

Goat still held onto my hand, not even bothering to meet my gaze as he studied the ground. "Enochian."

"Enochian?" The wonder had not left my voice.

"It's the language of your feathered friends up there."

"Wow," I blurted out and felt stupid even saying it. For what it was worth, this all fascinated me.

Adrenaline started to course through my veins the moment the icy smoke began to envelop my ankles. I watched as a design appeared within the circumference of the circle, odd shapes racing in all directions as they overlapped simpler designs like squares and triangles.

"And this design?" I said as it finished, the bright light filling the minute crevices where no light had been.

Suddenly the floor disappeared out from underneath us, leaving only a bright vortex in its wake. The sound of wind rushing loudly past our feet drowned out any chance of me hearing anything else.

Even Goat had to yell for me to hear him. "Are you ready?"

Apparently I wasn't. "Ready for what?"

He shook his head disappointedly as if I had missed something important.

"For Hell."

### CHAPTER TWELVE

I closed my eyes and prayed we'd arrive in one piece. I was trusting my entire existence to a man I'd only known a couple of hours. Hell, I could say that about everyone I had met recently, Duncan included.

I wondered what sort of madness I was about to step off into. Like Alice and her ever-elusive rabbit hole, the thought that I had found mine did not escape me.

I wasn't prepared for this. How could I be? Goat was taking me into Hell and doing what, leaving me there? He had no reason to stay. This wasn't his battle, wasn't his fight.

Adam. My thoughts kept darting back to him.

What they had done to him, how inhuman. What lack of soul did it take to do something like that to another human being, and then I realized none of them, of us, were human.

It didn't matter if the box closed neatly when there was no box to begin with. The reality of the situation had finally dawned on me. No matter how hard I tried, nothing would ever be even remotely similar to my old life.

Perhaps it had been that way since the moment Adam had stepped foot in my hospital room. Perhaps even longer than that. Perhaps it went back to the life I had no recollection of.

"Amelia?"

I glanced up to find Goat staring at me, his black eyes steadied on my distracted gaze. "We're here."

Fear suddenly poured down my spine, the hairs prickling on the back of my neck. What was I expecting Hell to be like? Would it be all fire and brimstone, or would it be more bleak, like an endless field and blackened sky? Everyone had read about it, made movies about it. Hell, even the Bible was about it.

A Nephilim. That's what Camael had called us.

He knew everything about us, but I didn't even know his name before any of this. Who had ever heard of an angel named Camael? Was I supposed to? I didn't know whether to be embarrassed or not; I didn't even remember my own past.

Everyone was so certain that I was Eve, the mythological character out of Genesis. At least I could recall that much from Sunday School. The reason we aged. The reason we died.

All because of some apple.

All because of me.

But was any of it the slightest bit true? It was obvious that we had done something to anger the angels; that much I believed. I also believed that Goat might be, in fact, capable of taking me into the one place humanity feared more than anything else.

I had never thought of myself as a bad person, and I certainly didn't feel I had done anything to incur the wrath of Heaven, but apparently I was wrong. I silently prayed that I would get through this in one piece. It took me a second to muster up the courage to look beyond Goat, my eyes locking on the unfamiliarity behind him.

And all I could do was blink.

"What is this?" I balked, finding myself standing in the middle of a stark white room no larger than ten feet in any direction. I couldn't help but look up and notice the ceiling panels. Why were there ceiling panels? Why was there a ceiling at all? "Um, Goat?"

He reached into his back jean pocket and pulled out another cigar, lighting it with the Zippo he carried. "Yeah?"

"Where are we?"

"I already said," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Um," I stuttered, glancing around uneasily. "Are you sure?"

The uncertainty in my voice made him look up. The fact that we were standing in a stark white room and not in the bowels of the Underworld didn't even faze him in the least. "Yeah, watch," he snorted and arched backward to hit a small button on the wall I hadn't noticed previously.

Immediately the blinding white wall in front of us parted, and it suddenly dawned on me that we were in some sort of supernatural elevator, a notion seconded by the drastic change of scene on the other side of the wall.

The moment I started toward the exit, my knees wobbled anxiously, reminding me of the fact that my resolve was not infallible.

This was Hell. I wasn't even through the doorway, and I was already scared shitless.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he said simply. "Just because someone tells you that you owe them, doesn't mean you actually do."

I leaned over, supporting myself on my hands as I steadied my nerves. Goat was right. I had no business being here. Ever since I had met Adam, my life had been turned upside down. Had I never spoken to him that night, my fate might have very well been different.

I would not have found out that I was a Nephilim.

I would not have been murdered by angels who considered me a threat.

I would not be entering Hell with a demon I had met hours before.

Instead, I would be dying of cancer, bound to a bed while another vial of poison coursed through my veins, or perhaps I would be past the point of dying. Maybe I'd be dying in a hospice like Mary's, or better yet, back in my own bed constantly doted over by the mother who never realized there were more important things to do than muster over me.

Foolishly I had thought that my previous life had been a waste. I should have been thankful to be alive. Millennia old, and I was still stupid and ignorant.

Perhaps the angels were right to hate us so.

"Oh, stop bawling, Jesus Christ!" Goat interrupted. "If you don't get that self-wallowing under control, and I mean right fucking now, you are going to get yourself fucking killed."

I sighed. "Goat—"

"I don't care, kid. Your business is yours alone. You want to go? Then go. If you want to stay, then stay. I'm here because of Duncan. I don't care either way; just figure it out."

I shot him a glare as I remained hunched over. "Listen, buddy. I know the thought of dying doesn't really mean a shit to someone like you, but it means something to me."

He laughed again, the ash from his cigar falling to the white tile beneath our feet. "That's not what I meant. You are just as immortal as I am. More so actually. You shouldn't be so scared of dying."

A slight distortion of heat fluctuated around me out of nowhere, making the sudden nauseous feeling even worse. It tugged and nagged at me until the only thing I could do to keep from vomiting was fling myself out of the claustrophobic room.

My knees sank into the gravel, the rocks tearing the fragile skin of my palms as I gasped for air. "What is going on?" I rasped, my voice hoarser the moment I stepped over the threshold. "Continuum displacement," he said as he took one final drag off the cigar before putting out the butt with his boot, using his heel to draw a line over the ground we had been standing on.

"And that . . . means what?" I inhaled in sharp, ragged gasps, as if I'd been caught in a fire where all the oxygen had been stripped away.

"Just give it a minute," Goat said simply. "It takes some getting used to. Happens to everyone the first time."

I stared widely at him, each breath taking all of my concentration just to expand my lungs. Goat stepped through the threshold to try and pull me to my feet only to stagger himself.

"Happens to everyone the first time," I said sourly.

He snorted as we leaned on each other for a moment, waiting for our bodies to adjust to our new surroundings. A thick sulfuric smell clung to the air like a second skin, caking my body in a putrid film.

"It wasn't this the last time I was here," he rasped.

"Okay," I said as I staggered to my knees and then to my feet. "When was that?"

"1918."

"What?" I nearly died. "Please tell me you're joking."

"No," he barked. "Why do you humans always think someone is joking all the time? It's ridiculous."

I wiped the spit from the corner of my lips. "Because humor is a defense mechanism in case you haven't noticed."

Goat shook his head. "There's a reason you humans haven't evolved much in two thousand years." He let go of me abruptly, allowing me to realize the cause of his actions.

Three shadows, thin as wisps, stood before us. Had he not reacted, it would have taken me far too long to realize the threat in our midst. Possibly long enough that I would have already been dead.

I blinked rapidly, my eyes unsure of whether I was imagining them or not. "Who are they?"

Just as my weight shifted forward, Goat barred my path with his arm. "Not who, but what," he said slowly, enunciating each word as he did. "They're carrier demons. Low level. Like foot soldiers."

"So what are they 'carrying?'"

"Us."

Ω

Myriad colors burst into my vision, erupting from every corner of my sight. It took a second to realize the contrasts for what they were. Flowers of a wide variety bundled together by hands I recognized.

Adam lowered the cluster of wildflowers, allowing me a step back to focus myself. "I thought you'd like these."

"Adam?"

I spun around in search of any semblance of recognition only to be disappointed that we stood waist deep in a flowering field, the tall grass blowing in every direction. A cloudless sky danced in the firmament, its golden hues speckled with the soft rose and orange that bloomed miles above our head. Like the strokes of a painter's brush encompassing a blank canvas, it completely contradicted the dull, lifeless world I had grown accustomed to seeing.

"You're really here?" I nearly tackled him in relief only to find a questioning look in my direction.

"Of course I'm here," he said simply, still holding the bouquet in my direction as he took a step backward. "Where else would I be?"

By the look in those pale green eyes, he obviously didn't understand the cause for my concern.

"I can't believe you're really here, though I don't know where here is," I exhaled.

The moment I tried to wrap my arms around him, he realized something was amiss, barring my affections with an arm. "Eve, what is going on? Why are you acting like this?"

"What?" Confusion racked me. "Where are we?"

Adam's brow furrowed as he studied my face. "We're in the fields of Eden, on the outskirts of Vilon."

"Eden?" I hissed below my breath. "We're in Eden?" I suddenly looked around for any sign of life other than ourselves, finding only the stark quiet our companion.

Adam's eyes widened at me, my confusion unnerving him. "Eve—"

My hands latched onto him, clutching him by the arms. "Adam, where are the Seraphim? How did I get here? Tell me!"

"I— I don't know what you're talking about." He yanked his arm away so roughly that I nearly tumbled to my knees, my hands jutting out to break my fall. "We've been here for over a century now."

"Where's Goat? Where's Camael?"

"Camael?" The only other person as far as the eye could see had no idea what I was talking about. "The leader of the Throne guard?"

I looked down at my hands in hopes of seeing dirt, grass stains, something to know I wasn't imagining this too. But there were none. Each time I had been transported somewhere, there was something to tether me back to the real world. Now I couldn't tell.

"You know who I am?" I hugged myself tightly, my anxiety building to an almost gargantuan proportion.

"Of course I do," he said quietly, looking around as if he didn't want to be overheard. But by whom? "You're Eve D'Angeline; Guardian of Vilon."

It was clear he had no idea who I was now. Anyone could have been standing there in front of him and it would have made no difference.

And then came the realization that we were not in my era. Not in my lifetime. Amelia did not yet exist.

How I had gotten to Eden mattered far less than the fact that I was no longer in my time. I had returned to Eden, to Vilon as Adam had called it, and for all anyone could tell, I had never left.

That gaze like the ocean seemed haunted even then. Whatever darkness he was hiding, I could see right through it. An illusion, albeit a good one, was just real enough to remind me that the real Adam was out there somewhere, possibly dying if that was even something that could happen.

This Adam was gorgeous in an unnatural way; his skin glistened in the sunlight much like everything else caught in its incandescent web. It took me another moment to realize that much of the shimmering was a reflection of the downy feathers escaping from his shoulder blades. And they were unlike anything I had ever seen before. They were magnificent, a true glimpse at what my past had been.

"So this is Eden?" I spun around, trying to embrace the entirety of where I was—the immortal paradise that housed the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge. "The Trees? They're real?" I blurted out suddenly, doing my best not to become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

His wings suddenly flapped, like a wild bird aggressively raising the alarm. I could feel the distance rising between us, as if he no longer trusted who I was. "Shh," he whispered and pulled me under a small ash tree, obscuring us from view. "What is wrong with you, Mia? Why are you acting so strangely, like you've never been here before?"

So his little endearment had originated long before my current lifetime. "Does that mean I'm a reincarnation?"

Apparently my craziness only increased in his eyes. "Reincarnated? Where did you get this stuff? You're the same person I've been serving with since our assignment began. Do I need to send for Raphael? Are you sure you're not coming down with something?"

I was getting nowhere with this person. "What is Vilon?"

"This is." He held his hands out on either side of him though his gaze questioned mine. "It's the entrance to Heaven."

I stated the obvious. "We're standing in a field of flowers, a handful of which you just tried to give to me. So am I imagining this or not?"

"Vilon only gives you what you need." He reached for my hand, his wings retracting back out of the way.

"This is so strange." I spun around, half-expecting to see ghosts or wild safari animals or something. Instead it was so very silent. Beyond the ash tree, the field continued onto the horizon, those same crimsons and muted golds shifting down the rainbow toward navy and purple. I could tell that if this place did see nightfall, it was fast approaching.

"Adam, I need you to listen, and this might not make sense, but I need you to trust me," I said calmly, doing my best not to arouse his further suspicion. "I don't know when this is, or where we are, but I need you to tell me how to get back."

"Back?" he repeated. I could tell he still didn't understand. "Back where?"

"Earth. Purgatory," I barked at him. "Hell even. I don't care. Just not here."

And then it finally dawned on him, or at least I thought it did. "I'm going to get Raphael, Eve. You're sick, and I don't know how, but there's something not right with you." He reached into the chest pocket of his linen robe and pulled out something that looked like a small horn, immediately sounding an alarm as he blew into it.

Before I could even realize what was happening, an entire battalion of armored angels descended around me, their weapons drawn and poised in my direction. Each of them bore foreign coats of arms I had never seen before, but I recognized the Celestial script engraved into the plate armor. Those on my left and right all wore the same symbols from what I could tell, and I assumed they were insignia of their positions.

The only differences between the entire lot of them were the masks covering their faces. Some angels had their features exaggerated, their noses lengthened like Cyrano de Bergerac. Their eyes black like night or gold like the sun. Their identities hidden, their bodies tanned and hardened. All of which seemed meaningless and trivial against the overwhelming assembly of glistening feathers all raised in alarm.

One of the masked angels walked down the aisle created in the gap between the two groups, the strange creature staring at me through its hidden veil. Adam, dwarfed in comparison, stood beside the taller being. The angel spoke to Adam, its voice indistinguishable as they talked.

Paranoia flooded every fiber of me. Once again, I felt like Alice in Wonderland, only this time the proverbial rabbit had led me right into the Queen's domain. The urge to flee nearly consumed me.

The creature's gaze noted my existence before Goat's warning slapped me in the face. I threw up whatever imaginary walls I could around myself in hopes that these creatures would not realize the truth, but I had the feeling that it was already too late.

Two of the guards latched onto my arms, their vise-like grips already bruising my tired limbs. There was no hope of escape as I struggled in vain, wondering what can of worms I had opened now.

I desperately wanted to see Adam, my Adam.

Paradise's version was already disappearing back along an ethereal stairwell I had not noticed previously. More so than ever before, I didn't know what to do. The only other person I could trust had been taken from me, trapped in the bowels of Gehenna while I couldn't get any farther away if I tried.

All I could do was weep.

### CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Queen of Hearts, it turned out, was an angel who apparently had no qualms over showing his true identity to the rest of the Celestial world.

"Why have you come here, Amelia?" the creature said, his face disturbingly familiar as he looked down at me from his throne.

"What?" I couldn't keep the shock out of my voice. "You know me?"

"Did you think I wouldn't?" He stood up from the marble seat and approached me.

The two guards that had taken ahold of me still remained on either side. He nodded to them, and they let go of me with haste and stood just out of my reach. I knew better than to try anything. In a world where humans with wings walked around with lances and battleaxes, I felt it prudent not to rock the boat. I had wasted enough time. Adam still needed me.

The angel smiled. "Indeed."

"You can hear me, can't you?" I grimaced.

"Yes," he laughed.

"Am I a prisoner here?" I searched for any sign of an exit in the room.

"Do you want to be?" The angel laughed again.

My mouth hung open, unsure of what to say.

"You don't recognize me, do you, Amelia?" His warm brown eyes glistened with amusement.

"I can't lie. Am I supposed to?"

And then it dawned on me. Brown eyes. Red hair. An unmistakable accent. With a wide rimmed set of glasses and a lab coat instead of leather-tongued sandals and golden plate armor, I had my Dr. Willard.

"Doctor?"

He snorted amicably. "I go by Raphael here, but yes."

"You don't exactly look the same," I protested.

"This is Rai'ek," he laughed again, the edges of his grin reaching his eyes. "I'm a little less for the wear, Amelia."

I rubbed my forehead and groaned. "How is any of this possible? You're Raphael? The Raphael?"

"Yes."

Nausea flooded my body as I turned in search of a place to sit down. I started to ask for a seat, but Raphael was directing me toward a chaise that hadn't been there moments before.

"That's a nice parlor trick you guys have up here."

He said nothing but merely smiled. The oncologist that had treated me, my oncologist, never once mentioned the fact that he was one of the most famous angels in all of history, each time acting as if he knew nothing about my recovery.

I suddenly wondered how much he really knew. "So you did heal me."

"No, no," he denied. "Most definitely not. That feat still should be attributed to Adam."

A small whimper caught itself in the back of my throat. That Nephilim had grown on me. In all the chaos, I had nearly forgotten the reason I had begun this journey in the first place. "I don't understand. How is Adam here, and why doesn't he know me? Like me-me. How did I get here, wherever here is?" I struggled to keep the panic out of my voice.

"Let's try one question at a time. Shall we, Amelia?" Raphael sat down beside me, just as he had done numerous times before. "I've already said. This is Rai'ek, the second realm of Araboth. Heaven. Nirvana. Shamballa. Whatever you want to call it."

"What does that even mean?" I stood up and spun around. It was like there were holes in my consciousness, so small that they were barely noticeable until they streamed together and I found myself drawing a blank.

"Let me try and explain this in a way that makes sense." He pursed his lips, a disgruntled look overtaking his features as he searched for the right thing to say. "The Adam you encountered is no different than the one you know to be your own. He is here just as you are here, but he is here just as his other self is where he is. They both exist; it's just that you've stepped into another realm at a previous point in your own consciousness."

"OK," I said, "so I time traveled."

Raphael made an abrupt clicking sound with his tongue. "Kind of, except that time has no meaning here."

I walked down the wall and stared at the paintings and figures staring back at me. "So what does this all mean? I was just—somewhere else—and then I found myself here. Can anyone do that?"

"Shift realms?"

I shrugged. "If that's what it's called."

"Not typically," he admitted, eying me suspiciously. "Usually an anchor is needed, like an incantation or seal."

"OK." I inhaled sharply, letting the much-needed oxygen coat my lungs in reprieve. I'd take what I could get when each second I felt like I was about to choke on my anxiety. "I need to get back to Hell, Raphael."

"Hell? Why?" he asked. "You could just stay here until your Adam gets back."

"No." I shook my head. "If no one can shift like this, he's not coming back. He's gone, Raphael."

"Gone?" Raphael gawked at me. "What are you talking about, Amelia? What's going on?"

"That's what I've been trying to ask you," I seethed, my fists balled at my side. "Camael and another angel named Elias. They murdered him. Sent him back to Hell."

Raphael's face drained of emotion. "I see."

"I see?" I turned to face him, already on the defensive as I nearly lunged at him. "That's all you say when you've been gallivanting around, pretending as if you cared? How dare you—"

"Amelia."

"You angels are all the fucking same. Elitist, sociopathic—"

"Amelia," he said again.

"And you sit here acting like nothing's wrong."

"Amelia!"

"WHAT?"

"Camael doesn't have the ability to kill a fellow angel." He shook his head fervently. "He's difficult, yes, but not that powerful."

"Well, apparently you are wrong," I snapped. "It didn't take much effort in fact. And you and your feathery comrades just let this guy just walk around free?"

"It's not like that, Amelia," he said, his body tightening as he shifted uneasily. I could tell this was not a favorite topic.

"Then what is it like?" I stood up, my gaze deadlocked with his. "A man I have no recollection of meeting, in this lifetime nor any other, tells me I can be saved from my deathbed only to find out that both he and everyone else around me are either immortal or have ties to them. I then get kidnapped, tortured, and shot while this strange man declares his undying love only to be emulsified into tar and stabbed to death.

"So please," I spat. "Please tell me how any of this is going to be OK, because right now I'm not trusting in the angelic capabilities, yours or anyone else's for that matter."

I could see I had struck a chord with Raphael. His younger face burned with uncertainty. He didn't know what to tell me anymore than I knew what to tell myself.

But he sat there, silent as the stone and waited for me to calm down. "I know you're angry," he finally said.

"Angry?" I balked. "I was angry months ago when you diagnosed me and told me I was going to die. What was that for? Shits and giggles?"

He shook his head. "No, Amelia."

"Then what?"

"It's hard to explain." He looked away for a second, biting his lip as he did. "I didn't lie to you if that's what you're thinking."

"Well, thanks for that. I feel so relieved," I spat. "What I am is pissed. I'm so damned pissed that I barely even remember what angry feels like!"

"And that's understandable, Amelia. You've been through a lot. More importantly, it's asking a lot. It's a lot to ask out of anybody."

I sighed. "If you know that, then why don't you help me out?" I asked. "Why don't you help me understand? Why don't you help Adam?"

He sighed and looked away for a second, pissing me off even more. I knew I wasn't going to like whatever came out of his mouth. Having heard my thoughts, he knew it was easier just to say it. "It's not that simple, Amelia."

"Then make it that simple," I replied as I dropped back beside him. "Just tell me how to get Adam out of Hell. If you can't, then take me to someone who can."

Again he sat there, saying nothing for the longest time before he finally broke. "I want you to follow me, Amelia," he said. "If Camael's acting of his own volition, then we don't have a lot of time."

"Why do you say that? What's happened to Adam?"

"To him, I don't know," he said simply, reaching for my hand to accompany him. "But Camael was court-martialed and clipped two days ago."

My limited military understanding knew court-martialing was not a good thing. "Court-martialed for what?"

If the room could have gotten any quieter, it would have. "For trying to overthrow God."

Ω

Having been raised Roman Catholic and brought up as an altar server, it seemed almost a shame to race through the lower quadrant of this place and ignore the amount of religious theology at my fingertips. For a religion that taught men not to covet wealth, the opulence of the place seemed hypocritical. Ornate crystal chandeliers checkered our journey as we made our way down the grand staircase and into the foyer below. Plush red velvet lined our path as Raphael quickly ushered me to the large stone monstrosity they called a door.

He clutched me by the arm, those same caring eyes of my doctor staring at me now. "You must go."

"Now?" I looked around. The place was deserted save for the two of us. "Raphael, what's going on?"

"With Camael's punishment came martial law on Earth. All of the Nephilim are to be executed on sight."

I don't think I could contain my horror even if I tried. Camael strung up by his own noose seemed a little too intentional. What was he planning? What good would it do to join the ranks of his quarry, to become the hunted instead of the hunter? Honestly, I didn't think I rightly wanted to know. I had to find Adam, my Adam, before things spiraled any further out of control.

Raphael had heard me. At least, it seemed, that my lack of shielding was not all bad. There were a few I could still trust.

"I'm sending you back."

I steadied my resolve as I glanced at the thick stone and realized the hand-chiseled work for the mastery that it was.

Over twenty feet in height, its design embodied the ultimate struggle between good and evil. At its base grotesque demons with worm-riddled orifices clawed at each other as they vied for control. At its zenith, cherubs and winged beasts that I vaguely remembered being called Triumphs screamed down in chorus over the chaos unfolding in the middle. There, two angels were embroiled in battle, one toppling over the other in glorious triumph, the winner about to plunge a fiery sword into the loser's chest.

"I've seen that sword before," I told Raphael. "It was the blade Camael used to kill Adam."

"Lamafuere?" The Archangel shook his head. "No, that's impossible."

I reached out to the door and ran my fingers down the grooves in the carving. "No, I'm certain of it."

"No, Amelia," he said, more forceful this time. "There's no way. Lamafuere is the sword of fire that God gave to Michael during the Great Battle."

The look on my face told him I didn't believe him. That, or that I knew something he didn't. It turns out it was the latter. "Well then," I said simply. "We have a problem because that's the sword Camael used to send Adam to Hell."

Before Raphael could even respond, another alarm like the one that had sounded earlier screeched from every crevice of the place. The brown-haired angel frantically turned to me, using both hands to push me toward the massive gate barricading us from the rest of the world. "You have to go. Now. There's no time."

The sound of clinking footsteps in unison approaching our direction only furthered his point.

"Raphael, what's going on?" I steadied my balance as he still attempted to usher me out.

His eyes darted side to side, checking for how much longer we had. "That weapon is the only thing powerful enough to kill an angel. If Camael has Lamafuere, then none of us are safe." And with that he made a series of gestures, beckoning the stone beast to open itself to me.

And before I could even tell the good doctor good-bye, I was being thrown out of the gate of Heaven and back into the bowels of Hell.

Ω

I woke with a start, gasping for breath as I sat up and took in my surroundings. It was getting easier; I had to admit, this jumping between dimensions, if that's even what it was called. I had made it back to Hell in one piece, but Goat was nowhere to be found. In stark contrast, the entrance to Hell was remarkably underwhelming. I awoke on a stone slab in the back corner of a long room that could have been a holding cell as easily as it could have been a tomb. Torches burned faintly on either side of the slab, and I suddenly got the feeling that it might have had more nefarious uses given my location.

I was in Hell after all.

The faint howling of screams and whips crashing against unwilling flesh only confirmed my suspicions.

Panic welled in my chest as I slid off the stone and truly began to study where I was. The thick stone slab was, in fact, an altar, with all four sides covered in cryptic faces of demons and beasts I couldn't even begin to name. I suddenly wished I had studied something, anything, of demonology. I was alone in Hell, stuck in a chamber that was probably used for torture, without my demonic guide.

Doubt began to fill my gut. Had this been what Goat had wanted all along? To return to Hell? Had I been used unknowingly, some missing link I had no recollection of being?

And then I remembered the blood. My hands. I could still feel his obscenely sharp blade digging into my flesh. Raphael told me not to trust anyone. Did that include Goat and him too?

"I wouldn't worry about that too much," Goat echoed from behind me.

I found him standing in a doorway that led past another set of torches and down a narrow stairwell onto the stone level below. "Why do you say that?" I asked while I did what I could to shield my thoughts.

I was sick of everyone knowing my business. This transparency was killing me. I had far more important things to worry about without others reading my brain like a book on the coffee table. I desperately wished that I could be allowed a moment of weakness, to be able to lean on someone, but I wasn't that person. I didn't have anyone I could lean on.

Nice try. The thought wasn't mine, yet it was there in my head just the same.

I looked up to find Goat staring back at me.

"There's so much more to this than simply refraining from broadcasting one's thoughts. Shielding from others. Allowing certain information in, but not others. Broadcasting to multiple people, each of them receiving a different conversation. Telepathy has its advantages and its disadvantages, but if you want to keep people out of your brain, you need to try a little harder."

"I'll make a note of that," I replied. "Where are we? Where did you take us?"

Goat shook his head and slipped farther into the room. The light from the torches caused his shadow to dance on the wall behind him. "Exactly where you asked me to take you. Into Gehenna. Into the first level of Hell."

"What?" Dread coursed through my veins like liquid fire.

"See for yourself."

Before I knew it, I was being led down the narrow stairwell and out onto a small, stone outcrop that served as a balcony to a larger area meant as an assembly hall. Thousands of benches carved out of the earth circumscribed the area. It took a second to realize that this place had been an arena at some point.

"What am I looking for?" I asked as I searched the gathering crowd for anything to guide me.

Then I saw for myself.

Camael stood center stage, his once white wings now black. A deep sense of satisfaction poured through me as he circled around a hanging tapestry.

Now he was just like the rest of us. Broken. Damaged.

It wasn't until I saw the blood caked on the tattered fabric that my dread overcame my satisfaction. Camael ripped the cloth down from its human holster, unveiling the main event for everyone to see.

My Adam was no more.

In his place was the shadow of a man and the beginnings of a monster.

"No." Half-caught between horror and heartache, I felt my knees nearly buckle out from underneath me.

Bound to some Neolithic crucifix was the remains of the man who had saved my life. It was with great naivety that I believed him dead, his immortal existence to be no more.

How foolish I was.

The left side of his face was a disfigured concoction, like someone had taken his features and rearranged them while they were all still in the melting pot. The half that wasn't burned beyond recognition remained pure. Remained perfect. Human.

Goat latched onto my shoulder to keep me from throwing myself into the den of wolves. It wasn't until Adam's one remaining human eye found me, even over a thousand feet away, that I looked away. I couldn't take the absolution in his eyes.

His acceptance that, much like the heartache I felt, nothing would ever be the same again.

### CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"Brothers, I call to you as one of your own," Camael boomed across the vast arena filled with demons of varying terrors. "I, like our fair brother Lucifer, have been cast from Heaven like a worthless mongrel, but we must show them that even mongrels bite back."

Yeah, I thought bitterly, a mongrel that deserves to be put down.

Angels and demons used whatever tactics were available to them to exterminate their opposition. I realized that now. Camael wanted to make an example of Adam. To send the demons a message, letting them know that he wasn't someone to be taken lightly.

No one doubted him now.

"Gehenna, I give to you, Adam D'Angeline, Guardian of Vilon and current Reaper of the Elohim. His punishment for betraying the White Wings has been to punish you, to send you here like caged beasts awaiting extermination."

I looked on in horror, still fighting the urge to catapult myself over the edge. Even if I did, there was no hope of success. I would never make it to him before the several thousand demons tore me to shreds. "What have they done to him?" I hissed between breaths.

Goat edged closer next to me and stared down at the madness unfolding before us. "Whatever it takes to earn their trust. To make them believe he is strong enough to lead them."

My eyes widened. "Lead them?"

"Yes."

"What about Satan?" I asked.

"What about him?"

"Is he real? Isn't he—"

"A figurehead."

This was insane. "He just said Lucifer—"

"Lucifer did exist. Long ago," Goat sighed, making me wonder if it was out of deep depression or adoration.

Down in the pit, Camael still crooned his propaganda to thirsty ears. Monkey see, monkey do. But unlike the rest, Adam's gaze had not left my face.

Was he angry that I had come to Hell for him? He had spent countless centuries, millennia even, by my side; he had been thrown from Heaven then tortured in Hell for God knows how long. It was the least I could do.

"What happened to him?" I dared to ask.

"Who?"

"Satan. Lucifer. Whatever you call him."

"No one really knows truthfully," he said. "None of us anyways. Your feather-heads might know, but there's been so many regime changes over the last several thousand years that I doubt any of these younglings would know anything."

I looked up to see that Adam had sunk down against his prison, and I wondered if he had finally passed out. I wouldn't blame him even if he did. No one deserved this.

"I've got to get him out of there," I said simply, my resolve strengthening as my grip tightened on the railing. "It's why we're here."

I struggled to keep my mind blank. I doubted that I could hide anything from Goat. Shielding my thoughts became easy when there were no thoughts to begin with.

I had the sinking feeling that things would unveil themselves below us. Camael stalked amongst the crowd, furthering his own ends while my mind ran in circles. What was he going to do with Adam? Did my wings now resemble his? I didn't even know how to extend them. Even now, it was as if I had imagined them. I couldn't feel their presence, ethereal or not.

Unlike at the beach and the warehouse, there was no inkling of their weight, no tugging between my shoulder blades. Even if I could somehow unfold them, what good would they be here? Last thing I knew, Camael had turned them into little more than tar and acid, like some prehistoric monstrosity dating back to the Jurassic period.

Did angels even heal? I scoured Camael for any sign of scars, anything indicative of previous wounds, injuries, or battles, anything that proved his angelic form did not regenerate limitlessly.

I think someone had mentioned that already, but I couldn't even remember anymore. My mind was a jumbled mess, like a ball of yarn so disheveled that I could hardly follow a train of thought long enough before something else vied for my attention.

A bright red-orange glow illuminated the entire arena, solving our attention problem immediately. Or at least mine.

Goat had not looked away once. He was expecting this.

"To prove my loyalty to you, brothers," Camael said, stepping back up onto the platform where Adam was held, "I have taken something in parting that will give us a great edge in this war."

War? What war? Obviously I had missed something in transit.

Someone on the ground echoed my confusion. "War? We haven't seen any war from the White Wings in several centuries now."

Camael nodded and tapped his chin. An actor through and through. He was trying to egg them on. "Then why do they seek to eradicate you? To rid the planes of your existence once and for all?"

No arguments. To them, it was obvious he knew something they didn't. Camael held up the same flaming sword he had stabbed Adam with once already. "I give to you, Lamafuere!"

And then a cacophony of madness ensued. Noise reverberated off every wall, in every nook and cranny. I had never seen such excitement, if excitement was even the right word for it. Bloodlust seemed more appropriate.

Without warning, demons flooded around me, coming out of every dark hole, with the lack of light probably my greatest enemy. I glanced at Goat who had disappeared into the crowd, into the flux of horned faces and scaled flesh, his bulbous and grotesque features making him nearly indistinguishable. But even in the chaos, I could see that his eyes were deadlocked on mine.

At the point where claws began to dig into my flesh, tearing and tugging at me from all directions, I screamed enough obscenities that smiles and grins erupted all around me. "Goat, you fucking bastard!" I writhed as those unfamiliar hands latched onto me and dragged me into their madness. "I trusted you, you piece of shit!"

But could I even be angry? I mean, really?

I had been warned.

I had been warned and didn't listen.

### CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A brute of a demon, an unbalanced, strapping creature comparable to the size of a Mack truck, marched ahead of me, dragging me like a piece of meat ready for the butcher. Goat walked behind the two of us, ignoring my endless kicking and screaming. Even if the room were completely empty, I doubt he would have paid me any attention. He had gotten what he wanted.

Camael waited with hungry eyes on top of the platform, already aware of us being in his presence. Adam remained on the other side of him, drowning somewhere in his own consciousness.

I wanted to tell him that I loved him, that everything would be okay. But did I? Would it?

The two of us were stuck in Hell and about to be assassinated.

Michael's sword. I seized in place, my heels locking into the ground. It didn't kill him but instead sent him here. Was Raphael wrong, or was there more to him, more to us? It gave me the fraction of hope I needed though it was faint.

I had no recollections of the Seraphim, from this lifetime or any other. My trip into Vilon had done nothing to jog my memory. I was still running in the dark, praying that it would all come back, and with it I would gain angelic abilities. In a place where one stray thought could lead to a century's worth of torment, my disadvantages were mounting by the minute.

Camael held out a hand toward me as I began the trek up the stairs. "So good of you to join us, my dear. I have to say I'm surprised you made it this far."

The creature tugged on my chains, the steel bonds continuing to eat away at my flesh as he did. There were no words exchanged, only the guttural voices that it made as it led me the rest of the way until I stood face to face with the insurgent angel.

"What are you doing here, Camael?" I demanded, losing any politeness I had left. Everything that I had ever considered to be mine no longer mattered or existed. All that mattered was Adam.

Camael's brows flexed. "I think you, above anyone else, know why, my darling Eve. We're going to raze the Heavens back to where they belong, issuing in a new era."

"So now that you're one of the Fallen, you're going to lead them?"

The insurgent angel bared his teeth wide. "Oh no, my dear, absolutely not. You are."

I turned around to face thousands of beady eyes glistening in the faint light of the surrounding torches. He couldn't be serious, wanting me to lead the Damned.

To kill God. Goat had said it. Raphael had said it.

Did they both know that I would end up here as the only one who could save Adam? Who was I to lead an army against God?

Raphael, an ally. Camael, an enemy. Adam, my lover. And me, Eve D'Angeline.

Whatever humility my human life had given me now served me. "No," I told the greedy angel standing before me as I tugged sharply on my chains. "I will have none of this. You can fight your own battles. Release Adam and me, and I'll pretend like none of this ever happened."

Camael finally pulled his hand from his mouth with a discerning nod, a maniacal grin turning to laughter before he began to applaud. "My darling Eve, you truly are a gem."

His grin only widened even more, making me remember that wild animals bared their teeth as a sign of aggression. I had only a second to react before his bony hand clutched me by the throat, my hands chained together so that the only thing to do was try to keep my windpipe in one piece.

"I think you're misunderstanding how this works. You are one of the Nephilim. You are one of us now."

"And what about you?" I pitted back. "You're just as black as the rest of us."

"Indeed, I am." He tightened his grasp, leaving me to claw at his hands as he lifted my shorter frame from the ground.

"Tell me, Amelia," he said simply. "You've already lost everything. What reason do you have not to ally yourself with me?"

"I think the obvious fact that you're completely insane has something to do with it!" I rasped between the clenches of his fist. "Or the fact that you tried to kill Adam—"

The sound that emitted from the angel's throat said otherwise. "I can't kill him that easily. Angels are very resilient beings. Immortality isn't called that for nothing," he mused and stood eye to eye with me, his long-fingered hand latching onto me like claws.

"No," I said again.

Camael sighed and exchanged a look with Goat who threw the free end of my metal chains to the wraith beside Adam. Their expert knot work soon had me chained next to Adam's half-conscious body.

"I tried to be cordial, Eve, to make amends for our previous interludes, but you just slapped my hand away like I was a leper. So I'm going to teach you what being a leper's all about, and then there will be no homecoming for the Seraph's precious Eve D'Angeline. You will be truly one of us. Damned with no means of escape." He stared at me expectantly as if he were waiting for me to break.

But I wouldn't. I couldn't.

"You think you're playing for the right side when you don't even know who the sides are. I really hoped you would've reconsidered before it was too late."

### CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The pain raked down my sides and along my spine, a deep scraping sensation that flooded my bones. I couldn't scream. Not when Adam hung next to me. I had to do better than before. This time, I had to find a way out of this. And in one piece.

No amount of struggling would free me. I hung above them all like a piñata waiting to be broken and defiled. Goat and the wraith had taken my chains and tethered them to two pillars at the edges of the platform, raising me inches above the rough-hewn floor that served as my only link to reality. Each time the restraints dug into my flesh, the pain threatened to overwhelm me until the endorphins flooded my system in a vain attempt to keep me from passing out.

"I want you to be awake for this," Camael said as he held a crimson glass vial to my lips, quenching me with a liquid I had never tasted before.

Some sort of hallucinogen, my mind flared open like the petals of a flower. My vision fought to make sense of what I saw. Each sense that remained intact flooded over me each time another wave of pain ricocheted through my spine, making everything from the waist down so uncomfortably numb.

It took me a second to realize the situation for what it was.

Knowing full well that I could not be killed so easily, his brutality had settled on the next best thing. They were stripping me of my wings, making me human. Making me powerless.

"Once wasn't enough for you?" I said through gritted teeth. "You'd think picking wings off little, white, fluffy things would get old after a while."

He straightened the black leather gloves around his wrists. "Not at all. In fact, I quite like it."

"You're sick."

He cocked his head sideways for a moment, as if sizing me up in his mind. "Perhaps, but things aren't always what they seem."

The weight of a few dozen pounds clamped down on either shoulder blade, locking me even further in place as something jarred into me. Before I could even react, Camael was already beside me, pouring the bitter nectar into my mouth as he grasped my face.

This time I didn't swallow it but spit it back in his face. "I won't give you what you want."

He snorted and clutched me by the chin. "I don't need you to. I take everything I want, and I want you to experience the New Golden Era of the Fallen starting with seventy-six lashes to teach you that obedience doesn't have to be earned. It can be taken." He motioned to someone standing behind me.

Soon my body was crying without my permission. I finally broke down and asked for help. Could it be misconstrued as prayer? I had no idea, but the only thing that mattered was that it worked.

At first it was the sonorous blaring of a horn echoing in the distance, a vacant sound without an owner. It wasn't until it continued on, louder and more insistent that I realized it was both a warning and a rally. In between the searing vies for my attention, three figures I had never seen before flooded my line of sight. Dressed similar to Raphael, I knew instantly that he had sent them. Two of the angels immediately barred Camael and the others from approaching Adam and me from every direction while the third struggled to get us down.

The chains popped and sizzled as they fell to the ground in pieces and out slipped what was left of Adam into the arms of a green-eyed female with long, dark hair. She slung Adam's limp arm around her shoulder as the man in front of me reached into the scabbard at his waist and drew out an iridescent rapier.

"Danielle, get them out of here," he said as he raised the blade in Camael's direction.

"I'm trying, Emil," the female growled. "But it's not as easy as you think. Look at him. He's already starting to transmute."

"Just get them out of here." There were no further arguments, no questions. Only progress.

I didn't know what help three lone angels could possibly be until the first swarm of demons charged at us on the platform.

The third angel, the one who guarded my back with a longbow, butted up against me so that I was entirely shielded. "I'm David," he said calmly when I noticed our bodies touching.

"Um, Amelia," I replied.

He nodded. "I know who you are. All of Assiyah and Araboth are in an uproar over you, and it looks like this place isn't far behind. You sure know how to party!" He laughed as he released the first wave of arrows, not once taking his eyes off the swarming crowd in front of him.

"Oh, come now," Camael tutted as he took notice of those crashing his event. "You don't actually expect to get her out of here, do you?"

Emil raised the crystalline sword higher, steadying his resolve as he balanced himself. "I expect to accomplish exactly what we came to do, Lord Camael." He stepped back toward me as the insurgent angel snaked ever closer.

"I'm Lord of nothing. Deus saw to that," Camael scoffed, pulled Lamafuere from the crystal scabbard at his waist, and poised it nonchalantly at Emil. "Tell me, youngling, what could you hope to achieve against one of the fabled Seven? I doubt you and your friends could cause me much harm."

One of David's arrows flew angrily toward Camael's head, followed by a fierce amount of expletives. By the look on the two angels' faces, Emil and David were used to Camael's games of cat and mouse. With the two distracted and Adam out of commission, it left only Danielle and me. By the time I looked up at her, Danielle's piercing green eyes were already locked on my face. She had heard me.

Can you get me down? I asked, my body still as night, my voice still as stone.

I can try.

Even from such a distance, I could tell this woman would be a venerable enemy should our paths ever differ. Her gaze was icy steel that concentrated on the metal braces holding my chains in place on the pillar in front of her.

We had maybe ten more seconds before David ran out of arrows.

"Dani, you'd better hurry," David hissed between shots.

Emil now guarded me even more intensely, his left arm extended around me, his right still clutching the crystal blade. "Lord Camael, whatever your quarrel is with these two, I ask you to let it go."

The repetitive flicking of his wrist downward drew my attention. It took a second to realize that it wasn't a nervous movement but more specifically a pattern. A word. Below.

Below what? I thought Hell was as low as it got.

My gaze lifted to see if Danielle had noticed Emil's message too, but as far as I could tell, she was still engrossed with the metal pulley system tethering me in place.

This was a disaster. Why hadn't Raphael sent in more reinforcements?

And then I remembered: Camael and the Nephilim, Adam and myself included, were now enemies of Heaven.

So much for reincarnation. Some things you just couldn't redeem yourself from. I knew that Dr. Willard had risked much in sending the enemy assistance in the middle of a war, but it wasn't like Dr. Wil— Raphael—to deny the aid of a person in need. It wasn't in his nature.

The thought of him in his doctor's robes made me smile even now. An angel doctor, it suited him.

And in the end, he had found three volunteers, three willing to follow his lead when so many others went the other way. It said much for his character. Emil, Danielle and David too had risked much in coming here, even if they were angels. Raphael had said Michael's sword, Lamafuere, was the only way to kill an immortal, yet Adam and I were still alive. We should have been dead so many times over, and yet here we were.

Below.

The platform was below us, with the arena of demons below it. The ground below them and God knows what the rest of Hell consisted of. We had teleported into the entrance, only to land smack in the middle of Camael's plan.

I should have expected it.

Below.

My eyes ran the length of Emil's body, following his frame much like a line leading to the fabled X. His shirt was a well-fitted, cream tunic etched with gold brocade; his pants, dark muslin, durable and meant for movement. I couldn't help but wonder if the seamstresses that had created such garments had taken war into account when she had pieced together these fabrics. Celestial seamstresses, it seemed almost comical.

Emil's boots were a rugged leather that I could tell had seen little action; they were new enough that even breaking into Hell didn't soil them. He was just standing there, waiting. Why wouldn't he attack? Was he always this cautious?

Clink, clink.

The sound echoed off the demon David was fighting against, the last of David's arrows bouncing off the armor the creature wore. We were truly out of time.

Below echoed in my head once more. The blood loss was making it difficult to concentrate.

The blood!

It trailed down my back, down my chest and hips till it reached the ground, pooling in the small crags and crevices in the broken surface of the platform. Like before when Goat had teleported us into the first level of Hell.

The Enochian symbols!

And then suddenly the blood turned to liquid fire, a smoldering blue that lapped at the stone as it raced around the divots. The ice blue flames grew higher, dancing around the platform's circumference, effectively trapping us in the center with Camael on the outside.

His eye widened even farther, almost bulging out of his head as it were, and then the laughter began. Terrible, whooping laughter that made my head ache even more. "You foolish girl!" he crooned, nearly doubling over as he gasped for air, a motion so human it made me wonder if angels even needed to breathe. "All you've done is seal your fate. You've created a Barrier of Hamuldin."

"Is that a bad thing?" I blurted out accidentally, forcing Camael's laughter to inch closer toward delirium.

Danielle lowered Adam to the ground beside my feet just long enough to undo the final chain holding me upright. As the last metal chain fell to the ground, I noticed the sheer, iridescent gloves she wore and made a quick, mental note to ask about them later.

The fact that her emerald gaze met mine meant only two things: one, mental notes did me no good and two, either I was getting better at limiting my projections, or nobody else cared to hear my thoughts. "Is Camael telling the truth?"

"I don't think so." She reached into the folds of her robes and pulled out a small athame from her waistband. "Take this."

When I eyed the weapon suspiciously, she thrust the sleeve of her right glove down and touched the blade to her bare skin. "It won't hurt you. It's made from adimantium-fused diamond."

"This will do the trick?" I eyed Adam, my arms latching onto his shrunken, damaged form instinctively.

"It will," she yelled, having to speak up over the roaring of the cerulean blaze burning around us like wildfire. "David, come on!"

The curly-haired man inched steadily back up the opposite edge of the platform toward us, his longbow still extended defensively.

"Emil!" Danielle cried as she latched onto David's hand, effectively connecting us all within the circle. "Let's go!"

Emil had bought just enough time for the circle to activate. I glanced down at the blue flames lapping around us and wondered if this had been the plan all along.

Emil bolted toward the fire, his gaze deadlocked on the prize, a center spot in the spider-veined platform between David and me. "Amelia, now!"

"What?"

All three angels gawked at me.

"Get us out of here! Do your thing!" Emil hissed.

My grip around Adam slipped. "What are you talking about?"

"Blessed Thrones, you've got to be shitting me," Emil said. "Raphael sent us into Gehenna after a neophyte? This is ludicrous."

Danielle yanked him closer toward her so that we were almost nose to nose. "Relax, Emil. He probably didn't know." And then she turned those piercing green eyes back to me. "He told us you managed to make it into Vilon and then to Rai'ek. Obviously you know something."

"I don't know how I got there," I argued. "I just woke up there." What I didn't tell them was that I had been losing time for weeks, ever since I had met Adam.

Camael hovered at the edge of the circle, just outside of its perimeter.

I looked at Danielle. "He can't make it past?"

All three glanced up.

"I guess not," Emil grumbled, "but that doesn't mean we can waste time like this. Locking him out probably bought us a minute or two."

He was right. I watched as Camael and Goat tried from either side of the flames to break through the barrier around us.

Emil frowned at me. "Now would be a good time to pull a rabbit out of your hat."

Panic surged within my veins instead of adrenaline, the thought of once more becoming a captive was all that I could handle. "Here," I said, handing Adam over to David for support.

"What are you doing?" His eyes studied the fallen Nephilim in his arms.

I stepped out of the circle, the liquid fire scorching and popping as it cried its disagreement with my choice. "A magic trick."

Camael smiled widely, his aggressive grin baring his whitened teeth yet again. "Finally reconsidered my offer, Amelia?"

"No," I said simply. "But you're going to reconsider ours."

"I doubt that," he laughed, "But you know how much I love to hear you talk."

"I'm going to kill you for what you've done," I hissed. "I will find a way." I dug my nails into my palms, steadying myself as he laughed at my resolve.

The thought that I was going to die rushed over me. The surrealism of having angels surrounding me, helpless and looking to me for guidance, was not lost on me.

I needed something. Anything.

And then it came.

"Mal'ahk ben wa . . . hutucuun . . . hafala yriken ydris . . . bors du va lorr . . ." The words flowed into my mind like water over a broken dam. Images rushed over me, things I had scarce dreamed of.

Places I had never been. People I didn't know until now.

Wars. Blood. Heaven. Hell. God. Satan.

I remembered everything, and I was right all along.

My name had never been Eve.

It was Lilith, Queen of the Damned, and I was completely screwed.

### CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The shrill cacophony of laughter threatened my eardrums, Camael's mania resounding at every stretch of my consciousness. It was whooping, horrendous, and aimed directly at me.

"You trite, wanton fool!" he bellowed jovially, almost at the point of delirium.

I could see it in his eyes, in every line etched into his immortal face, in the way he had stared at me and the way his hatred seemed so personal. His will to track and hunt us down was so strong. He was the reason I had fled Eden in the first place, why I had come to Earth. I fully intended to oust him for the malefactor that he was.

I had chosen Adam, not him. Like a maniacal Arthur, we were Guinevere and Lancelot, only I had been promised to Lancelot long before my Arthur ever came around.

And across nearly six millennia and multiple dimensions, he had followed me.

I had tried to escape him, escape the wanton cruelty of an angel who considered it his job to retrieve his property when I had never been his. I had always been Adam's.

"Eve . . ." He had heard me.

I couldn't do this to Adam. I couldn't let him die because of me. He had done enough, suffered enough. He had lost everything because of me. I wouldn't let him go through this a second time. Or a thousandth time for all I knew.

"Adam," my voice seized in my throat, my tears welling to the edge of my eyes.

Unlike Adam, Raphael's trio did not know what I knew, or what I was about to do, so they were barely able to stop Adam from charging out from the safety of the circle.

"Mia, don't do this," he begged, his voice as tender as his ravaged throat would allow. He, too, had tears brimming at the forefront of those fierce eyes like the ocean.

Emil stepped toward the edge of the blazing fire, ever our protector. "What's going on?"

"She's going to sacrifice herself," Adam breathed, his muscles tensing beneath Emil's capable grasp holding him in place.

"What?" Emil and the others stared directly at me while Camael waited patiently now that his laughter had finally subsided.

"I told you that you were choosing sides when you didn't even know the stakes." Camael straightened his spine and took a step closer, extending out a hand to me. "I will ask you one last time. Will you reconsider my offer?"

I glanced once last time at Adam struggling to break free of Emil's control, our eyes locking with everything I could not say.

But I could say this as I faced Camael and took his hand. "I'm sorry, Adam."

### PART TWO - CAMAEL

### CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"This is ludicrous," Adam grunted, face down on the cold, metal stretcher as Raphael oversaw Danielle's attempt to treat the burns all over his body. "We have to go after her. We can't just let him have her."

"And we will," Raphael said calmly, pulling a pair of bifocals from his lab coat pocket.

In the moments that followed Amelia's departure, the remaining angels did everything to keep Adam from losing what was left of his humanity. A shrill wail bellowed from his chest as David and Emil latched onto him and held him at bay.

"I half-wish I had never told her." Adam shifted onto his side and then sat up, leaning onto his hands for support. "Never showed her anything. Kept her oblivious even now."

Raphael's scornful look said everything he needed to say. Danielle, however, was young enough and nosy enough that her opinion mattered. "You can't be serious. You're only saying that because you're angry," she said as she gathered the equipment necessary to start the first round of debridement.

They barely had made it back in time to keep the rest of Adam's body from sloughing off any further. If left untreated, his limbs would carbonize, and then before long he would be little more than walking ash. Camael had seen to a thousand lifetimes of torture, his self-decided penance for Adam.

The ultimate jealously, one of the hallowed Ten Commandments, and even one of the fabled Seven could not uphold the rules. When Camael saw them standing there that day, arm in arm in the meadows of Vilon, Adam had unknowingly become the ultimate adversary to the leader of the Thrones.

And he had paid dearly for his choices.

In Camael's obsession, he had chased Amelia to the ends of the earth, to the ends of each dimension, and now into the bowels of Hell itself.

Camael had left Adam only one choice.

He would lose Eve, but by erasing her identity and hiding his own, he could protect them both. The Elohim had listened when he had stormed into Araboth, the white hall where the Council dwelt, and demanded clemency through exile. They knew at what cost this decision came. More so than Adam losing his twin soul, he and Eve would lose their immortality.

They would lose their identities; Eve, her memories. They would be recreated and remolded, and she would never know him for who he was or who he had been to her. "Adam?"

He glanced at Raphael, the sternness of the Archangel easing for a moment. "This will end. One way or another," he said gently. "Amelia made a conscious decision, one that hasn't been easy for either of you, but either she'll come back or you'll find her. You always have, and you always will."

Adam grimaced as the antiseptic ran down his back in droves. "Be that as it may," he inhaled sharply, his muscles jumping from the stinging liquid. "Everything's been for naught if Camael succeeds. I should have never brought her back into this. She was better off."

An aggravated huff released from Danielle's lips as she carefully continued her ministrations. "Adam, seriously, get ahold of yourself. It's not like you to mope like this."

Raphael sighed. "Dani, be easy on him."

The lesser angel turned on him, tugging loose a charred piece of flesh a little too roughly for anyone's liking. "Easy on him?" she balked. "Easy would entail not being sent into Gehenna with no warning of what we were getting into. Easy would have been someone telling his little peach that going with the enemy is generally not considered the best idea after nearly being killed by them." By the time she was done, she foamed at the mouth.

"I know, Dani."

"That little stunt could have ended very badly, Raphael," she growled at him. "I don't know about these wahoos, but I care about my afterlife. I don't want it to end just because your amnesiac girlfriend can't figure out which arm-candy she wants to hang onto."

Before the others could even blink, Adam spun around on the operating table and lunged in Dani's face. "Immortal or not, you couldn't possibly understand—"

"Oh, please." She swatted his hands away. "I can't understand? You're such a fool, Adam. An arrogant, ignorant fool. Poor Adam, no one understands what you've been through—what you've lost. No one can ever sympathize."

David, who had been silent until now on a rotating stool in the corner, finally spoke up. "Dani—"

"Please." She waved him off too, pointing the scalpel in the direction of the Nephilim. "Things happen that we cannot stop and cannot change. You sit here whining after everything that's happened and expect everyone to bend over backwards for you. You need to remember that when we're diving into the pits of Hell for a friend, our lives are at stake too."

"I know, Danielle." Adam's face contorted in pain as he leaned back onto the cot. "I realize what a risk it was coming after us. I didn't know her plans, let alone that you guys were coming to rescue us."

Dani set down the scalpel on the metal tray beside them. "Yeah, well, it wasn't by choice. It was an order from the Principalities."

Raphael nodded. "Apparently, you've got some friends in very high places still. A lot higher than me anyways."

"How long will I need to heal?" Adam asked as he felt the side of his body that was little more than charcoal.

Dani glanced at Raphael before saying anything. Another nod from the Archangel, and she was already digging through a bin of vials so old that their labeling had long since faded, making them hard to decipher. Luckily for Adam, it didn't take her long to find the exact substance she was after.

"Well, the fact that you can move and talk coherently says a great deal about your will, but whether those wings of yours will ever work again is another question."

The former guardian of Vilon shook his head. They still had so much to learn. "It's been over three thousand years since I've used the things. I highly doubt it's going to make a difference now."

"Millennia or not, your body's muscle memory remembers every last detail of flight," Emil said as he sat down in one of the visitors' chairs. "Even if it didn't, you were half-burned down to the bone. You should be grateful you're even breathing right now."

Raphael nodded. "Emil's right. Immortality only goes so far."

"If you survive this ordeal and regain what you've lost, you might be able to go after her." Emil dug the dirt from under his nails with a small knife he kept on his hip.

David looked up and asked the question the others dared not to. "What if she doesn't want to be saved?"

Ω

Hell, surprisingly, had been grossly over-exaggerated by all accounts, or at least the parts I was privy to seeing. And that wasn't much.

For the first month I was chained by my ankle to a post in the center of what I would consider my chambers. Rash, some people might think, but what's a month when centuries pass like days? Camael didn't trust me not to escape, and I couldn't blame him. I didn't trust myself.

In all his mania, he had instructed his guards that I must want for nothing, and that was, at least, something I could attest to. Beneath the half-dozen layers of billowing folds of iridescent fabric the seamstresses had fashioned into my gown, I could hardly make out the rusted shackles.

"Tell me, D'Angeline," Camael's voice sounded from behind me as I stared out across the rocky terrain below my chamber. "Do you fancy these surroundings?"

He went ahead and opened the stained glass doors leading to the balcony, a strange sight in such a place.

Perhaps he had missed home, missed that part of Heaven that had meant something to him.

Hell was dark, cold. A place that time forgot about eons ago.

I had been here once, long ago, and the memories filled me with a terror unlike anything I had ever known. I was trapped in a place of nightmares.

Most people think they know what really happened because Genesis tells us so definitively, but there was far more involved with my fall. With everyone's focus on Lucifer and his war-mongering tendencies, it paved the way for dissent to build within the ranks of Celestials. Friends became enemies, and enemies became a reason worth dying over.

Even if we were all immortal.

Camael slipped past me and leaned against the lithic railing as he watched me with his head cocked.

I refused to meet his gaze. "Why are you doing this?" Though my voice was barely above a whisper, I would shed no more tears in front of him. I would not let him win.

With eyes void of feeling, cold like the stone around us, he stared at me. "Doing what? I told you that you would come with me willingly."

"You gave me no choice," I said coolly. I would not let him get a rise out of me. I would tell myself whatever I had to, to save what remained of my sanity.

He latched onto my bare shoulder and turned me to face him, his eyes brimming with anger. "I told you what you needed to know. Nothing more." Camael's eyes were gray and unmoving, so unlike Adam's molten foam. Rigid. Empty. Like steel. They made me yearn for Adam so badly. How strange it seemed now: forgetting, meeting, and then remembering someone so pivotal to my entire existence, only to give it all up to save his life. I had no idea if he even survived.

But I couldn't think about him any longer.

My ability to shield my thoughts had increased in the days since I had last seen him. Perhaps due to the stress, or perhaps my own prowess was gaining strength. I would need everything I had if I was to get out of this alive. I did not intend to become the next Queen of Hell, regardless of who was offering.

I had denied Camael once, long ago, back when he had been young with a penchant for blood and sparring. Like the Roman Mars, he was boorish and bloodthirsty. He had no intention of ruling over the Principalities with grace or justice.

It would seem that I would be the only grace in his presence for the next thousand years.

"What are you going to do to them?" I pulled away from him and wrapped my arms around myself, a subconscious habit I had no intention of breaking now. The sheer, pink, chiffon sleeves were more for decoration than anything else, bringing even more femininity to my otherwise simple gown. The material ruched around my breasts, sweetheart style, before falling around me like a waterfall of pink and coral.

It seemed strange for Camael to exhibit any sort of kindness. Whatever favor he thought he was doing me, I still didn't know. The last gown I remembered wearing was the one the hospital gave me. Ages had passed since I had last worn something so overly feminine, and I knew it was most definitely not in Hell.

The last time I had been here, it had not been pretty. Camael had spent weeks, months even, hunting me down after my self-imposed exile from Heaven. Raphael, along with the few others I could trust, had hidden and blocked me from the sight and senses of other Celestials. Not even the Seraphim could find me. At least not the ones who didn't need to know.

And it infuriated Camael to no end.

Now standing there next to him, the bane of both my mortal and immortal existence, the underlying smugness in his demeanor pissed me off.

He had finally succeeded in dominating his prey. And I hated him for it, so much that it made me want to vomit all over him. I hated him; I wanted to kill him for what he had done to us.

To me.

I had never been his, and he had only ever wanted me for his own. Now I was, and I would kill him the first chance I got.

"Do to whom?" He smiled in my direction, immediately making me fear that he had heard me. But if he did, so what? At least we both understood the odds. He enjoyed these games, I'm sure, amusing him in some way.

"To the Spheres. The Realms." I stepped away from the balustrade, doing my best to ignore the horror beneath me.

But I couldn't.

Soldiers by the hundreds, thousands even, stood flanked across the vast, empty expanse that Gehenna comprised. They had flooded in droves, flocked to him like moths to a flame, rallied to his cause like addicts hungry for their next hit. They were ready, and they would come with spears and swords; they would come with fire and brimstone to raze the Celestial realm to the ground.

And there would be blood.

### CHAPTER NINETEEN

"Do you think she knows?" David asked as he lowered his bow, having hit his mark for target practice.

Emil stood next to him and eyed his own target, more than a hundred yards away, with contempt. "Do I think she knows what?"

The younger angel's body stiffened, as if his whole body seized in an attempt to gather the right words. "I don't know . . . about what happened." His pitch dropped to almost a whisper as he leaned in closer to Emil's row.

The swordsman sighed. "Why does it matter? Frankly, why do you even care? It's not your business." He eyed the target down the length of his arm before releasing the drawstring. As expected, the fletching wagged at him several feet below his mark.

"Of course it is." David grabbed another arrow, nocked it, and found it staring back at him from the bulls-eye seconds later. "She went to Hell after him. That's gotta count for something."

"Yeah," Emil grumbled, now even more pissed. "A way to use Raphael and the rest of us. Camael and she probably had this worked out eons ago, literally. Use Adam to get her memories back and seek vengeance on Araboth for hunting down their traitorous heads." His next arrow flew true to its course, its tip touching David's previous bulls-eye.

"I think that's a little harsh, Emil. You saw her, talked to her even. Did she seem malevolent to you?"

Emil's back stiffened. "People are never what they seem. No one can say I didn't warn them when the time comes."

It was the archer's turn to scowl. "You know, Emil, you're unbelievable. Raphael believes in her. That should be enough for you."

Emil raised his bow one final time, exhaled with a huff, and released the tension in the string, firing the arrow so that it split David's lower one in twain. "Yeah, well, it's not. Not by a long shot."

Ω

It had been three months in the human world. Demons and angels walked the earth every second of every day, and no one was ever the wiser. Their appearance, sometimes distracting but usually unremarkable, barely registered with most people unless it was necessary to reveal the truth. Most people did not take kindly to such supernaturals; it meant their greatest fears were real.

Angels. Demons. Heaven. Hell.

Every bad thing they had ever done would be weighed and measured, all to test their countenance, their humility, to test what they had learned in each lifetime. Most people enjoyed their ignorance, wishing that the only reality was the one they faced on a daily basis. The realization that consequences were far more than a slap on the wrist proved more than enough for most people.

But Adam, one of the oldest beings on the planet, was not most people. After he had pleaded with Raphael to strip Eve's memories and hide her, Adam had petitioned the Archangel to approach the Seraphim on his behalf. With Eve gone, there would be little need, nor use, for him in Vilon. So he elected to become one of the Grigori, the Watchers who guarded Earth like owls in the night.

Ever vigilant. Hidden. Unapproachable.

And so, as Eve disappeared into the ambiguous pool of humanity, eternally reincarnating and undetectable by Camael and the Seven, Adam disappeared too. No one would even know they were alive. All save for the lowly Archangel Raphael, who would forever remain the couple's only ally, watching over them as Adam watched over humanity.

With both Adam and Eve now exiled from the Celestial Realms, in the years to come it would be known as "their punishment." Between Camael's insatiable blood lust and the Three Sphere's lack of knowledge over the ordeal, stigma built up that Adam and Eve were responsible for the Fall of Man, the loss of life to the void of pain and sorrow.

Adam and Raphael had been right when they agreed there were more than a few reasons to protect Eve's identity. She was Pandora herself.

Adam sighed as he leaned against one of the large, unruly branches splitting an ash tree into two forks. He had been sitting there for what felt like hours, possibly days. Time moved differently here in the celestial realm. A person could get lost in their thoughts, their minds aging lifetimes when their bodies aged none.

She was gone. I'm sorry, Adam.

Why had she gone? Hadn't she known there were other venues, other options. She had fought the darkness for so long; she didn't have to give herself to it.

Winged or not, he was still an angel.

By submitting to the Grigori, he had lost his angelic abilities, and with them his heralded wings of white. With his new position came his sable, feathery downs; like someone getting a new identity, he had to look the part so that the lies became truth.

His abilities would be tethered to his position, that much he and Raphael had agreed upon. What choice did he have when Eve's life hung in the balance? Every part of him ached, throbbed, and hurt with an emptiness that swallowed him whole and left him raw.

Camael.

Adam would kill Camael and free Eve from his tyranny. She had fled from him the first time and evaded his grasp for millennia, all until Adam's mistake. His humanity and his love had gotten the better of him. He could not watch her die again, could not let her slip away without knowing who they had been, both to each other and to the world.

She had been hesitant at first, as he had expected. Though through all of it, she had been receptive to him and the stories he told her. He knew his words resounded as truth somewhere inside of her. There hadn't been much coaxing necessary; all he had needed was to stage their course.

The book. The feather. The wings. All carefully orchestrated. And she would piece it together just as expected, only to be interrupted by Camael and his men.

He sank down a little, his back pressing against the rough bark, the sharpness of the object nothing compared to the stinging in his soul. It had stripped him of his will, his raison d'etre. She had consumed the past six thousand years of his immortal existence, having been watched over by him in every earthly incarnation.

He had loved her, even then. Even now.

I'm sorry, Adam.

The words haunted him like a ghost on the wind, a poison that struck him cold with each beat of his heart. His breath grew heavy as he leaned there, praying briefly that he could forget any of this had ever happened and simply go back to the way things were, back to when she had no recollection of the truth.

Would he have made the same mistake again? It was a foolish thought. He would have told her the truth no matter what.

He and the others would not be able to keep her secret much longer. Soon the Principalities would discover that Eve was alive, returned to Grace, and sided with Hell, and the Council would then have to gather to decide all of their fate.

What should I have done? he thought.

Had this been the breaking point, the fuel Camael had been waiting for to launch a full-scale war against the Spheres?

Lucifer had tried the same thing once before, though for completely different reasons.

Mia. He closed his eyes. You've all but tied my hands this time.

The Principalities would be coming soon.

Hours, maybe, if he was lucky.

But luck, it seemed, had never been his thing.

Ω

War was expensive, consuming endless amounts of time and resources in a place with little sense of time already. Camael had asked me to join him at the Council of the Fallen Hosts, Gehenna's advisers and electoral board. Comprised of names as famous as Raphael and Michael themselves, my first awareness of such high-level demons did not go as expected.

Then again, I didn't know what to expect.

Like anyone with any semblance of human reality in the past several centuries, I fully expected the Hosts to be the cruelest, most defaced, grotesque beings in the universe. Instead, I found myself at a stone table in a semi-circle design. It seemed more appropriate in a corporate setting than within the hierarchy of Hell, but I guessed that even demons had board meetings.

Camael had not left my side since we had entered Sheol, the capital of the Underworld. He had held onto my wrist during the entry check onto the complex, whispering under his breath that the Fallen Hosts were a force to be reckoned with, and one wrong move from either of us would spell our doom. That thought sounded more and more appealing with each passing second.

The guards had heckled Camael for the briefest of seconds, a passive warning that told the fallen Seraphim that, while they were backing him in his ambitions, he should never forget that there were older forces in Gehenna and Sheol than himself.

Older and far more powerful. Like a viper coiled back waiting to strike, the Council would only allow Camael to lead if he were callous and methodical enough to do the job.

In order to control the Council, he had to control the demons.

And in order to do that, I was in their crosshairs. My submission was everything, a killing blow to the Celestials, and like a masterful game of chess, a strong, succinct offense would garner them great advantage.

We passed through the monstrous gate; its tall pillars pinned us on either side as we filed into the marble hallway beyond. On one side, the world was dark and abysmal, an apt description for a place that was an endless visage of rocks and crevices, dirt and blood.

The other side, however, was a stark contrast against the dismal backdrop.

Sheol was endless halls of white and gray in either direction. There were no colors, no distinction, save for the ambiguous, empty, silent chambers. There were no noises, not even the decisive clip of my heels striking the marble tile as we made our way to the meeting.

On my left, Camael stood adjacent to the empty portion of the semi-circle ready to lead, his hands tightly balled behind his back, his body rigid like a soldier waiting for orders.

Surprisingly, he had not threatened or harmed me the entire time I had been here save for my continual detainment. For all anyone knew, including myself, I was his guest, and his guest I would remain.

Over the next couple of minutes, several others filed in, each of them taking their respective seats in the semi-circle. A squirrelly, olive skinned grease-bucket of a man sat across from me, his black eyes piercing through the sheer, cornflower chiffon Camael's dressmakers had chosen for me.

Thankfully, they had given me a small crocheted shawl that I took the liberty of wrapping myself within. A part of me wondered if it even mattered. If angels had powers, then I was sure so did demons.

The chamber doors burst open and a thin, wheat-haired vixen with eyes like ice sauntered into the room, taking her place equidistant from both the grease-man and myself. Her sour expression changed long enough to grin widely at Camael before scowling at me. It was obvious by her deliberate movements in her high-back chair that her icy gaze held no cares except to draw the awareness of the men in the room. The way her lips pursed into an unpleasant grimace every time Camael leaned down to notify me of each Host entering the chambers proved my hypothesis.

"Na'amah," he whispered into my ear as to not draw her attention.

"What?" I blurted out, only to be nudged sharply, a signal to remember his warning.

"One of the Four Queens, one whom never fails to remind me that we have a history together. Do not speak to her unless she addresses you directly, but do not fail to meet her gaze should she look at you. Consider yourself in the wild; we have no allies, only predators, ones who won't hesitate to snatch you by the throat and eat you whole."

"Oh, come now," a feminine voice cooed in my other ear, forcing me to jump back into Camael. "Don't scare the girl," Na'amah beamed her wide-mouthed smile in our direction, straightening at the waist, her voluptuousness unfolding for all to see.

Before I could even stop myself, I clutched the corn-shell shawl even tighter, my smaller, less curvaceous frame, dwarfed in comparison to the demon beside me.

She burst into a childlike laugh, shrill like wind chimes banging against a closed window. "She's fun. I like her, Camael. Don't worry, dear. We don't bite unless you want us to."

"Leave her alone, Na'amah," Camael hissed, instinctively shifting around the basaltic back of my chair. "She's none of your concern."

She laughed again, this time more of a bark. "Oh, she is definitely my concern, love. She's all of our concern, Camael, or isn't that why you've called us to this little summit?"

Much to Camael's dismay I barged my way past him, my face inches from hers, and I couldn't help but notice the faint smell of mothballs as she fumed in front of me.

Surprise flashed over her painted features, obviously alarmed that I had seen through her disguise. My own lack of alarm that she could read my thoughts brought an even wider grin to her face once the fear washed away, quick enough that I half-wondered if I'd imagined it.

The ice blue gaze remained glued in my direction. "Oh, I stand corrected. You are going to be so much fun," she cooed. "I can't wait."

"Enough," a deep, percussive voice hissed behind the lot of us.

Camael stiffened immediately, straightening his back as he waited for Na'amah to distance herself from me. They acted like two lions waiting to attack over the desiccated corpse on the plains of Africa. Na'amah snorted as she slunk back to her seat, barely paying attention to the two figures standing in the doorway.

One tall, one wide, they eyed Camael and me with great interest. The older man, almost seven feet tall, towered over the two of us. He was a wisp of a man, middle-aged, pale, and dwarfed by a black leather duster that seemed to move almost like a second skin.

His companion could have been a Viking in his human life. His hands could probably wrap around my waist twice, his long hair like a whispering wheat field. Like most others in Sheol and Gehenna, he had stark, bright, blue diamond eyes. It was unnerving. No one's eyes should have been that blue, like cerulean mixed with the first frost of the year.

Cold. Empty. Dead.

It was something that ran rampant here.

"There are more things to deal with than your trite wantons, Camael," the tall man said, nodding to the fallen angel before outstretching his arms in my direction. "Lilith, my dear, it's been ages but, as always, it's a pleasure to see you again."

I simply nodded.

Camael slid his hand over mine. "You too, Ba'al. Please have a seat. We're still waiting for the others." He pointed to the still vacant area.

"Who's missing?" the Viking asked, slipping next to Na'amah and slouching down into the stone chair.

Ba'al glanced between Camael and me, silently taking notice of our hands still locked as his gaze diverted to his companion. "Azazel. Abaddon. Belial."

"Asmodeus," Na'amah chimed in, her attention focused solely on the Viking who ignored her.

"Rolf," Camael said.

"Rolf?" I repeated slowly.

"Lucifuge," escaped Na'amah's sour face. "Lucifuge Rofocale, some of us call him Rolf."

For a second, neither Camael nor I could believe she had helped us in any way.

I nodded, playing into the role as Ba'al's gaze weighed heavily on the three of us.

And for a moment, I didn't know which bothered me more: the fact that it didn't piss me off to be holding the demon leader's hand, or the fact that I was now one of them.

Then I wondered if it even mattered anymore.

### CHAPTER TWENTY

Of the three most commonly recognized angels, Michael was the one that most women fawned over and men aspired to be like. He was tall, maybe an inch or two taller than Adam was, with eyes green like the Emerald Isle. The moment he entered a room or opened his mouth, heads turned with eyes rapt in his direction. Widely respected and logical in all matters of import, he lacked one great virtue, patience.

He seemed indignant. Not in the self-righteous sense as one might expect, but more in an underlying irritation that the Holy Flame, Lamafuere, had been taken from the Hall of Araboth. Taken by the same angel who had insurged a coup in Heaven and was starting an uprising in Hell.

Adam glanced over at the Seraph hovering next to Raphael. Michael's arms were folded, his jaw firm, as the Seraph kept his ire in check since his sword had been stolen.

Everyone understood the severity of such an object being in the wrong hands, especially now that Camael had taken another hundred or so into Gehenna with him.

Lamafuere had been created back when the elements still swirled around in an incongruous glob of particles and atoms. At the point where the darkness separated from the light, and with it came the universe itself, the All-Father forged the blade out of young molten starlight. One of the few pieces of Heaven awarded to the Elohim, Lamafuere, the blade of fire and stars, was deemed the only thing strong enough to kill their kind.

But luckily, it only once needed to be used, and the blade quickly found a new home within the Hall of Araboth, the highest realm in Heaven. There it remained for tens of thousands of years, the Great Battle being the only time it had seen use.

Now, it had been removed again, only this time not by Michael, its wielder, a fact that grated on his nerves constantly. It was evident in every step he took, every order he gave.

Adam watched as Michael and Raphael stood beside each other and periodically glanced in his direction. Although Michael had been kept out of the loop on purpose, there was the very real possibility of realizing it for himself.

The fact that Adam was alive and separated from the Grigori said everything he needed to know.

Michael had been the Holy Commander of the Second Sphere for over ten millennia; it did not take substantial deduction to figure out that yet another one of the Seven had left them.

And this time with Adam's other half.

At least, Adam hoped she was still his other half. Now, he didn't know what, if anything, they were to each other aside from history. She had fled with Camael to the Underworld, the same place they had all just escaped from.

If Michael didn't know Eve was alive, he would realize it any minute.

The endless wondering each time a spare glance headed his way nearly choked Adam. Raphael looked up at him, his face blank and uninformative. If Michael knew, Raphael wasn't giving anything away. At least, not out in the open where an entire platoon of angels sparred with weapons and magic, ranging from halberds to shimmering orbs that exploded whatever they touched.

If there was one thing the Seven were good at, it was logic and order. But then again, so was the entire Celestial Hierarchy. Divided into three groups, or Spheres, the Angelic Realm was broken down to a science. Like an obsessive-compulsive person's dream, there was a place for everything and everything in its place.

Each Sphere was then divided into thirds again. The First Sphere was made up of the decision makers, the leaders, the Who's Who of Heaven: the Seraphim, the Cherubim, and the Thrones. The Second Sphere were the generals and chancellors; they received orders from above and enacted them down below: The Dominions, the Powers, and the Virtues. Last came the messengers of Heaven, the angels human society was so accustomed to: The Principalities, the Archangels, and the Angels. They were the soldiers, the policemen, and the nurses of Heaven. The kind that everyone relied on but never got enough praise and appreciation.

The Seraphim made decisions that moved mountains and shaped the course of human destiny, while those of the Third Sphere eased broken hearts and healed the sick. With such divine justice came irrefutable order, an order that been disrupted with Camael's move. Michael now struggled to regain that order as he oversaw morning training.

Adam stood unmoving, rigid like a statue in a cemetery, and for the first time in the longest while, he felt unsure and half-cocked. Paranoia flooded him like liquid fire. If he didn't get a handle on his emotions, those feelings would flood out of him like a dam breaking at the mouth of a river. Adam was old and skilled, his time with the Grigori had seen to that, but he didn't know if he was good enough to shield against the Seraph Michael.

Michael's gaze focused on the Celestials at work, studying their form and abilities as he walked down the rows of angelic soldiers. His wide wingspan hung behind him, tucked backwards like a hawk perched on a branch. Not a boastful man, Michael rarely extended his wings their full twenty-four and a half feet. If he did, it was a bad day.

Adam watched Michael's interaction with his men, watching as the Seraph straightened the stances of a few and demonstrated a lunging strike with another. And then, suddenly, he was there, standing beside Adam before he could even speak. The Seraph had moved with such speed that Adam hadn't even noticed.

Also a bad sign.

Adam nodded at the man now beside him, frantically doing whatever he could to turn his mind into a steel cage. Titanium. Adamantium. Anything. "Lord Michael."

The lighter haired man half-choked, half-snorted. "Oh, please, Adam. Don't even try that with me. It just sounds awkward coming from you."

He shrugged. "A title's a title." He watched Raphael make his way across the open field toward the hall behind them.

"Yes, a title you rightly would have gotten had you stayed," he said simply. "You seem ill at ease."

"What?"

Michael's emerald gaze weighed heavily on Adam, like a presence bordering his mind, letting Adam know that he wouldn't press unless necessary. "I said, you seem ill. It's been nearly six thousand years since your last homecoming. I can't imagine this is easy for you."

Not knowing what to say, Adam said nothing.

A leader among the Seraphim, Michael could have very easily been sent to phish for information.

"I half thought you were dead until they told me you were at the Gates. You have no brands, so I know you weren't cursed. So where have you been biding your time, D'Angeline?"

"The Grigori." Adam didn't even look up as he answered but simply watched a sparring match ensue between two masked White Wings.

One soldier was short and stout, the other lean like a beanstalk. The stout one had weight and strength on his side, choosing to brandish a double-edged axe, though it would likely slow him down. The smaller angel, fully aware of their difference in their girth and speed, instead chose a short spear, one that was only as long as her arm. Just deadly enough that she could lash out like a viper at any time.

Adam and Michael watched for several minutes as the two lesser angels tested their skills. "I wanted to extend my condolences," Michael said, not bothering to break his gaze from his men. "I know things kind of got out of hand the last time, but I wanted you to know that I'm always on your side, even if my position on the Council dictates otherwise. It wasn't my choice."

Adam nodded, his eyes still following Raphael as he finally disappeared out of view and back into Araboth. He wanted to tell Michael that it was fine, that what's done was done, but then it might raise suspicion if his banishment from the Celestial Realm no longer fazed him.

"You did what you had to do," he told Michael, shrugging. "Like you said, it wasn't your choice, but someone had to do it."

What Michael didn't know, and hopefully wouldn't try to phish out of him, was the fact that he and Raphael had concocted the best way to leave Heaven without arousing suspicion. The Council had believed everything Raphael had said, after he plead with them for clemency on Adam and Eve's behalf. But only Raphael knew the real reason for the couple's abrupt departure.

Michael was the Holy Commander of the Elohim. He was the Wielder of the Sacred Flame, Lamafuere, and the one person that Adam truly doubted he could shield against. But as Michael had promised, he had upheld his word, not plunging into Adam's mind even though there was a very real possibility he could.

Adam stifled a yawn as he watched the formation. "So is it really going to come to this?" Even though he couldn't freely give, he could still try to obtain what he could. As soon as he left the Seraphim's presence, he would head straight to Raphael and find out what they had discussed.

"Come to what?"

The match had shifted to a nearby copse of trees, the stout fighter yanking the broadaxe from the trunk of an ash tree. The two exchanged blows for several minutes until the axeman took advantage of the nimble one's continual dodging and slammed the butt-end of the hilt into the woman's ribcage.

"War?" Adam said as the female staggered away from the other angel. "Do you really think there are no other options?"

And then Michael turned to face Adam, his face void of emotion. "You tell me, Adam. Your girlfriend is the one shacking up with El Shaitan. You tell me how necessary you think this is."

The corner of Adam's mouth twitched.

The cat, it would seem, was out of the bag.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

"Now, the thing you need to realize, Princess," the one they had called Mammon said as he stood across the empty stone platform from me, twisting a dagger calmly around in his palm, "is that, unlike your feathered friends, we aren't going to protect you like some cossetted prize beef. You stand beside us—you fight beside us. And fighting entails not running around like some barnyard animal about to meet its maker."

Camael had entrusted Mammon, the weapons master, to train me in hand-to-hand combat along with the first Seal of Solomon. Each time he looked at me, it was a cross between sex and dinner, a concept that unnerved me greatly and forced laughter from his throat every time he noticed my unease.

In the few times that I had seen him since first arriving here, not once had I seen him in something other than his black leather jacket and matching pants. A stained t-shirt that had once been white, now streaked with my blood, lurked underneath his greasy appearance.

Camael had said to trust him for what it was worth. A notion that did me little good when the entire Tribunal wanted to dissect me and find out what made me tick. They wanted to know how I could teleport in and out of the realms as easily as I walked from one room to another.

I told them I didn't know. They obviously didn't believe me, otherwise we would not have been standing here in the middle of the night.

I had barely said anything since being dragged from my chambers at two in the morning. Not that it mattered. Time had truly lost its relevance to me anymore. Night. Day. It all looped into one like a Mobius strip.

"I never once said I need protecting." I did my best to keep the uneasiness out of my voice, but my teeth chattered from the faint chill in the room.

Hell was surprisingly not as hot as one would expect. It seemed more compact, as if all of the seasons and changes in daylight occurred depending on the region one was in. Almost like continents.

I didn't know if that meant Hell really was beneath the Earth's surface, or if it was a parallel dimension after all. I tried not to think about it as it only ended up making my head hurt. I never had considered myself unintelligent until I had to break down the quantum physics involving multiple realms and the ability to travel between them at random. A part of me wished that someone would one day explain the mechanics of it, while another part of me breathed in relief that no one had.

"They're not going to hurt me," I growled and pulled my robe tighter around me.

Mammon snorted as he threw the dagger into the stone precipice at the far end of the chamber. "Would you be willing to bet your life on that?"

His certainty unnerved me. "No, but—"

"But nothing," he said matter-of-factly as he spun on his heel and flung a ball of flames into the wall where his dagger was, leaving only the scorched hilt, which clanged to the ground. "You're going to see very quickly that being 'demonized' is simply a matter of sides. To us, we are liberators, idealists, warriors for a cause we would die to serve, but to them we are demons, devils even. We are the most unholy and for that you need protection.

"Whether it be from a comrade or your own abilities, be it physical or magic; you need to prepare yourself, and that is why we are here," he mused as he scooped the ruined hilt from the ground and handed it to me. "To train you so that you can hold your own."

Ω

"This tribunal has been called to discuss Araboth's judgment upon Adam D'Angeline du Vilon; Nephilim, Grigori, and Watcher of Assiyah," a deep voice boomed across the levels of the coliseum.

All eyes were glued to the angel standing at the center podium, a feat not lessened by his imposing stature. He could have been shorter, less attractive perhaps, blind even; but none of that would have mattered about the head angel whom Michael stood beside.

His long, blond hair cascaded around his shoulders like a halo that framed his muscular form perfectly. This angel dwarfed Michael in comparison.

Adam had only seen Lord Enoch once, at his previous hearing that had taken his rank from Archangel to Grigori in a matter of minutes. The leader of the Seraphim, Enoch was one of the few to ever see the Creator and thus rightly able to lead the Council.

A good man surely. Adam had not wanted to lie to him, or any of the rest of the Realm, but he had done it to save Eve. To save them both. He just hoped no one else would be blamed for his follies.

"Adam," the head angel called, his blue eyes aglow like a lighthouse in the darkness. Everything about him seemed piercing and ominous.

The Grigori raised his head, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood before the Council. He glanced about the Coliseum; those standing here had been his friends and his colleagues.

Those of the Seven sat in a semicircle before him in the row of seats behind Enoch. With Camael gone, it left only six on the Council. Michael nodded to Adam. Gabriel and Uriel, two angels who had never been ones to sway in the face of danger, sat at the other end of the semicircle, while Samael, otherwise known as the Angel of Death, and Barachiel, Adam's superior over the Grigori, sat on either side of Enoch's podium. As the Chief of Medicine for Araboth, Raphael took his honorary seat in Lucifer's former chair, while the Hosts of Heaven filed into the gallery to watch the proceedings.

"Mal'akh ha Elohim," Enoch began, his hands outstretched toward his brethren. "This Tribunal has been entrusted once again with weighing the actions of Adam D'Angeline, whose measure will dictate his judgment. It has come to our attention that were we misled at the time of his exile, not only about him but also about Eve D'Angeline. Unbeknownst to the Council for all these years, Eve D'Angeline, whom we had previously sentenced to exile, is alive and has been living amongst the humans as one of them."

Murmurs once again racked the coliseum, like a rolling tide that waxed and waned around them. Angels were social creatures by nature and hard pressed to keep their opinions to themselves.

Adam had convinced them once for clemency; this time would not go so well.

"More importantly, one of our own has left us and with him has taken our most Holy artifact, Lamafuere."

Gasps and muffled cries rang out with Enoch raising a steady hand to calm their fears. "Easy now, friends. The situation we find ourselves in is indeed grave. This human, the current living incarnate of Eve, has joined forces with the traitor and gone to the Dark One's Hell."

Like a gaggle of geese, voices rose up around Adam, each one louder than the next.

"Adam D'Angeline, you have mislead the Council and sought clemency for the Nephilim that you were tied to. Not only has this Nephilim been found conspiring and aiding the traitor, but there are rumors that some on this Council may have had forewarning of this. As such, having already rescinded your titles, duties, and status as a Mal'akh, there is very little that can be done to punish you further.

"You're obviously resilient and resourceful. I doubt there's anything we could do to you that would benefit us in any way."

Adam stifled a sigh. It wasn't over yet.

"It will, however, do us great good to learn of how not only you ended up in Gehenna, but also how you arrived here. You presence confirms that someone, or ones, is indeed aiding you in your travels. Exile from Araboth is not something easily overcome. What say you to these accusations?"

Adam swallowed the lump in his throat. He had not wanted it to come to this. He glanced up at those on the Council, each of them staring at him in their own way.

His superior Barachiel, a man of few but gentle words, watched him, his mouth drawn into a tight grimace. Like several of the others, he did not rightly want to condemn Adam a second time. "Lord Enoch, perhaps there was just cause for Adam's actions."

"Lord Barachiel," Enoch hissed, "I should hope you would stay out of this, lest I think you had something to do with it."

The anxiety in Adam's chest was not relieved by the deep breath he took. In fact, it only worsened. There was no way to lessen the terror he felt when waiting for such a judgment. Would they try and strip his wings? Camael had already seen to that.

Although Adam had healed in the months since returning to Araboth, his wings had not even come close to the power they once boasted. Once, long ago, he could have rivaled even Michael; his wings had spanned over seventeen feet, a dark brown plume very similar to the unyielding power of a hawk.

But Adam had become one of the Grigori, and with it came the darkening of his wings. Much like the branding of cattle. He had lost a part of himself that day, but this was different.

This was something else entirely.

He could feel it, here in this arena. Like words caught in an evanescent wind, he knew what was about to happen, and there was no stopping it. The churning in his stomach only made him clutch at the podium more.

"We have decided," the leader of the Seraphim boomed across the arena, his voice filling the entire area. "Adam D'Angeline, for your gross insubordination and repeated betrayal to your kind, you will be the one to bring us Eve D'Angeline. Dead.

"You will kill Eve D'Angeline and the Betrayer Camael, and bring me their heads so that we may show all of our brethren what it means to turn your back on Le Coelesti. Heaven does not take kindly to sinners, Adam. If you fail, or your cowardice purports that you refuse instead, I will kill Eve in front of you while you watch.

"Do you understand me, Adam?" Enoch said simply, his steel gaze smoldering like the stokes of the earth.

The gasps and murmurs that racked the coliseum bordered near pandemonium, so loud that Lord Enoch had to strike the gavel repeatedly to get the lesser angels to quiet down.

Adam looked up at Raphael while Enoch forced order back into the room, a silent understanding passing through them both.

Adam's options had run out.

He could hear it now, clear as day.

So giveth, so shall I taketh away.

So be it then. "I understand."

### CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

"He can't be serious, Raphael," David balked. "There's no way the First Sphere would allow something like that to happen."

"David, they are the First Sphere," Danielle interrupted as she propped back against her chair, her head hung over backward toward Raphael. "And no one gave you any kind of warning?"

"No." The Archangel shook his head, his hand subconsciously grasping his throat, perhaps to ease the sick feeling in his stomach that increased by the minute.

"What about you?" David threw his hands up. "Do they have any inkling that you are involved?"

"No, and we're going to keep it that way," Adam said as he entered Raphael's office through the large chamber doors. "I won't have my best friend covering for me anymore. We're just going to have to come up with another plan."

Emil walked into the room behind Adam, closing the chamber door and locking it quietly so to not garner attention from the nearby guards. "And how do you expect to do that, Adam? You heard what Lord Enoch said. Are you going to kill her? Because I don't believe that for a second. Not one."

Adam dropped into a nearby seat. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

"I say, fuck her," Emil said simply. "Your life is not worth some demon-loving whore."

The entire room turned toward him. "Excuse me?" Adam nearly choked.

Emil shrugged as he leaned against the wide expanse of shelving that constituted Raphael's library. "Well, someone had to say it."

Raphael grimaced and turned with everyone else to face Adam again. "I think what Emil is trying to say—"

"What I'm trying to say is exactly that," Emil said as he kicked off the bookshelf and joined the rest of the crowd. "Eve went to the other side. We were right there. She could have come with us at any point, and yet she stayed. You really think you should go save this chick?"

"Emil," Dani gasped. "Tact."

He shrugged and dropped into the chair beside her. "If it's not already obvious by this point, then consider this a warning: she will be the death of you."

"Be that as it may," Adam conceded as he paced back and forth across the marble floor. "There's got to be another way, another something."

"Well," Emil finally said, giving in. "You can't know where you're going unless you know where you've been. I suggest you try taking a look upstairs in the Library."

Adam dropped into Raphael's leather desk chair, leaning into the recline. "And what good would that do any of us?"

"The Restricted section," Emil said simply. "If you're going to find any information, it's going to be there."

"Won't work," Adam replied. "They pulled my access when they did everything else."

"But they didn't pull Raphael's," Danielle argued.

The Archangel had been silent almost the entire time; a harried look wrought his normally serene face. "No, no. I don't think that's a good idea, Emil."

Adam jumped at the thought. "Of course it is, Raph. If I can get in, we might have a chance at saving her."

"We?" Raphael balked.

Adam nodded. "Oh, yeah. You're coming with me."

"What?" he sighed. "I thought you said you were going to keep me out of this mess."

"You're right," he said, reaching for the doorknob. "I did, but now I need your help."

"And what do you even hope to find in there, Adam?" Raphael pushed the door back closed.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" David said. "You now have to fight not one, but two enemies."

"Absolutely," Adam answered, slipping back around the desk and back toward the double doors. "I got her into this mess; I have to get her out."

Raphael shook his head. "She came here, you know, told me Camael had sent you to Gehenna."

"What?" Adam turned around.

Dani stood up. "We thought you knew. She made it to Hell, didn't she?"

"No." Adam shook his head. "She came with someone, an anchor or something. One of the demons."

The female angel squinted as she left the company of the others and went to the cabinet that held Raphael's single bottle of scotch. She poured two. "So then how did she get to you, Raphael? Did you summon her?"

The Archangel shook his head. "No, and if I could, I wouldn't have done something so revealing. You forget Enoch knows Adam had accomplices. He'll be looking for a reason to accuse me."

Danielle clucked her disagreement with her tongue. "He doesn't know. He wasn't there. He only thinks. What's the worst he can do to us anyway?"

"Enough," Adam answered. "We have to tread carefully otherwise we might all be in danger."

Emil yawned. "If she's a realm jumper then Gehenna won't let her go easily. Only First Sphere have that ability. You'll be lucky if she doesn't have an armed battalion around her at all times."

"We can't wait forever," Adam said as he looked over the group. "We have to try and find out something now, while there's still time. Raphael and I will go to Machon and see what we can find out. You guys wait here. I don't need more people on the hook for my mistakes."

David shot up. "Are you sure? I mean—"

"It's fine, Dave," he said, turning to Raphael. "How long do you need?"

The Archangel uncrossed his arms, sighing with a frown. "Ten minutes, maybe."

"Good." Adam clasped his friend by the shoulder, his eyes briefly going over Raphael's armor bearing Araboth's official emblem. "That armor always did look better on you than me."

"Oh, shut up," the Archangel snorted. "You just had better be right about this."

Ω

"Now, dodging a fireball can be done in two ways; one, you literally dodge it, like a human, or two, you force it back in the opposite direction."

My training sessions with Mammon had progressed steadily. If anything, my anger fueled my body's need to train, my need to succeed. I would spend every waking moment doing just that. I would learn anything I could get my hands on, mastering every ability, until not even Camael could stop me.

Perhaps he thought me grateful for his attempts to free me from my enslavement. Surely he didn't think I condoned what he was trying to accomplish. The entire destruction of the realms, and for what? Because they refused his tyranny? He could be intent on destruction out of defiance or sheer evil. I kept wondering what could have possibly happened to make Camael so intent on ruin. What level of hate or sorrow did it take to reach the point of destroying everything?

"Show me," I heard Mammon say. "Amelia?"

I looked up at him half in a daze. Only those closest to Camael called me by my actual name; the rest called me Lilith.

This name, this person I had been, it still seemed foreign and familiar at the same time. I still didn't remember much about this place, this life I had led, who I was, and who I'd been.

Why did they accept me so readily as one of their own? I needed to remember more.

Something was missing. Some hole. Some fragment.

"Amelia?" Mammon repeated.

I sighed and shoved my hands in my jacket pockets. At least my training wear didn't consist of billowy material; there was logic somewhere on this plane. Thank god.

"Can we finish this later?" I asked. I needed to take a walk.

He looked at me kind of funny and then finally shrugged. "Alright," he said as he gathered his things and headed toward the chamber door. "I'll be down with the smithy if you change your mind."

Alone, the silence plagued me. A constant tapping at my brain offered no respite. I simply stood there unsure of what to do.

Sheol was large enough that Mammon could disappear down any number of corridors in seconds and scarce be seen again. I just needed enough distance that my thoughts would be my own.

I took off down the corridor, my mind forcibly silent as I raced with nowhere to go. I didn't want anyone else to hear me any more than I wanted to hear myself. My chest shuddered in fear; I was too afraid to do anything anymore. Not of them, but of myself.

Gehenna comprised what most considered Hell, while Sheol was more akin to a military compound or underground city. Cold and bright in some areas, and black in the next, Sheol meandered in an endless, winding maze of corridors and chambers.

Carrier and tracker demons marched double-file down the hallway, their captain nodding respectfully in my direction as they passed. I let myself fade into the background in hopes that no one else would recognize me though there was little hope of that.

The Fallen Hosts had seen to that. Ba'al and the others knew me better than I knew myself, and they wasted no time in introducing me to the military as Camael's ward, Lilith.

Luckily most of the soldiers were either too young to remember or too busy to care. Those that weren't, either bowed or nodded each time I passed. Somewhere in the past millennia, Araboth had turned me into a creature of darkness or perhaps even the matriarch of the fallen. My reputation preceded me wherever I went. Like Na'amah, I was one of the Four Queens of the Underworld.

Even now, my memory was so scattered, so fragmented. There were pieces I recalled, like Camael and these hallways. For whatever it was worth, it felt like I had walked these halls a million times in my life. I knew exactly where to turn, exactly where to go.

Across the open expanse, Camael stood naked to the waist, his thoughts lost in his actions as his body echoed his every command. His movements were tight, definite. He extended his hands outright, one over the other, as he simulated a languid series of punches while the lower half of his body rotated in accordance with his will. For several minutes he continued, each move specifically chosen as he fought an invisible nemesis.

When he broke that form for another, one with more force behind it and obviously meant for attacking, he realized I was watching. He blinked and awkwardly lowered his leg to the ground, his sable wings jutting out to steady him. "How long have you been standing there?"

"A few minutes, why?"

He exhaled sharply as his wings recoiled back, inadvertently drawing my eyes to the well-defined abs. "No reason. I was just curious. I didn't hear you come in."

"Does it really matter?" I asked, diverting my attention to something else while he scooped a nearby towel off the ground and started to dry the sweat off his body.

"Not really, I guess," he said, flinging the soaked cloth over his shoulder. "Why are you in here anyway? Don't you have training with Mammon?"

"Why is it any of your business, Camael?" One look into his eyes, and I could feel him pressing on the borders of my mind. "Don't even try it. You won't find anything useful."

"So I see," he snorted and walked toward the back of the room.

"Where are you going?" I asked as my eyes followed him.

He was taller than Adam was by a few inches, making me a dwarf next to either of them. Sweat plastered his black hair to his face but made his body glisten from exertion as he adjusted the waistband of his pants. He was attractive; I couldn't deny that.

Like bedding a lion, I'd wager.

Every part of him screamed danger. His muscles were well defined, his form lithe. He was deadly, and I was stuck in a room with him. His gray eyes locked on mine as I forced myself to keep his gaze.

"I was just about to head down to the lake. Would you care to walk with me?"

I nearly choked. "No, thank you."

He jerked his head suddenly. "Why do you say it like that?"

"Never mind." This place was just as bad as the rest. I turned to leave.

"Don't go," he said, latching onto my wrist. "Please, I mean."

"Excuse me?" I yanked my arm away. "Since when did you get to ask for anything?"

"Amelia, wait," Camael begged awkwardly. "I need you."

"What you need is a flipping hole in the head."

"Don't—" but he stopped himself and sighed. The intensity of his gaze hadn't lessened. Instead, it only increased as his dark, feathery downs bushed out, his wingspan stretching all of twenty feet from end to end and black as night. I had seen them before, but not like this. This was different.

For some reason, they made him less ominous, like each second in his presence didn't have to come with bated breath. "I'm not going to hurt you if that's what you're thinking," he said softly as he took a step toward me.

Ever the cautious one, I stepped back. "Cut the crap, Camael, and just tell me what you want."

He sighed again. "I have already said. I would like you to accompany me to the lake. Would you please do me the honor of allowing me your company? I have something I want to show you."

I scowled even more. He made no sense.

"Please?"

I sighed and hugged my shoulders. He wasn't going to give up, and I had nothing better to do anyway. "Fine."

A grin spread from ear to ear as his cold, stone eyes roared to life. "Great!"

I blinked awkwardly. This was the same man who had kidnapped me and tortured Adam, the same angel who was staging a coup against Heaven.

Had I not known him, I would have been hard pressed to say he was the leader of Hell. He seemed carefree, almost childlike as he pulled me by the hand to the far side of the cavern to where a large, marble archway divided the room. A winding stairwell drew us farther into Sheol, the two of us racing like children as our shadows from the oil lamps danced with us.

And as I ran, struggling to keep pace with the gray-eyed angel's sudden vitality, I realized that for the first time in the longest while I felt free. The air I breathed no longer weighed so heavily on my chest.

It felt nice. It felt easy.

"How much farther is it?" I managed to yell over the roaring in my ears after the fifth landing.

He didn't even have to answer. We stood at the edge of an even larger opening, and it was only now that I realized he had meant a massive, subterranean lake that must have stretched for miles.

Camael let go of my hand as our run lulled to a walk. Our feet crunched against the gravel as the underground shore approached. "What do you think?"

The ceiling of the cave stretched so far above us that it was difficult to imagine how far underground we really were. He spun around, his arms wide as he stared at the glistening firmament speckled with stalactites and minerals.

Like stars painted across the heavens, they danced above our heads, beckoning us to get lost in the moment. I almost did until Camael grabbed my hand, ushering me back into reality.

"Come on," he said, tugging slightly. "There's more."

When I hesitated, he looked back. "What's wrong?"

Ever the realist, my mouth got the better of me. I couldn't do this, not twice. "Why did you bring me here, Camael?"

Rejection crossed his carefree face. "What is it about this place you don't like?"

I scoffed. "This place? Nothing. It's you I don't like."

The fire in his eyes snuffed out as he forced down the lump in his throat. "Okay. Thank you for your brutal honesty."

"What is it with you people?" I finally snapped. "Who do you think you are that you can just act like everything is just hunky-dory?"

"Hunky-what?" His nose twitched.

"You abused me," I said, completely ignoring his increasing frown. It was a good thing we were alone because I was sure my voice would carry. "You tortured me. You tortured Adam. You're a murderer."

His lips had drawn into a tight line, his jaw set firmly as he waited for me to finish.

"This entire place is insane, and you're their goddamned ring leader. I will never be content here no matter how hard you try. Perhaps you should have thought about that before trying to turn me into your latest Queen."

The former Seraph licked his lips and simply stared at me. For a moment, I half-expected him to hit me, and for that moment, I didn't rightly care. I had lost everything I had gained in my life. I was nothing more than a body now, and I assumed that, like most men, he wanted that too.

When our eyes finally met again, absolution replaced dejection. "I've never murdered anyone," he whispered tightly. "And it's obvious you don't remember this place because here you asked me to free you."

My voice crept out of my throat. "Free me from what?"

His frown increased. "It's obvious you don't remember that either."

He would say no more about it but simply turned back to face the massive shoreline that stretched on and on. The next time our eyes locked, the cold-stone irises had returned, leaving behind the ruthlessness I knew so well.

The carefree Camael was gone.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"Adam, I know this might seem like a good idea because you feel like you're out of options, but you don't have to do this," Raphael exhaled as he struggled to keep up with Adam. "There's bound to be another way."

The former Grigori turned down the last corridor, the entire area brimming with ornate hand-woven rugs as he burst through a set of doors leading to a large library. To his left, a pretty, little angel jumped up from the information desk that sat behind a dangling, crystal barricade.

Brightly lit with tomes and scrolls nearly stacked to a ceiling far, far out of sight, the Hall of Akashic Records was more than just a library. It housed a compilation of all knowledge about every living being in all of Assiyah. Their thoughts. Their dreams. Their memories. Their future.

"You're going to kill yourself trying to do this," Raphael whispered quietly as he nodded to the fearful blonde at the desk. He followed Adam as the Grigori walked with the determination of a man who had lost everything else in his life. "Adam. Adam—"

Raphael yanked him around by the shoulder, inadvertently drawing the attention of one of the ibis-headed Powers standing guard to the restricted section. "Adam, listen to what I'm saying," he whispered as he eyed the guard, nodding to the curious bouncer.

Adam brushed his hand off. "I am listening. I've heard everything you've said."

"Then what are you doing in here?" the Archangel hissed as he angled his head to keep one eye on the guard. "This is the last place we want to be right now."

"Raphael, step out of the way." Adam moved to step around him, but a piercing ringing erupted in Adam's ears. Unable to do anything else, he covered his ears from the deafening sound while Raphael just stood there. "What was that?"

Raphael glanced around only to find everyone's eyes now on them. "An alarm telling everyone you're our number one fugitive," the Archangel answered. "I suggest we leave. Now." He grasped his friend by the shoulder once again, making it look like he had arrested Adam.

A second later, another shrill ringing sounded in their ears, this one even louder than the first. Raphael hurried his step, dragging Adam along with him as they slipped past back the information desk with the lithe blond.

"Now what?" Adam growled, only hearing the ringing but not the message behind it. Another angelic ability he had lost by becoming a Grigori.

"A second alarm telling them I'm our number two fugitive," Raphael said simply as he let go of Adam long enough to push the massive, wooden doors open. "This is where I suggest we run."

Raphael turned back just long enough to see the ibis-headed Power joined by two more, all headed in their direction. Before they could get any closer, Raphael and Adam burst through the front doors and down the massive stairwell.

There were almost sixty-five steps leading to the Great Library in Machon, and each one made Adam's side stitch as they shot down the stairs and around the corner, leading to yet another hallway.

Unlike the human world, neither cameras nor detectors guarded the entrance ways and exits. The seven realms were a security system unto themselves. Each angel was a soldier, and each soldier, an armed guard against whatever threat arose.

Angels had a collective knowledge, each one able to tap into the stream of consciousness that told them exactly what was happening. Ignoring orders or information was one thing, but there was no way to avoid hearing it.

Anyone and everyone was a threat to Adam and Raphael. A threat that would surely be guarding the one and only exit out of Heaven, the massive stone portal in Rai'ek.

Trying each of the three doorways in the vicinity did little to alleviate the rising fear the two of them felt. "It's not working," Adam said, yanking one final time on the quartz door-handle.

Raphael pressed his back to the wall and maintained watch while Adam moved on to the next door.

"Why are there so many damn doors?" the Grigori growled. "There has to be at least fifty."

Raphael nodded anxiously. "I seriously hope you're not intending to check every single one."

Adam shot him a glance. "You know, maybe if I had the time, but now it isn't really prudent. Where are we anyway? I don't know this corridor."

Raphael craned his head around the corner and found both directions clear. "I don't know, but I don't think picking random doors is going to get us anywhere. Any minute the Second Sphere is going to find us, and it's not only your ass on the line. Now I'm involved in this."

Adam tried to smile even though the door wouldn't budge. "I know, Raphael," he said, trying one of the doors on the opposite side of the blinding-white hall. He wrenched the knob back and forth a few times, doing his best to stay quiet. A few more yanks of the handle, and Adam finally took to the doorway with his shoulder, ramming it just above the hinge.

That only took five seconds.

Before either one could argue, the two slipped out of the hallway and into the room beyond whether they wanted to or not. It was better than the alternative.

"Raphael, do something about these lights," Adam said in the darkness, trying to adjust his eyes to the harsh change. He reached around in search of a charging crystal on the wall, but there was none.

In fact, there were no walls.

No walls, and no Raphael.

At first, Adam thought he might have been imagining it, or that Raphael was playing a trick on him, but knowing the kind of man Raphael was, it seemed doubtful.

"Raphael? Raphael, where'd you go?"

There was no response save for his own voice echoing off some distant surface.

He pulled out his Zippo from the pocket of his jerkin, filling the area with newfound light. And then he could see it for himself, the end he was trying to stop.

The end of everything.

Ω

"Raphael, it's so good of you to join us this morning," Enoch's disembodied voice called to him. "Have a coffee. Hand-pressed."

Raphael turned around to find Enoch, the leader of the Seraphim, approaching him with a mug in hand. Standing in a completely different place than he had been previously, he was now in a wide, open room where a large holograph of Adam roamed the opposite wall.

"What's going on? What have you done with Adam?"

Handing the Archangel the beverage, Enoch took a swig of his own. "Nothing yet. This one's beginning to become a real problem, so we're just going to give him a little perspective on the situation at hand. Come. Sit."

Raphael eyed the leader of the Seraphim suspiciously once he had turned away. Though it was obvious it didn't matter. Enoch had eyes everywhere, angelic or otherwise. "What is that supposed to mean? What are you going to do to him?" Raphael stalked across the room after the tall man who had already sat down in one of the ornate high backed chairs in front of the holograph.

"Me?" Enoch turned to face the Archangel. "I'm not going to do anything. I'm just going to show both of you why this is so important, or did you also forget what's riding on this outcome?"

Raphael steeled his jaw, wanting to say a thousand things but said none.

"You're not a foolish man, Raphael; otherwise your use would have expired long ago. Adam, however, just continues to disappoint. Almost as if he was programmed that way, wouldn't you agree?"

The Archangel licked his lips. He knew Enoch was baiting him. As the leader of the Seraphim, the highest group of celestial creatures and the guardians of destiny itself, Enoch was not someone to brook argument. He knew what a person was going to say or do long before it happened. But at times like this, when his own flock was treading off the beaten path, he had to steer them back in the right direction.

As Araboth's Chief of Medicine, Raphael had seen it happen on more than one occasion, and it was never pleasant.

Some things even he could not heal.

Enoch would prove his point, with or without Raphael's help.

Sometimes a dead angel was worth more than words.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Of all the names different cultures had allotted it, Apocalypse, by far, sounded the worst. From the Greek "apokaluptein," meaning to 'uncover' something, Adam wished he hadn't discovered this truth. The only thing he had to figure out was whether or not it was real.

He now found himself in a world destroyed with him only a spectator. If only Raphael had told him not to open that door. Would it have made a difference? Would Raphael have told him to stop had he known what was on the other side?

It didn't matter now; it was too late.

Adam looked around at his new surroundings, a dismal gray mist in every direction. It lingered and swelled around him like a second skin, blocking his line of sight. There was no ringing, no screeching alarm to signal that he wasn't alone. The dismal light the Zippo put off did little to show him otherwise. His feet touched something, ground perhaps, though he couldn't see it.

At least gravity was still doing its job. He stepped forward and prayed the ground beneath him was real. How ironic that it came down to faith in the end. With one misstep, he could end up in the bowels of a volcano or a feeding pit for the Damned.

This can't be real. Can't be.

The horizon began to light from a muted gray, almost as if a thick fog finally started to dissipate. With no other options and no door behind him, he headed toward a clearing.

Adam had only taken a handful of steps when the first crunch beneath his feet nearly sent him stumbling. The fog, still thick enough that it clung to the ground like wild moss, kept him from seeing what had nearly taken his ankle out. He steadied his footing and tried again, yet another cluster of bramble and rocks yanked at him in the darkness that lingered beneath the fog.

Something grabbed him as he thrashed around trying to free himself, and he screamed before he could help himself. His nerves were overloaded, too shot out. Dammit! He tore his jacket off with a huff, yanking his arms free.

Crawling on his knees, he felt at the ground in front of him. A pile of something lay beneath him.

Thankfully, it wasn't souls trying to ensnare him. Whatever it was, it wasn't alive or damned.

It was inanimate. Dead.

And then he realized the truth. Dead.

Oh, please God, no.

He reached below the fog and latched onto whatever he could, his hands scraping on the jagged material once more as he ripped a portion of it free. It wasn't until he lifted the object above the fog that he realized it for what it was and flung it back as fast as he could.

Bones. A rib bone, precisely.

He closed his eyes and prayed that the bones belonged to some unfortunate creature. He reached farther into the mess, pulled the skull into his hands, and knew the truth the moment he eased it out of the fog.

The symbol was burned into the skull, a symbol he would have known anywhere. Any Celestial would.

All of the blood rushed out of him, and his breath stopped as the skull fell from his hands.

At the point of salvation or damnation, a person was marked, as if the coloring of one's wings wasn't enough. No magic could duplicate or clone the symbols. They came from a higher magic than even the Seraphim.

It was the mark of God.

It was real, and it was undeniable, here for all to see should they have been able to.

God was dead.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

There was no way to deny it, no way to hide from the horrors in front of him. It was like being in a vacuum, snatching all of his wind from him.

No. Impossible.

The mark of God. The Alpha & Omega. The All-Father. Deus. The Highest of Highs. YHWH.

God was dead and with him, all of Heaven.

This can't be real. Can't be.

Not even nausea filled his body anymore. Now he just felt cold, so much colder than he had ever felt.

Six thousand years he had been gone from Heaven, and nothing like this had happened. Barachiel would have told him if war had come to Araboth, even if he were no longer a part of the Council.

The lingering fog finally started to clear, leaving Adam to see the truth with his own eyes. Like a massive open grave, thousands of skeletons lined every inch of the ground on which he stood, but the corpses were far from normal. Every single one of them had wings; every single one of them had a mark. Cherubim, Thrones, Principalities, and Seraphim, they were all dead.

All gone.

They lined the field, their wings broken, like a tangle of white bramble as far as the eye could see. Jagged. Crude. Violent.

We've failed. His hands burned from where they had touched the skull, his mind playing tricks on him as he marched farther into the field.

All of Heaven. Gone.

No words could describe the destruction he saw. It stole his will to speak, his will to breathe. The light that Mia's brief return had given him compared little to this. It only made his guilt worse.

All this because of me?

Yes, answered the fog.

Adam spun around violently, ready to fight whatever lurked in the graveyard. Who's there?

You did this, Adam. You and no one else.

He shook his head. It's not possible. This isn't real.

Yes, the fog answered back. It is, and you did it.

"Come out, whoever you are," he snapped. "Prove to me you are telling the truth. Prove to me that everyone is dead, that Araboth has fallen."

Oh, it will, and when it does, you will have no one else to blame but yourself.

"You're lying!" he yelled into the gray mist, still in search of whoever spoke to him.

Am I? Are you are so blind that you fail to see what is right before your eyes? This is what saving that woman did for you. By saving her, you doomed us all.

No, Adam whispered as he slipped to his knees.

You belong with us. Never forget that. If we fail, not just Araboth will fall. So too will Assiyah.

No. His eyes brimmed with tears. I will have no part in this.

Then remember your place, Adam. Remember your place and know that on your shoulders rests us all.

Before Adam could say anymore, the voice was gone and with it the graveyard of his brethren. He spun around, frantically in search of answers but found only an empty white room instead.

He was alone again.

He turned back around, toward the way he thought he had come, this time finding the crystal door handle. Whoever had been playing tricks on him had made their point.

This war was about more than just Eve and Camael. It involved everyone.

He had to kill them both.

He had to kill them both or everyone would die.

Ω

"Hey, you got a minute?" Camael asked, suddenly poking his head into the training room as his eyes ran the length of the destruction Mammon and I had caused.

"Huh?" I looked up, sweat burning my eyes as I struggled to brush my bangs away from them. "Yeah, sure. Just give me a minute. Is that alright?" I asked, glancing over at Mammon who threw a towel at me.

"Fine," Mammon answered. "Just make sure to bring her back in one piece, Camael. I don't have time to heal her and teach her psionics. Just remember that."

"You don't think I know that?" Camael snorted and looked back at me. "Come on." He left the room, forcing me to chase after him, making me think a part of him enjoyed it.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere a little quieter."

"Why?" I asked, falling into step with him as we walked briskly down the eastern corridor.

"Just because," he snapped and suddenly stopped walking. "Why does it always have to be why with you? I have already promised that nothing would happen to you while under my ward. You need to believe me; otherwise you're just going to be wasting both of our time."

"Jeez, okay, sorry. I'm just a curious person."

"Pffh," he said. "Control freak's more like it. Are you always like this nowadays?"

"What?" I asked confusedly.

He sighed. "I'll take that as a yes."

"What do you mean 'nowadays?'"

"Here," he said, ignoring my question as he thrust a bundled handkerchief toward me.

"What's this?"

"Just something I've been holding onto. I didn't know what else to do with the junk." He straightened his posture as I unraveled the cloth to find an ornate, gold cuff encrusted with rubies along its face.

"Junk?" I balked as I turned the bracelet over in my hands. "It looks really old, Camael. I mean really old."

"It is." His face was unreadable as he stood there watching me.

"Then why are you giving this to me?" I asked, trying to hand the cuff back to him. "Isn't there a certain someone this belongs to?"

"There was," he said, matter-of-factly. "A long time ago, but they won't be looking for it any time soon. It'll help you with your incantations."

"I don't know, Camael . . ."

"Just take it," he snapped suddenly, "Otherwise, it's going in the trash."

"Um, okay," I said, my eyes widening over his sudden fervor to get rid of the thing. "Why me? Why not Na'amah?"

"Please!" he nearly choked. "Don't flatter her. I just thought you could use it. Anyway, her abilities far outrank yours. She doesn't need something like this."

"Fine. Whatever. Thanks," I said, turning back the way I had come.

His hand gently gripped my wrist. "Where are you going?" he asked softly.

"Back with Mammon," I groused. He was really starting to grind on my nerves. "What now?"

"Don't you want to know how it works?"

"How what works?" I threw my hands up, forcing him to let go of me as I did.

"The bracelet," he said adamantly. "It's not a trite piece of jewelry. I'm not giving you this because of some emotional attachment; I'm giving this to you because you're going to need it if you stay here with us."

"Why?" I scoffed. "My training is progressing just fine."

"Follow me," he said, nodding his head in the opposite direction from the training grounds. "Your abilities, while they are progressing, are not progressing fast enough. You forget, Amelia, that we are thousands of years old. You and I, both of us. All of us.

"Your powers, and you do have them, are so far buried that we don't have time to wait until they resurface completely. Thus, the enhancer. It will boost your natural God-given abilities until you are back to normal."

I stared down awkwardly at the thing. I loved rubies. Always had. It was quite pretty, save for the fact that the giver was a complete pretentious ass.

"I am not, Amelia," he said sourly, ignoring my alarm at my thoughts leaking out. "You need to see the big picture. There is a very real chance that war is coming soon, and I won't be able to protect you."

What was it with everyone down here? "Who said I need protection?"

"I did." He laughed at my scowl and took a deep breath. "You know, I'm not as evil as you think I am. Not by any means."

"We'll see," I replied, rubbing my bare arms. Having been sweating the entire morning, I hadn't realized how drafty these underground hallways were until I was stationary and covered in perspiration. The black spaghetti tank and matching pants clung to my skin as sweat caked my hair.

Camael stared at me expectantly.

"What?" I barked.

He cocked his head sideways. "No one's even taught you how to fly yet, have they?"

I blinked. "Wait, what?"

He nodded as if my reaction was the answer he was looking for. "Must have been saving that honor for me. I'm going to kick Mammon's ass the next time I see him."

I raised a brow at him. "Excuse me?"

He yawned and stretched his arms overhead, elongating his back as he did. "You didn't think they were just for show, did you?"

"Are you serious?"

"Come on." He grinned. "Apparently, I'm going to have to oversee your training myself if everyone doesn't get on the ball. No wonder you're behind." He grabbed my hand and dragged me into the next chamber.

The leader of Hell was going to teach me how to fly? Oh, this was going to be good.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

"Now, flying isn't something anyone should have to relearn, but some things can't be helped." Camael's deep voice rang out from across the same subterranean cavern.

My boots crunched in the gravel as I made my way down to the shoreline. "So, how is this going to work? Flying, I mean."

"Simple. Like this."

Before I could protest, Camael pulled off his black long-sleeved shirt, revealing his lithe, tightened form as his wings burst out to meet him. I didn't want to feel awed by them, but they were amazing, like something out of a dream. Gossamer, they shimmered in the faint light. Black. Silky. Mouth-watering. They had to be at least twenty-five feet across.

"Yours are black also?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, "they are. You say that as if you were expecting something else. You've seen them before."

"Not really expecting something else." I shook my head as I stood there, waiting for his instructions. "I just didn't expect them to be the same as Adam's."

"You act as though we're so opposite," he said, signaling for me to come stand in front of him.

I didn't. "You act as though you're not."

"You care about that shirt?"

"What?"

"It's going to get torn," he said. "I'd tell you to go get changed, but it would take too long."

I turned to show him the crisscross-halter back, and he nodded his understanding. It'd be fine.

"Have you even worked on summoning them?"

"Summon—what?"

"Your wings," he answered. "Has Mammon, or even Na'amah, gone over it at all?"

"No," I said. "Last time they were even out was when you shot me."

He cocked his head a little. "Yeah, well, it's kind of like a car sitting in the garage. Even if they're not needed, you need to keep them running smooth. Come here." He held out his hand, and I made my way begrudgingly over to where he stood.

"So, are you ever going to tell me why you shot me?"

"What?" Now it was his turn to look at me. Hard as I tried, I couldn't read the expression on his face.

"Back in Assiyah," I said simply. "Why did you come all that way just to shoot me?"

"I've already told you," he said curtly, using his boot to spread my stance as his hands gripped my arms tightly, relaxing my upper body. "I don't do anything unless it's absolutely necessary."

"Shooting me was necessary?" I chided. "You couldn't have just asked nicely?"

He frowned at me. "You really want to know?"

Was this guy serious? "Um, yeah. If you want me to trust you ever."

"I had to get you off their radar. Le Coelesti. Now they can't track you. They can't scry for you. They have no idea where you are or who you are with. If we're really lucky, that may even extend into Assiyah and Araboth. Doubtful though."

I didn't understand. "But you used to be one of them."

"Yes."

The way he carried himself, the way he spoke. I suddenly realized, "You're an Archangel?"

"A Seraph, actually, but you knew already knew that," he told me.

"Which means what exactly?"

"There are four Seraphim within the Fabled Seven. Enoch, Michael, Barachiel and myself." He scratched his head absentmindedly. "I guess you could say that we're in charge of the ones who are in charge of Heaven. The abilities of the four Seraphim far outrank the rest of the Archangels, even though they, too, are impressive in their own right.

"Theology books paint us as these crazy six-winged creatures that burn with the fire of God. A little metaphorical, but it gets the point across. Seraphim are virtually unlimited in their power. Enough about this though, we're on a time frame here."

"Time frame?"

"Yeah," he answered. "Now, like I was saying, flying isn't something you should have to relearn. Your wings are as much a part of you as your human heart. You move, they move. They flex with you, bend with you. They even protect you.

"When you fly, you don't think up-go-up; else you won't see where you want to go. You just do it. While it is something everyone has to learn the first time, much like young fowl learn to walk on their own, once you have obtained the skill you do not think left foot-right foot. It's involuntary.

"But since the communication between your brain and your wings has been severed for so long due to the planar disruption, you have to consciously relearn the concept."

"Okay, so then what?" I asked, trying my best to follow along.

He pursed his lips, like he didn't understand what I was asking him. "After that, nothing. You go back to normal. You go about your business without all this retreading. So let's get to it.

"Going back to what I said before, you have to relearn it. For now, we are going to start with the basics. Just remember, you will not always need to do this. Everything will go back to being as natural as opening your eyes or breathing. Do you remember the first time you saw them? How it felt?"

Did he mean with Adam? Did he even know about that? I didn't see how he could. "When?"

"Now. Weeks ago. When you first saw them. You said it's only been twice, and once was with me. When was the other time?"

"I was with Adam," I admitted hesitantly. Standing here in front of him, I felt like I had done something wrong, something dirty.

"Alright," he said sourly. I knew there was something about Adam he didn't like, and it ran way deeper than the fact that Adam was a Nephilim. By definition, both Camael and I were too. But it was obvious he wasn't up for divulging all of his secrets.

He rubbed his eyes, his face tired as he waited. "I want you to try bringing them out."

"My wings?" I said.

"Yes, Amelia, your wings," he laughed. "Now let's just try summoning them. You're going to need them if war breaks out."

If? Comments like these made me wonder what was really going on, if he really planned on overturning Heaven like everyone was saying.

"Close your eyes and concentrate. Think about them. Visualize what they look like. How they feel."

"But you burned them," I argued. "Are you sure—"

He held up a hand to silence me. "By destroying that anchor, your body has regenerated the parts of it that were harmed."

"You're telling me I can't be killed?"

"No, Amelia." He laughed at me again, haughty and deep in his throat. "You can definitely be killed, otherwise there would be no need for any of this, would there? It's just that you and Adam—"

"What about me and Adam?"

He paused and took a deep breath, his jaw rigid as I waited for him to finish.

"What about me and Adam?" I repeated.

He licked his lips. "You guys are different, let's just say."

"Different how?"

"Your abilities are closer to a Seraph than most other angels and Nephilim. But that's not really the best way to describe it. More like a hybrid. If you combined a Seraph with one of the Archdemons, you would get an idea of your basic abilities."

I wasn't even sure what this meant, what to say. "So my training with Mammon and Na'amah, you knew what I could do?"

"Yes," he said simply. "I said that you were special, that you would lead us. There are things that you can do that I can't and maybe never even will."

"I don't understand, Camael."

"Na'amah's training is basic. Come with me for a sec," he said, pointing toward a small outcrop of boulders that were smooth enough we could sit down and talk for a moment. "Day one, angelic or demonic, telepathy is a given. A natural ability for any of us. Guess you could call it one of the perks.

"Now, there are varying levels of psychic powers: telekinesis, mind control, illusions, glamor. Psychic power is not limited to one side or the other. Now, what Mammon is teaching you, pyrokinesis and other elemental magicks, that is limited to us."

As I sat down on the boulder beside him, the smell of his cologne nearly overwhelmed me. The strange, musky scent pulled at my insides like a magnet. "And I can learn this because of this unknown factor Adam and I share?"

He shrugged like he was searching for a way to describe it. "That's the best we can figure at this point. But Le Coelesti's abilities are varied and almost limitless. They heal and bend time and space, but the only element they freely wield is Aether. The rest are all channeled through weaponry."

"Like Lamafuere?"

His eyes widened. "You're learning."

"Call it paying attention." I shrugged. "Camael?"

His gaze focused solely on me, and I could see the minute flecks of gold in his gray eyes. "Yeah?"

"What's going to happen if Gehenna wins? I mean truthfully?" I ran my hands along my arms, this cavern being much colder than the rest of Sheol. "Are you really out for bloodshed?"

His body tensed next to mine. "It depends, Amelia."

"On?"

"On how much fighting they want."

I was confused. "Why does it matter to them if you're invading Araboth?"

"Because I'm not after the entire realm, Amelia; I'm just after one thing."

He was actually being honest. It was surprisingly refreshing. How ironic that in Hell honesty flowed like water from a broken spout. "And what would that be?"

"On whether their leader will face me himself," he told truthfully, "or whether he's going to hide behind an entire celestial army."

"And this leader is?"

"Someone who needs to atone for what they've done," Camael said, his eyes darkening as he reflected on the future. "Now I'm going to show you a trick, and you're not going to like it very much."

"What kind of trick?" I said, backing up from him instinctively.

It didn't matter though. I was already too late.

By the time I realized my dagger had been taken, it was already stuck five inches in my gut.

Ω

"Adam, can you hear me?" Raphael's voice called out from a disembodied place. "Adam, wake up, you fool!"

The Grigori jumped, jolting forward from the position where he had collapsed on the chamber floor. Just as easily as Enoch had taken him, Raphael had returned to Adam's side, racing to pull his friend out of the amorphous fog before all sense and logic was taken from him.

"Adam, it's me. It's me. Adam!" Raphael yelled as his friend thrashed and swatted at him. "What did they do to you?"

Adam's eyes were wide like a deer about to meet its maker. Frozen, empty.

"Adam!" Raphael yelled again, this time shaking him roughly.

Adam finally looked over, his expression unchanged. "They're all dead, Raphael."

Raphael licked his lip nervously. "Who?"

"Everyone," the Grigori announced. "They're all going to die."

"No, I'm not going to let that happen." Raphael slung Adam's arm around his shoulder and lifted Adam to his feet. "Let's just get out of here, and quickly."

"What about the Powers?" Adam whispered as they inched back toward the white door.

"They're gone," his friend replied. "Come on."

Adam stopped abruptly. "I don't understand. What happened to you?"

"Enoch," Raphael admitted against his better judgment. "He had a few words for us."

"So he did it," Adam rasped as he latched onto to the far wall the moment they exited the chamber. He leaned against it and turned to face the Archangel.

"Did what?" Raphael leaned next to him.

"They're all dead, Raphael," Adam repeated. "Every last single one of them, if I don't do this."

"He's lying, Adam," he said. "He's just doing that to scare you."

"Yeah, well, it's working," Adam said. "The Seraphim, the Thrones, Elohim himself. Dead. All dead because of me."

"And you believe him?" Raphael was suddenly in his face, his normally smooth voice on the verge of yelling back. "He's manipulating you, trying to trick you into doing what he wants."

"He's a prophet, Raphael! A prophet!" Adam shrieked. "He's not just some guy. He's telling the truth."

"We'll find another way, Adam. We'll get her back." Raphael dug into his pocket and pulled out a small pocket-watch-like object; its numerous gears, small and intricate. He rotated one of the dials on the golden piece before setting it back in his pocket.

"I want you to take me to him," Adam said simply.

"No." Raphael shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Fine," Adam said, reaching over to one of the charging crystals on the wall and smashing it with a fist. It wouldn't take long. Within seconds, a piercing ringing overpowered their senses, driving them both to their knees as they struggled to cover their ears.

You did that on purpose, didn't you, Adam? The words filled his head. Unlike the alarm that was a deafening wail, these words came to him directly, came to him alone.

Enoch . . . Adam had to see him.

Have it your way, Adam. They're coming. I hope you're ready.

And then the connection was severed, like a sudden emptiness inside his mind that sat there and waited for something to happen. But he knew nothing would. Enoch had made his point.

Metallic boots clanked against the marble tile. Before they could even make a run for it, the Third Sphere, with swords and halberds staved in their direction, blocked both ends of the corridor.

The captain of the squad came forward, his features obscured by his ornate mask. It wouldn't matter though. They both knew who they had come for.

Their knowledge, it seemed, failed them. "Raphael di Seraf du Machon, you have been found guilty of espionage and high treason against Le Coelesti and are hereby immediately stripped of your title as Chief of Medicine and all of the privileges that accompany it.

"You and Adam D'Angeline are henceforth to be taken to Purgatorio where you are to await your sentence," the captain announced as he signaled to the soldiers standing by. "Arrest them."

"Wait!" Adam yelled as two ibis-masked Powers seized him by the arms, their blades rapt in the sheaths at their waists. Before either had a chance to react, Adam had both swords already drawn and poised at the two guards.

"Now, you're going to take us to your boss," Adam said simply as he dug a blade's tip into the Power's throat.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Adam," Raphael warned as Adam threw him the other sword.

The Grigori grinned. "And I would hope you knew me better than that, Raph."

Raphael chuckled as he aligned his back to Adam's, both of them working their way toward the wide opening from which they had come. "Yeah well, let's just get out of here while we still can."

"Oh, that won't be necessary," a voice cooed from behind the two of them.

It was Enoch. "Hello, Adam."

### CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Blood pooled from my lips. "Wha—"

Camael was suddenly in front of me, his hands gripping either side of my face. "I said you wouldn't like it."

"Wh— what?" My brain froze. I didn't know whether to touch the blade or leave it alone. I had nothing to use as a tourniquet, only the clothes on my back.

"Amelia, you need to listen to me," he said calmly as his steel-gray eyes focused on me.

He was so calm for having stabbed me. Why did he stab me?

I reached out to touch the blade, with every nerve ending in my hands burning like electric fire.

"This blade is made of sterling silver. It weakens you. It keeps you from channeling your angelic cells. That process is what grants you your wings and your abilities. Your blood is what cancels out the silver, or steel."

I don't understand. Shit, it hurts. "What?"

"Even more fundamental than magic is the ability to fly. Entire wars have been fought without ever having touched the ground."

I shook my head to steady my focus. I knew being stabbed was bad, but this was ridiculous. Things were already starting to blur.

"If you were any other angel, this would immobilize you completely, but because of who you are this, in fact, draws out your ability. In the warehouse, you only lasted a few moments before they came out. This time, it's been almost a minute. What we would hope is control is actually fear."

He was so near. I couldn't help but stare at the way his body pulsated next to mine. I could smell the sweat on his skin, a surprisingly sweet scent. He was so strong, his muscles sinewy.

He was attractive.

For a moment, I thought I heard him snort.

"I want you to concentrate, Amelia. Focus." His grip tightened on my biceps, his hands wide and strong as he stayed a half foot away. "At first, it's all fight or flight, quite literally in fact. Pain is the fastest way to unveil them when you're new. They protect you."

He twisted the blade farther into my abdomen, and all of my thoughts bee-lined for the scorching pain in my stomach which overtook every part of me.

"Focus, Amelia," he repeated. "Come on. I'd rather not have to throw you off a cliff."

Was he serious? I wanted to scream but found silence my only option. It was getting harder to breathe, as if I were drowning without ever having been underwater. My lungs struggled to expand. And I was less susceptible than the others were? Holy shit.

"Focus, Amelia," he repeated, my mantra.

"I can't do this," I rasped, my hand yanking his off the blade as it dragged the silver along with it. "T—There has to be another way."

"There is," he said simply, "but it's far worse than this."

"I'll do it. This isn't working." I turned to him, letting the blood-smeared blade clang to the floor.

"What if you're wrong?" he asked.

"What if?"

"Pain is a part of life, Amelia," he said. "Immortals aren't spared from its wrath. We've only mastered it. If I do this to you, you have to promise me that this is what you want."

I squinted at him suspiciously as I pressed my hand to my wound. God, it hurts like shit. Who stabs people as a training exercise? "Why?"

He sighed and rubbed his brow, dismissing his wings as if they were never there in the first place. "Because it's going to hurt a lot. A lot worse than the knife, by far. I did this once, but it wasn't by choice."

What was he talking about? By choice? We obviously didn't have time to waste. "Just do it."

"You're sure?" He raised a brow at me, his face stern as stone.

I bit my lip and watched the way his neck muscles tensed. "Yeah."

He slipped over to a small, dark chest buried on a corner table and pulled on the pair of leather gloves that sat in front of it. He looked back at me, and for a moment, a deep frown crossed his beautiful face as he flicked the latch on the chest open and pulled out a long, glistening, silver chain. The links clinked against one another, their music almost like wind chimes as he dragged the chains from their confines.

"Do you want to sit or stand?" he asked as he approached me, holding the silver away from his body.

"I'll stand," I answered apprehensively. "Why the leather? Why not some other material, like rubber?"

"Because it's not an electric current, Amelia. It's poison," he said as he motioned for me to stand still as he brought the glistening silver chains closer.

"These are the same ones you used before, aren't they?" My voice was quiet. Beautiful as they were, they were just as horrific this time around.

"They are."

"Is this what you did to Adam?" I reached out to touch the chain, only for Camael to jolt backwards as my fingers hovered just above the links.

"No, Amelia." He shook his head and swallowed sharply enough that I could see it.

"Then what?"

He raised an eyebrow at me, the chains still dangling between us. "Why does it matter?"

"Because if I'm going to do this, I'd like to know," I snapped.

"It doesn't matter, Amelia," he sighed.

"It does, Camael!"

"Really?" He lowered the chains halfway to the ground, kicking them away from his boot. "Why?"

"Because if I'm going to turn into that same deformity, all for the sake of your war, I would like to know that."

"You're not."

"Then tell me," I said, shoving my bloody finger into his chest. "What did you do to him that was so horrible he was barely human anymore?"

"Amelia . . ."

I could tell I was getting on his nerves. Hell, he was getting on mine. I was already sacrificing my life for a cause I didn't believe in. What more could anyone ask of me? I had a right to know what we were really fighting for, what we were really running from, and most importantly of all, what we were capable of.

If what Mammon said was true, that evil was just perception, then I wanted to be justified in my actions. I still had a conscience, even if God chose to deny me.

"Tell me."

"Is it going to make a difference?" he asked. "Are you going to go racing back to him like nothing ever happened? You chose this. You agreed of your own free will. Remember that, Amelia."

"You bent my hand," I snapped, glaring him dead in his ice-cold eyes. "And I'm not going anywhere, not until I see things through."

He straightened his shoulders, his correct posture making him seem even more foreboding. "And what things would that be?"

But I wouldn't say anything, and he couldn't make me. He had no right to demand an answer when he would not do the same for me. And he knew it. His scowl only lengthened as we waited in silence for several minutes.

Two could play this game, if he wanted. I sighed and crossed my arms, dropping contently to the floor as I closed my eyes and waited. It only took another thirty seconds before I heard him growl and start cussing.

"Fine. Have it your way. We injected pure silver into his veins."

"You what?" I jumped up, all of the blood rushing out of my face just in time to find his jaw rigid and his own face pale.

"Don't make me say it again," he told me.

I nodded, feeling a sharp pain run up my abdomen, my hand instinctively pressing against the wound again. "Thank you for your honesty."

"You're not angry?" He eyed my wound as I lifted my ruined tank top enough to see where he had stabbed me. The wound had already stopped bleeding.

"Of course I am." My gaze shot up at him. "I thought you said that silver weakens us."

"It does, but also like I said, you have a partial resistance," he said simply as he moved over next to me, his hand poised just above mine. "May I?"

I nodded, turning my head so that he wouldn't see the redness spreading across my face. "Anyway, it doesn't matter what I am. I just want the truth."

He shook his head and laughed as he gathered the material in his hands and raised it over the cut flesh. "I don't understand you sometimes."

"Excuse me?" My brow furrowed. "You don't know me well enough to make that statement."

"I know you better than you think."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged, letting the shirt fall gently back over me.

"Are you stalking me?" I took a step back. "Is that how you were able to track me in Assiyah?"

He snorted softly. "Something like that."

"Why do you do that?" I hissed. Frustrated, I stepped back into his face and once again shoved my hands into his chest. "Why are you so damn fucking guarded?"

"I could say the same thing about you." His hands lashed out and snatched me. His iron grip clutched my wrists between our chests tightly enough that it made my palms throb. A few more seconds, and I started to lose circulation as his grip tightened even more, forcing me to look back at him.

"Let go!" I hissed, trying to yank free.

"Not until you start being honest with yourself," he said.

"I said, let go!" I struggled harder against him, and the realization suddenly dawned on me that our bodies pressed against one another.

"What are you so afraid of?" His grip tightened even more, only making my anxiety increase. His hands shook me hard, forcing me to meet his gaze head on.

"I'm not afraid," I cried.

"You are," he said calmly. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be trying to get away from me now."

The sudden urge to get away from him nearly knocked me over. "Please, just let me go."

"I don't understand. I've detained you before, but this is different." He licked his lower lip, his eyes wide as he studied me. "You're afraid of being this close to me? Why? What is it about me that you find so rancorous?"

My voice lurched in my throat, unable to say anything. I was like a deer caught in a snare.

"Tell me the truth, and I'll let you go."

His insistence only made me plead more. "Camael. Please."

"What is it?" he asked. "Because from where I'm standing, you're not making a lot of sense."

"I don't—" I only struggled harder, ending up with my back pressed to his chest. His face was so close I nearly gasped when I realized it.

"Amelia, I—" His throat flexed anxiously.

His lips suddenly hovered above mine, his breath burning like fire against my cheek. And then my body began to do the unthinkable; my hand slid around the curve of his jaw and pulled his face to mine, melding our lips into one.

"No . . ." he breathed and pushed me away, releasing me entirely. "You don't know what you're doing."

"What?" I choked, almost bursting into tears, my emotions so torn I could hardly breathe.

"I didn't bring you here to be some trifle attachment," he answered. "I brought you here to fight. You're a soldier, not a whore."

My face stung like I'd been slapped, his words piercing even sharper than the silver. "I don't understand."

He steeled his jaw; his gray eyes cold as he stepped away from me. "What's there to understand?"

"You."

"We're your colleagues, not your friends," he explained. "We're not here to be understood by some little girl; we're here to win a war."

And just like that, just as easily as the hands of a clock ticked away, I felt a whole, new part of me die. Nothing more than another sword in his ranks, I was a fool to think I was any different. "Then I'm ready."

"Alright, but try to stay still," he said as he bent down to collect the chains once again and began to drape them over my shoulders and collarbone. "Do you want something to bite down on?"

For being someone so malevolent, he could be strangely kind at times. Like two sides of a coin spun by the wind. I would take full advantage of his kindness lest I never get the chance to. This cavern was large enough that my screams would echo for miles. The least attention we could attract the better. "Yes," I said weakly, though not because of the pain.

I waited for him to turn his back. Once he was completely distracted, I'd make my move. The lake was less than ten feet away. I'd be up to my shoulders before he could even turn around.

The answer was simple. If only death triggered my wings, then these chains and I were going to take it to the next level.

I was going to drown myself.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

"Amelia, wake up," a frantic, male voice pleaded beside me. "Dammit, Amelia. Wake up."

Camael was right; I wasn't dead. Light flooded my pupils as I struggled to sit up, causing me to blink awkwardly as I focused on my company.

"Are you alright?" asked a female voice from behind me.

"Who's there?" I lurched forward onto my knees, making the large white blurs slowly focus into objects. "Where am I?"

"It's David," said the man as two pairs of hands helped pull me to my feet.

"David?"

"And Danielle," he finished.

"Danielle?" I'm in Araboth?

"Yes," Dani answered coolly. "You are, but just how did you get here?"

The two of them stood masked on either side of me, my arms slung over their shoulders as we moved to a wrought iron bench across the narrow hallway. Unlike the previous parts of Araboth I'd had the luxury of seeing, this hallway was sheer marble and all white. A domed ceiling held a crystal chandelier large enough that it could easily kill a hundred men should it fall.

"I—I don't know." I looked around slowly. "I was just in Sheol. If I'm in Araboth, where's Adam?" I jumped up, my legs folded from my efforts to walk before I was ready.

I half-wondered if this was more of that continuum displacement, as everyone was so keen on calling it. I just wanted to stand.

"Adam?" David repeated.

I nodded, latching onto him. "Where is he? Is he alright?"

"Don't worry about that now." Danielle grabbed my shoulder, forcing me to look at her. "You have to leave."

"What?" I balked. "I just got here."

"Yes," she answered, "and now you have to leave."

"Why?" I said, looking between the two of them. "What's going on? Why won't you tell me where Adam is?"

Dani stared at me for what felt like forever, her green eyes piercing as I waited for an answer. It was that same feeling that I'd had earlier, that terrible sense of foreboding.

"Is he still alive?" I finally managed to ask. She could tell me that much. He could tell me that much. I just needed to hear someone say it.

"We don't know, Amelia," Dani said. "They've gone missing."

"Missing?" The lump in my throat sunk a little farther toward my stomach. How often did angels go missing? And if they did, was Camael responsible?

"Him and Raphael." Dani nodded. "They've been missing for weeks now. We've got to send you back."

Much like the last time I'd been here, I was being shoved toward the closest exit as we walked single file.

"Danielle, what is going on?" I stopped and turned to face her. Lines had crept over her young face, worry wrought in every inch of her skin.

"There's a war coming, Amelia," she answered, releasing my arm as David leaned against the wall with both eyes peeled toward the end of the hallway.

"I know," I said.

"Then you have to stop it."

"Stop it?" I barked. "How am I supposed to stop something I know nothing about?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, but whatever this is, the entire realm is in chaos over it. If you care anything for Adam, find out what the other side knows."

My eyes widened. "You think Camael had something to do with their disappearances?"

"Maybe . . . I don't know," she answered, her frown only deepening. "There's a lot of discontent amongst the upper Spheres. If something doesn't happen soon, the entire world is going to be at odds."

I lowered my head and sighed, leaning back against the wall myself.

"I know it's a lot to take in," David added, "but we aren't working with a lot of options. The alternative is far worse."

My throat felt dry. "There's an alternative?"

"Yeah," David said. "If it turns out that this war is not coming from your side, then the only alternative is that it's coming from ours. A notion I think none of us would care to entertain for very long."

"Why can't you guys scout Gehenna for yourselves?" I asked.

Danielle rolled her eyes and sighed. "Because we can't go into Gehenna like you can. Last time, we were sent there to retrieve you and Adam. Even if we could, we don't know our way around, and we'd stick out like a sore thumb."

"More importantly," David said, "we have to find out what we can here. This is important, Amelia."

I sank back down against the ground. "You guys have the wrong person. I'm no spy. I've only been training with Mammon for a few months now. I'm nothing compared to you guys."

"You're here, Amelia." Danielle stared me down.

"Yeah, so?" I shrugged.

"That means something, you fool," she snapped. "It means you're not a prisoner there. It means you can come and go where you please, when you please. And if your months of training have given you any sort of demonic powers, then you're in a lot better position than either of us should we get caught."

"I can't spy on Camael," I said softly, more to myself than the two angels standing in front of me.

Danielle stared at me questionably. "What do you mean, you can't spy on Camael?"

"Things are different. I don't thi—"

"Two months ago, you were foaming at the mouth to kill him. Now you're too domesticated to do anything?" Her voice grew harsher, her suspicion clouding her tone.

But I couldn't really blame her; I didn't even trust myself.

"Whose side are you on, Amelia?" she demanded.

Even through the mask, I could feel the anger pouring like venom. I refused to fear a woman who was supposed to help me. In each of our encounters, she continually tried me, as if she were determined to oppose me no matter what.

It felt like walking over broken glass when Danielle was around. I knew I shouldn't trust her; I just didn't know why.

"I'm on no one's side," I started to walk away from the two. "Besides, someone needs to find Adam and Raphael."

"We will." David chased after me, and while I knew he was on my side, I couldn't say the same about Danielle.

Perhaps when this was all over, I would find out why. Was she in love with Adam? Thoughts whizzed in my head as I tried to come up with the rationale behind her hatred of me. There was no possible way anyone could miss her disdain. But my search for whatever caused it was going to have to wait.

I crossed my arms, hugging myself. "And what if Camael realizes what I'm doing?"

"Well, if he's innocent, hopefully nothing." Danielle rolled her shoulders. "But you know him; we don't. It all depends on how close you two have gotten in the past four months."

I threw out the question, "What if not very?"

"Well then, you're gonna have to be a little more creative with your tactics, won't you?" Her green eyes pierced through me. "Unless you don't want Adam to survive, in which case tell me now so that we can stop wasting our time."

We stood there for a few minutes in silence until I finally broke the standoff. "Fine, Danielle, but you better be right about this."

"So surprising," she snorted. "I'll be sure to let Adam know should we find him first."

"What?"

"You care for him," she said plain as day.

"Who?" I balked.

"Camael," she answered. "It's written all over your face."

Ω

"I will make you another deal, Adam," Enoch said simply as he took another swig of his scotch. "You can appreciate that, yes?"

Adam exchanged a glance with Raphael. They were running out of options. "I'm listening."

"Alright," the leader of the Seraphim said simply. "I would have thought that my first warning was clear, but obviously I was wrong. You're not an easy man to scare."

"No, I'm not," the Grigori answered. "I've waited six thousand years, Enoch. You will not keep us apart."

Enoch muffled his amusement in his glass. "Perhaps, but then again, perhaps I won't have to."

The muscles in Adam's back tensed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly that. I told you in very specific terms that I would kill your little princess if you refused to help me, but as I said, that apparently is not getting my point across. So perhaps this will."

Much like the rest of the Seraphim, Enoch was fast, but this was something else entirely. Adam didn't even have time to follow the blade before it was already thrust upwards into Raphael's throat.

The Archangel's eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing much like a fish out of water, as his eyes locked with Adam's.

Panic flooded the Grigori's veins as he raced to catch the collapsing doctor and waited for Raphael to tell him what to do. His hand shot out to grab the blade, only to be stayed by an invisible force.

Enoch.

"What have you done?" Adam hissed, his face already blood red with anger.

The Seraph stared down at him. "There is no point in trying to remove it. Even if the wound doesn't take his life, the liquid silver will."

"What?" he breathed, looking back at the man in his arms. "I thought that didn't work on Archangels."

"This dagger here?" Enoch said, lifting the blade for Adam to see. "It's made of everything nasty and foul in this universe all wrapped into one nice angel-killing piece of silver."

"What about Lamafuere?" Adam asked, tearing off the sleeve of his gambeson to tourniquet Raphael's wound. He started to lift Raphael's head off the ground but stopped when he realized he was working against gravity, not with it.

"Michael's sword?"

Adam nodded as Raphael's pupils started to dilate. Raph, what do I do?

"Oh, don't worry about that now." Enoch bent down and ripped the blade from Raphael's neck, dropping it onto the small side table next to his empty glass. Undoing the lid of the scotch once again, he poured himself another drink, swallowing nearly the whole lot when he finally brought it to his lips.

Adam glanced between the two, unable to leave Raphael's side long enough to avenge him. He lowered the healer's head to the ground and eased out from beneath him in hopes of slowing the marriage of blood and silver.

It was poison, pure and simple. Like a snake, it slowly coursed through Raphael's veins, working its way into his brain and heart, taking with it the only rationale Adam had left.

Raphael, what do I do? Tell me something, anything!

"It won't work, Adam," Enoch answered for him. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. He can't speak, aloud or otherwise. He can't think. He can barely even breathe. The silver will strip his blood of its oxygen until there is nothing left but starved, hollow veins. And then he will die. Frozen forever."

"You bastard!" Adam snarled again. "I will kill you!"

"Please. Stop fooling yourself, Adam. You can't even leave his side," Enoch suddenly hovered behind Adam with the Grigori's head in a lock, the same blade now pressed against the man's throat. "You're completely useless. I could kill you right now if I wanted to, and no one, not even your precious Eve, could stop me. First, Raphael, then that sonofabitch Camael and his whore. Do I have your attention now, Adam?"

"Yes," he breathed between tears. I'm so sorry, Raph.

Enoch let go of Adam who floundered as he struggled to regain his balance. "See how easy that was? I should have just done that from the beginning."

"You'll never get away with this." Adam rubbed his throat and looked for anything he could use to fight the Seraph leader.

"I already have." Enoch laughed and sat contently back in his chair. "After breaking into the Hall of Records, you could no longer discern friend from foe, and when Raphael attempted to help you, you struck him down with one of the blades you stole from the Second Sphere."

"That's a lie!" Adam backed up toward the man-sized candelabras perched against the wall.

"Perhaps," Enoch said as he reached over to a small crystal sphere sunken into his table and depressed it further into its surface, sounding an alarm immediately. That same piercing ringing, which had been frequenting Araboth since Adam's return, took over once again. A battalion of masked soldiers flooded into Enoch's chambers, surrounding Adam in a semi-circle within seconds.

"Now, Adam," Enoch said calmly as he stood up, walked over into the crowd and worked his way through them till he was inches from the Grigori. "I told you I would make you a deal, and I intend to keep that promise."

"This coming from the man who always lies," Adam seethed in response.

Enoch shrugged. "Believe what you want, but I'm doing this for the right reasons. You can either help me or not."

"You killed Raphael."

"Yes," he admitted. "I did."

"If you're just going to kill everyone anyway, why does it matter if I help or not?"

The Seraph chuckled and wiped his mouth with the handkerchief from his chest pocket. "Because I can make all of this so much more painful if you don't. Get Eve to turn herself in, and I'll release the others."

The color drained from Adam's already pale face. "Others?"

Enoch nodded. "Raphael's men. You wouldn't want their deaths to hang over your head too, would you?"

"You sonofabitch!" Adam said, lunging at Enoch only to be stayed by two halberds belonging to the nearby soldiers. "How did you get like this? You had everything!"

"And that, dear boy, is exactly where you'd be wrong."

"You're the leader of the Seraphim, for God's sake! What more could you possibly want?" And then it dawned on him. "It was never Camael, was it?"

That same grin overcame the Seraph's narrow face, one full of possibilities and ill intent. "No, my boy."

"They'll stop you," Adam said. "I'll stop you."

Enoch snorted and clasped him by the shoulder. "You always were my favorite. Now the choice is yours. Kill them and rule with me, or refuse, and I'll kill all three of you."

Unarmed and surrounded by staves and swords, Adam asked the only question he could. "How long do I have to decide?"

Ω

Teleporting through realms remained a strange thing.

I felt like all of the wind had been sucked from my lungs and my legs became jelly. And that was being modest. I wasn't ready to go back, but they weren't about to let me stay. Besides, I had a new mission.

I was charged with finding out whether the Fallen Hosts, mainly Camael, knew anything of Adam and Raphael's disappearance. Angels were starting to go missing, but they weren't joining the Underground.

"The Gate is going to be heavily guarded so that option is out," Danielle breathed. "Can you get back on your own?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "At least, I don't think so. Not yet."

"Shit," Danielle cussed as the three of us rounded the next corner and into a new labyrinth of blinding white hallways.

If there were any doors at all, they were hidden.

All I could see was white including the small crystal geodes attached to the wall, which served to light the area.

"We're gonna have to take the back way," she said. "David?"

He looked up from the floor. "Yeah?"

"Do you still have that parchment Raphael gave you?"

"Um, maybe," he said as he started rummaging through the pouch at his waist. "Yeah, but it's a summoning scroll," he said, handing it to Dani.

"What good is that going to do?" I interrupted. "We're not trying to summon anyone."

"No," she agreed. "But we are trying to send you home."

"You really think something like that will work?" I said.

She nodded. "Yeah, unless you've learned any useful tricks that would help us."

They both looked at me expectantly.

I blushed. "I can throw fireballs and use telepathy—"

"We're all telepathic," she snarked. "How else would we get those damned memos."

"Memos?"

"Yeah, ever since you first entered our radar," she sighed. "Now you and your little snaked-tongued friends are all the Three Spheres talk about. It's aggravating."

"Sorry?" I offered.

"Don't be." David shrugged. "Consider yourself lucky you haven't heard it yet."

I glanced between them. "How does that make me lucky?"

"You're lucky because you don't have somebody's name drilled into your head five times a day," Dani sighed and rolled her eyes. "If you'd stay here long enough, you'd realize that verbal communication is the Spheres' last method of choice. Even our directives come without words."

My eyebrows shot up incredulously. "Without words? How does that work?"

Everything was so strange here, but I guess it was to be expected. Just as Gehenna, so too Araboth had its own rules, customs, and laws—ones I would have to learn and abide by in order to survive.

Dani tried to explain though I knew it bothered her. "When you're not, shall we say acclimated to our realms, it sounds like shrill ringing in your ears. And the Principalities aren't nice about it; the messages can be downright deafening."

"And if you are acclimated?" I asked.

"Then it's like telepathy on blast," she answered me. "Everyone within the entire realm will hear it at that point."

"How often does that happen?" I looked down at my clothing and pulled the hem of my shirt back down around my waist. My anxiety had made my clothing uncomfortable, making me fidget every now and again.

David shrugged. "Sometimes. When something big enough or important enough goes on."

My eyes locked onto his. "You said Raphael and Adam went missing."

David shrugged again. "As far as we know. They disappeared right after they went into the Hall of Records."

"Emil's gonna rub this in our faces." Dani frowned and crossed her arms.

"What?" I looked between them. "You guys knew they were headed into danger and didn't stop them?"

The female angel snorted. "Please. There was no dissuading Adam. He's so wrapped around your finger that no one could talk him out of it. Not even Raphael; all he could do was go with him."

"So, if you know where they're at, why don't you go after them?" I asked.

She paused for thought. "We already tried. They're gone. We've searched everywhere within the realms, and they're just gone."

"I'm sure they're fine," I said. I already had enough on my plate without having to worry about this too. "You should know better than anyone that time works differently here."

"So?"

"Maybe it does in the Hall of Records too?" I said. "Maybe they are still there just in another time or something." I didn't tell her where my hypothesis was coming from. That was more details than I felt like spilling.

I was never worried about what would happen when Adam came back here. I ignorantly thought I would be the only problem. Apparently, I was wrong.

"Maybe, but that's why we're leaving it up to you," David shrugged. "You're the only one who can travel between realms."

Dani grabbed me by the upper arm. "Now, let's get you back while there's still enough of you to worry about. Oh, and Amelia?"

I rolled my eyes in her direction. "Yeah?"

"Next time I see you," Danielle warned, "You'd better have a handle on your shit. It's getting real old having to save your lily-white ass."

### CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

At first, just darkness surrounded me.

No sights, no sounds. Stark quiet embraced everything around me like a second skin. And then I remembered. I had dove into the lake while Camael's back was turned. Surrounded by chains of silver, I had charged blindly away from him to rid myself of the part I couldn't control.

And then, suddenly, I was in Araboth once more – returned to the Heavens as simply as walking through a door.

Amelia? called the darkness.

Something was wrong. Danielle had told me that much. With Adam and Raphael missing, there were very few suspects mulling around in my head.

One of them stood back on the bank.

Adam had survived. That much I could take solace in. Emil and the others had rescued us in time.

Amelia? it called again.

The abyss was calling for me, and it could take me if it wanted. I did not have the strength to withstand this bullshit another moment longer. By saying yes to Adam, I had said yes to everything I hadn't expected.

I was no longer frail. Weak. Dying.

I was angelic. Immortal. Undead. Call it what you would, but I couldn't die. I couldn't die, and it broke my heart.

I was alone and trapped in Hell. I had made a mistake by coming here. Thinking that this was the easier, less painful path proved to be my biggest mistake yet. We could have found a way for Adam and I to be together. Adam and I.

And now he was missing. Trapped. Tortured. Dead. So many things could have happened to him and Raphael both, and it was all my fault.

The sudden rushing of water passing over me dissolved my self-loathing as light flooded my vision.

"No, no, no, you silly girl!" Camael breathed frantically, waist-deep in water as he lifted me out of the lake and back onto the bank. "What were you thinking?"

The systematic pounding on my chest did little to reward his efforts as he struggled to resuscitate me. For the first time since all of this mess began, I wasn't afraid at the thought of dying. At least that way, I wouldn't have to worry anymore. At least that way, it'd be over.

No one could fight if I was out of the equation.

Regardless of what Adam believed, I wouldn't take orders from him or Camael if I was gone. If nothing else, at least I could enjoy the emptiness.

"Amelia, no." I could hear Camael say as some part of me recognized that he had turned me on my side the moment water rushed from my lungs.

Coughing overtook me as my instincts struggled to fight the foreign substance.

"Are you daft?" he said hysterically. "What was the point of drowning yourself when you can't die? Torture?"

"You seem . . . awfully concerned . . . for somebody that stabbed me," I muttered in ragged breaths.

His face contorted even more. "I don't want you harmed."

I sat up as the last of the water escaped my chest, his arm steadying me as I did. "Yeah well, sometimes you don't always get what you want."

I slapped his hands away as I shifted around onto my knees, flailing as I returned to my feet.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said, ignoring my attempt to not use him as a brace. "You could have gotten—"

"Hurt?" I brushed him off. "You need to get your story straight, Camael. Either I can get hurt, or I can't. Either you care, or you don't."

"I do care, Amelia." His back stiffened as he stood across from me. "That's the problem."

I couldn't believe this. "Caring?"

"Yes."

"Caring is a problem?"

"Yes." Times like these reminded me he was a soldier through and through. He stood with his hands behind his back, his posture rigid like a statue.

I sighed and stood with my own back to his. I was going to have to do this on my own. I couldn't just outright tell Camael that Adam had gone missing; I was going to have to find some other way to see what he knew about it.

"What made you like this?" I whispered softly enough that I doubted he'd even hear me, but out of the corner of my eye, I noticed his back tense.

"That's a story that would do little good to hear," he said. "I promise you that."

"Perhaps," I said, turning to face him. "Do you even know why you act the way you do?"

"I'm sure you're going to enlighten me." He stepped toward me, his gray eyes burning as he stared down defiantly at me.

"I woke up in Araboth."

"What?" The color drained from his face, leaving real, true terror in its wake. Why was Camael afraid? What was going on? "What happened? What did you see?" He seized me by the arms, shaking me as he spoke.

"What's going on, Camael?" My eyes widened, my tender skin bruising under his rough grip. "What aren't you telling me?"

"You could have been killed," he said coolly, completely ignoring my question.

"That's not why," I pitched back at him.

"I don't care," he snapped. "You need to listen to me, Amelia, whether you like it or not. You are under my ward, which means you listen to me. While that does grant you some privileges, you need to understand that any act of free will like this will be seen as disobedience—"

"Disob—!" Before I could even finish, he covered my mouth with his hand.

"Whether you mean it that way or not, that is how the Triad will see it."

"Why should I care what they think?" I snapped, yanking his hand off me. "It's your fault I'm even here in the first place. If you had never kidnapped Adam and me in the first place, none of this would've ever have happened. So if you want someone to blame, then blame yourself."

"Amelia," he growled quietly, latching back onto my arm. "You're not listening."

"Fuck listening, Camael." I twisted my arms out of his grip. "What have you done to them?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I won't let you get away with this."

"Amelia, what happened in Araboth?" he repeated calmly.

"Enough," I snarled back, but the moment I started to walk away from him, he was in my face in a flash. "You really need to learn personal boundaries."

His hands reached out to grab me, only this time I was ready. I'd beat him at his own game.

"What have you done with them?" I was so pissed that I didn't even care if I was wrong. I just wanted them to be okay.

I couldn't take any more blood on my hands, least of all Adam's. I had made my choices based on his welfare. It was the entire reason I was here. I couldn't survive this ordeal being all in vain. I'd find a way to kill myself first.

Ω

Time was a rather incongruous thing, like a ghost playing tricks in the night. Caught in its web, unable to evade its powerful grasp, I didn't rightly want to escape.

I had waited for this.

I had waited for so long.

"Please," I whispered, my breath hot in my throat as a dark warmth began to take over every part of me.

Camael stared down at me, his body rigid as he hesitated. Why was he hesitating? Permission? Didn't he know that I wanted him? Couldn't he tell?

He was already on top of me, his shirtless chest begging for my affections until I couldn't stand to look at him another second. It was choking me. This need. This desire to be utterly consumed by him.

"Please . . ." I begged. Yes, that was it. He wanted me to beg, wanted me to plead as I arched my hips up against him. "Please, Cam."

I reached up and slid my arms around his neck, pulling his mouth down to my bare shoulder where the lace strap had slipped off.

He took the hint and planted kisses lightly along my collarbone, moving the part of my babydoll that kept my breasts caged. Like a master painter using my body as his canvas, his mouth moved along the parts of my body that longed for his touch, leaving no piece of me unturned.

He lifted his hips off me, long enough to undo his pants and push the black hem of my gown and panties aside, before burying his lust deep inside of me. My body curled around him naturally, my legs wrapping around his as we moved against one another.

"I love you," I whispered, more like a cry than anything else, my eyes shut tight as we savored the moment together.

"Shh." He nuzzled my neck, his breath hot compared to the rest of the room. Everything was so cold here. "There will be time for that later."

I wasn't sure I understood his words, but luckily, I didn't have to think about it for long. Our bodies were becoming intimately acquainted, tugging and kneading at our souls until there was no choice but to submit to the tide rolling over us.

He was mine, and I was his.

Ω

The sudden shrill sound of someone screaming roused me from the first delightful sleep I'd gotten since getting here. Even before my training had begun, the shackles I had worn had permitted little comfort in the way of rest. Now with them off, I had the luxury of getting actual rest, or as much rest as could be expected given my circumstances.

At the point where a squad of grafter demons came bursting into my chamber ready to disembowel whatever was on the other side of my door, I realized that they thought I was the one screaming.

My suspicions were confirmed when the squad's captain assembled his men around me and saluted. "Lady Lilith, are you hurt?" The captain quickly noticed my lack of dress and diverted his gaze.

"What?" I blinked and looked down, clutching my robe shut.

Oh, Jesus H. Christ! I had been dreaming. And about Camael, the one who had brought me here in the first place. That son of a bitch had put those thoughts in my head like a goddamned rapist.

I would kill him.

Right here. Right now. No more waiting.

This would end now.

"You are dismissed," I stated.

"With all due respect," the captain said, "We are under Lord Camael's orders to guard your chamber against anyone entering or exiting."

I was in his face in less than a minute. "All excluding him, correct?"

He blinked. "Um . . ."

I couldn't take this bullshit. "Has anyone come through here? Did you see anyone leave?"

He dropped his head reverently. "No, Milady. No one has come in, or out, of your room since you went in hours ago."

Somehow his comment only pissed me off more. "And you think he doesn't have the ability to teleport in and out at will?" I screamed. "What the fuck is going on around here?"

I didn't even bother to let the demon answer; I simply barreled past him and down the cold, basaltic rock that encompassed the corridor bordering my room. The council room was at the end of the hall.

I was there in twenty seconds, my guards barely able to keep up. I didn't even bother to notify anyone before slamming the enormous doors open, letting them thud against the walls behind them. "How dare you?"

Camael stood bent over the council table, staring at a large map, with Mammon and Mephistopheles on either side of him as they discussed something.

"How dare you, you evil sonofabitch?" I boomed.

At that point, all three looked up.

"Deary, we're all evil." Mephis laughed. "You'll have to be more specific than that."

"What gives you the right to come into my mind, my thoughts, like that and do whatever you please? Was that your plan all along, you sack of shit? To work me from the inside? How fucking dare you?"

All three looked bewildered, but Camael seemed the most confused out of all of them. But he could play his game in front of them if he wanted.

Camael frowned. "Amelia, what in the Nine Hells are you talking about?"

"You bastard!" I screamed, not bothering to answer him as I made my way over to them and stood in his face. "I will kill you, Camael. I will kill you and return to Adam, and then all of this will be over."

He reached out to touch me. "Amelia, what's going on? I'm sorry. What did I do?"

I yanked away from him, shoving him in the chest. "Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me. I am not yours, and I will never be. Do that to me again, and Fallen Hosts or not, I will kill you with my bare hands."

Camael blinked rapidly, his voice caught in his throat. "Amelia, I—"

"Fuck you, Camael," I seethed. "Don't 'Amelia' me."

A hardened grimace replaced his frown. "Listen, Amelia. I don't know what I did, or what you think I did, but can this please wait until later?"

My scowl said no.

Mephis beamed at us as he inched his way over, slowly and deliberately like the Cheshire cat. "From the state of our fair lady's undress, I'd wager she's been dreaming about you."

Camael's eyes widened. "Is this true?"

"Forget it," I snapped. I turned around to leave but found my arm latched onto by Camael, his steel gaze trying to unlock the secrets within mine.

"I want you to tell me the truth, Amelia, please," he said beneath his breath.

"You should already know." I wrenched his hand off me. "You did it. Goodbye, Camael."

Ω

I took a deep, heavy sigh, one that should have eased the weight on my chest but failed. I felt dirty, contaminated, violated. Could I have dreamt it all on my own? Somewhere deep inside of me, I wanted him? I looked around as I sat at the corner of my bed, my hands clutching at the duvet. And if I did, what did that mean for Adam and me?

I had to get that out of my head; there was no Adam and me.

I, myself, had seen to that, but it was better this way. At least now, he was out of harm's way. Every free second didn't have to be spent worrying about what Camael, or the remaining Seraphim, would do to him. Emil and the others had saved him. They would see no harm befall him.

When I had taken Camael's hand, I had seen to the end of my relationship with Adam. But how could Adam expect me to trust him when he had commanded me so? Did he really think that I would go with him willingly? Hadn't he known it would come to this when the truth finally came out?

I screamed and buried my head in my hands. God, why?

I shot up as if lightning had struck my spine. Was there even a God?

I had seen just about one of everything but no God. I was immortal and still hadn't met the man. Had he forgotten about me, much like the rest of his abandoned flock? An increasing emptiness never left my side.

I had been abandoned and left to my own fate, but had I really expected anything less?

If God really was out there, I hoped he had a plan because, if I really was on my own, I was slipping farther and farther into the darkness with no end or hope in sight.

### CHAPTER THIRTY

"Now in order to successfully block a psychic attack—D'Angeline, are you paying attention?" Na'amah's syrupy voice oozed with disdain.

I blinked. "What?"

"Obviously not," the blonde-haired demon huffed in her usual manner. "Listen, I'm not doing this for my benefit. I already know how to shield against psychometry."

"Sorry, Na'amah." I forced an apologetic smile in her direction. "I was just thinking about something."

For a second, she didn't know whether to be aggravated or not, her own face locked in pursed silence.

"It's fine, really." I nodded and stepped back into the purified circle separating us from one another. Those assisting me did not hesitate to ask for the extra protection. While Mammon couldn't have cared less, Na'amah was far too paranoid not to. I was certain they all thought I would burst them into flames or something.

And I couldn't help but wonder if I could.

"Alright," she growled. "Let's try this again. Shielding is one third physical, one third mental, and the rest ethereal. Your mental state controls your magic, which in turn controls the physical plane. A strong enough shield will not only deter any telepathy, residual psychometry, or vampirism, but will also knock someone on their ass if done right.

"I should be able to determine your, how should I say this," she said as she came to stand across from me, the glowing perimeter separating us, "Your power level by reading your abilities whether it be intentional or not. Those intentionally reading you are either looking for a fight, or are strategizing about one. Those unintentionally doing so, like say passerbys in the human world, in Assiyah - they call it a vibe, I think, yes? That feeling, though not physical, can be used to repel anyone.

"Truthfully, some people find offensive magic easier to learn once they've mastered defense since magic is all about concentration and control."

A slight burning in my hands, like a tingling, had grown stronger in the past five months. The feeling waxed and waned by the hour, and I had no idea what it meant. Was this the 'control' she was talking about? My natural skepticism made me doubt it.

Before I could think any more on it, a carrier demon burst through the stone chamber doors, its movement off-balance and cumbersome as its half-corporeal form lumbered into the room. "Lady Na'amah, Lady Lilith, the Hostsss have convened in the main conference hall and ssseek your presence. Lord Camael ordered me to essscort you," its staccato voice hissed.

Na'amah sighed slightly; Queens of the Underworld and we were still at Camael's beck and call. "What is it this time, Rami?"

It blinked, obviously not used to such opposition. "I do not know. I was only sssent to retrieve you."

I stared at it, still unaccustomed to such sights. Like a cross between a ghost and a temporal ball of shifting clay, it reminded me of a lava lamp. It oozed and dragged itself, its form amorphous one moment and solid the next.

We followed the slow moving goo to the council room where it quickly begged leave of the Hosts, leaving us to fend for ourselves.

"So nice to know you two ladies could make it to our little affair," Camael said without even looking up, his attention focused solely on the charts in front of him on the table.

He was angry with me still. The question was did I care?

Na'amah clicked her tongue. "We were working on something ourselves, Camael. Don't push it."

"Yeah, like your vanity, I hope?" the Viking along the side wall muttered.

I kept forgetting the Archdemon's name, the one who had accompanied Ba'al at our first meeting. Astaroth. That was it. As good as I was with names, his seemed to slip past me the easiest. In my already stressed mind, extraneous information was a nuisance to be dumped like garbage. He was an Archdemon, and yet I forgot him easily. I liked to assume that meant that I had grown accustomed to these murderers, but I feared that, even with all this training, my mind was dulling like the smooth contours of a butter-knife.

I had to stay sharp if I was going to survive. It was all just business; I couldn't count on any of them to actually keep me alive.

Camael said nothing else as Na'amah and I took our seats, with me choosing the farthest spot possible from him.

The two of us hadn't spoken since the confrontation about my dream. I mean, what was I supposed to say? "Oh, sorry, I'm repulsed by the fact that I want you," as if lusting after the leader of Hell were completely normal.

My eyes inched upwards to make sure he wasn't listening since I knew he was so good at doing so. Although he made no outward sign of it, I should have knew better than to think that I was any bit skilled enough to keep him out of my head.

Instead, he turned from the scattered documents to focus on those gathered here at the meeting. Many things had changed since my arrival here in Gehenna and our journey into Sheol to meet with the Fallen Hosts.

These Archdemons, these divisional leaders of Hell, I no longer feared them as I once had. I was no longer doe-eyed and naive. They were just men and women, each doing his or her own job within the Realm. My time here had taught me that.

Even so, war was still war. Something that I was about to learn quickly.

"Thank you for all coming on such short notice," Mephistopheles started by saying. "Camael and I have been going over the last set of intel received from our field operations and felt it was time to make you all aware of our findings." He walked around the stone semi-circle and stood in the center next to Camael.

Camael's brow burned with sweat, a deep line drawn into his forehead from the burdens he carried. Looking up from the stacks of paperwork, he noticed me for the first time. His face was as difficult to read as ever. I could have been anyone sitting there; it didn't matter that it was me. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad one. He just looked past me to Na'amah for a moment, his eyes focusing on her face for a moment before moving on.

Moving on was exactly right. Good. Let the two of them be together. My hands balled at my sides. I was going to have to do this on my own.

With nine Hosts in the room, I needed to shield against every single one of them. I couldn't let them see how weak I had become. I quietly steadied my breathing as Mephistopheles projected a holograph on the wall of the Seven Heavens. I tuned him out and concentrated solely on shielding against everyone and everything.

Na'amah had told me on more than one occasion that visualizing my desires would end up in a stronger, more tightly controlled shield. I imagined a cylindrical set of rings descending around me, one at a time, each one clinking loudly against the next until I was completely covered.

Exhaling slowly, I drew the shield back into my body, letting it rush through my veins and coat me like a second skin until I felt it pulse off me like an aura. I was sweating now, the perspiration coating me as thoroughly as the shield did.

Why are you avoiding me, Amelia? The words pierced my mind before I had the chance to blink.

This time when I looked up, Camael was staring straight at me. I started to open my mouth, but he shook his head slowly and tapped his forehead instead. In here, Amelia. I need to see what you've learned.

I frowned. So my shielding did nothing then?

Au contrair. It did quite a bit of good. See? I followed his line of sight to find everyone else in the room lost in a conversation that was so dulled out it sounded like white noise.

What is this? Alarm flooded through me, the room suddenly growing louder as it did.

Steady now. Breathe and stay calm. Concentrate.

I inhaled again, drawing a sharp rush of air into my lungs until the room once again disappeared into the background.

Good. Now why are you avoiding me? He sat down into the seat beside Mammon and nodded along absentmindedly.

What are you doing?

Playing along.

Isn't that a bit disingenuous?

He looked back up at me, his features scrunched with irritation. I am their leader. They know that I have more than just one thing weighing on my shoulders. If it was important enough, Mephis would alert me.

He can hear us? My eyes darted to the tall, lanky brunet whose wardrobe never ceased to amaze me. Everytime I saw him he looked like he had raided somebody's closet in Victorian England. The thought that it was probably his own suddenly dawned on me.

Camael was muffling a grin.

My eyes widened. Can you hear everything I'm thinking?

Like this?

I nodded.

Yes, he answered. You never answered my question. Now tell me why are you avoiding me? What did I do that has you so cross?

Why do you keep acting like you didn't kidnap me? Or that you didn't stab me? If that somehow falls under your definition of protection, I think your thoughts are a little skewed.

He scowled at me. Why do you keep thinking you see the whole picture?

Please, I scoffed. Don't think for an instant that I believe you did this out of the kindness of your heart.

I did.

"Bullshit." I jumped from my seat, my hands slapping the table.

Everyone in the room suddenly looked at me, including Mephis who turned around with his eyebrow cocked in amusement. "No, no, Lady Lilith. I assure you the bulwarks in Machon are made from moonstone-fused alabaster."

"What?" I blinked and felt my face turn bright red.

"This meeting is adjourned," Camael suddenly boomed. "Everyone's dismissed except Mephis, Mammon, and Lilith. You three, stay."

The four of us waited as the rest of the Hosts shuffled out of the room. Na'amah shot me a knowing look as she walked arm in arm with another Archdemon I had seen only once. Lucifuge Rofocale. Rolf, she had called him. From what I understood, he was one of Camael's generals on the field, one of the Four Horsemen.

As soon as the four of us were alone, Camael came around the semi-circle to stand between Mammon and Mephis as the three men stared intently at me.

"I needed to get you alone with the three of us," Camael said simply.

"Why?" My eyes darted nervously between them while Mephistopheles beamed like the Cheshire cat.

"This way." Camael motioned for me to follow him as he took off around the back of the table to a second meeting room.

Here everyone had white wings instead of black. From the looks of it, there were more than a hundred, assembled neatly in rows upon rows that circumscribed a smaller group of angels at the base of their meeting area. A massive space, it reminded me of something a gladiator would fight in back in the day, an arena.

Of the small group, one of them stood at a podium in the center, addressing the crowd before him. I had never seen this angel before, but amid the handful on either side of him, I could make out Raphael's distinct complexion and bright red hair.

I nearly ran to him only to be stayed by some invisible force, the image before me rippling like water.

"What is this?" I choked. "This isn't real?"

"Oh, it is," Mephis said as he came closer and brushed his fingertips over the image, only making it stir more like ripples in a lake.

"Can they see us?" I looked at Camael before looking back down into the arena, my eyes instinctively searching for Adam though I didn't expect to find him.

"No." Camael shook his head and pointed to the man on the podium. "This man here, he is known as Enoch."

That name sounded familiar, as if I had heard it before; and then it dawned on me. "Like from the Bible Enoch?"

He pointed at me with a nod. "Yes, that Enoch. He is their leader as I am ours. He commands over the Seven. This moment here has already transpired. It happened days ago, possibly weeks. You see this man right over here?"

This time he pointed at someone with their back turned to face the tribunal of angels.

Someone who hadn't been there a moment ago.

Someone with black wings.

It was Adam.

"This was part of the intel our men brought back, Amelia," Camael said gently. "He's put a bounty on your head. Dead, not alive, Amelia. They're going to exterminate every last one of us."

Danielle was wrong. Adam was behind all of this.

### CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

I just couldn't do it anymore.

The tears couldn't stop my knees from buckling beneath me, like some gaping chasm had been ripped open inside of me, threatening to drown me in my sorrow. Somewhere between all the wailing, I felt myself scooped up, only to find Camael carrying me in his arms.

I no longer had the energy to fight him, nor anyone else for that matter. I didn't care what he was going to do to me; I was already dead inside.

God had abandoned me; he had abandoned all of us.

"Why is this happening?" I searched his steel-gray eyes and found them looking at me with the same emotion as when I'd confronted him about the dream.

His jaw tightened. "Everything will be okay, I promise."

Much to my dismay, I leaned into his shoulder as he carried me and wept into his black tunic. More alarming was the fact that he actually let me.

I cried and cried until everything went black, and I knew no more.

Ω

I woke up to find myself in a bed much different from my own, with a plush burgundy and gold comforter pulled all the way to my chest and Camael asleep in a nearby recliner. A small bedside table with a miniature chandelier lamp illuminated the otherwise dark room.

I didn't remember even coming in here, and yet Camael had been here long enough to fall asleep with a book in hand. Whatever it was, it was so tattered and worn that I was surprised the stitching was still intact. My curiosity got the better of me, and I reached out to lift the front so I could see the title.

Faust.

Oh, wasn't that cute.

Camael stirred slightly and opened his eyes to find me leaning toward him. "Hi," he said groggily, stretching in the recliner as he set the book down on the edge of the table.

"Faust?" I couldn't keep the disbelief out of my voice.

He leaned back, tugging on his arms as he yawned. "You don't like classic German literature?"

Was this guy serious? "I like it as much as the next person, but I wasn't asking for myself. Why are you reading it?"

He ran a hand over the torn cover. "It has personal significance for me."

"Mephis, is he—"

"One and the same."

I leaned back into the mound of pillows behind my back. "So it's true, then?"

He crossed his leg and mimicked my relaxed posture. "In a fashion, yes."

I stared down at the comforter over my legs, tugging on the plush material as I sat there in silence. This was the second time I had woken up to find a man beside my bed with me incapacitated beforehand. It was like a bad date night. I didn't know what to do.

Here I was, a normal girl lost on the road of life, only to find myself dragged into a war that I was told I had caused. I didn't know what was real and what was fake anymore. I had no business being here, there, or anywhere else in this madhouse. I just wanted to go home and forget any of this had ever happened.

"You can't do that," Camael whispered, breaking the silence.

"What?" I looked up to find those steel eyes centered on me.

"Amelia, what's going on is not your fault. You need to understand that." He got up from his seat and moved over to the bed, sitting down between the nightstand and me.

"There's a lot of things I don't understand," I told him. "What is really going on? If you're not evil, then why are you trying to overthrow Araboth?"

He pursed his lips for a moment. "Because they took something very important from me a long time ago. The Spheres have been corrupted for a long time. It's no longer about God's will; now it's about something else entirely."

"And what would that be?"

He shrugged uncertainly. "Preserving our way of life, I suppose. Doing the right thing matters less. Belief is a powerful thing for everyone from the Fabled Seven to the guy at the jiffy mart.

"At first, the Realms were like a well-oiled machine. Each member did his or her part for the good of the whole: seven realms in Heaven, and seven of us to watch over them. It worked for millennia, and then something changed. Things weren't the same after that."

"What changed?"

The look on his face told me this wasn't a favorite subject of his. "The Fall from Paradise."

I scratched my head. "You were around for that?"

"Of course." He rubbed the inner portion of his eye and yawned. "So were you, as was Adam. We don't die, Amelia. That's why Hell exists. The soul's immortal. Hell's one giant prison to keep everyone in line.

"It's not as pretty as everyone would like, and we're not here to rehabilitate these souls into society, Celestial or Assiyaian. Many of these people lost their souls while alive. That's how a demon is born. They do something so reprehensible that there is no coming back from it."

"And you?"

"What about me?" he asked.

"So that's it then?" I said. "You're going to start a war with Araboth?"

He sighed.

"Why won't you just tell me what's going on?" I grabbed his shoulder, forcing the leader of the demons to face me.

"I can't," he whispered suddenly. "I want to, but I can't."

"You mean you won't." I let go of him and threw my head back into the pillows. "I thought I proved that you could trust me."

"Trust," he snorted. "As interesting of a concept as that is, it has nothing to do with it."

"Okay." He made no sense. "Then what is it?"

"I've already said." I just can't.

That's not good enough, Camael. I can't help if you don't let me, I said, reaching for his hand before I could help myself.

Our eyes locked until he quickly looked away. I should never have baited you into coming here.

"Why do you say that?" I asked. I shifted back in the covers so that my feet were underneath me as I sat beside him on the bed. "Why did you train me if you weren't going to ever need me?"

"I have need of you," he replied, staring absentmindedly around the room. "I just don't think that throwing you into the line of fire is the best way to showcase your abilities."

"Okay," I mumbled, "and what abilities are those?"

"You're the only one who can teleport without an anchor."

"Teleport?" I wanted to make sure I was hearing him right.

You heard me. Teleportation, and without an anchor. There are more reasons for the First Sphere wanting you dead than you realize. You're a threat to them, and with them, all of Heaven.

Why me? Why not someone else? Does Adam have these abilities?

He shrugged. I can't attest to what he is or is not able to do, nor do I care to.

Why do you hate him so much?

He stared off into the darkness where the lamp failed to reach.

Camael?

He's not who you think he is, Amelia.

And who is that? . . . Camael? . . . Camael!

But he would not answer me. Instead, his eyes locked on mine, with silence our only companion. Each time I caught him staring at me, I felt my insides tug as if I were being pulled by a cord. But I didn't know what to do, how to react. I was irresistibly drawn to him. He was so damaged, so closed off, a luxury I had never known personally.

But most importantly, I could not read his thoughts. His body language revealed nothing. His face, nothing. I was on my own, lost in a sea of thoughts with no help from him.

Something terrible must have happened to make him leave Heaven, but he wouldn't tell me, wouldn't help me understand. His immense dislike of Adam made it irrefutable that Adam was somehow involved, but I hadn't been there. I didn't know what had happened to cause this rift; I only knew the outcome.

"I want to ask you something, Amelia," he said gently. "And I would very much like to get a truthful answer."

"Truth begets truth, Camael," I said without hesitation. "You tell me what's really going on, and maybe I'll consider it."

"When Mephis stated that you were dreaming about me, you didn't deny it. Why?" he asked, picking the book back up once more only to fiddle with it absentmindedly. "Was he right?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Because it just does." He frowned. "I wouldn't tell you that unless it was true."

"But you won't tell me why it's important," I said.

"No." He shook his head. "Not yet, but I will. I promise. That's the best I can say at this point. Do you accept?"

I thought about it for a moment. What did it matter anyway? Sooner or later, he'd find out about me, and sooner or later, I would find out what was going on. Sharing the information now was just a means to an end. "Yes."

I watched the color drain from his face. "Yes?" he repeated.

I slid off the bed and began pacing the darkened room. "Whose room is this?"

"Mine, and you're changing the topic, Amelia."

"This is your room?"

"Yes," he growled softly, setting down the book, "It is. Why?"

"It's so small."

He nearly choked. "I'm sorry?"

"Your room. It's so small compared to what I expected."

"And just what were you expecting?" He stood up and stopped me in my tracks, holding his hands out on either side of me, steering me like a loose sheep.

"I don't know," I said as I tried to dodge around him. "Something grand. Something befitting your title. Something more than this."

He laughed and mirrored my movements. "Just because I'm the leader of Gehenna doesn't mean that I have to live lavishly. It's just me, and I'm content."

I stared at the dark oak paneling on the walls and the thick homespun rug at our feet. The rug's pattern matched the embroidery on the comforter. I had been lying in his bed without knowing it. His bed. Oh geez.

I could feel my face flush. "I mean, my chambers are larger than yours."

"I know," he answered. "It's because they were supposed to be mine when I got here, but I decided on this room instead. So the other room became yours."

"Cam?"

He froze instantly, his face losing all color. The instant temperature drop made me wonder if I had said something wrong. Maybe he wasn't used to anyone calling him that.

"Sorry." I blushed and started to back up.

He suddenly reached out and grabbed me before I could, his grip strong on my upper arms, trapping me directly in front of him. "Don't be."

My heart leapt in my throat; my mind raced to catch up. I stood frozen, eyes wide, as he held onto me.

His eyes were as still as night as he returned my gaze. "You never answered my question."

Oxygen rushed back into my lungs. "What question?" I whispered a little sharper than I intended. Though I could never read his thoughts, I knew his mind was racing with things unsaid, his shielding too strong for any real answers.

"Amelia." He frowned at me.

"Camael." I mocked.

His hands were warm and distracting. His grip tightened a little further, forcing me to look up at him. "You never answered my question," he repeated, each word more deliberate this time.

"I know," I whispered, my eyes suddenly welling up though I had no idea why.

"Please," he begged suddenly, sounding far more innocent than his appearance belied. "I need to know."

"Why, Camael?"

"I just do," he answered, this time shaking me. "Please, Amelia."

I sighed. What more did I have to lose? I was already trapped in Hell. "I dreamt about us."

"Us?" he repeated, making it sound like it was something inconceivable.

"Together."

"I see." He let go of me so sharply that I almost lost my balance.

"You see?"

"I'm sending you home," he said and scooped up the book on his bed.

"What?" I choked.

He turned toward the door, his posture rigid as I struggled to get in his way this time. "You have no business here, Amelia. I'm sorry for keeping you here so long. I thought it was the only way, but I was wrong. I'm sorry, and I'm sending you home because of it."

"Wait, Cam," I said before I could help myself and noticed the corner of his lip twitched. "So that's it?"

"Yes." He reached for the door handle, pulling the large oak door open. "I was an idiot to bring you here."

"I don't understand."

"I know, and it's better that way." He frowned one last time before closing the door behind him.

### CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Until now, Camael had summoned me rather commonly. Now I was lucky if we saw each other once a week. He was purposefully avoiding me.

Decisive calculations, said Na'amah. He has put up a wall, something he is best at.

What period they had spent together remained vague, as neither wanted to rehash what had transpired. However, he had been damaged long before she had gotten to him.

Perhaps it had something to do with the vendetta he'd now embarked on.

While he was a man of few words, everyone's accusatory glances since my collapse from his graces only furthered my hypothesis. While everyone was too busy wondering what I had done to make him clam up even more, I still had to figure out whether his newfound silence had something to do with Adam's disappearance. Even after all the time we had spent together, he had told me little.

He kept telling me to trust him. Well, trust only went so far.

Adam isn't the man you think he is. Camael's words echoed in my mind.

He kept goading me along, biding his time, but he refused to tell me his purpose. I could never really trust someone who kept so many important secrets, and the uneasiness in my stomach made me doubt him even more.

My things had been packed for hours, just sitting on the edge of my bed, before Rami finally slithered into my chambers.

"Lord Camael hasss sssummoned you," he hissed, cowering though I never had understood why. I had never seen anyone other than Na'amah lash out at him, and even then, it wasn't enough to make him fear any of us.

Hell, I didn't know if I even wanted to go home, but Camael wasn't giving me a choice. He kept repeating that it was for my own good. I didn't know what was going to happen when I went home or even if there was even still a home to return to.

He had brought me here under his protection and now he was just tossing me aside.

A fool to the bitter end, I followed Rami down into the lower quarters in Gehenna, each new hallway rougher and cruder than the last. We were approaching the wildlands at Gehenna's borders, where all of the craftsmanship had been stripped away and everything reverted to empty, crude tunnels of stone.

Much like it had been with Adam, I wouldn't have known that Camael was standing there unless he spoke. With his wings sable and smooth, he could have been a part of the stone, blending in almost like camouflage.

Rami left as quickly as he had come, leaving us alone in the darkened corridor. It was dark enough that I couldn't even see the gray eyes peering back at me.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming," he said, not even bothering to look in my direction.

"For a moment there, I wasn't sure myself." My footsteps echoed in the stark silence as I walked toward him.

"I wanted to talk to you before you left for Assiyah." He held his hand out for me.

I stood there, my hands wrapped around my waist as I simply waited for something, anything, to tell me that this wasn't the most insane thing I had done. Instead of reaching for his hand, I slid my arms around his waist and laid my head against his chest, hearing him gasp in the process.

"Amelia, I—" he inhaled sharply.

"Don't, Cam," I said. "Don't try and rationalize something for once. Please."

The bewilderment on his face proved that he wasn't used to taking orders, not even from me, but more importantly, he wasn't used to such tenderness. His entire body froze into the steel he personified.

I was thankful for my lessons with Na'amah so that I could maintain my own psyche without my thoughts overlapping onto his. I was free to think and act accordingly.

"No," he cried softly and pushed me off him, turning around so he didn't have to face me.

"Why?" I took a step forward, my hands latching onto his gray shirt.

"I'm a monster, Amelia. The things I've done, the things I've seen, the things I've done to you." he gasped as he leaned against the wall, his forehead pressed against the cold stone. "You'd never forgive me if you knew the truth."

My mouth fell open; I wasn't sure what to say. This angel, my kidnapper, sought absolution through my forgiveness.

He turned around, his gray eyes blazing with a longing I could not deny. "I don't know why it pains me so much, but everything's so much clearer when you're around. I can't do this without you," he whispered, and I knew how hard it was for him to get this out.

I simply stood there and listened. What more could I do? He was telling the truth.

He turned sideways and slid down the wall, his back pressed against the cold stone. His eyes were dark like a blackened sky in the depths of winter. "I know there's some things I haven't told you, but . . ."

"But what, Cam?

"As much as it pains me to keep you here, I want to ask that you stay a little longer yet."

"Then do." I pulled my shawl around me tighter, and before Camael could protest, I slid back against the wall myself and sat down beside him.

"No," he said bitterly, his eyes moist.

"Why?" I gawked at him. "Do you really think I hate you? Because I don't."

"I think you should," he said, not even bothering to look up at me. "And I think, given enough time, you will."

I threw my hands in the air. "I don't know what I'm supposed to make of what you're telling me, Camael."

He frowned. "I don't . . . Never mind. Forget it. Forget I said anything." He stalked out of the corridor, his black wings filling the narrow chamber in which we stood. "Goodbye, Amelia. Na'amah will see to your safe return."

### PART THREE - AMELIA

### CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

At first, being back wasn't so bad. I kept my mind busy, my hands tied up in different projects. I showed up to my job and salvaged the opportunity Mary had given me.

I also had to explain over a lengthy meal with Mrs. Henry about where I had been the past few months. Although she doubted my excuse, she seemed far more concerned with the weight I had lost.

"A wisp of an angel," she had called me. "Eat, lest Death come take you away."

How sad that she was right.

Eating didn't come naturally to the other realms. It was nothing more than a means to an end, really. When you were immortal, eating didn't register as it did when you were human. I had more important things to worry about than food.

I slipped out of the rental and pulled the door closed, looking up long enough to notice that Mrs. Henry had added a door chime. I pushed my arms through the sleeves of my black hoodie and burrowed my hands into the pockets.

One of the first purchases I had made upon arriving back to Assiyah was an mp3 player. I went into the closest electronics store and asked the kid behind the counter for the cheapest one. Five minutes later, I was out the door with some Korean piece of junk, but it got the job done. I had been out of the loop for so long that I had purchased whatever music caught my eye.

I'd have done anything to drown out the noise in my head. I had never been a drinker, but God now I wish I were.

How easy it all seemed now, looking back.

Night had already settled into Middleton by the time I headed downtown. Like most coastal towns, downtown encompassed several narrow, brick streets filled with shops and piers swallowed by fishing boats. It was easy enough to navigate and hard to get lost in.

Across from the small Italian ristorante sat a comfortable looking bench with my name on it, figuratively not literally this time, and I didn't know whether to feel relieved or not.

I wanted all of this to be a distant nightmare, but I knew better than to hold onto such blind optimism. Now I just wanted to disappear.

The good news, I didn't have anything to retract from, only myself. And that was enough.

I felt marked, as if something had crawled under my skin and died. There was a constant itching that made me just want to tear into my flesh.

I wanted him. There, I said it.

I wanted him to want me the way I wanted him. Like each tingle, each twitch, each second without him ripped the oxygen from my lungs and arteries. Like my soul was being sucked out and the only way to stop it was being near him.

This was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I didn't know what love felt like, but I knew it wasn't my imagination. A hollow feeling sat at the pit of my stomach, and I leaned between my legs to squall it.

"New girl?" a familiar male voice called out in my direction.

It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. Across the street, with his arms casually slung over two young women, stood Matt.

"It is you!" he crowed, leaving the women chaperone-less as he juked around a passing bicyclist.

I waited for him to cross. "Matt, right?"

"You remembered." His blue eyes beamed. "I feel so special."

I nodded to the blonde and brunette laughing across the way. "So apparently do the two honeys over there."

"What?" He turned around. "Oh, they're just friends. Dude, where were you? Everyone thought you were dead. Like some psycho ex-boyfriend came and kidnapped you or something."

I snorted before I could stop myself, causing Matt's eyes to widen.

"Whoa, they're not right, are they?"

My irritation couldn't curtail itself. "Listen, Matt. You seem like an alright guy, so I''m going to give you a piece of advice for your own safety. I want you to forget you ever saw me tonight and just go about the rest of your evening as if nothing ever happened."

His eyes only widened more. "You're a spy?" he whispered sharply.

"What?" Some guys . . . "No, Matt. I'm not a spy. I'm nobody. Nothing."

He dropped onto the bench uninvited. "Erin—"

"Emily."

"Emily," he repeated, not even fazed by his mistake. "Everyone is someone whether they realize it or not. Sometimes it just takes longer to realize it."

My stomach clinched. He couldn't possibly know, could he? And if he did, whose side was he on? He was too nice to be from Hell. If he were from Heaven, then he'd know the price on my head.

I stood up slowly from the bench, so not to look anymore paranoid or deranged than I already was. "Matt, thanks for the advice, but I've got to run."

Before another second was wasted, I struck a path. It was stupid to have returned, a mistake, but I was a fast learner. I would be gone in less than an hour, somewhere off the grid where no one could ever find me.

"Amelia," Matt called out when I had reached the intersection between Kirsic and Lane.

"Yeah?" I turned to find his face full of concern, a frown etched into his skin like carved stone.

"It's not who we are that defines us but what we do," he said gently, his blue eyes piercing through me like a knife. "I just want you to know that if you feel like hanging around, we'll be at Del Mare's catching a bite." He pointed across the street through the pocket of his denim jacket.

I frowned. "Thanks, but . . ."

Matt smiled. "I''m not bending your arm, Amelia. I have no intention of making you do something you don't want to. I just thought it might be nice to have a full stomach before you try taking off again."

That pain in my insides came back. I suddenly had one hand on the dagger at my hip, ready to draw it if he made one more wrong move. "Who are you?" I demanded.

He opened his jacket wide. No weapons. "You already know who I am, Amelia."

"No, I don't know who you are," I hissed, "otherwise I would not be asking." I steadied myself into a comfortable stance for both throwing and out-maneuvering as I pulled out the dagger with my hand backward on the hilt. It was easy enough to flip it around the other way, a trick Mammon had shown me when he had given me the blade. After a little bit of practice, it felt like my companion for years. "That's three times you've used my name when five minutes ago you couldn't even remember it," I said, ready if he tried to attack.

If Araboth wanted me dead, they were going to have to do better than Matt.

"Come have a bite," he said, already walking back toward the restaurant.

I stood there, unmoving, waiting for the sands of time it seemed.

"Listen, Amelia." He looked back at me one final time before reaching for the stained glass door. "God helps those who help themselves, right?"

My dumbfounded look said all I needed to say. My ever-increasing dislike of this plane only increased as I stood there in the middle of the cobblestone walk.

At least in Hell you knew where everyone stood. Here, I just had to wait for the roll of the dice and hope I got lucky. Unfortunately for me, luck had never been my thing, so I leaned back and screamed at Heaven with everything I had instead. 

###  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

By about the fourth string of obscenities, people began filing out of the restaurant and nearby stores that were still open this late. By about the seventh, I had ripped off my hoodie and thrown it to the ground. My shrill, one-sided psychosis echoed from every point on the boardwalk.

I was done.

Done.

I didn't care who it was, or what they were: angel, demon, good, bad, god, or devil. I was fucking done.

If the Seraphim wanted me so badly, they could take me right here, right now. I was finished paying for something I had never done. I didn't know what had happened to make Camael leave the Seraphim, but I was beginning to see it didn't matter. Apparently, Araboth shot first and asked questions second. But when you had millennia to clean up your mess, their sense of damage control was completely lacking.

How could Raphael let this happen? I thought he was a good guy. How did angels even kill others of their kind? I had already seen what torture looked like, and I could say that I most certainly wanted to avoid it a second time.

I felt broken. How much more before there was nothing left to me?

Without warning, the wind was suddenly knocked from my chest, and I realized Matt's body collided with mine. My kicking and screaming meant little as he scooped me up one-handed and flung me over his shoulder, apologizing to the passersby for the disruption.

His politeness served as his folly when I reached back for my dagger with the intention of stabbing him in the shoulder.

"If you're looking for your knife, it's not there." He nodded at the women accompanying him to open the door.

We had made it through the door when the patron of the restaurant noticed me beating and clawing at Matt's back. "Any trouble tonight, Mateo, and I'm going to have to ask you to take it elsewhere."

"Capisco, Signore Salvatore. No trouble." He nodded to the blonde who slid a chair over to the middle of the room, dropping me into the seat as he pinned my wrists to the frame. "Amelia, I need you to listen. It's important. I'm not going to hurt you, but if you insist on struggling or start to run, I will tie you up. Do you understand?"

I ran my tongue over my lower lip, contemplating how far I'd get if I made a run for it.

"Not very." He scowled at me. "I'm not playing around so it would be nice if you'd have some respect and faith in people once in a while. Now listen, Ame—"

He didn't even have time to finish his thought; my forehead found his nose, slammed in a desperate attempt to kill him. Instead, I burst something inside his septum, causing him to scream his own set of obscenities.

The blood pooling from his nostrils gave me the time I needed to juke around him and back toward the door where the brunette waited. I didn't even have a chance to fight her; I was being dragged backward by my new ponytail.

It didn't matter though; I had a fireball waiting for him by the time we were inches apart. I slammed the swirling orb straight into his solar plexus, knocking him back to the end of the bar area.

"Goddammit, Amelia!" he said, digging himself out of a line of chairs and stools that had been knocked over in his wake. "You're so damn lost that you can't tell a friend from an enemy."

"Good," I snapped.

"You know this isn't the way this was supposed to work." This time he kept his distance, his hands raised as if there were a gun at his back.

"Now answer me, or I'll hit you again. Who are you?" I demanded, drawing another orb into the center of my palm, strengthening it as Mammon had taught me. With the sphere shifting from red-orange to orange-yellow, it wouldn't be long until it reached white, and anything it touched at that temperature would disintegrate as if it had never existed in the first place.

"Since apparently you're too stubborn to get this any other way." Matt suddenly started to unbutton his Oxford.

"Wh—what are you doing?" I stuttered. If that's what a friend was, he was awfully presumptuous.

"Making you believe that I won't hurt you." He was already at the third button.

"No more games, Mateo," I barked. "Tell me what this is about, and leave your clothes on to do it."

"Okay, okay. Jeez, you're no fun." He sighed and dropped his hands to his side. "I knew you were gonna be a pain in the ass, but this is ridiculous."

"Wait, what?"

Laughing at the sour look I gave him, he pulled Oxford over his head and threw the blue pinstripe to the ground at his feet. The white wife-beater clung to his narrow frame, revealing his lean upper-body. He turned around slowly, leaving me to stare at his backside and see his wings unveil for myself. Neither black nor white, his wings were like the plumes of a hawk, all brown and cream, with specks of black and red thrown in.

"That proves nothing other than that you're an immortal." I stepped back, switching my lead foot so I didn't have to lower my guard. "Everyone has wings. It doesn't mean I can trust you."

"True, but that's not the point." He brushed his hair back, rubbing his face with his hands. "I wasn't sent here to hurt you, Amelia. I was sent here to help. So just stop while you've got the ability to do so."

"Listen, whoever you are," I said. "I don't need help. So unless you're here to kill me, leave me in peace. I've had enough supernatural bullshit to last a lifetime and then some."

Matt simply stared at me.

"I suggest you move before I move you myself," I finally told the brunette, brushing my bangs from my eyes. It was hard to be intimidating when you couldn't see.

The girl grinned widely. "You've got balls saying that to someone you don't even know."

"Living in Hell for six months does that to a person. Now move," I told her. "I won't tell you again."

"We're Grigori, Amelia," Matt said.

"I'm sorry, what?" I turned to face the hawk-winged angel.

He scooped up his shirt from the ground and started to approach me. "That's what I've been trying to tell you."

The brunette didn't add her two cents. He must have been telling the truth.

"Like a Nephilim?"

He stood just out of my reach and retracted his wings, buttoning his shirt as he did. "Adam didn't explain much to you, did he?"

I snorted against my will. "Much is an understatement. More like a crash course. One minute he's an angel, the next we're being tortured in Hell."

He smiled and nodded, taking my hoodie from the blonde and handing it to me. "I know. I've heard all about your heroics. Now, come have a bite, and I'll tell you whatever you wanna know."

I froze and stared at the hoodie as if it were a snake waiting to strike.

"It's just a jacket, Amelia," he said, "and some really good Italian food. I'm not asking you to marry me."

My eyes widened at his brazen mouth. "I—"

He laughed at me again and sat down at the closest table, the traditional red-and-white checkerboard tablecloth staring boldly at us. Nodding to the freckle-faced waiter on standby, Matt soon had our table overflowing with enough antipasti and rolls to feed an army.

As the waiter laid out our plates and silverware, I took the opportunity to get the ball rolling. "So, tell me. What's this all about?"

"So anxious," he mumbled through a bite of bread. "I thought you were ready to leave."

"I still am," I said, glancing at the clock. It was already after eleven. "But I have long enough to find out if you have anything useful to say."

"Oh, I do," he said, pooling another mound of salad and olives onto his plate. I had never seen any angel or demon eat like this. "How long were you down in Hell? Three, four months?"

"Six."

"Okay . . ." He said between bites. "And Adam didn't tell you anything before you ran off half-cocked? Eat something."

I scowled. This guy didn't miss a beat. "No, he didn't get the chance. He told me they were coming after him, and by association, me."

"They?"

I reached into the breadbasket and took a roll for myself, tearing into pieces as I thought of how to explain this to someone who knew the half of the story that I didn't. "Originally, he told me it was whoever put us here."

"Like Middleton here or like Earth here?" he asked as he took the serving bowl for the antipasti and scooped some onto my plate, ignoring my increasing glare. "Eat. On Earth, you eat. Heaven, Hell, forget about it. Here, you eat because you may never eat again."

"Earth here," I replied confusedly. "But why does it matter? Are the two of you friends?"

He looked up from his plate. "Who?"

"You and Adam."

"I wouldn't say friends," he said simply. "More like I owe him a favor."

"So you're not on the Seraph's side?"

"God, no." He cringed. "No pun intended."

I finally took a bite of the pepper-jack cheese he had placed on my plate. "So who are the Grigori exactly? You're obviously not human."

He laughed as the other two women came to sit in the remaining two seats. "No, Amelia, we're not human. Obviously, you know about the Fall, and thus yourself and Adam. Right?"

I thought about it. I really didn't know much other than who I was, who I had been, and who was after me. "I don't know what I know, to be completely honest, Matt. Is that even your real name?"

"Matthew, actually," he said softly with a grin, "But yes. The Grigori are not Nephilim by default. Nephilim are members of the Celestial Realm who were cast out of Heaven due to some transgression against the Le Coelesti. The Grigori are a variety of outcasts, soldiers—think of them like our government's Secret Service. We are the Watchers, the classic guardian angels.

"We are neutral in the fight. We choose no sides, and so, by Araboth's standards, that makes us dangerous. But because one of the Seraphim, Lord Barachiel, is our leader, the Council tolerates us knowing that our work is sanctioned by the Seven Heavens."

I nearly fell out of my chair as I leapt up. "Your boss is a Seraph?"

Before I could take off running, Matt was already on his feet, his hand pinning mine to the table. "Not all the Seraphim are bad."

"Yeah, right," I choked.

"Sit back down." He nodded to my seat as the last of the customers exited the restaurant. "I'm not finished. Not by a long shot. Hey, Andrea, go make sure Signore Salvatore closes up shop before anyone else comes in. If it's an issue, tell him we'll pay for the loss of business." He waved off the brunette who I had teed off with earlier.

She was a lithe little thing with a long ponytail that came down to her hips. The fighter jacket and knee-high stilettos told me she'd probably be rather unpleasant in a fight. Women didn't typically dress badass unless they could back it up, or at least believed they could.

"This is what we know, from what we've been told over the years," he said, wiping his mouth on the cloth napkin and leaned back into the frame of the chair. "Adam and you were assigned to guard Vilon, the first level of Heaven, when something went wrong. Depends on whom you ask as to what story you get. Christians are going to tell you the classic tale from Genesis, which is completely different than if you ask someone from the First Sphere versus someone from Gehenna.

"You fled Heaven and came here, rescinding your immortality for a human life, and Adam became one of us."

"The Grigori, right?" I asked, reaching for my glass.

Matt nodded. "Yeah. He's been with us for, oh say," he sighed, and I could see him mulling the time over in his head. "Six thousand years, more or less."

I choked on my lemon water. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah," he snorted. "I know. Pretty serious. The Christian Bible says he was over nine-hundred something, but they always get stuff like that wrong. He's still very much around, and seeing as how I haven't heard anything from Raphael, either he's not dead or they all are."

"Raphael?" I asked. "He's one of the Seraphim?"

"No. Raphael just sits on the Council with them. After Lucifer left, there were seven remaining Enoch, Michael, Uriel, Gabriel, Samael, Barachiel, and Camael. They are each supervisors in their own respective roles."

"Camael's gone," I said.

Matt nodded again. "I know. We all know. Hell, there isn't a single person in all the realms who doesn't know, and that's why we're here. We want you to stop it."

"Me? How?" I sat up in my seat.

"One of them is going to die," Matt said, his face solemn like a stone. "You have to choose which one lives and which one dies. Adam or Camael, but not both."

The bottom of my stomach finally gave out. "You can't be serious," I said slowly, doing my best to keep from retching up what dinner I had eaten.

Matt frowned. "No, Amelia, I'm sorry. I'm completely serious. One of them is going to die, and it's going to be your choice that dictates it; this is how it works. Assiyah can't afford another war between Araboth and Gehenna. Earth, right here, is the Grigori's responsibility.

"We'll give you twenty-four hours to make your decision, but after that we'll be back for your answer. I wish it were better news, Amelia. I'm sorry. I truly am."

And with that, they were gone from the restaurant, almost as if they had never been there in the first place. The half-eaten meals on the placemats around me kept my brain from believing I had imagined them.

I raced out of the building and into the street as fast as I could, retching up my meal as the tears burst from my eyes. This time, no one would come to my aid, human or otherwise.

This time, I was truly alone. 

### CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

If you've ever been to the point of breaking, then you know how there is no other feeling in the world like it. Every nerve in your body turns to a dull ache that burns until it leaves you numb. My soul felt like it was being pulled out through my stomach with a meat hook.

And that was putting it nicely.

After several minutes of crying, I finally dragged myself into the narrow alleyway behind the restaurant. As my luck would have it, the universe's sense of humor never ceased to antagonize me as the rain started. I didn't even care that the water fell in steady streams around me as I curled up against the alley wall and wept. I wasn't a killer. Self-defense was one thing. Murder was something else altogether.

I felt so weak as I lay there, eventually rolling over to stare up at the dismal gray skies that stared back at me.

Heaven and Hell were back at war, and I was in the middle.

More so than ever before, I didn't know what to do.

Ω

"These preparations have been a long time coming," Michael said confidently as he looked between Emil and Adam. The three of them stood on the cliff overlooking Gehenna's main entrance.

"Indeed, and it's going to be worth it when we defeat them," Emil said simply.

With Raphael still missing, Michael had to settle for the next best thing beside Adam, which was Emil.

Skilled and bloodthirsty, he would get the job done as needed.

Michael needed them both on the field; he needed Adam's experience and Emil's physical prowess to lead the First Ray. Michael's men were good men, virtuous men that would die for their cause. They understood what it meant to take orders. And it was Michael's job to make sure that Adam succeeded. Enoch wouldn't tolerate Adam turning his back on the task assigned to him.

Twenty-four hours and this war would be over. According to the charts he and Gabriel had derived back in Araboth, twenty-four hours was all it would take to break through the entrance to Gehenna. With an army of over a hundred thousand soldiers, Michael was more than confident they'd succeed. All he needed was for Adam to cooperate, a feat in itself, but their fate all lay with his friend's choice.

"You say that, Michael, but you and I both know you're wrong," Adam conceded, watching as Michael adjusted the collar beneath his plate armor. "If I'm going to get Mia back, then we're going to have to kill Camael first. And if we're going to kill Camael, we're going to have to go through every single one of his men."

Michael laughed. "Then so be it. I haven't had a good challenge in years."

"You might be up for it," Adam said, "but not all of us feel like charging head first into a wall of demons."

Emil shook his head. "No, but there's no other choice. The only thing we can do is go forward."

"Indeed." Michael nodded, looking over at his two companions. "Be ready. We break at dawn."

### CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Twenty-four hours isn't a lot of time when you start breaking down the amount of time it takes to do things. Ten minutes to eat a sandwich. Five to use the restroom. Thirty-six-and-a-half seconds to wash my hands at the kitchen sink. Two minutes and forty-one seconds to walk to the mailbox at the end of the drive.

Before you know it, minutes turn into hours, and the hours begin to tick away.

I had twenty-four of them to give Matt my answer. The way time had to keep moving forward while I just sat here was the cruelest joke yet.

I leaned forward on the swing in the backyard and rubbed my face with my hands. There had to be something I could do. Adam was—why did my brain keep bringing him up first? Was I so resigned to the fact that he was going to die and not Camael? I had chosen sides, even if I hadn't meant it that way in the beginning, and now Adam was out for my blood.

I kicked the sand beneath my feet. I needed to tell someone. I didn't know whom, but I had to tell someone. I had to say something. I couldn't do this alone. I couldn't trust anyone at this point, but I couldn't just let them die. The Grigori were going to do what they wanted with or without my approval.

Even if I wanted to warn the others, I had no way to find Adam or Camael. Each time they had found me. Now here I was, stuck in Assiyah alone without my angelic protectors. It had been remarkably quiet, almost incomparably so. Since I'd been back, I hadn't seen or heard the first bit from an immortal until the Grigori.

It still wouldn't matter.

Even I did tell Adam and Camael, I still had to choose who would live and who would die. As a living, breathing human being walking on this earth, I felt the instinctual, moral obligation to keep the leader of Hell from roaming, yet that wasn't my choice.

I hadn't wanted any of this, but somehow it had found me. Now I was stuck.

Matt hadn't mentioned anything about calling off the war either.

Perhaps if I found a way into Araboth and got them to stop the advance on Gehenna, all of this would be over. At least then both their lives would be saved. But in order to do that, I would have to get there first. Even after that, I would have to manage to find and convince those in charge not to kill any of us.

A concept I doubted would prove easy.

But I had to try.

Ω

What do you pack for a reconnaissance mission in Heaven? A gun? A change of underwear? An arsenal of flamethrowers?

I didn't have time to try to figure it out. It was already 4:30 a.m.

Five hours had already passed, which meant I had nineteen left to get into Heaven, find someone that could do a damned thing about this mess, and somehow make it out alive in that amount of time.

And if I managed to make it out alive, I was sure I'd have results of some kind, hopefully ones that would solve this mess.

Camael or Adam: I had to choose. I had to choose, and I felt guilty about every single moment of it.

I had already thrown everything on top of the bicentennial-style quilt on my bed. I was shooting blanks. I had no idea what to pack. I didn't even own a gun, nor did I think I could even buy one. My driver's license had expired months before I had even left for Washington, back while I was still in the hospital. More importantly, I think most places had a waiting lists or something. I couldn't wait days. Hell, I couldn't even wait hours.

Instead, it all came down to me.

My modest arsenal of demonic skills and angelic powers were quite limited in comparison to the Seraphim. And from what I had seen of Camael, if I ran into even the first Seraph that was half as powerful as he was, I was screwed.

I had my watch to keep time by, and I was pretty certain it would still work after crossing planes. Come to think of it, I didn't know if Matt was going by human time or Celestial. If it was the latter of the two, it took my time and cut it by two-thirds. Which meant I had six and a half hours to get all of this done. God, it was like crossing fucking time zones from Hell. The fact that this was all literal only made my stomach twist even more.

I tossed in my denim jacket because it comforted me. Silly, I know, but it did. I switched the cuff Camael had given me between wrists repeatedly, but regardless of what I did, it didn't feel right on either side, so it just stared at me from the bed as well as a flashlight, some rope from the garage, my boots, a canister of organic sea salt, and my pocketknife to go in the boot holster.

Looking down at all of the stuff on the quilt, I couldn't help but feel embarrassed and trite. These people moved mountains, destroyed cities, and here I was, taking a piece of rope and a pocketknife to fight them. But I had to toughen up, to summon my inner-bitch or whatever. I had to fake it till I made it, I guess.

I could teleport without an anchor. I could launch fireballs from my hands, and I could communicate without words. Even with all that at my disposal, they were going to wipe the floor with me.

The good news was that I knew what I was going up against. Or, at least, I had some sort of idea.

I was a beginner going up against an entire realm of soldiers. My only real advantage was that I could teleport between the realms without anyone's help. It almost made me wonder why Raphael had sent me back through the Gate in the first place.

The Gate. Rai'ek. It might be my only way in, and I had no idea how to get there.

Too bad Goat was on the complete opposite side of the country. He might have been able to tell me how to get past the Gate. Teleporting into the realm was one thing, but getting through the main gate was something altogether different.

Hell, I didn't even know if I should have been mad at him anymore. He had gotten me into Gehenna in the first place.

The blood. The circle. The salt.

I could probably finagle it together, but I was no mage. I had spent days trying to recall the words to the spell I had remembered but came up with nothing. It was a one-time thing. Psychologists would probably say that it was still buried too far to serve any real use.

I had nothing to go on and even less to lose.

Before the rational part of my mind could tell me to stop, I snatched the salt up and spun open the lid. I hastily poured it in a circle around me. I didn't know if I needed protection this time, but even sanctimonious bullcrap would serve its purpose.

The circle was crude, but I made sure to meet the ends together. It'd work, and that was all that mattered.

I threw the container into the messenger bag I had pulled down from the headboard before tossing the rest of my collection into it save for the pocketknife. I pulled my boots on as quickly as I could manage and slid the knife into place.

I glanced down at the same palm Goat had cut before. Now nothing more than a small scar, I ran the small blade down the length of my palm, reopening the wound in an attempt to open a portal. But without some sort of incantation, I had no idea how this was going to work. Hell, I had no idea if I even needed an incantation. I clenched my fist tight, letting the blood pool into the palm of my hand before it dropped to the pale carpet. Good thing I wasn't worried about getting the deposit back from Mrs. Henry.

Camael had said I wasn't needed, that I was a mistake. I didn't want to be a mistake, and my mind kept racing back to him. I could do this. I had to do this.

I stared at the plush carpeting only to see newfound stains staring back at me, bringing me no closer to the Three Spheres.

"What are you doing?" a sudden voice behind me asked.

It was Matt, standing in the same clothes as last night, with an aggravated look on his face.

I blinked. Just how did they do that? They knew exactly where to go and when. "I would think between the blood and the salt, it's obvious."

He scowled at me and sat down in the rocking chair in the corner. "Obvious isn't the problem. Logic is. Do you really expect this will change anything? You might not even come back."

I shrugged, biting my lip in a poor attempt to steel my nerve. "I have to."

"No, you don't," he said simply. "I didn't tell you this so you could pull this same stunt twice, Amelia. Our order has existed for thousands of years. I think that we can handle a little bit of chaos. We just can't have humanity being affected by it. I wouldn't have given you the choice if I thought you were going to squander it."

"I'm not," I told him as I slid the messenger bag around my shoulder, letting it fall into place at my hip. "You told me I had twenty-four hours to give you an answer, so I'm doing just that."

"No." He bolted upright and stalked to the border of the circle, taking care not to cross it. "You're doing just what you did last time. You're completely crazy, and for what?"

I shook my head. "You don't understand."

"No," he said, throwing his hands up. "I don't, Amelia. Why are you risking your life for this?"

And then I knew. "Because they'd do the same for me."

"Even if you get into Rai'ek, you still have the middle and upper realms to cross."

"I know."

"And they're going to be guarded."

"I know."

"Heavily."

"I know, Matt!" I told him. "You think I haven't thought about this! What if I can stop this?"

"What if?" he balked. "What if you can do a lot of things? I'm not going to let you put yourself in harm's way repeatedly."

"Why?" I asked, reaching for the knife in my boot once again, this time getting ready to take the blade across my wrist. Maybe I had to be close to death. We were all going to die anyways, so why not?

"Why, what?"

"Why do you care?" I stopped mid-motion. "Why is this is so important to you?"

"I already told you," he said, grabbing the knife from my hand as he pressed it against the bleeding part of my palm, coating it in my blood. "I made a promise to Adam that I would keep you safe when the time came."

"And that time is now?"

"Yes."

"But you're going to kill him if I tell you to."

He nodded. "Yes."

"Complicated friendship you've got there."

"I've already said we're not friends. I'm just doing my job." He looked up from his work as he coated the blade a couple more times until he seemed satisfied and began to drag it across the salt line. It wasn't until another minute or two that I realized he was etching a design into the carpeting.

It was a different emblem than the one Goat had used, but I figured that was expected given their affiliations. This one had far less writing in it. Comprised mainly of two large triangles and a square within the salt circle, its simplicity didn't seem to bother Matt as he stepped into the circle and grabbed my hand.

"Here," he said, finally placing the dagger back in my palm. "You won't need this. Not yet."

I nodded nervously, following his lead as I wiped the blood on my pants leg and stuffed the dagger back into its boot-holster.

"You ready?"

"Yeah," I snorted. "This time I think I am."

"Good," he growled, "because after this, we're even. Through. I owe you nothing, and I owe Adam nothing."

"I understand."

"Should we survive this, you crazy bitch, and it doesn't work," he laughed, shaking his head, "Just remember, I'll be expecting your answer."

"I know."

"Then let's do this."

And then the floor opened up, this time burning like white fire instead of blue as the entire world was sucked away. 

####  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Teleportation was a hell of a way to travel once you got used to it. The good news, it seemed, was that each time I crossed between planes, the level of continuum displacement that hit me seemed to ease. By the time we stood outside the large stone portal that Raphael had accompanied me to once before, I was able to walk and breathe freely. Matt, however, was struggling just to stay on his feet.

"Have you ever been up here?"

"In Heaven?" he asked from his hunched over position.

"Yeah," I said as I glanced around for any sign of entry other than the massive gate in front of us.

The small platform we stood on couldn't have been more than fifteen by twenty, just large enough for the doors themselves to scrape across as they opened.

"No." Poor guy looked like he was in the middle of an anxiety attack, his hands pressed to his chest as he stood there.

As helpful as he was being, I had to remember he was the one giving me the ultimatum over Adam and Camael. It was bad enough knowing that we were walking into the hornets' nest where thousands of bloodthirsty angels waited to kill me without knowing that Matt was insuring I wouldn't run.

Like he had said, he had a job to do. I kept having to remind myself that he was just along for the ride. And because of that fact, I ignored him as he struggled to acclimate himself to the place and gaped up at the door.

Though I had been through it once, Raphael had been the one to summon its opening. "Matt, how does an angel, or Grigori, or whatever, teleport between realms?"

"What?" He stared up at me with his eyes wide, holding a hand up to stay my questions. It took another couple of seconds, but the blood finally returned to his face.

"You. Camael. Raphael. Adam. How do you get from one place to another? I mean is it something you think about? Something you feel? Something you see in your head?"

He shook his head. "I don't understand. Why are you asking?"

"Because I'm trying to figure out how anchors work, and how someone could not need one."

"Do what?" he asked, moving next to me in front of the gate. "Who do you know that doesn't need an anchor? Adam? Is that why we couldn't detect hi—"

"Me, Matt," I said curtly at his incredulousness.

His eyes widened again, only this time for a completely different reason. "You don't need an anchor?"

I shrugged. "I guess. I don't even know what that really means."

"No wonder Adam is protecting you so fiercely."

"No," I said, "I don't think Adam knows."

"Something like that?" he asked, grabbing my hand at my side and touching it to the large stone door. "Oh, I'm sure he does. You can get into any room, any place. Only the Seraphim can do something like that."

"But how does it work?" I sighed and stared at the large monstrosity of a door. It was just as grotesque and amazing on this side.

"Teleporting?" He looked at me.

"Yeah, I've done it randomly more than a few times," I said as I searched the midline for the crack to make sure it really was the right door.

"Yeah, well." He laughed and took a step back. "It's not like you can just knock. So unless you know the incantation, it's not going to open for you, or me. You're going to have to teleport inside."

"Okay," I nodded, bracing myself for anything. "Let's do this. What do I do?"

"Well, an anchor is like a seal, a mark on your body usually, and it corresponds to the realm you're from. It's kind of like the security gate at the airport. It directs you where you need to go."

"Okay," I said. "I'm with you so far."

"If you have no anchor," he explained, "then basically when you reach that gate, it has no idea where to send you. It doesn't control you, but you, it."

I turned to face him. "So how did you know where to find me? Like how did you get into my room? Are you a Seraph?"

"Me?" he choked. "Gods, no. I'm happy where I'm at, thank you very much. Being that Barachiel is our leader, some of his abilities transfer to the Grigori. Since we are Watchers, we have the ability to . . . We'll call it sensing."

"Okay..."

"We have the ability to sense our charge wherever they are, whenever they are, and teleport to them instantly."

This was somehow beginning to make sense. "So, basically, the charge becomes your anchor?"

"Exactly."

"Was I always your charge?" I asked. "From the moment we bumped into each other?"

He did a sort-of shrug. "Not exactly. Was I aware of you? Yes. Was I to do anything about you? No."

"So that changed when Adam went missing?"

He frowned. "A lot of things changed when Adam went missing, Amelia. I'm not saying who's right and who's wrong, but a lot of trouble has been caused by both sides. With Lamafuere now in Camael's hands, everyone is worried about what is going to happen next."

"He's going to kill Enoch," I admitted, much to the shock of Matt.

His eyes widened. "What? That's what this is about?"

I looked around awkwardly. "I guess."

"Oh, shit," he groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. "I knew it was something bad, but this is a little more than that."

Apparently I knew more than him. Yay me. "Why do you say that?"

"Because it is, Amelia. This is bad, really bad."

"You know Araboth has a bounty on my head, right?"

He didn't say anything for a second but merely blinked, his jaw tightening into an unpleasant grimace. "You didn't think to tell me that before leaving?"

"Why?" I shrugged. "You seemed quite aware of the dangers in coming here."

"Yeah, well," he mumbled, "This is different. Sneaking into the realm when it's guarded and actively being wanted by it are two different things."

"Not to me," I snapped and turned my attention back to the monstrous door in front of me.

"You damn crazy bitch," he said, shaking his head as he moved next to me. "You're going to get us both killed with this stupid shit. If you would just give me your answer, all of this would be over."

"Yeah, well, I'm not, so deal with it. We're getting Adam back, and we're getting Camael's head off the chopping block."

"You're awfully optimistic for someone so damned crazy."

"Yeah, well," I said. "Someone's got to be. Now help me or get out of my way."

I snatched my blade back from Matt's belt and followed the same process he had earlier. I dipped the tip back into my palm as I squeezed my hand around it, forcing more blood to come to the surface. Compared with the pain of silver chains and being stabbed all the way through, this was nothing.

Before long, the dagger was entirely coated with my blood. It was a good thing that neither of us was squeamish, because after wiping the remnants on my shirt, it was beginning to look like something out of a horror movie.

"So what's the plan, oh wise and noble leader?" he mocked.

"Simple. We knock." My fingers held the place where the seam existed. It was hard to see, but it was there. "Back up."

"What?" he said as he complied. "Why?"

Before he could ask any more questions, I drove the blade into the crack as hard as I could, wedging it just above my fingertips with a loud thunk.

"Hmph," I snorted. The blade was made of sturdier stuff than I had expected.

"Hmph?" Every time I looked at him, the dejected look on his face grew more worried. If I was Dorothy, he was most certainly the cowardly lion of my tale. Perhaps I had never been in Wonderland but was in Oz instead. Now where was the man behind the curtain?

"Yeah, well, I thought for sure this would work," I told him.

"Yeah, well, I just hope you know what you're doing because knocking in any capacity sounds like a terrible idea to me."

"You know, for a guardian, you're a scaredy-cat," I replied as Matt inched backward on the platform. "Matt?"

"Amelia . . .?"

"Matt?" I spun around to face the now opening gate. Almost as if light pierced its borders, the opening crack swarmed with a blinding radiance that only worsened as the monstrosity opened farther. I shielded my eyes with my hands, cowering away from the light as I squinted to see anything. But there was nothing in this blinding light. "Matt?" I called. "Are you catching this?"

I waited until the light dulled enough to make a move. Holding a fireball, one hand guarded against whatever would come through the gate, but nothing did. It was starkly quiet. I saw no walls beyond the gate, no doors inside of it, no rooms.

"No anchor, huh?" I mused aloud. "What if I get lost? What happens then?"

At that point, when Matt still didn't answer me, I turned around to check and make sure my hero hadn't passed out from sheer exuberance for our task, but he was gone.

"Matt?" I spun around, searching vainly for something that was obviously not there. "Matt! Shit!"

With the gate having opened, he could have been very well sent into a different realm, and we had never discussed which realm that would be. He could have been anywhere in Araboth or back in Assiyah.

Great. Now I had three men to save.

It felt a lot like babysitting gone awry. With yet another task to complete before I could go home, I stepped through the gate's threshold, the doors not making a sound as they scraped closed behind me, locking me inside.

### CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

For the first time in the longest while, Camael stood above the plains of Gehenna lost and completely alone. Alone if the tattered copy of Faust didn't count. A book he had read countless times over the centuries, and yet the outcome of his own story would end the same.

But there was still enough time to make it right.

He had sent Amelia back weeks ago, and in that time, the intel from the First Sphere had dwindled to a halt.

War was coming, and it was coming fast.

He had ten thousand men at his disposal, but Michael had thousands more. It would be a massacre if he didn't find a way out of this mess.

Enoch had proven his point; Araboth was coming for him and Amelia. By severing her anchor and sending her back, he had gotten her out in time. She could be safe this time around without fearing the repercussions of his actions.

And there were so many mistakes. So many things that needed correcting.

Now, he would have to do this the hard way.

"You know, Camael," Mephistopheles said as he strolled up slowly beside the fallen Seraph. "I never took you for such a brooding fellow."

"Shut up, Mephis," he said sourly even though he knew the adviser meant no harm.

Antagonistic, yes, but not malevolent. At least never to him. In all the years they had been friends, Mephis had supported his every endeavor. There had never been any questioning of loyalties or doubts of motives, which made Mephis the best type of adviser. He never vied for control, just offered his wisdom.

"You know, Camael, if you feel so discontented about sending her back, then why did you?"

"I had no choice." He looked down at the copy of Faust.

Mephistopheles cleared his throat. "You say that like you actually believe it."

Camael shoved the book back in the satchel at his hip. "And you say that you like you know better than me."

The adviser snorted and ambled around the cliff's edge, his hands languidly crossed behind his head. "Enoch is going to kill her, you know."

Camael said nothing but simply stared out at the horizon.

Gehenna was a vast, open expanse of rocky crags and endless plateaus, all of which led to a single entrance into Sheol. One way in and one way out. All except for Amelia.

Even before her anchor had been removed, she had teleported freely across planes as if time and space held no restrictions over her, but why? What had Enoch done to her? What was he planning?

"So what are you going to do about it?" asked Mephis.

"What am I supposed to do?" he whispered.

"Well, you need to do something." Mephis adjusted his waistcoat and straightened his sleeves. "Very shortly, the Principalities are going to find her, and when they do, they're going to kill her. And then you after that."

"You doubt me?" Hell's leader asked without even looking back at his friend.

"I don't have to doubt you, Camael. I doubt in the First Sphere's ability to move past this. You should have never taken Lamafuere; that alone was grounds for war."

"Maybe, Mephis." Camael said, swinging his boots over the cliff's edge as he sat down. "But I needed to see how far he would take it."

"Well, now you're here." Mephis moved over to stand beside him.

"Don't like my company?" Camael feigned a smile.

"Oh, it's not that, mate," Mephis said as he kicked away the few pieces of rubble in his way. "I just don't like my suits getting dirty."

Camael shook his head, always appreciative of Mephis' attempt at brevity. There was no beating around the bush with him. "Yeah, well, Amelia doesn't like them."

Mephis laughed, dropping down beside his friend as he brushed the flaps of his waistcoat out from beneath him. "Yeah, well, there's no accounting for taste. I paid over a hundred and seventy-five dollars for this suit four-and-a-half centuries ago."

"That's completely ridiculous, Mephistopheles." Camael sighed.

Mephis eyed the seams of his coat. "Not worth it?"

The Fallen leader shook his head. "Not the point. She wanted to know where your top hat went."

Mephis pursed his lips. "Well, they're on my hat rack. Would it please her more if I wore one?"

"Maybe." Camael laughed.

"Well then, I'll start tomorrow," Mephis announced, both of them falling into silence for a moment before laughing.

"What am I going to do, Meph?" he asked.

"You're going to have to find her, and quickly. Something tells me that you don't have as much time as you think."

"Why do you say that?"

"A little birdy told me she went to pay Enoch a visit."

"What?"

"You might want to suit up while you still can. You've got two realms with a bounty on your head." Mephis clasped him by the shoulder before standing back up, leaving Camael alone with his thoughts.

Camael had inadvertently put Amelia in the middle of a war he had hoped she could avoid.

A war he, too, hoped he could stay out of.

But he was wrong. His past was coming back around at full swing with both their blood in mind.

They were both involved now, and his only choice was to see this through.

### CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

"Emily, wake up," a female voice shouted into my ear. "Damn it, wake up! You're going to be late."

It only took a few dozen shakes of my shoulder for me to open my eyes, metal bars suddenly flooding my vision as I shot up in a bunkbed I didn't remember lying down in. The back of my head seared with pain the moment I did, forcing me to clutch it as I tottered back toward the mattress.

"What's going on?" I blinked rapidly, adjusting my eyes to the bright lights pooling in from above me.

"You're going to be late for the Bar exam," Jenna, my college roommate, snapped. "It's almost nine a.m."

"I don't understand," I said slowly. Something seemed wrong. Off, even. I was never late. Why didn't my alarm go off?

"What's there to understand?" she said, thrusting my messenger bag and my hoodie at me. "Brush your teeth and get out of here. You can still make it if you can get to Smith Street in under three minutes."

Three minutes? What was she talking about? I was never pressed for time. I purposely always left extra early just so that I wouldn't be late.

There had to have been some reason that my schedule was so off, but nothing I could remember.

"Did we go out last night, Jenna?"

"Of course." She rolled her eyes. Brilliant, but not a lot of compassion for explanation.

"And where did we go?" I asked as I slid off the bed and just looked around.

Everything in the dorm room looked exactly like it should, but a haze clouded my mind, leaving me feeling worse than any hangover I'd ever experienced.

"We went to that club down off Main Street."

Since when did we do clubs?

"Emily!" she shrieked, shaking me out of my reverie. "Two minutes, now! Come on. Forget the teeth. Pass the Bar, and you can buy new ones." This time she grabbed me by the hand and shoved me toward the front door, my eyes catching the angel statue on the bookshelf.

An angel.

The simple decoration was actually a Christmas ornament, a blond angel holding a puppy that my mother had given to me years before, but something about it made my stomach suddenly churn with an unsettled feeling.

It wasn't my mother; I knew she was safe. She and my stepfather were making the final arrangements on their upcoming trip to some remote island off the Philippines. "Business," she had called it. She was an herbalist who was doing her doctoral thesis on native plants of the Philippines and their medical uses within indigenous tribes. They were going to be gone for twelve weeks, the two of them schlepping through the wilderness in search of some new medicine, I was sure.

They would be leaving the Saturday following my exam. Enough time that I would be able to share my results with them. The results normally took longer, but with my father tenured and my mother on her way there, the exam's office was going to speed along the results. In the electronic age, it was the least they could do. It didn't really take six weeks to grade one exam.

"This isn't real," I suddenly blurted out, though what made me say it, I had no idea.

Jenna's eyes widened. "What are you talking about? Are you sick?"

"Sick?" I repeated, shoving the sleeves of my shirt up as I scanned my arms for any sign of needle marks or incisions. "What day is today?"

She shook her head, flabbergasted, as she pointed to the calendar on our wall. "It's Tuesday, the eighteenth of September, a day you've been planning for over four years."

The eighteenth of September.

I looked around the dorm room; everything remained where it was supposed to be. My desk. My Presario. The ruby cuff I had received as a present on my eighteenth birthday.

I reached down and took it off the desk. I remembered getting the bracelet but from whom? I had been sick with the flu and had missed my own surprise party, a rather uneventful turn of events as I lay holed up in bed watching reruns of whatever was on TV.

"Emily, what's going on with you?" she asked as her motherly scowl weighed down on me.

The cuff was gold, not silver. I never wore silver, but I couldn't remember why. Just something about it, I guess. I ran my fingers over the oval-cut rubies embedded into the white gold, and it made my throat tighten with anxiety as I spun around to face her.

"Something's not right," I said.

"Yeah," she said, rolling her eyes again as she threw her hands in the air. "You've just missed your exam. Now it's going to be six weeks for the retake. How are you supposed to get into Barnes and Cohen without a law degree?"

A law degree? Why was I getting a law degree? I had quit school months ago, closer to a year in fact.

Then why was I here?

The front door to our dorm room was ajar slightly, the sounds of a normally bustling dormitory starkly silent.

"Amelia?" she called me by my actual name this time as I ignored her.

I slipped on the bracelet and threw my arms into my hoodie as I made my way over to the door only for find Jenna barring my path.

"What are you doing?" Her unnaturally blue eyes gleamed at me, full of questioning.

"I'm going home."

"Home? You are home, Emily," she said, reaching into her pocket for her Blackberry. "I'm going to call the Med ward. You aren't acting like yourself. Maybe something you drank last night messed you up."

"No," I said, calmly slipping past her. "I didn't drink last night, Jenna."

I didn't wait for Jenna to respond before my hand was already on the doorknob, opening it up as I stepped into the hallway. A sudden, blinding light filled my vision as I stumbled out of the room and latched onto the far side of the hallway wall. I spun around, using the wall for support while my eyes struggled to catch up. After a few slow breaths, I would be alright.

Wishful thinking it seemed. A piercing ringing overtook my senses, rattling my eardrums as I glanced up to see if it was the fire alarm gone awry. But there weren't any in sight. In fact, nothing was.

The dormitory hall was gone, and I found myself staring into blackness, unable to move.

The ringing grew louder, like someone turned up the volume. I doubled over, my body struggling to get away from the offensive sound while remaining pinned by some unseen force.

It hurt so much. All I wanted to do was to cover my eardrums, and the distant sound of glass breaking only furthered my wants. The sound started to come and go, distorted as if it were coming from underwater.

Pain raked my ears.

Am—Ame—lia. Like a voice trapped within a torrential gale, it repeated my name, louder and louder until it drowned out the ringing and only the disembodied voice remained.

Amelia.

Matt?

No, it wasn't Matt. It was someone or something else.

Amelia, please answer me! Are you there? Where are you?

"Who's there?" I yelled into the darkness.

Am—

The sound distorted again, and the voice was gone.

I looked down at my wristwatch. I was in a hurry for some reason I couldn't remember. Almost as if I had been rufied, everything was a fog. I couldn't remember the last place I'd been before waking up, and now I was trapped in some nightmare I couldn't wake up from.

Amelia . . .

This time the darkness called my name clear as day.

"Who's there?"

Oh, dear Amelia, how I've missed you so. I never thought you'd actually return.

"Who are you? Come out and show yourself."

Two eyes suddenly pierced the darkness, blood-red and burning like smoldering fire.

Oh, dear Amelia, hissed the eyes.

"I want to know where I am," I said. "Is this a nightmare?"

The eyes laughed, their edges upturning as their fire grew brighter. Oh, no, dear. Not a nightmare. You should be so lucky.

My right hand instinctively shot out to the cuff on my other wrist, rubbing it absentmindedly as if it were a rabbit's foot. "Am I dead?"

Do you want to be? A wide, yellowed grimace filled in the darkness beneath those eyes, eyes that bore into me.

"No. I—I don't know," I whispered, shaking my head. "How did I get here? What's going on? What are you?"

So many questions. You'd think it wouldn't be this easy. They were wrong to worry about you so much. You're no threat.

"A threat?" I asked. Why would I be a threat to anyone?

Amelia! the voice from earlier called again. Amelia, dammit, answer me!

"Where are you?" I called out even though those eyes were watching. It was like the voice and I were on two separate currents of time, neither one directly reaching the other.

Yes, answer him, the eyes hissed at me, its body taking shape as features filled in around the burning eyes and mouth. Soon there were fangs and ears, curved vertebrae, and a long tail with barbs at the tip.

The demon crouched down, the darkness filling in around it as variegated lines of gold and orange spread like wildfire across its body. The creature shifted in my direction, embers crackling, and I quickly realized that fireballs weren't going to help me against a demon made of the stuff. It was the worst possible ability I could have been granted, and I was completely screwed.

"Oh, dear Amelia," it called from behind my ear, sending shivers down my spine as I spun around in the darkness.

"Enough of this!" I screamed, too pissed and too scared to do anything but clutch onto my dagger that I suddenly remembered was still at my waist. Whoever they were, they were messing with me.

"But I thought we were having so much fun," it crooned in my ear, and my blood ran cold as I lashed out in its direction.

"Where's Adam? Where's Matt?" I yelled at nothing. The eyes were gone and with it, the rest of the creature.

A sudden sharpness overcame my wrists, and I grasped onto them in hopes of ceasing the pain if only for a moment so that I could focus on the foe before me. It became harder for my hands to close, almost as if they were frozen stiff. Like ice. Like silver. Silver?! I only clutched at them harder.

"What have you done?" I breathed.

"Nothing you can't handle," the voice cooed from my opposite side this time. "I need you contained and able."

"What does that mean?" I yelled, my arms jutting out angrily as I struggled to maintain the grasp on my wrists. Between the darkness and the silver, I couldn't tell if my wrists had been cut badly or if it was just the silver once again skewing my senses. I just had to tourniquet my arms and hope that the hold the silver had over me wouldn't disable me for long. If Camael was lying, if I really could be killed like any other human being, then I was screwed.

The voice chuckled, flitting aloud just out of sight, each time causing me to turn in its direction. It was a childish game, but I was losing.

"Where is Matt?" I demanded. "What have you done with him?"

Matt?

"You know who I'm talking about." I didn't have time for games. "The man I came here with."

"That Grigorian half-wit?" the monster mused aloud. "He's still alive if that's what you're worried about."

"Give him back," I hissed. I was fighting the darkness and losing. "He doesn't belong to you."

A cackling erupted in the black surrounding me. I was so glad I could amuse the monsters that wanted me dead. He doesn't belong to you either. He's safe for the time being. Now, there are far more important things to discuss.

"Like what?" I hissed again before I could stop myself. He was right.

The eyes burned in my direction once again, all of their golden sparks centered on my face. Why have you come here?

"I came for Adam," I admitted to the demon, monster, whatever it was. "But who are you to demand an answer?"

"Who am I?" the voice chortled. "Oh, now that truly is amusing. I am the person that decides whether you go home or not, so I suggest you stop with that mouth of yours and start showing a little bit of respect."

My knees slammed into the invisible ground beneath my feet, sending rivets of pain through my kneecaps. It was good to know that wherever we were still had rules. Still had gravity. We weren't drifting aimlessly in the void as it seemed. I could still win.

"What do you want?" I posed the question.

"What do I want?" it asked, suddenly appearing in front of me as a man with long blond hair. He seemed oddly familiar as more light poured into the room. "Simple. I want your and Camael's heads on a plate, and if Adam doesn't do it himself, sooner or later, I'm going to have to do it myself."

I had known this was coming, but to hear it said aloud seemed crude, vulgar even. "What?"

"I want you dead, Miss Amelia, or should I say Eve," he said, his grin wide and threatening. "Once and for all. I want you erased from this planet's memory altogether."

I couldn't stand back up; I was pinned in place, unable to move. "I don't even know what I've done to make you hate me so!"

The grin again. "And that's what makes it all so worthwhile; all the trouble, all the pain you've caused, and you haven't the slightest clue. What was Adam thinking by waking you? Did he think there wouldn't be consequences?"

"Where is he?"

The blond man walked languidly toward me, like a cheetah stalking its prey, his eyes deadlocked on me the entire time. "Adam?"

"Yes," I managed to rasp as I glanced down at my watch. Its face said seven-thirty in the morning by human standards. I had lost three hours, Matt was now missing, and this bastard knew exactly where he was.

I had to get out of here. I had to stop this.

Each time I tried to lift myself, my muscles felt like they were tearing. Soon, I would be left with no choice other than to push through it and rip them anyway. Injured I might be, but at least I wouldn't be a sitting duck.

"Oh, by now, I'm sure he and that little traitor of yours are reacquainting themselves rather nicely."

"You son of a bitch!" I cursed and tried once more, failing yet again. I wanted to ask him a thousand things, things that only he would have the answer to, but I knew he would never oblige me. He was maleficent, scornful, and driven in his vendetta. "What gives you the right?"

"What gives me the right? Oh, you foolish girl. So naive it hurts." He was on me in a flash, his hand wrapped around my throat as he held me inches off the ground. "I do not answer to you, nor will I ever. I could kill you in a heartbeat if I wanted. So weak, so lost, like a fledgling lamb astray from its shepherd."

"Kill me, you heartless sack," I rasped.

He snorted. "I could, but why would I when I can make Adam do it himself while Camael watches?"

"You bastard—"

"Oh yes, dear Eve," he cooed at me, a smug expression plastered all over his obnoxious face as he released me. "You thought I wouldn't see through your little facade? That fool Camael thought he could keep you away from me when all he did was drive you straight into my arms."

"Please," I whispered, my eyes deadlocked on the floor. "I'm begging you."

"You cannot stop that which cannot be stopped. Nor move what cannot be moved."

"Please," I asked once more. It couldn't hurt. "How about an arrangement?"

He snorted again. So glad I could amuse the leader of the Seraphim. "No."

"There has to be something else you want," I pleaded as he began to pace around me in absentminded circles. I followed him with my eyes as he continued to inch around me. I couldn't tell if he knew what he was doing or not, but he was so engrossed that I wondered if it even mattered.

And then I realized that it did.

The monstrosity smiled at me once more, wide and threatening like he knew what I was planning. But he couldn't have.

I hadn't thought about it once. I knew better than to even try. And if I couldn't shield against his telepathy, then the best I could do was empty my mind. No thoughts, no images. Just the blank, rushing sea, ebbing and flowing against the shore.

"You truly are a fool," he said, rushing upon me one final time as pain flooded every inch of my being.

I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. My breath lurched in my throat as my body froze in place. I was suddenly drowning without water.

Something inside me told me to look down. A mistake certainly, because I found his hand wedged into my solar plexus up to his wrists. Before I could collapse to the ground, he ripped his blood-covered hand back out of my chest, causing me to stumble as my breath grew shallow.

"What did you do?" I rasped, each word taking all of the energy I had. Whatever he had done, I was still alive. My pulse still beat, though weakly.

Is this what the Damned were condemned to? My senses were dulled but at the same time flaring with life, like an irregular cycle that ebbed and flowed. "Enoch?" I rasped, my sudden awareness of his name forcing his gaze on me.

He was silent for a minute, his jaw steeling before he straightened his shoulders. "I've given you and your lover a little present. Now go before I change my mind."

"Wha—" I blinked, my eyes struggling to focus on the newly white room with the blond man in it.

Unlike teleporting, this was something else altogether. I didn't have to be immortal or human to tell the difference. This was slow and painful.

This was Death.

"And so, child, into the eye of the storm you go."

### CHAPTER FORTY

Fatigue dragged me down like shackles and threatened to cripple me before I could figure out whether I was dead or not. It was a strange notion, wondering if you were lucky enough to be dead. Sad, but true.

The relief of being dead outweighed the reality of being alive. I didn't know if I should move or just lay there. Perhaps if I lay there long enough, everything would disappear. All of this would, in fact, be a dream, one that I could fully escape from, but I knew better.

Time and time again, I had woken up in different places, different memories, and yet it was never real. The only truth was now. By visiting Enoch, I had forsaken a piece of myself.

It wasn't my heart because it was still beating. It wasn't my life because I was still alive.

It was something else.

It was my soul.

I was a hollow shell, barely able to move and even less able to stand.

Wherever I was, trees and bramble surrounded me in every direction; the air, cool and wet on my skin as I crawled to my feet. The humidity was so thick that it felt like I had ended up in the jungle, but I had started in Washington, tens of thousands of miles away from any tropical hells.

But my time in Gehenna and Araboth had taught me not to trust my senses any more than any other piece of information. It was just that: information. Neurons firing to be processed by my brain. I didn't know what was real anymore and what was illusion. In a place where everything could be fake and nothing real, it made it hard not to be on guard all the time. I dragged myself along as best I could, my boots catching in the rocks and pebbles beneath me.

Fog clung to nearly everything in sight as I scoured the environs for any sign of life other than me. Even with the dull lighting steadily decreasing, I could still make out the jungle behind me and a cliff in front of me.

How and why I had teleported here, I did not know. More importantly, was it my doing, or was it Enoch's? And if it was him, what purpose did it serve? Yet again, it seemed that I was nothing more than a pawn to be played.

"Amelia?" a familiar voice called.

I spun around to find Mammon drenched in blood, his black wife-beater shredded beneath his worn leather jacket.

"Mammon!" I gasped, not sure whether to be relieved or not. "What are you doing here?"

An attestation to my ignorance, he drove the sword he was carrying into the chest of a White Wing gasping for breath. The shock rattled my lungs, as it was only a few feet away from me yet I hadn't noticed the dying angel.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, yanking the sword out of the corpse's chest.

"Silver?" I nodded to the now-deceased immortal.

"A little more than that," he said, licking his lips.

I knew what that meant. They had resorted to using liquid silver infused into the blade. But instead of coating the blade with the substance, an entire vein ran the length of each weapon, its poison drawing to the surface at the point of contact with flesh. It was like an irreversible injection of death, immortal-style.

"Is Camael with you?"

Without warning, another White Wing charged in his direction from seemingly out of nowhere, and before the fool could know what was coming, Hell's weapons master had already dispelled of him with a blade across the throat.

"He's around here somewhere, Amelia. I'll tell him you're looking for him should I see him. You armed?" he asked, already rifling over my person to check for weapons and injuries.

Much to both our dismay and relief, there was none of either variety.

"Here." He reached over his shoulder and pulled down a spare scabbard and belt he had been carrying.

"Mammon, it's not safe here anymore," I told him, taking the short sword he handed me from the arsenal at his waist. Turns out, it was the same blade I had been training with the entire six months in Hell. "How'd you know?"

"Call it a hunch." He shrugged and wiped his brow with his forearm.

"You're so good to me." I laughed breathlessly.

In a war, people died, but this was different. Everyone knew this was going to be a massacre. At first I had assumed that Gehenna and Sheol would be the victors, but that wasn't the reason I had taken Camael's hand that day. In fact, knowing that I had sided with demons only made it worse.

All for Adam's sake.

Even now, I wondered if it was the right thing to do, in the most warped sense of the word. I was becoming exactly like the White Wings, killing just because their beliefs differed from mine. Righteousness without justice. Living above the law of the universe. If there even was such a thing.

"Amelia?" Mammon called, waking me from my reverie.

"Yeah?" I looked over at him.

"No place is safe," he said, "not anymore."

"What are we going to do?" The sword in my hand felt foreign, unfamiliar. Like it had belonged to someone else in a different lifetime, as if the flow of that energy overpowered my own.

He wiped his blade on the side of his shirt, freeing it of blood and grime before shoving it back into the scabbard at his waist. "What do you mean?" he asked, starting toward the jungle behind me.

I latched onto his arm. "I mean, what are we going to do?"

"You went to visit Enoch," he said sourly. "You tell me."

"You guys knew?" I frowned. I couldn't tell if he was mad or not. Didn't they know that I was on their side? On everyone's side?

"What do you think?" a knee-bending, masculine voice said from behind me.

Camael stood there, his clothes tattered, his shoulder and arm braces barely hanging on by their ties as he dropped his chest plate to the ground. The sable-black wings I had come to know so well now flexed behind his back, harrowing and threatening behind Hell's new leader. I nearly ran to him, relieved to see him. I would have been even more relieved if I was able to touch him, but I would have no such luck.

Even before I could come within a hair's breadth of him, his hands staved me off. "You went to visit Enoch without my permission. I didn't send you home so that you could run into danger at the first chance you got."

Not the reaction I was going for. "Who said it was your job to protect me? Who said I need your permission for anything?" I was pissed, offended that he doubted my ability to protect him. I had traveled into Araboth and faced his arch-nemesis for his well-being, and what did I get? An argument?

He rubbed the sweat from his brow and sighed. "Why are you so insistent on disobeying me?"

I was furious, eyes wide. "I am not yours to command, Camael!"

He said nothing for a moment but merely stared at me, and I couldn't tell if he was angry with me or not. Knowing his unstable temperament, it could go either way.

I eyed him curiously. "Cam—?"

"You need to leave while you still can," he said simply, grabbing my arm and pulling me back toward the jungle. "Reinforcements will be here any second. It's not safe."

"I know that," I snapped, yanking my arm from his grasp. "What do you think Mammon and I were just talking about?"

"I don't care what you and Mammon were talking about, Amelia," he said simply. "It's my job to keep you safe, and I fully intend to do so."

"Yeah, you keep saying that," I didn't care if I was being petulant; I was too pissed. Who did he think he was to toss me aside when I had risked everything for his sake? I doubted I would ever matter to him.

"What's the deal, Camael?" I asked. "What aren't you telling me?"

There was that jaw again. "I heard you," he whispered so quietly that I had to second-guess whether I had actually heard it or not.

"Heard me?" I looked around the cliff. If he was anywhere in the vicinity, he probably would have heard me.

"In Araboth."

"Oh," I admitted. "So that was you."

He nodded grimly. "Yes, Amelia, it was. What you did was foolish and reckless. You could have died. He could have killed you." He reached out to me suddenly, grabbing my arms and steering me in front of him.

"Could have but didn't." I stared down at the sword and scabbard in my hands. I doubted I'd have to use it, but I wanted to be prepared just in case. "Do you realize, Camael, just what exactly is riding on this?"

"More than you could possibly imagine," he said. "Enoch is not your friend. He is not giving you a boon. Whatever he does comes with a price, and it's not one you are prepared to pay."

I clutched my chest. He still didn't know. How could he be so blind? "How do you know what I am and am not prepared to pay?"

He choked back a growl. "Why do you have to be so stubborn?"

"Why do you?" I shouted.

He frowned at me, sighing as he eyed me over. "Because I care about you. I just wish you would understand how much." His eyes suddenly shot into the distance, his wings drawing back like a snake rearing to strike. He nodded to Mammon who acknowledged him and took off in the direction of the sound with his weapons drawn.

"What is it?" I asked as I was suddenly being ushered in the opposite direction.

"Leave, now," Camael commanded, not even looking at me as he did.

Try as I might to see what he was looking at, I did not have the vision that the Seraphim did.

"Cam—"

"I said, leave!"

"No, goddammit!" I yelled.

His breath hitched in his throat as the sound of a scuffle broke out somewhere beyond the wood line.

"You need to stop treating me like a fucking child or your subordinate and let me help."

"Amelia, please," he begged.

I crossed my arms and stood there as the first crack of thunder echoed overhead. I had drawn a line in the sand. Either he was going to respect my abilities, or I would go my own way. I wasn't about to risk everything without something in return.

Anything.

And he knew it.

### CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

I don't know what made me turn around, something in the air, the stars maybe.

It didn't matter what it was because I turned before I could even help myself.

A regret I'd be stuck with forever. All of that running, all of that hiding was for nothing.

Adam appeared less than thirty yards away, his eyes nearly black, almost as if they were a part of the darkness itself.

I wasn't a fool; this time I knew he was real.

Adam was here and had come for blood.

Adam had come for me.

### CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

And then suddenly, we were all just standing there, the three of us frozen beneath a rain-filled sky as dark as our hearts. Camael's arm was wrapped around my shoulder, a protective gesture to keep me safe against such elements, and, more importantly, Adam. The sinking feeling in my stomach only increased when I realized that Mammon had not returned.

Adam stood across from us, his wings unveiled, wide and strong. Instead of the black I had been so used to seeing, Adam's wings were now exactly like a bird's. Speckled brown and white, golds and tans, all furrowed into the plume of feathers cresting his shoulders. Enoch had taken him back into the fold.

The downpour drenched his shirtless body. "Give her back, Camael. She belongs with me."

An ephemeral shape appeared in the void above Adam's hand, shifting in form until it became a blade. Unlike Lamafuere, this blade glistened of sapphire and diamond in the dismal light. Adam clenched the ethereal blade.

My whole body seized beneath Camael's protection.

"She belongs to no one," the sable winged angel said, slipping past me, his arm still outstretched. "Not to you. Not to me. It's obvious that you will never understand that. Not in another six thousand years."

"I'm going to kill you for what you've done," Adam growled, so quiet against the increasing winds that I had to strain to hear him.

"And that's where you'd be wrong." Camael suddenly summoned Lamafuere, its magic not lessened by the pouring rain. "Does she know? Does she even know, Adam?"

"Know what?" I took a step back as the two eyed each other suspiciously. I had not the time nor the energy to deal with any more surprises. I just wanted this all to be over. "What don't I know?"

Silence overcame us for a moment, consuming everything save for the slight hiss Lamafuere made each time a drop of rain touched its surface.

"Adam?" I asked again.

"Camael, you unholy bastard," he seethed, not even bothering to acknowledge me. His wings flapped in ire, the subtle tans and browns of his plumes blending in to the muted environs. "You will pay for what you've done!"

Camael looked back at me briefly, his features crunched as he watched me. "I'm sorry. I truly am." His brow furrowed even farther, the pain on his face obviously real.

"Someone, please just tell me what's going on." I clutched onto my shoulders, embracing myself when no one else would. I was so confused that I was at the point of tears.

Camael frowned more. "I didn't want it to come to this."

I got in his face, my hair whipping around me as the winds picked up. "Come to what, Cam?"

He blinked slowly, his face blank. I was right. Each time I called him by that name, he was suddenly half-cocked and unguarded. Almost like a trigger, he was suddenly a different person, no longer cocksure and confident. Human.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He simply stared at me, and I could see the muscles in his neck tensing, almost as if he was using every bit of his strength to keep from moving. "I—"

Suddenly I found myself yanked around, facing an Adam whose pale-green eyes now bordered closer to viridian, so dark it ached in my bones. Even in the open space between us, I could feel the tension in the air, something that only increased as he pulled me roughly against him. And before I could do anything, Adam's mouth was pressed to mine, his hands clutching either side of my face. I froze for a second, my body unsure of what was happening. But I trusted in its lack of acceptance and shoved him off me, my own hands coming up to guard me as I stepped back toward Camael.

"What aren't you telling me, Adam?" I snapped, backing up so that I stood equidistant from them both and ready to fight. Brave or stupid, but I wasn't going down without a fight. "Tell me now, or so help me God, I will make you regret it."

A whimper hitched in his throat. Apparently, I was doing well to hurt both their feelings, a new record for me.

"Mia, listen to yourself," he pleaded. "Don't you see what he's done? He's poisoned you, poisoned your mind!"

"He's done nothing that I didn't do myself," I nearly hissed at him. "So answer my question, and then I'll decide where I stay and where I go!"

Camael simply watched, and although Lamafuere was still at his side, it was surprisingly quiet. It was a sword of fire, of will and emotion. It connected to its wielder through their energies and acted accordingly. I had no idea how many others knew this information aside from Michael, Camael, and myself. I expected Michael to come down after his blade at any moment, but he hadn't. Not yet.

Camael sighed, his back rigid as stone. Seeing him there standing next to Adam, I had never realized the difference in their strengths. Unlike Adam and his sturdy frame, Camael was leaner but just as muscular. Everything about Camael screamed speed. His body was toned and lean; his frame, tall but agile. His black wings unfurled, supple and deadly. My stomach twisted for a moment, and I knew that if it came down to it, Camael would win. He was too fast, too skilled. Adam could never keep up with him. I couldn't rightly say that I wanted Adam to die, but it would happen if someone didn't deter this little tête-à-tête.

"He lied to you, Amelia," Camael said plainly.

"Don't listen to him, Mia," Adam commanded. "You know me better than that. I would never be dishonest with you."

"Of course he would."

It was like a goddamn Ping-Pong match.

"He's only using you to further this war of his," Adam said as he took a step closer to where I stood bowed up and ready to take on whomever touched me next. "I would never do such a thing. Why would you think that I would? War never solved anything."

"Enough of this!"

A loud hiss roared out behind me, Lamafuere coming to life against the backdrop of the thunderstorm. Camael stalked in front of me one last time, except now, he didn't try and push me out of the way but simply stood inches from my face, his disheveled bangs glued to his angled jawline.

"You never really loved him. He tricked you, deceived you. Under orders of the Seraphim," he told me, his gray eyes mercurial, ebbing and flowing as his voice wavered. "You loved me. You loved me, and he couldn't take it."

"Lies! His words are poison, Mia!" Adam screamed, his voice bordering on madness. "Please God, Mia, don't believe him! He's a snake in your ear. The Bringer of Lies. The Deceiver of Mankind. You cannot believe a thing he says. Please, God! Mia, listen!"

"No," I whispered, and I felt a palpable snap, like a cord around my arms and neck suddenly breaking apart. It made me jolt forward, my hands instinctively going to my throat as Camael raced to steady me before Adam could.

Adam, ever the Watcher, backed off a step, neither of them daring to do anything with me in the way.

My legs faltered, and I clutched onto Camael, taking solace in his unwavering strength. "What was that?" I managed to ask.

Camael pulled me against him, and I let him, his hands deftly brushing my hair back from my forehead as he kissed my brow. "Your freedom."

### CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Camael slowly inched me off him, his long fingers wrapped around mine as the back of my hand met his lips. "You did it. I knew you could."

"I—I don't understand." I shook my head, my eyes locked on Adam's face. "Adam?"

He stammered as I moved away from Camael and over toward him.

I stood inches away from him, all of us soaking wet and damned to an eternity of Hell brought on by our own indignation.

"Adam, please," I whispered. "Tell me the truth."

Camael's back straightened. "That's the point, Amelia. He doesn't know it."

Adam blinked, unsure of himself as he stood there. I could see it for myself. "I don't understand why you're even listening to this rhetoric. Mia, it's always just been you and me. I've loved you since we were first stationed at Vilon. You are my match, my equal, my soul.

"Camael tried to claim you for his own, so we ran, as far and as fast as we could," he explained, the deadly sword reappearing in his hands. "I went to Raphael to petition the Council to hide you. It was the only way to keep you safe, so they stripped your memories and your immortality and sent you here.

"I followed soon after, becoming a Watcher, as it was the best way to be near you, to guard you here while Raphael guided from above. When Raphael told me you were in the hospital, I knew we had run out of time. The disease humans call cancer is simply the natural breakdown of the body once the soul's past its maximum incarnations.

"Souls require decontamination from the muddled energy of the lower planes. Without the ability to return you to Araboth, we knew this would happen; we just didn't know when."

I wasn't even sure what to say, but I had to say something. "You knew?" I inhaled. "You knew and you didn't say anything. All this cat and mouse. You could have told me this from the very beginning."

Adam sighed. "Would you have believed me?"

I started to open my mouth but stopped. "Yes. No. I don't know, but that's something you should have let me decide."

"Perhaps," he said, stepping forward, his blade poised in our direction. "I will ask you once more. Please stop this foolishness and come with me."

But I wouldn't. He should have known. I suddenly didn't know who was standing next to me anymore, this man, this angel who had freed me from the life I had been living.

"But is it true, Adam?" I choked, my voice barely above a whisper. I could barely speak above the hurt in my heart. It all seemed like lies.

"Mia, I just told you the truth. I've always loved you and still do," he replied. "You are my entire universe."

His eyes, ever green like pale mint, swam in a sea of emptiness. I hadn't been able to see it before, but now I could. Deeper than black, they were endless and hollow, like looking for the bottom of a very deep well. They scared me at a time when I didn't want to be scared.

Camael stepped beside me. "The Seraphim programmed his mind to think such a thing. They are very capable of such horrors," he said. "They wrote all of Genesis for God's sake. What you don't know, Amelia, is that he tried to advance on you, and you denied him. You denied him because you loved me instead.

"But he couldn't take it, so he petitioned a Seraph to erase your memories so that they could make you his. Turn you into some pawn for their schemes."

"If what you're saying is true, then why didn't you tell me?" I asked the Fallen leader. "All those chances, you refused. You said I had to trust you. That you would explain!"

He nodded. "And that time is now, Amelia. I'm not lying to you."

"The bracelet. It was mine the whole time, wasn't it? That's why you didn't want it going to Na'amah." Oh how the dots just kept on lighting up.

The entire time, his face was somber.

My eyes widened in horror. I had been so wrong. "That person you lost . . . that person was me?"

He was right. He might have been frank, brutally honest even, but he was telling the truth. The scars were real, like a patchwork etched into every fiber of his body. Men like that didn't make up stories about their wounds. They didn't need to.

Then came the answer I needed to hear. "Yes, Amelia."

"That's a lie!" Adam yelled. "You know who he is now. How can you expect to believe anything he says?"

I frowned. I was going to have to roll the dice on one or the other. Whomever I ended up trusting was going to kill the other. And then this war would be over. I had to be okay with that. I had to make my peace.

"You're right, Adam," I said simply. "I can't trust either of you."

"Mia, you can't be serious!" Adam argued.

Camael lowered his head, stepping back from the two of us. "Yes, she can, and if that is her decision, then so be it."

"No," Adam shouted. "I won't allow that to happen."

"Excuse me?" my voice wavered. My bravery was dwindling by the second.

"It seems I have no choice," Adam said plainly as he raised his sword in my direction. "Mia, you are coming with me whether you want to or not. There are more things riding on this than just us."

"I won't let you." Camael stepped in between us. A loud pang of thunder rumbled in the distance, shaking the ground in its agreement with the leader of the Fallen.

"You have no choice, Camael, so stop acting like you do," Adam said simply. "You are nothing anymore. You're not a Seraph. You're not a demon. You belong nowhere. A fallen angel without a home, how fitting that it would be me to kill you now."

"No." There was a sudden flapping of wings in the darkness, and the three of us looked up to find Raphael standing inches away from us. "I can't let you do this, Adam."

"No . . ." Adam shrieked quietly. "I saw you die."

I exchanged glances with Camael. What's going on?

I don't know but stay on your feet.

"Adam?" I asked, stepping toward him.

"He killed you," Adam said, completely ignoring me as he moved toward the Archangel. "Right in front of me. I watched you die, Raph."

"I know what it seemed like." As the Archangel walked towards us, Camael shifted back in front of me on the off-chance Raphael was not on our side. Though the look he was giving Adam gave me the slight hope that he was.

"I watched you die, Raphael!" Adam yelled at the Archangel. "Die and I couldn't do anything! And you're telling me this was all some ruse?"

"I can't explain what happened," Raphael said calmly.

"Well, start trying." The glistening sword swelled in Adam's hand, another elemental blade in its own right. How many of them there were, I had no idea, but I couldn't tell if Adam's was anywhere as powerful as Lamafuere.

And I had a feeling I didn't want to find out.

Adam shook the blade much like a painter shaking the water out of a brush. Wind kicked up around our feet, blowing leaves and loose rocks in our direction. "Raphael, I don't know what's going on, but you will stand down. I have my orders."

"I know, Adam," he said with more force behind his tone. "That's why I'm here."

"Then you know I have no choice," he told him. "You saw what happened in Araboth. This is the only way to end this war."

"No. Enoch manipulated you. This isn't the way," Raphael said to the Watcher as he stepped in front of Camael and me, his hands outspread. At least I had backup. "And as your friend, I can't let you do this."

"So help me, Raphael," Adam exhaled, raising the blade in the direction of his friend. "If I have to cut through you to get to them, I will."

"Adam, you might want to listen to Raphael," I added quietly. One Archangel, one Fallen leader, and one Nephilim. It was a standoff, and I didn't know who was going to make it. I trusted Raphael, but not enough to save us. We were still going to need a backup plan.

"Amelia, stay out of this!" Adam snapped. "This doesn't concern you."

I blinked a few times, unsure of myself. Was it just something in immortals' programming that made them think I could be tossed aside without a second thought?

"It does, Adam," Raphael told him. "They share a link, the two of them. Twin souls."

"No!" Adam denied, clutching his ribs. "He's gotten to you, hasn't he? Tricked you with his venomous lies."

"No, Adam." Raphael raised a calming hand. "You have to believe me. Enoch isn't who he says he is. A lot of people are going to senselessly die if you don't quit this now."

"That's why I have to stop this," Adam breathed on the verge of tears. "They have to die. It's the only way I can get my Eve back."

"Adam," I called to him. "I'm standing right here."

"No, you're a traitor. Enoch was right." Adam pointed the blade in my direction now. "You're not Eve. You're merely a substitute."

Raphael turned towards Camael. "Are you prepared for this?"

The Fallen leader nodded. "I am."

"I'm sorry, Amelia," Raphael said with a frown, suddenly looking at me. "I never wanted you to get hurt. None of us did."

"It's okay." I smiled. "I'm just glad you're not dead."

My doctor flashed the familiar smile I had come to know so well. "Me too."

His blue eyes pierced through me, almost as if he could see into the depths of my soul and know everything that had transpired in his absence. His solemnness broke my heart.

"It was against our rules, our customs," he said, subtly pointing to Camael. "Unthinkable. Seraphs did not fraternize. We placed you under his guard, his watch in Vilon. Somehow you wedged your way into his heart, and there would be no more talks of anything else."

"I—I don't get it," I said.

Raphael laughed, smiling. "Pomme d'amour. The apple of love."

My spine bristled. "Where did you hear that?"

The corners of his mouth twitched. "It's like I said. You guys are twin souls. Inseparable. You move, he moves. Like the ocean and the moon. In love, there can be no other way."

"So it's true then," I said matter-of-factly. "Every last bit. Camael. My memories. All to be some pawn in the Seraphim's games."

"Amelia," Raphael sighed. "I don't presume to know the ways of gods and men, nor would I ever care to. All of us on the Council aren't as malevolent as you've been led to believe."

"Then why did Camael leave?"

There was that knowing understanding of a doctor once more. "I think that's something best left to Camael to tell you."

"I don't care who tells me." I pulled my own short sword out. Enough time had passed to know for certain that Mammon wasn't coming back. I felt like I had lost my backbone, my nerve in human form. Much like at the beginning of my journey, I was in the middle of a game, and I didn't know the rules. A bitter laugh erupted from my throat. Ignorance. It was still ignorance.

I had never left the game. I had only thought I did.

"You really don't get it; do you, Amelia?" Raphael's eyes widened.

"No, Raphael," I shouted. "Everyone, please stop with this bullshit and just tell me what this has to do with me."

"Camael was telling the truth," Raphael said. "There was never any apple, never any snake. Just one big conspiracy to keep the truth contained."

"And what truth was that?" I managed to ask.

Raphael frowned, his eyes almost tearful as he stood caddy-corner to us. Unlike the rest of them, I felt blinded by my ignorance. They all knew, and I didn't. Why hadn't anyone trusted me with the truth? "That you loved him, and him, you."

Then it was true. No more lies, no more denial.

Out of the mouths of angels, so to say.

"No, no! I won't have any more lies!" Adam screamed.

I could feel it, even then. That pinging in the back of your mind. Instincts, I guess. That same voice inside your head that tells you when something bad is about to happen. When time stands still for a second, just long enough to make your stomach sink and your breath run cold. Almost like Fate had a sense of humor, delaying the inevitable for her own amusement.

I couldn't rightly say which happened first: Camael and I both yelling for Adam to stop, or the realization that it was already too late.

Before either of us could do anything, the celestial sword was already wedged into Raphael's spine, forcing the Archangel to his knees as Adam ripped the blade from his back.

"Raphael, no!" I whimpered, tears bursting from my drained soul. I had no more to give, and yet something kept asking me for more.

Camael caught the good doctor before he could collapse entirely, and I raced to help as Camael lowered him the rest of the way to the ground as to not further his injuries.

"What have you done?" I hissed at Adam, my eyes wide with fear. "He was your friend!"

"And he was in the way."

And then I knew the thing that differed between us. Adam had done more than sacrifice his soul; he had sacrificed his humanity. Or perhaps, it had never been there in the first place.

I couldn't be with him. I did not want to be with him, no matter what the cost.

I turned back to Raphael, my hands clasping his wound as I ripped off my jacket and tore a sleeve from my shirt, balling it up to halt the bleeding. Tried as I might, the blood kept pouring, bright red and very warm.

I gaped at him. "You're human."

"Amelia, stop. It doesn't matter anymore," Camael said gently, letting go of him. "He's dying."

"Dying? Why is he dying? What happened?" I shrieked, looking back at Raphael when no answer came. "I thought we couldn't die."

Raphael laughed, coughing up blood. "We can all die. We just have to be given the opportunity."

Tears brimmed in my eyes. "I don't understand."

"I know," Raphael said with a nod. "But that's why he likes you."

"Camael?" I asked, looking back to find the two angels about to spar.

The doctor nodded, his rigor dissipating fast. "See, you're not so dense after all."

I shook my head at him. "Raphael, why?"

"I told you, Amelia," he said with a smile, clutching my hand as he slipped something into it. "In love, there can be no other way. Take care of each other."

And then he was gone, one of the most famous angels of all time, gone forever because of the deal I had made with Enoch.

Camael had been right; there was a price. One that I wasn't prepared to pay.

I should have listened. I should have known, but I was ignorant and foolish.

And I was next.

I closed my eyes and clutched onto whatever it was that Raphael handed me, too scared to see it for myself. I would have known in any world, in any time what he had handed me. He had given me a small jade dragon from the hospital gift shop the first week I was in there. He said it symbolized me, symbolized my strength. Dragons stood their ground for what they believed in, even to the death, unwavering in their fortitude.

I didn't feel very strong as I sat there on my knees and fumbled the dragon between my fingers once more before slipping it into my jacket pocket.

I had just long enough to drag myself to my feet before an explosion rocked me. The ground trembled beneath my feet. Fragmented earth raced up to meet me before the wind was knocked from my lungs. I floated over my body for just a moment before everything went black.

### CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

I regained consciousness long enough to see a blaze of sparks overhead, like shavings at the grindstone only this was far larger and setting everything alight in its wake. Wherever a new set of sparks landed, it quickly consumed the ground, snaking outward until the only thing left was the storm overhead and wildfires underfoot.

Had this fire come from another source, then perhaps there might have been a chance. But it came from Lamafuere, the ultimate source of pure fire and the only thing strong enough to kill an angel. Raphael had told me that when he had thought it to be true. Now he knew otherwise. We knew otherwise. He had paid with his life.

"I made a mistake all those centuries ago, letting you live when I shouldn't have," Camael's voice pierced the darkness. "But I will atone for that mistake here and now." I could see him standing a few feet away, the embers burning around us both like a concentric halo.

He inched back slowly toward me, stooping down to come to my aid. In another moment, he finally spoke again, but his voice was barely above a whisper. "I will kill you, Adam D'Angeline, and your blood shall rain down on all of Araboth."

He spoke with more than just certainty in his words; it was conviction.

Adam glanced down at me lying in Camael's arms as he tried to ease me out of the line of fire. With Raphael gone and neither Matt nor Mammon anywhere to be found, there was no one left to turn to.

Just us.

My eyes locked with Adam's for a moment, and I knew it would be the last time Adam ever looked at me in that way, with those pale green eyes saying everything his words couldn't. His adoration had turned to pain. With my refusal, Adam had chosen his path, one that he would walk alone. "Mia." He bit his lip, catching himself on the endearment.

That was alright though. He didn't have to say the words. We could all hear it for ourselves. We three had accepted death.

Kill me if you can. The thought flickered through my mind.

I had given them that right; I had earned it with my own two hands. They could live and die like humans if they so chose. The realms were no longer bound by some foolish sentiment that came about six thousand years ago. This could end very well for us, or very badly.

"Adam, don't do this," I pleaded, though I knew there was no point.

He had killed Raphael as if the Archangel was nothing more than a fly on the wall.

Even if his memories had been altered, our love had been real for him. I didn't hold it against him, but I wasn't a pawn to be played in some game, a tool to be used. I could, however, hold it against him that he had killed Raphael, and I would.

And then I would find Enoch and kill him for doing this to Adam, kill him for doing this to us, kill him for doing this to the realms.

He wasn't God, or was he? If there was no longer a Satan, then what did that mean for God? I shivered at the thought. This moment was all that I could handle, and even now, I was barely making ends meet.

I thought I could save us all. Maybe I was the fool.

"Can you stand?" Camael asked me as I waved off his attempt at support.

With two angels wielding elemental swords and able to fly, I was going to have to be able to hold my own. "I'm fine," I lied. We didn't have time to wait on me; Adam was still alive.

Although the Watcher was shorter than Camael by a few inches, I couldn't tell with him standing there, his wings widespread, stretching almost every inch of the burning plain.

"Please, Amelia," Camael said, grasping my hand tightly. "Just this once, stay back. I can't fight and worry about you."

"I can help, Camael."

He turned back toward the Watcher who seemed newly consumed by the sand and gravel beneath his feet, a small dagger in hand as he began to carve into the ground.

"Fine," he finally yielded. "But please try not to get hurt."

I laughed sourly. "Easier said than done. Now, what are we going to do about—holy shit!"

"What?" He turned to where I stared. Eccentric scrollworks had consumed the better part of the area in the time we had been distracted. As much as I hated to admit it, if Camael wasn't going to let me lead, we were going to have to get our act together, otherwise we were both going to die.

All of the embers had transformed into blue wildfires. They weaved their way along the rocks, cutting gullies into the ground as they snaked outward in all directions. We had stupidly given him the time he needed to complete a transmutation circle. Was this new knowledge that Enoch had granted him, or had he known this all along, tricking me as he had everyone else?

A blue line lashed out toward me and another toward Camael, causing both of us to jump back out of its reach. Everything around us was roaring to life; the blue lines, like sentient vines prepared to ensnare anything foolish enough to cross their path.

"Manan. Huloc. Vidor. Ba. Hukuk. Ur. Ranaman."

What is he doing? I asked Camael, not daring to take my eyes off the Watcher as the ground itself began to quake beneath us.

Calling the gods.

Gods?

Earth devas, elementals, Shiva-linga, call them what you will. "It doesn't matter. This entire cliff is going to be gone in a matter of minutes unless we stop him."

If the rain was nothing against Camael's sword, then I doubted it stood a chance against Adam's magic. In fact, it only seemed to agree with him. Each second the winds around us grew stronger, kicking up things now much larger than rocks and bramble. Gale-force winds pillaged and plundered the vegetation on the cliff's edge.

Boom! A crack of lightning sent thunder pinging over our ears, again and again, each one louder than the next until nothing could be heard save for the cyclic heartbeat of the night sky.

Boom! The sky flashed again just as the first bit of ground broke from underneath our feet, sending us stumbling in the rain.

If there were ever a time to need my wings, now was it. I had to find a way off this ledge.

Adam and Camael were both in the air now that the rockslide had begun. Blow by blow they clashed, one against the other, fire versus air, destroying everything left unscathed in the vicinity.

Boom! Thunder echoed again; lightning streaked across the sky. It was like being surrounded by a thousand strobe lights, all of them on a different timing.

Calm down and focus, but I couldn't summon my wings. With each second the ledge beneath us was breaking off into the ocean. If I couldn't get into the air, I was going to be a sitting duck. Camael was completely wrong, and he had no idea. I was human once more. Like Raphael, I had lost my immortality.

"Amelia!" Camael screamed, racing toward me when he realized that my wings weren't working and that the ledge beneath me was finally succumbing to Adam's rage. "Get out of here!"

I shook my head, but from the way he kept coming at me, I could tell he didn't understand.

"They're gone, Camael," I told him when he finally landed next to me, not knowing whether he had realized that I was indeed human.

"Then I need you to run, Amelia," he said calmly, racing back into the air to face Adam, and for the first time I noticed that he had never put his chest plate back on. If we all had lost our immortality, then he too would be dead at the first impact.

The island was collapsing before my eyes, leaving nothing but blackened sky around me. The two angels didn't even have the chance to see me before I was falling into a chasm that would soon be nothing but scattered crags cresting a hungry ocean.

The stone tore into my skin, piercing what delicateness remained of me until my hands were as tattered as my soul. I had survived many things. I had become a fighter against all odds; I had lost the final part of me that innocence hid within.

Adam had been led to believe a lie. It was so deeply ingrained, so far within his psyche that any counter-thought was unfathomable.

And then I had shattered his illusion with that one, final straw, and with it, I became nothing more than another piece of the environ. I was expendable just as I had thought all along. I'd made the same deal with Enoch as I had with Matt. By allowing Camael to live, I would die.

But it was worth it in the end if it would grant him the peace he needed, the peace they both needed. I could feel the wind rushing past me as I fell. Like a jumper without a parachute, I plummeted downward, only to find that the chasm dwindled, and I soon found the sky greeting me once more.

Wherever we were, it wasn't on Earth. Maybe above it, but most definitely not on it.

The clouds rushed past me at such a speed that I could hardly even tell what they were, save for the sudden dampness clinging to my skin. As I saw the world fast approaching beneath me, I couldn't help but close my eyes. This wasn't what I had wanted at the beginning, but it was what I had now.

I was going to die for a man I barely knew, one I struggled to remember. Yet I knew there was no other way.

The world depended on it. The world depended on me.

####  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Falling was a surreal feeling. Exhilarating and terrifying. Peaceful and undeniably a once in a lifetime occurrence. I had made my choice, and with it, I had met my fate. Camael couldn't fight knowing that I was there, and ignorantly I believed that he would not even realize I was missing beneath the clouds.

But I was wrong.

The moment I saw him break through the mammoth cluster of gray and white, I knew that he was a fool to have come after me. By doing so, the fate of everything loomed in the balance.

Had he killed Adam?

The dark swarm of clouds had only increased above us, and he surged toward me with lightning haste.

"What did I tell you?" he said calmly as he caught up to me and pulled me into his arms. "I thought we agreed that you would stay out of trouble."

"I thought you said that I could help," I said back, awkwardly latching my arms around his neck as we suddenly bulleted back into the clouds, his massive wings barreling us back to what remained of the broken cliff.

And for the first time I realized exactly what it was. Camael set us both back down upon a floating island.

I hit the ground running, hoping to find a weapon or something useful lying on the ground. Adam hovered in the air, staring down at us with disdain carved into his now grisly features. The once handsome man was all but lost, leaving behind the remnants of his identity and the beginnings of a demon.

Blood was on his hands now.

"He could have killed you, Amelia," Camael said as his gaze narrowed on Adam. "This has to end here and now, but it's not going to be at the cost of your life. This is my problem; Adam is my mistake. Now I won't say it again. Get out of here and hide."

I couldn't even protest before his nimble fingers covered my mouth. "Please," he whispered. "I'm not saying this to be mean, Amelia. You saw what happened the first time. Now go."

He removed his hand, leaving me to my own devices as his wings propelled him upward until he was as far from Adam as he was from me.

And then it began.

Adam's sword, fused from the elements of air and water, sliced into Camael's open flesh every chance it got. Like a snake in the grass, it lashed out, each wound taking just a bit more out of Camael.

Like wild animals facing off in the Sahara, they sparred, their bodies clashing end over end. It was like a war of the gods.

I had never seen fire rain down from the heavens, almost like the summit of a volcano raining down ash and embers each time their swords locked. Again and again they clashed as I watched, too fearful and awe-struck to do anything. I didn't know what, if anything, I could do at this point. There wasn't enough magick in the entirety of my body to be able to stop them now.

They fought, possessed by rage and blinded by hate until I could take no more.

The entire cliff was gone. The angels themselves were drenched in blood. The two bladesmen were too well matched, neither one had to touch the other to wound him.

"Stop," I pleaded with the two of them, doubting either could hear me. "Stop. Stop! STOP!"

And then it all happened so fast.

Enough that my brain couldn't register which happened first. Camael froze, seizing in place just as Adam's blade charged at his chest. The elemental sword of wind and water plummeted into my Seraph's chest, a sharp exhale leaving his lungs as he collapsed beneath Adam, driving his own blade into the Watcher's throat.

"Camael!" I shrieked, scrambling to my feet in a frantic attempt to race to their sides.

My eyes darted back and forth to see if either would survive. Like planes shot down out of a barren sky, their bodies were bloodied and charred from the attacks they had rendered.

They both hit the earth at such a speed that the entangling of their limbs and swords seemed to create a chimeric-like beast that dented what remained of the earth beneath them.

"Camael?" I called again as I dropped beside the two of them. I didn't know whether to grab Camael or not. I was too afraid Adam would attack. But what did it matter if Camael was already dead?

"Camael?" The tears already pooled in my eyes, the first streams already falling down my cheeks. I didn't want to do this alone. Raphael was gone. Matt was missing.

And now Adam and Camael.

Please, I begged. Don't die on me.

I couldn't tell if either was alive. There was so much blood, so much dirt and ash. The breath seized in my lungs as I sat there unsure of what to say or do. I called to Camael silently, and each time no response came.

He lay there, unmoving, and I could feel anxiety flood my veins like liquid fire. Brave and stupid to the very end, I had to try something. I reached out and grabbed the Grigori by the shirt in an attempt to pull him off Camael, my grip slipping in the blood that had encased his body.

"Cam?" I whispered as my hands failed to pull the dead angel off the one person I still cared about.

"Cam?"

A grunt erupted from beneath the Grigori, and I knew that I had not been too late. Camael slowly emerged from beneath the blood and the gore, pushing Adam off his chest, his dagger still wedged in Adam's throat.

"Why didn't you just listen?" His eyes were wide, angry, panicked. "Why!"

Blood pooled from Adam's lips, and we both knew his heart beat no more. Fast and merciless.

The Seraph shuddered and dropped the blade almost as if it scorched his hand.

I took a shaky step towards him. "Camael?"

"You fool!" Camael breathed, not even bothering to look up at me, his eyes already brimming with unshed tears. "You damned fool!"

"Camael?" I called again softly, hoping he would realize I was there this time.

And then our eyes met, and his bristled ire calmed, like a junkyard dog soothed by its favorite toy. "Amelia," he breathed, holding his arms out only for me to race into them.

There was no more doubt in my mind. No more uncertainty.

He was mine and I, his.

I could scarce open my eyes for fear that the tears would start to fall once more. "Are you—"

He stifled a smile. "It hurts like a bitch, but I'll live."

"All this time," I breathed, staring at the wound on his chest. He was right, as usual. It would take numerous stitches and probably a hospital stay, but it had indeed missed his vitals.

"It was always you." Cam reached for my face, his fingers deftly embracing me as he pulled my face to his. "I've loved you since the moment I saw you in that field, all those millennia ago. You were so lost and alone, and I wanted to hold you in my arms so that you would never again feel that way again, but they took you away from me.

"They took you away and hid you, told me you were dead—told me I would have to move on without you, but I couldn't. I waited and bided my time until one day word reached me that you were alive, and I knew all of my waiting hadn't been in vain.

"I knew you were alive. Everyone told me I was crazy, and when I would try to find out what had happened to you, doors closed on me at every pass. Michael and Raphael, Enoch even. No one would tell me anything, and then I found out why—what Adam and his cronies had done to you. So I went to find you and see it for myself.

"Drastic as it may have seemed, I couldn't take a chance and let Adam know what was happening, but somehow he did anyway. I hadn't taken into account that his alliance with Araboth was still withstanding and that he would see us coming. But he couldn't protect you, not from me when he was the one you needed protection from.

"So I pretended to apprehend you, cruelly and without pleasure; I had to prove to Araboth that I was over you. After all, six thousand years is a long time—did they really expect me to wait for you? No, and that's where their guard failed.

"They didn't take into account that I would hold out for you forever." His eyes beamed as he spoke, and I could see the fervor of a mastermind whose careful ministrations had finally fruited and bloomed, a culmination of centuries of planning.

"Camael, I—"

He covered my mouth with his hands before I could finish.

"And then I saw you there in the warehouse, and I could see it in your eyes that you had no idea who I was. Not even on a subconscious level, nothing. I was a stranger to you. They had permeated the core of your psyche and erased almost every trace of us, and it nearly killed me.

"I had found you. After thousands of years, I had found you." He dropped to his knees, bloody and battered as they were, the rest of his body screaming in discord with his movements. "I love you, Amelia," he breathed. "Human or not. Angel, demon. I don't care. I want you, and I always will."

"Camael, I . . ." I frowned. I didn't know what to say to this man to express my own thoughts on the matter. It was beyond words.

The fear of rejection was already breaking through his countenance as he stood back up and clung to me for dear life. His hands slid down my shoulders and latched onto my arms, pulling me closer into his embrace. My breath hitched in my throat as I stared up into those steel eyes. I knew that I would never have to feel afraid ever again.

"Please tell me you feel the same," he breathed against my cheek, the warmth making my body burn with a longing that I didn't want deny any longer. I wanted to melt into his embrace until there was no me or him. Only one being. One soul.

"I do love you," I whispered, waiting for the forge behind those eyes to light. "More than you could ever possibly imagine."

His eyes widened. "You do?"

"Yes, always." I inhaled sharply as he nuzzled my neck, the scent of his body nearly overwhelming me as we stood there.

For now, this would have to be it.

The war had begun, something we weren't prepared to handle. Michael's forces were coming for us. For me. For Camael.

But he no longer belonged to Heaven. He belonged to me.

A rush of energy swept over me, and I realized that he was doing it. The darkness deep within his soul had begun to blaze, healing the fragmented wounds that had nearly destroyed us both.

The storm would cleanse away the several thousand years of pain until the only thing left was the love we were always destined to share.

Always, and forever.

The End

###  Acknowledgments

> I want to acknowledge:

> My family for always being there when needed.

> My loving husband, Always and Forever.

> My son, for even though you're too young to read this now, you won't always be.

> My editor, Leigh, for being able to see through my craziness.

> And to you, whoever you are, for reading this novel. May all the blessings of the world reach you.

###  THE CELESTIAL COMPENDIUM
####  The Seven Heavens

Araboth – The highest realm of Heaven, where the Throne of God and the Council of the Seraphim lay

Zebul – Sixth realm in Heaven; Dividing line between Upper and Lower Quarters

(For the purpose of this novel, the Forth and Fifth realm, Machon and Macon are combined thus.)

Machon – Realm that houses The Great Library and The Hall of Akashic Records; Guarded by the Powers and Virtues

Shemaq – Third realm in Heaven; Houses The Four Rivers and the Agricultural areas

Rai'ek \- The first real realm in Heaven where people live; main quarters of Heaven; also houses The Gate Between Life and Death

Vilon – The lowest realm of Heaven; Houses The Fabled Garden of Eden, The Tree of Life and The Tree of Knowledge

####  The Celestial Hierarchy

The First Sphere

Seraphim

Cherubim

Thrones

The Second Sphere

Dominions

Virtues

Powers

The Third Sphere

Principalities

Archangels

Angels

####  THE COUNCIL OF THE SERAPHIM

> (Although there is much speculation between religions, denominations, traditions and scholars, for all-intensive purposes of this novel, the Seven Archangels selected to serve on this Council are named thus.)

Michael, "Who Is Like God" : the Commander of the Holy Legion; Chief of the Archangels; Wielder of the Sacred Flame, Lamafuere

Gabriel, "Strength of God" : God's Messenger

Raphael, "God's Healing" : Araboth's Chief of Medicine (honorary member on the Council)

Uriel, "Fire of God" : Member on the Council

Samael, "The Severity of God" : "The Angel of Death"

Camael, "One Who Sees God" : Original guardian angel of Eden

Barachiel, "Brightness of God" : Supervises the Grigori

####  THE DEMONIC HIERARCHY – ARCHDEMONS

(Leaders of The Triad)

Mammon – Archdemon and Weapons-master of Hell

Abaddon \- Archdemon and member of the Triad

Na'amah – One of the Four Queens of the Underworld; Arch-Mage of Sheol

Lilith – One of the Four Queens of the Underworld, said to have been Adam's first wife

Astaroth \- Archdemon and member of the Triad

Ba'al – One of the oldest and most respected of all Archdemons; member of the Triad

Lucifuge Rofocale – Gehenna's field general, One of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

Azazel – Archdemon and member of the Triad

Asmodeus \- Archdemon and member of the Triad

Belial \- Archdemon and member of the Triad

Forcas – Chief Librarian of the Underworld

Mephistopheles – Chief Adviser of the Underworld

####  LOCALES & TERMINOLOGY

In The Realms of Heaven

Araboth – (see The Seven Heavens); while it is a realm of Heaven, it can be used interchangeably with the word Heaven

Elohim \- a.k.a. God, YHWH, El Shaddai; the name for God used by the Celestial realm

Seraphim \- a.k.a. The Seraph; the highest title and rank conferred to an angel; Council which oversees all of the realms and Destiny itself

Nephilim – a.k.a. The Fallen; Angels who have lost their wings or immunity from Araboth; considered to be betrayers of God

Lamafuere – The flaming sword Archangel Michael used to fight Lucifer; one of the most holy artifacts in all of Heaven

Garden of Eden – the fabled location in Heaven where mankind first walked and the place where it's said pain and suffering entered into the world from

The Hall of Akashic Records – A guarded hall that contains all of the knowledge about every living being to have ever existed or will ever exist

On Earth

Assiyah – a.k.a. Earth; The human world

Grigori – a.k.a. The Watchers; A group of angels who watch over Assiyah unbeknownst by mankind; Neutral party

In The Realms of Hell

Gehenna – One of the two main realms of Hell; traditional Underworld; includes wild lands where demons roam free, as well as traditional "pits"

Sheol – The main quarters of the Underworld where the bulk population resides; much akin to a military compound or city

The Triad – Group of Archdemons that oversee all of Hell

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####  CELESTIAL ALPHABET

####

####  ENOCHIAN ALPHABET

####  Novel Playlist

(All Lyrics & Music Are Copyright Their Respective Artists)

1. ONE REPUBLIC - Secrets

2. Full Metal Alchemist (Anime Soundtrack) – Dante (Instrumental)

3. Papa Roach – FOREVER

4. Thriving Ivory – Angels on the Moon

5. Lady Antebellum – Need You Now

6. Train – Calling All Angels

7. The Fray – You Found Me

8. Fuel – Innocent

9. Michael Buble - Lost

10. Sara Barielles – Gravity ** (Amelia's song for Camael)

11. Daughtry – What About Now ** (Adam's song for Amelia)

12. Shinedown – I'll Follow You ** (Camael's song for Amelia)

Can't get enough of heroines with bite?

Then get ready for an all-new,

spellbinding adventure

in a world where

power means everything

and nothing is ever what it seems.

Get a SNEAK PEAK

of M. Dylan Blair's upcoming novel

EYES LIKE MINE

Date Forthcoming !

### Prologue

It would start and end in blood.

The blood of innocents, the blood of the guilty.

It didn't matter whose. All that mattered was that it was real and not a figment of my imagination.

A Master of Time and yet it still had me under its thrall. I was no sooner free from my hell than a marionette thinking itself free from its bonds.

I, too, would die soon and then there would be no one left to save my brother...

...to save them all...

### Chapter One

My brother stood at my mother's bedside, his black eyes blurred with unshed tears. At the whopping age of fifteen, he didn't have the capacity to understand what was happening to our mother, let alone the two of us. Or perhaps he just didn't want to. He stared at her from the opposite side of the makeshift hospital bed, hopefully making peace with whatever god that had forsaken our kind.

But I knew better.

He had too much anger to pray for mercy for her when we had never been shown the first bit ourselves.

When my mother developed an obscure, rare form of cancer, the doctors could barely explain it, let alone cure it. But who could blame them when even treating her could get them sentenced to execution. Their willingness to cooperate stopped at the morphine.

Now, months later, what freedom she had was reduced to a respirator and an IV that did little to lessen the burden she carried.

My brother blamed her in his naivety, a error on his part that would forever haunt us both.

My mother reached across the knit comforter toward him, and in his arrogance, he denied to hold the hand of the woman who had given birth to him.

Who could blame a child for being upset though, I mean, really.

Our lives were forever changing.

My leaving for the university fell by the wayside the moment the doctors had made the call. I knew it. My brother knew it. My mother knew it.

Though I'd never outwardly blame her for such a thing, my one chance at escaping this living hell was gone. Over two hundred and twenty miles from the hometown that sought to destroy our kind, a fresh start at a new life was all that anyone could hope for.

Hope, however, was a lying bitch, and it was ignorant of me to think I'd ever get out. The only way out was in a body bag.

The doctors had quoted some arbitrary amount of time at my mother, throwing a year of life onto something that could have been a day. It was better this way though. With our mother dead, she would no longer have to suffer—have to worry. She wouldn't be around to fear the raids or the gas chambers, or anyone learning our secret now that both Father and Mother would be gone.

"Danny, please," she said weakly, the only words she could muster.

To me, she said nothing, but she really didn't have to. I knew what I had to do—what must be done.

As I sat in the wicker rocker my father's mother had given them as a wedding present, rocking was all that I could do to keep what sanity I had left.

The history books were right. Thou shall not suffer a witch to live, and so just like that, my mother's life was forfeit.

l

The sun had already crested the horizon as I sat with my legs knee-deep in the cool waters of Lake Hope, a tributary off Lake Michigan, the one place where I could go and still feel human, alone and miserable.

Everywhere else, I just felt alone and miserable.

The burnt copper leaves danced off the maple trees surrounding the lake as I sought to forget everything colliding in my life. I leaned back against the wooden plank, my head resting on my arms as I closed my eyes.

And for a moment, time stopped.

A power granted those able to see past fate's fickle hands for those brave enough to use it. But it came with a price as did all things in those days.

They would come for me soon just as they had with my father and attempted with my mother. I would have to be ready if I was to protect him—protect Danny.

Danny.

With his eyes black as night and dark as sin, they would seek to corrupt him the moment the government laid hands on him.

I had to get him away—had to keep him safe.

A shadow hovered above me, blocking the offending sunlight from my line of sight. My eyes shot open and with it the world around Lake Hope began to move once again. I ignorantly hoped that it was just my imagination playing tricks on me; I didn't have the strength to deal with him today of all days. Any other time might have been different, but today I just wanted to suffer through it in silence and let the offending memory pass until next year. But I knew better, knew that he would not leave me to my own destruction. Not this year, nor any other.

Two startling blue eyes, so blue they were almost white, filled my vision, the corner of their eyelids turned jovially upward at me. "I brought you a sandwich," the eyes' disembodied voice called down to me. "No onions. Extra pickles. Splash of vinegar."

I pulled down the part of my shirt that had peeled up in the warm August humidity as I glared at the object in its hands. "I didn't ask you to."

"You didn't have to. Now eat."

"Fine." I tore the package out of the hands of the man I had known my whole life and sat up, ripping off the paper wrappings that encased the food he had brought me.

"I'm not going to tell you thanks," I muttered between large, masticated bites of food.

A tall, lean man with eyes as dangerous as mine sat down on the dock beside me, his socks and shoes tucked neatly behind him as he tore into his own meal.

We sat there in silence for several minutes, neither of us wanting to break free of its respite.

Avery knew everything that had ever happened to my family. He had been there when the city officials had taken my father, the five of us gathered around the dinner table half-deep in meatballs and garlic bread.

That had been before the war, before they had marked everyone.

Now each of us carried the weight of all those left alive in the North District. No one was immune from the Red Death, the battalion with clean cut faces and haunted eyes, their insignia emblazoned on their starched uniforms as they marched through the suburbs, tearing families apart as if they were little more than mottled cloth.

My parents had known even then, the grim lines of their misfortune present on their faces as they served up the garden salad to my brother and me.

The first knock came like the wind, the only warning we were given.

The second involved the splintering of wood from its hinges, the door's remnants slamming back into the sun-faded cornflower wallpaper of our foyer wall. A ridiculous color that my mother had selected during her better years. Back when peace ruled the free world.

Now, decades later, it seemed ironic.

A three-star general appeared in the doorway to the dining room, my parents already ushering my brother Danny, Avery, and me out of sight. His blue eyes burned at us, their disdain evident as they sized up my father.   
With chestnut locks and matching irises, my blue-collar father was part of the backbone of the country's working class, and considerably not a threat. Or so they thought.

Hidden behind contact lenses to protect his actual identity, my father's amber gaze served as our only method of protection.

Color meant everything, the difference between prosperity and poverty for some, and life and death for others. Our irises held the key to our magic, to the skills passed down by our predecessors.

Broken down by rarity, we were ranked into classes, and with them came our social classes, freedoms and opportunities.

The Browns, the most common among us, served as the working class, the laborers and those without magick. The next most common, Blue, Hazel and Gray respectively, served as the doctors, scientists and scholars, the intelligentsia of our society. What magicks they were born with all but dwindled after puberty and into adulthood. They, too, proved to be little threat to the Red Death and therefore were allowed to live and work amongst the public.

Those whose magicks remained were taken out and shot upon discovery of their powers, left to rot in the middle of the cobblestone streets and piled one on top of another. A visual reminder to those who stepped out of line, and because of that, those who weren't assassinated on the Third Night or dragged into concentration camps hid in underground bunkers.

But, sometimes, when the world grew quiet, at times when those with violet eyes like mine or black like my brother's joined the world of the living, things seemed almost normal again.

"Want a pickle?" I asked Avery, dangling a vinegary cucumber from my fingertips, hovering it over his head like a treat for a dog.

He eyed me contemptuously for a moment before snatching it out of my hands and tackling me back against the dock. With a firm grip he latched onto my wrist and bit the pickle right out of it, swallowing it with a satisfied grin.

I muffled a laugh with my hand as I glanced around the bank, knowing how easily one small action could ruin everything.

In another life we might have been something together. Instead, we'd have to settle for this - a half life that knew so many bounds and not enough freedoms.

It was a hopeless dream that I knew better than to entertain. Avery's eyes were blue like ice, cold and distant unless you knew how to melt them into cerulean like waves just before they crashed against the shore.

There was power in them. I was sure of it. The white ice seemed almost iridescent, something I was sure no one else had, and should the inspectors ever notice him on the wrong day, I might be eating alone.

My eyes were dangerous enough on their own, let alone Avery's. He might outmatch Danny's if given the chance but I didn't want him to.

I had my own mortality to deal with, let alone both of theirs.

One of the rarest eye colors out there, my violet gaze granted me the ability to control time, a skill that would certainly see the gas chamber should the wrong person discover my ability. Though not limitless in its power, what time I could control happened only in seconds, not in hours or days.

I could not bring my father back.

I could not bring my mother back.

I could not save those God had abandoned, and for that I was forever sorry.

l

"Do you have the book, Kara?" my mother asked me from the other side of the room now that Daniel had gone down to the cafeteria for sodas.

I now stood beside my mother, her eyes glossy and silver from the way the overhead light hit them.

I nodded numbly, not saying a thing as I stared back at her.

"Make sure they never know you have it, or you and Danny will be next."

The "book" in question was the family grimoire that had been passed down the line of Erikssons since the pre-civil war era. A true hereditary line of witchcraft. There were thousands who claimed to have the lineage but only a few that could truly claim such a feat.

It didn't make us deadlier. It just made us dead.

The whole damned thing had been started over books such as these. The Führer, in his infinite madness, desired to take control of every grimoire known to the continent, and in turn, had taken upon his militia, the Red Death, to search and destroy every book in sight.

A testament to their ignorance, our book remained safely buried at the bottom of my leather backpack, hidden away from prying eyes.

"I'm serious, Kara." She inhaled sharply again from the plastic mask pumping oxygen to her lungs and couldn't fight the ragging cough that threatened to overtake her.

"I know."

"Close the blinds and the door and give it here for a minute. There's something I need to show you." She waved at me, beckoning for the book I was already handing her.

The tattered leather-bound tome was a compilation of all the knowledge our family had obtained over the centuries.

I knew she wouldn't keep it from me, but even if she did, it didn't matter. I had already memorized its contents, my blood stains on its pages with the attempts I had made to expand my powers.

She could see the scars for herself but said nothing. She knew what it took to control such abilities. Blood was a simple sacrifice. Our lives, however, served a greater purpose. A purpose the Führer and the Red Death were all too willing to use to their advantage.

A living army of sorcerers and enchanters, once hidden among the common ranks of man, hid from the heinous reach of the government now that we had been ranked and quartered.

"Page eleven," she said simply, her eyes darting between the window and the door, waiting for someone, or something, to come through.

Most people behaved this way nowadays, even without the cancer involved. The Third Night had taken our liberty away as human beings, leaving us as shells of our former selves. Cloaked in mud and our own filth with each day that came anew, the remaining classes took to hiding beneath the civilized part of society that remained, living in the deserted sewers and flood drains lurking beneath North Cannon.

St. Mary's Catholic Hospital was one of only three facilities in the entire state that permitted Red Death survivors. The liability was one thing. The care another. Each patient could cost a Blue or Hazel life in prison while the usage of medicine could cost them their life in general.

One of the first memories I had of the Red Death occurred while I was volunteering at St. Mary's in the summer of my sophomore year.

One of the elderly patients had locked themselves in the bathroom with his IVs ready to ensnare the throat of anyone ballsy enough to try and take him from his room. Without ever touching the first lot of them, the red-eyed bastard ordered each of the nurses to stand in a line and shoot a syringe full of air into their veins, killing themselves instantly.

The moment the Red Death caught wind of the incident, they made their thoughts on the matter immediately clear. A RD squad burst into the same wing as the old man and assembled each of the hospice patients, decrepit and dying, along the wall and sprayed them with automated rifle fire until nothing remained but red splotches against the paint.

It was the second time I had witnessed their atrocities, and this time I didn't have to be told twice to hide. I knew better.

The moment I heard the swing of the revolving door accompanied by the slow collective march of patent leather boots fall single-file into the hallway behind me, I ducked beneath the patient records' desk, praying they couldn't see me.

I counted the seconds on my fingertips as I waited beneath the desk, my breath frantic in my chest like a bird trying to escape.

And so it happened everywhere.

And soon I, too, became a target.

### About The Author

> M. Dylan Blair currently resides in Charleston, South Carolina with her family. When she's not writing, her other interests include horticulture, renewable energy, natural medicine, and theology. Fall From Paradise is her first published novel.

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