

# Ascendant

### By Stephanie Kane

Prologue:

His ribs were branches. Blood slugged down his chest, sternum cracked open to expose a beating heart.

Horror knotted my gut. I walked forward, too terrified to speak.

Eden stormed. Lightning forked over the barren Tree of Knowledge. The plasma illuminated my angel.

His smile was raw. "You came, Eve.

I choked back tears. "You're dying, Samael."

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His arm shook. "No, not dying. It's worse than that. But I don't care. I needed to see you. One last time."

I bit my lip. "What happened to you? Did Michael do this?"

He shook his head. "No, Eve. I did."

My eyes widened. "Why - why did you call me here?" I said. "You're fighting a war. I thought you'd forgotten about me."

"Never, Eve. I would never forget you." He choked up gore. "Sorry."

I wiped the ichor from his mouth. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

He gave a strained laugh. "Nothing was. Please, Eve. Let me hold you."

I looked at his wound. "But you're hurt!"

He pulled me close, his breaths ragged. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters, not anymore." He sighed.

"Sam."

I wrapped my arms around him, knowing with sudden finality this was the last time we would meet. Our lips met under the shadow of his wings. He bled, onto my breast, warming my skin. It was a grisly intimacy.

His eyes met mine. "I need you to do something for me, Eve."

I could barely see past my tears. "Anything, Sam. Anything to help. Please, let me at least stitch up this wound-"

He held my hands firm, stopping me from tending to him. "No."

"Sam, you're not being rational!"

His eyes were pools of sickly light. "Maybe, but I'm too far gone."

"No," I begged. "No you're not."

He laughed weakly. "You were always too hopeful, Eve. A dreamer. It's what I love about you."

He was on the verge of madness, battle-stricken and bleeding out. "Sam, there's still time."

"No."

He reached into his chest, past dripping marrow, and pried his heart loose.

I screamed. "Don't do that!"

He pressed the heart to my hand. "It's fine, Eve. I don't need it. But you do. Our Father didn't make you and Adam like the angels – you're not immortal. You were his experiment in something called death – a cessation of existence. But with my heart, you'll become like the seraphim. Your soul will persevere."

The organ beat in my hands. I knew what this meant, this forbidden fruit. It was a death sentence for Samael. If I took it, he would be defenseless against God's army. But if I didn't, Samael would never forgive me.

I shook violently. "You can't ask this of me, Sam."

His smile cracked. "Please?"

My voice was a butterfly's whisper. "Why? Why would you make me do this?"

He held me close and answered: "So that we can meet again, in a time more forgiving than this one."

Cupping my hands in his, he raised the heart to my mouth. His lips trembled.

"Go on, Eve," he pleaded, "just a bite."

Chapter 1

A wall of cheering drew me from my slumber. I jolted awake, only to find myself sticky with sweat in the stands of a crowded football game. Rosanna peered at me with concern.

"You alright, mijita?" Rosanna asked.

The iron tang of blood was in my mouth. My mind flashed back to my gruesome nightmare, the one that had been plaguing me ever since I'd arrived at Hortense University. I could barely remember it - just that it had been hellish.

I shook my head, trying to rid my mind of whatever haunted it.

"Yeah," I said, "I'm fine. It's just the football game. It's like watching paint dry."

The lie slipped from my lips like water. I didn't want to put a damper on her mood.

Rosanna, my new college roommate - and best friend from high school - laughed. She laced her arm around me and squeezed. "It is. Why the hell did we have to go to this game for orientation? I'd rather pluck my toes off one by one." She scanned the field. "But at least your twin is cute."

My eyes followed her gaze to Mo, a wide receiver, who was going in for a touchdown. My brother nearly made it before he was tackled by an opposing player.

I snorted. "You wouldn't think Mo was cute if you lived with him. He used to put glue in my hair when we were kids. Don't you remember that? Mom had to chop it all off in the second grade."

Rosanna laughed. "That's what brothers are supposed to do. Be pains. God, is it hot or what?" She pulled at the collar of her top.

I glanced at her all-black ensemble. "It is, but you're probably boiling in your clothes."

Rosanna sighed and pulled out a parasol, shading us both. "The high price of being Goth."

We both laughed.

"What'd I miss?" came a voice like silk. I looked up to see Divya carrying three bottled waters from the concessions stand. Rosanna and I scooted over to make room for the final member of our former high school trio.

"Mo falling flat on his ass," I said.

Divya smiled. "He has a tendency to do that." She doled out the waters and took a healthy gulp from her own. She paused, as if considering something, then a wicked gleam flashed in her eye. "I bet you ten bucks Mo will hit on Rosanna in the next hour, Shannon."

I stuck out my tongue. "That's a bet I'm willing to lose, Div. Mo hits on anything with estrogen."

Divya raised her brows. "Men have estrogen too, Shannon. I thought we were going to be biology majors," she teased.

I chuckled. "You know what I mean. Anyways, it's hopeless. Mo's been crushing on Rosanna since the ninth grade, but he's completely not her type."

Rosanna smirked. "It's true. But I do like his calves: they're to die for."

"Ew," Divya and I both said.

"That's Shannon's brother you're talking about," Divya said.

I scrunched my nose. "Yeah, my twin. The one who flipped our high school's urinals upside down for his senior prank. Remember?"

Rosanna grinned mischievously. "I tell it like it is."

The football game passed, and the monotony of orientation dragged on. It was three days before classes started at Hortense, a sleepy liberal arts college tucked into the south of Virginia, and the town had barely woken up. Night life was dead, only freshmen and athletes were here, and all there was to do were banal mixers between different freshmen halls. If I had to play another name game, I'd skewer my heart with one of the dining hall sporks.

Rosanna, Divya and I grabbed dinner that night on campus. We sat a stone's throw away from Mo and his teammates, feasting on rubbery chicken and rice that had been overcooked. Halfway through our meal, Mo swaggered over to our table, still in his football uniform. I rolled my eyes as he approached.

"Ladies," Mo said, sitting down across from us. He focused specifically on Rosanna.

"Meathead," I replied.

Mo feigned offense. "See how my own sister treats me? Like steak," he said, trying to garner sympathy from my friends. It didn't work.

There was silence. He flexed surreptitiously as he reached for my soda, not caring whether I gave him permission to drink it. After taking a slurp, he handed it back. "I come bearing good news."

"Come to teach us how to land perfectly on our butts?" Divya said. "You did plenty of that on the field today."

Rosanna laughed.

Mo blushed. "Actually, I was going to invite you to a rager at the quarterback's house. But I see how it is. You don't want to hang out with me. Just like high school."

"Wait," I interrupted him. "An actual party?"

Mo nodded.

"We're in!" Rosanna said before I could reply. "Ay, anything to kill my boredom."

Mo grinned. "Great. The house is right off Main Street behind the Golden Dragon - you know, that Chinese restaurant. It starts at 9:00." He paused. "Oh, and Shannon. Stay away from the punch bowl. We all know you can't handle your alcohol."

Irritation flared in my gut. "It runs in the family, doesn't it, Mr. Barfs-at-Weddings?"

Mo rubbed his stomach. "It's champagne, Shannon. It doesn't agree with me."

"Excuses," I said.

Rosanna and Divya laughed.

"Whatever, ladies," Mo said. "Peace out." He gravitated back to the football table.

"I give him until 10:00 until he pukes his guts out," Rosanna said.

It took until 11:00.

I was rubbing my brother's back, consoling him as he dry heaved into the toilet, stomach already empty.

"The other guys will think I'm a pussy," Mo moaned, rolling onto his back. "Everything's spinning, Shannon. Make it stop."

"Maybe it wouldn't be spinning if you hadn't done a keg stand."

He gazed up at the peeling ceiling. "How come I barfed? You're the one that gets tipsy off juice."

"Mo, you know that's not true. You're drunk off your ass. Do you want me to get you a pillow or something?"

"Yes," he groaned. "And turn off the lights. I need to sleep." He hauled himself into the tub and closed his eyes.

I dimmed the lights and smiled kindly at my twin. "Okay, Mo, whatever you need. I'll be right back."

I closed the door and waded through throngs of dancers to the couch, retrieving a pillow and blanket for my disheveled brother. I tucked the pillow behind his head and sighed.

"What's wrong, Shannikins?" Mo slurred.

"Don't call me that, Mo."

"You've been grumpy all orientation."

I leaned against the tub. "I keep having these dreams. About blood. And death." I shook my head. "You know me, I never remember my dreams. I think it's all the stress."

"We're all stressed out, Shannon. It's college. No one knows what to expect." He attempted to pat my shoulder but ended up sprawled against the side of the tub. A bit of vomit clung to his lip. "You're the smartest girl I know, Shannon. Smarter than even Divya. You'll get through this."

I smiled. "Thanks, Mo. Want to sleep now?"

He nodded, eyes fluttering closed.

I made my way back to the dance floor, leaving Mo in relative peace - or pieces, whichever, I supposed. Rosanna danced like a snake, completely in her own world, and Divya grinded with Seth Yoon, a delicate guy from our hall that looked like a K-pop star. With Divya distracted, I joined Rosanna in her dance.

"Ay, mijita!" Rosanna said, "is Mo okay?"

I laughed. "Ask me when his hangover's over."

Someone tapped my shoulder. I immediately recognized the upperclassman linebacker - Baxter - that had held Mo upside down for his keg stand.

"Hey," Baxter said, "sorry about your brother. I was the same way freshmen year. In over my head, trying to impress the team, making an idiot of myself. Is he okay?"

I laughed it off. "Yeah, he's fine. He's a clown."

Baxter smiled. "Want to dance?"

I sized him up. He was a tall, tan guy, maybe Italian, with a killer smile. Totally my type. "Sure," I said.

Our bodies met like fire and gasoline. I flushed with the dance as we circled each other. Baxter slid his hands down my hips. We talked over the rap - he was a business major, and liked fixing cars. Finally, we came to a lull in the music.

"Thirsty?" Baxter asked, grinning.

"Sure," I said, smiling in return.

He came back with two drinks.

"Punch?" Baxter asked. He slipped a silver flask out of his pocket. "I have a bit of vodka if you want to spice it up," he said, then winked.

"Why the hell not?" I smiled, took the spiked punch, and clacked my cup against his. "Cheers!"

"To what?" Baxter said.

"Not fucking up college."

"Hear hear," he said. He downed his drink in one gulp. We grinded together to the beat. Rosanna clapped us on, having found a cute Goth guy of her own. Soon, Divya and Seth joined us, and we were at the heart of the group. I completely forgot about Mo's agony. Baxter played bartender and mixed vodka into our drinks, and soon, we were all buzzed.

"You look like a runner!" Baxter called over the beat.

I laughed. "I am. Sort of. I ran varsity for cross-country in high school."

"Ah." Baxter smiled. "That explains it." He put his hands on my hips and whispered into my ear. "Hey, there are some great trails out in the College Woods, by the lake. Think you can run faster than me?"

I was tipsy, I had to admit it, even to myself. "Hell yes I do, linebacker. When do you want to go?"

"Now."

"Now?" I laughed, a bit nervous, but excited. I could never turn down an offer to race.

"Yeah. It'd be easy to slip away."

The thrill of a challenge shot through me. "Sure," I said. "Let me go get changed."

Baxter smiled. "Great. Meet me on the back porch of your freshman hall in twenty minutes. Which one is it?"

"Trothman Hall."

"Right," Baxter said.

I said goodbye to Rosanna and Divya, and went to my room. I changed into a running tank and black shorts. My sneakers fit snug on my feet, and I grabbed my phone just in case. What I was doing might have been stupid, but Baxter had tapped into one of my secrets: I adored night-running. Late in northern Virginia, when my parents were asleep, I would slip out of my room, climb down the gutter, and go for midnight jogs. I'd bring my nature journals and record what I saw, an aspiring biologist, catching fireflies and rare moths, listening to coyotes howl, unexpected immigrants from the southwest. It was my high. My treasure. Sweat, darkness, and the slightest bit of danger, only to be paid with bruises under my eyes and root-twisted ankles come morning.

I met Baxter under the porch lantern. Bugs buzzed around the electric light. He took my hand and led me to a gravel path that looped behind the dorms and out into the woods. We chatted as we walked, glancing up at the summer stars and listening for owls. The moon hung over our heads like a sickle, faint light illuminating the dirt path. We came to a silver lake, wide and large, dappled with reflected clouds.

"This path goes around the lake," Baxter said, squeezing my hand. "I'll go one way, you go the other. Whoever makes it back here first wins."

"And what are the stakes?"

"Stakes?" Baxter echoed. He grinned. "Like if I win, you have to kiss me?"

I laughed. "Sure," I said. "And if I win, you take me out for lunch."

"Can't I just do both?"

"We'll see."

And with that, we were off.

Chapter 2

I speared through the darkness, cricket-song in my ears. My legs beat a staccato rhythm on the leafy path as I ran through the night. My breath came hot in my lungs, and I admired the reflection of the crescent moon on the lake's surface. I thought of the flurry of today. Things were shaping up much better than I'd imagined. That is, perhaps until classes hit. Then I might get my ass kicked by the workload of a biology major.

I shrugged off the thought, enjoying the thrum of the night. The woods were alive with sounds – leaves rustling in the breeze, insects calling to one another, bats clicking above. It was a hidden language I longed to understand. I came to a thick copse of trees that bordered the lake and lost sight of the water. Blackness threaded around me from the leafy bower's shade. I couldn't see the path and trusted it was under my feet, only to find after minutes of running that I was off the trail. Panicked, I whipped out the light on my phone, but there was no trace of the beaten dirt. The tree trunks wove ribbons around me as I turned in a circle, shining my light and searching for the lake. I was in the midst of thick, twisting pine. Their needles spritzed the air with the smell of sap as I walked cautiously forward, calling out for Baxter. There was no reply.

"Hello?" I said. My voice echoed. I cursed my brick of a phone for not having GPS maps built in. If only my stingy parents would upgrade it. Oh well, I thought, I guess I have to wing it. I'd gotten lost before on midnight runs, and sometimes it had taken hours to get home, yet I always did. But these woods were alien terrain, not the familiar forests of home, and I feared as I kept walking that I was stumbling deeper into the thick of the wild. Hortense was in a small country town surrounded by undeveloped wilderness, near swampland that was uninhabitable. It would be easy to get lost here.

My palms sweat. I called Rosanna to say I was lost. She had her phone off, and I got directed to voicemail. I tried Divya - same deal. Begrudging, I called Mo, only to find he too had his phone off. Resigned, I texted the three of them with sad faces saying I didn't know where I was. With no one else to call, I continued on, cursing myself for not bringing my compass or at least a flashlight. After a while, my phone battery died, and I realized I was truly lost in the College Woods – if I was even still in them.

I was distracted from my anxiety by the gentle hoo of a barred owl, my favorite bird, whose calls were supposed to precede rain. Sure enough, the sky blanketed with clouds, and I was plunged into thicker black as a light drizzle began. I trudged onwards, making sure not to slip on wet roots and rocks. After perhaps an hour, I was panicking, calling out for someone, anyone, to respond. No one replied.

"Damn it, Shannon. You're an idiot." I cursed myself for deciding a night run was a good idea.

I tripped into something cold and metallic. "What the...?" Lightning struck, illuminating what lay before me. It was the ruins of an old church with a fenced-in cemetery, ivy and briars twined round the graves. I'd walked into the fence's gate. It creaked open on unoiled hinges, revealing a stone path to the church. "What is this doing in the middle of the woods?" I said, entering. I might as well go inside, if the roof hadn't caved in, and seek shelter from the rain. The lightning was frequent enough to illuminate my way, and I hurried inside, scanning the empty, rotted pews.

An altar lay at the front, beneath a cracked stained glass window. An angel was depicted in milky blues and golds. I inhaled deeply, appreciating what was left of it. Thankful the roof was intact, I sat down on a rock, waiting as I shivered. Where the hell was I? How would I get back to Trothman Hall before anyone noticed I was gone? I so did not want to be known as that freshman that had too much to drink and got lost, much less have Baxter freak out over my absence. Feeling guilty, I stared up at the rafters, some barely clinging to the ceiling, and looked through a hole high up in the wall. The church might well cave in on me at any minute.

The storm finally abated, slowing to a trickle, and the thunder dissipated, leaving behind the soft patter of drops. A voice echoed through the walls: someone singing in a low, gravelly voice. I pinched myself, thinking I'd fallen asleep, only to be reassured I was definitely awake. Someone was out there, in the graveyard, at this ungodly hour of the night, doing god knew what. Was it Baxter? Had he followed me? Was he pulling some kind of prank? Or was I panicking so much I was hallucinating? A metallic snip interspersed the song, like a blade scraping against stone. Fear laced my veins. It sounded like someone was wielding a weapon. Images of a switchblade flashed through my mind. Oh god, oh god, I was finally getting what I deserved for these stupid night runs!

I sat still, barely daring to breathe, as the song continued. Whoever it was – definitely a man – sounded like Nick Cave. I couldn't make out the words, but the tone iced my bones. It sounded like a song of loss, and pain. The snipping grew louder, and I saw a shadow pass over the stained glass. Oh god, he was close. The smell of expensive aftershave and the spice of autumn leaves drifted through the window, coupled with the scent of bonfires – and was that loam? Like crushed earth around a coffin. I gulped down air, ready to scream. The shadow was tall, too tall, and he was holding something, like a staff with a – a – oh my god. It had a curved blade, like a scythe. He brought it down in a sweeping arc and chopped ivy off a gravestone, producing the sound of metal scraping against rock.

Confusion bubbled up from my core. What was he doing, tending to an abandoned graveyard? It made no sense. He paused as if to survey his work, then crouched over, brushing back the ivy to reveal the inscription on the grave. Silence followed, and he sighed, going back to his work and song.

I could barely make out any details of his figure, other than that he was tall, dressed in some kind of flowing garment that seemed stitched together of shadow. What did he think he was, a Franciscan monk? I suppressed a panicked laugh at the thought and tried to compose myself. I could sneak out, through the front door, run away, and he would never know-

"Are you really going to sit there in that ruin and not introduce yourself?" came a low voice. Blue eyes glowed in the dark, and I jumped off my rock. A sharp gust of wind picked up, slamming the church door shut. The gale blew hair into my face. I scampered behind the rock.

The man laughed. "There there, lamb. I don't bite. At least, not yet." The storm grew stronger, and lightning flashed, illuminating his face.

I gasped. He had sharp features – razor cheekbones, a strong nose, and a jaw-line that could cut. Black hair fell like a curtain down his back, and his eyes were like shovels scooping out my brain. He smirked, revealing pointed canines. He ran his tongue over his incisors and laughed, then disappeared round the corner of the window.

Before I could move, he was at the door, strolling in as if taking a leisurely walk through the park. He bowed, and I could see that he was wearing a severe black robe whose ends snaked out in tendrils. Nothing about him was human. The air round me turned icy. One of his robe's tendrils crept across the floor and coiled around my ankle. I screamed and tried to kick it off, only to have it knot firmly around me.

"Just a precaution, lamb," he said, pointing to the knot. "I need to know how you found my church, and it won't do to have you bolt for the door. Not that that'd be much use, anyway." He laughed unkindly and planted the butt of his scythe in the ground.

"Your church?" I said. This – this thing wasn't human. Wasn't real. Baxter must have spiked my drink with something worse than alcohol. I shuddered under the apparition's gaze. He was pale, too pale, but beautiful in a cruel way. The way a cobra is pretty, or fire burns like a spell.

He looked at his nail-beds. "Yes, my church. I'm the only one who comes here, after all." He glanced at me. "You're not very friendly, are you?"

"Friendly?" I said. "You're terrorizing me, and I'm either roofied or insane. Of course I'm not friendly."

The apparition shrugged. "Don't get your panties in a wad. I'm just trying to make small talk." With that, he reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a cigarette, then spat sparks onto it and lit it, taking a drag.

My jaw dropped. "You just spat-"

"Fire? I know. Cool party trick, eh?" He breathed out smoke and it wove together like two asps. I shuddered, palms slick with sweat. "You're not roofied, and you're not hallucinating. You've just had the misfortune of stumbling upon a place you most definitely should not be. Namely, my territory."

"Your territory?" I said. "What are you, a werewolf?"

He snorted. "Do I look hairy to you?"

"You have... pointy teeth. Oh god, why am I talking to a hallucination?" I pinched myself again. Unfortunately, the apparition was still there. "Crap! I'm still asleep, high, or god knows what."

"I told you, you're awake. Quit whining. What are you going to do, piss yourself in terror?"

Offended by the rude-mouthed apparition, I glared at him. "No, I'm going to do this." And with that, I darted forward, kneeing him in the crotch.

He cursed, biting down on his lip and drawing blood. "You maggot!" he said. "You sniveling, low-born worm! That hurt."

"No duh," I said, crossing my arms. "Now get the hell out of my way and let me go."

He straightened to his full height, towering over me. "Not likely," he said. "You trespassed into my realm, and I need to figure out how."

"Realm?" I said. "This is a podunk, abandoned church with a shitty little graveyard in the middle of the woods. What are you, some homeless creep that dresses up like a vampire and squats here?"

"The graveyard is beautiful, and no way in Gehenna am I anything like a leech," he said.

"Leech?"

"Vampire," he said. "The scum of the earth." He muttered to himself and wiped his sleeves of dirt.

I laughed wildly. "You're telling me vampires are real? And that you have some sort of complex about them? Well excuse me. Those plastic fangs hinted otherwise."

The knot around my ankle tightened, dragging me closer to him. "You, maggot, are inconceivably dense," he said. "What in the nine circles of hell am I going to do with you?"

"You talk like a roleplayer. What are you, a Dungeons and Dragons fan?" I said. All my fear dissipated as I was confronted with the ridiculousness of the situation. I'd be damned if I let some Goth wannabe hurt me. The icy air reverted to normal.

"No, I play chess, but that's beside the point," the apparition said. He set his scythe – or whatever it was – down on a broken pew, then advanced towards me until he was a hair's breadth away. I shivered at the proximity – it was like looking into the eyes of a shark. "You still haven't introduced yourself," he said.

"Why should I?" I said. "You'll just use that information against me. Stalk me home and murder me in my sleep."

"Is that what you think?" he said. "Fine, I'll set an example. Perhaps you'll follow. My name is Sam, and I'm incredibly bored."

"Bored?" I said. "You're insane!"

"Perhaps. Nothing else to do on a Friday night but grounds-keep in an abandoned graveyard. But then again, you're not the picture of sanity either, wandering these woods late at night. Didn't your mother teach you about safety?"

"Don't lecture me, Corpseboy," I said.

"Corpseboy?"

"Yeah, because you're pasty as a cadaver."

"Never call me that again, worm."

"Fine, Boniface."

"What in the nine hells is your problem?"

"You're pale as bone. It makes sense."

"Boniface is a saint, and there's nothing saintly about me."

"You got that right, creep." I crossed my arms, defiant. "Now let me go."

"Not until you answer my questions, ape."

"Ape?" I said.

"Fleshbag. Hairless, Procrustean slime. Take your pick."

We engaged in a glaring match. "I hate you," I said.

"The loathing is mutual, worm."

"Then why can't I go?"

"Because you still haven't introduced yourself, and I still have answers to hear."

"Fine!" I said. "I'm Shannon O'Connor. Can I go now?"

"No, Shannon. You're in danger. You've strayed into my realm, and the way back to Earth isn't easy."

I gawked. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? We're on Earth, Corpseboy."

His temple throbbed in annoyance. "Do you want me to throw you to the hellhounds?"

"What? Hellhounds? This isn't a video game, freak!"

As if in answer to my question, the baying of something like a cross between a wolf and hyena echoed through the woods. "What the heck was that?"

"Hungry, that's what," Sam, or whoever he was, said. He looked at me sidelong. "And you look delectable."

"Ew!" Anger broiled in my stomach. I was so not being hit on by a hobo, or hallucination, or whatever he was, even if this Sam was hot, in an undead kind of way.

He shrugged. "I'm just making an observation. Nice piercing, by the way. Very macabre."

I blushed, realizing my shirt had ridden up as I'd scrambled off the rock, revealing my skull belly button ring. "Thanks," I said. "Now stop checking me out."

He laughed like a knife. "You really think I'd be interested in you?"

Offended, I opened my mouth to respond, but shut it, frightened by the howling.

"I don't like redheads," he said, ignorant of my panic. "I don't really like humans, either."

"You are human!" I said, wanting to bash his head in with his scythe. "Now can we go? The coyotes are getting closer."

"They're hellhounds. And I am most decidedly not human."

"Okay, whatever, let's leave before we get rabies."

"Oh, no worries. You wouldn't live long enough after an attack to get that. Not that you're going to leave these premises. You're much safer here," he said, as if it was common knowledge.

"No I'm not! Not with a raving lunatic with coyotes on the prowl."

"The hellhounds can't enter holy ground."

"Oh, of course they can't," I said, rolling my eyes. "Now do we roll the twelve sided dice to decide what to do next?"

"This isn't a game, Shannon O'Connor," Sam said. "Now would you like to live or not?"

"Oh, I don't know, yes?" I said, caustic.

Sam took a drag of his cigarette. "Good. Now, tell me, how did you find this church?"

I sighed. "I was out for a run. It rained. I took shelter. End of story."

He muttered to himself. "... impossible..."

"What? What's impossible?"

"This is a hellmouth, a gateway to the underworld, and there's no way a human could have stumbled across it accidentally..."

"Oh, sure it is – what is this, Buffy the Vampire Slayer?"

Sam narrowed his glacial eyes. "This makes no sense," he said. "You reek of humanity, and there's no trace of supernatural blood in your system, yet here you are, able to cross the border into Hell."

"Wait, what, you think I'm in Hell? What the heck is wrong with you?" I panicked. "Hell doesn't exist, and I'm agnostic, so you can shove your Christian crap and stop proselytizing me. Anyways, I don't belong in Hell. I behave well - mostly."

Sam snorted. "Behavior has nothing to do with the ability to enter Hell. Only immortals can locate and cross through hellmouths. You're an anomaly." He peered at me like I was a jewel he was about to add to his collection. A crooked smile spread across his face. "You could be very useful to me," he said. "Very useful indeed."

"Oh heck no," I said. "I'm not spending another minute with you."

The howls and yips drew closer. "You don't have much of a choice," Sam said.

I fumed. "Screw you, Corpseboy," I said, stomping away, only to trip when the fabric knotted around my ankle caught me. Sam offered his hand to help me up. I swatted it away.

"Stupid girl." He ground his teeth.

"Psycho hobo," I said.

"Do you have a death-wish? Because trust me, I can fulfill it with ease."

"No! Which is why I'm trying to get away from you. I'd rather face rabid coyotes than another minute of your insanity-"

He hissed. Literally hissed at me. I paled at the inhuman sound that rumbled in his throat. "What are you?" I asked.

"I told you," he said. "I'm Sam."

"You're not human!"

"Obviously." He dusted off his sleeves. It was like a tic of his.

"Then what are you, all-knowing apparition?" I said.

"Many things, none of which are pleasant, and absolutely none of which should associate with young women. I forgot that human girls are such a headache." He groaned, massaging his temple. "Usually you're all too awestruck to natter on when I arrive. But then again, these are unusual circumstances." He straightened the severe collar of his robe and stamped out his cigarette on the ground. "I need a damn drink," Sam said, reaching into his pocket once again to withdraw a flask. He took a swig and offered it to me.

I curled my lip in disgust. "No thank you. I don't need to make contact with anything your clammy lips touched."

He snarled. "I'm not clammy. I'm nothing like a corpse."

"Then maybe you shouldn't dress in black. It kind of makes your pallor stand out."

"I like black," he said, "and I'm not pallid." It was almost a question.

"Sure you're not, Sam," I said.

"I try to tan." He cursed. "Even in summer, it never works."

"So if we're really in Hell, where's the fire?" I said.

"The underworld is vast. Sure, it's fiery at the heart of Hell, but we're a long ways from there."

"So where are we? The hick part of hell?"

He snorted. "We're on the borders of Hell, where it crosses over into Earth. Where I come to relax."

"You relax by slicing things with your scythe?"

"It's called gardening, worm. It's a hobby of mine."

I picked up the scythe. "So does this thing really work?-"

"Don't touch that! How are you touching that and not dead?" he said, grabbing it from me, face furious.

"Whoa, calm down. I just wanted to see it."

He looked at me, then at the scythe, then back again. Confusion replaced his fury. "How did you – what?" He shook his head. "You should have crumbled to dust the instant you touched her."

"Her? Who's her?"

"Marilyn - my scythe."

I stepped back. "Your scythe is a girl."

"Yes," he said. "Like how people name cars. But that's beside the point. Beelzebub's balls, you're infuriating."

"Well excuse me!"

"You should be dirt," Sam said slowly. "Piecemeal. Nothing." It was his turn to be terrified. "What are you?"

I gave him a long look. "Um, a college student?"

"No you're not." He hissed again.

"Stop talking like Voldemort!"

"Are you an assassin?" he said. "Did you really think you could hurt me?"

"What? No. God, you're crazy." I grabbed the scythe from him and cut myself free of his robe, then darted out the door. I bolted through the gate and into the woods. Howls followed my feet. "Oh crap, coyotes." I panicked, running every which way, trying to evade the noise. The sound of paws hitting dirt drew closer. I ran blindly, narrowly avoiding trees in the darkness. A gully appeared, leading down to a small stream. It glinted red, like-

"Blood!" I said. My cry was met by howls directly behind me, earth-shattering sounds like peals of thunder. I turned to see monstrous black chimeras of wolf and hyena baring their teeth at me, mouths foaming. They yipped, then made for me, closing in as if I were prey. I yelped and waded into the red stream, disgusted to find it lagged, clotted in places, as if it were blood.

"Oh god, oh god oh god oh god!"

"There is no God here," came a voice from above. I glanced up to see what looked like a monstrous raven, all black wings, land on the bank behind me. No, not a raven - it was taller than most men – it was Sam, feathers sprouted from his back \- brandishing his scythe. He swiped it in vicious arcs, severing the attacking coyotes' – hellhounds' – whatevers' heads from their bodies as they dove towards us. Spittle from one landed on me, and I was splattered with their gore. I shrieked, making my way to the other bank only to be faced with a steep, steep incline that I hadn't been able to make out in the dark. I turned around, trapped between an avenging angel and an onslaught of beasts.

"Stay still," Sam said.

"What are those things?"

"Hellhounds." He punched one in the nose and kicked it until it coughed up teeth.

"And - and you?"

He wiped blood from his forehead. "Not a hellhound."

"I know that!"

He faced off against another beast and sliced its underside so its guts spilled onto the dirt. The last one howled, making for his throat, but he kicked it into a tree, spearing it on a branch. The grisly corpse hung there, pierced as if staked by Vlad the Impaler. The hellhound whimpered, then slumped dead against the bark. Sam cleaned the blade of his scythe with his robe. He glanced at me, grin feral. "That was fun," he said. "I don't think I'm bored now."

"Fun?" I gawked. "We were almost killed! And I'm standing in a stream of blood. Is this how you get your kicks?"

"Sometimes. Like I said, I also like chess."

I gaped at his wings, shining raven black in the moonlight. "What are those?" I said weakly, pointing at the luminous pinions.

He flexed them. "Pretty self-explanatory, if you ask me."

I sunk to my knees, crying. "I'm insane, I'm insane. Either that, or I'm dead. College was supposed to be fun. Not the death of me."

His face softened. "You really are just a confused human, aren't you?" he said. "Not an assassin after all." He glided over to me on gentle wings. Sam landed beside me and patted my back awkwardly. "Erm, sorry if I scared you. I have that effect on people."

I choked on snot, leaning against him. "Take me home, please," I said.

"Damn it, I hate it when women cry," he said. He gathered me up in his arms and carried me across the stream. I didn't resist.

"What are you?" I said.

"Just Sam. That's all you need to know." He pressed two fingers to my forehead, whispered something in a strange language, and before I could say any more, sleep flooded my mind.

Chapter 3

I woke with a start in my dorm room. The fan was on, blasting cool air in my face. Morning light slipped through the blinds. "Sam?" I murmured, groggy. How did I get back from the woods and those terrible hellhounds? Who put my pajamas on me? Rosanna snored in the bed near the door, tossing in her sleep. I glanced at my alarm: 7:00 AM. "What the...?"

I rocketed out of my bed and fired up my laptop, then opened a search engine. I typed in "hellhound," drawing up lots of roleplay websites and a folklore article. Clicking on the latter, I drew back as if I'd been stung. There was a depiction of a hellhound on the screen that exactly matched what I'd seen – dreamed of? - last night.

I furiously typed in "Sam hell," resulting in nothing but movie, TV, and book articles. Thinking, I typed in "Samuel hell" and clicked the search button. The first result was for a slang term, "Sam Hill," which was a euphemism for hell or the devil personified. My blood iced as I read on. I remembered the demonic looking Sam from my nightmare. I scanned the last few lines, seeing a sentence that said it was theorized that Sam Hill was a reference to Samael, the angel of death. Samael. Death. I felt like I was about to barf. Cautiously clicking on the link, I arrived at the entry for "Samael," scanned the page and saw that, not only was this Samael the angel of death, he was also basically Satan. I screamed.

Rosanna shot up, hair a tangle on her head. "What's wrong, Shannon?" she said.

"I – I saw a spider."

Rosanna yelped. "Dios mio, where?"

"Um, I squashed it."

"Phew." Rosanna wiped her brow in relief. "Hey, Baxter said you ditched him last night. He said you went on a run or something but left in the middle of it. What happened?"

"I got lost," I said, slamming my laptop closed.

"Oh, okay. Because I came back from the party at midnight and you were sound asleep. Almost like you'd been tucked into bed."

"I – I was?" I reeled. I must have been drunk, blacked out, and come back here to sleep, then had a trip of a dream. "I think I drank too much," I said.

"Ay, me too," Rosanna said. "I got wasted last night," she giggled. "Hey, don't you think Cooper is cute?"

"Um, who?"

"The guy I was dancing with. You know, blue hair?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure."

Rosanna smiled, brushing her hair. "Me too. Hey, you look pretty hungover. Are you okay?"

"I – I just had a really bad dream." I swung my legs over my desk chair and stood up.

"Oh my god, Shannon, is that blood?" Rosanna asked, pointing to my leg. "I have tampons if you need one."

"No way, I had my period last week..." I looked down at my calf, seeing dried blood from where the hellhound's head had nearly landed on me in my dream last night. "What the hell!" I said. "Um, it must be my period, somehow." I grabbed a tampon, rushed to the hall bathroom, and checked. No period. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," I said, rocking back and forth on the toilet lid. I sucked in air. Whatever had happened last night at the church, with Sam – Samael – whoever he was, had been real. After wetting some paper towels and wiping off the blood, I walked back to my room as if a death sentence awaited me and sunk into bed, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge my new reality.

When I woke up again, it was 8:30, time for breakfast. We made our way to the dining hall. Divya looked immaculate in pink pumps and a white cotton dress, while Rosanna wore a flowing black skirt and leather vest. We were joined by Seth Yoon, who sat close to Divya, and Cooper. Jokes and references to last night flew around me as I chewed my scrambled eggs in a daze. I heard someone call my name and turned to see Baxter, smile deflated, approaching me.

"Hey," I said halfheartedly. "Sorry... sorry about last night. I got lost."

"Oh," he said in relief. "Hey, I was really worried. Can't have the prettiest girl in school getting lost."

"I was pretty drunk," I said.

He laughed good-naturedly. Mo called for Baxter, slamming the seat beside him at a table across the cafeteria. Baxter waved at him. "I was too," Baxter said. "So I guess neither of us won. But about lunch..."

"You can take me." I grinned, momentarily forgetting the horror of last night.

"Cool." Baxter beamed, waved bye and walked over to Mo.

Rosanna winked at me. "Nice catch, mijita."

I laughed, easing into the conversation, determined to forget about last night's fluke in reality. I could either go insane or ignore it. I chose the latter.

The next three days passed in a blur, full of adviser meetings, orientation, and mixers. Divya went to a Meet the Greeks event to scope out sororities while Rosanna and I visited the activities fair. I signed up for running club and art club while Rosanna chatted with the creative writing group. Soon our inboxes were flooded with the clubs' respective emails, meetings slated for the beginning of next week. Baxter took me out to lunch the day before classes started, a surprisingly fun time, and all seemed normal except my late nights scouring the annals of the internet for information on Samael and Hell. I felt like a walking encyclopedia of demonology, confused by some scholars' identification of Samael with an archangel, while others considered him the Grim Reaper or Lucifer.

"What are you doing, Shannon?" Rosanna asked me late one night, glancing up from a journal she was scribbling in.

"Blogging," I lied, quickly closing the browser of a Satanic website.

"Oh, can I see it?"

"Um, it's private. Like a diary."

Rosanna smiled. "You're not writing about Baxter, are you?"

I blushed. "Most definitely not."

Rosanna's eyes sparked. "So how did the lunch date go?"

I laughed. "He talks a lot about football and cars."

Rosanna chuckled. "He really likes you. I can tell. I have a sixth sense with guys, you know."

"Do you?"

"Yep. I read Tarot cards too, did you know that? My abuela taught me this summer, before she died. Let me do a reading for you!"

"No, actually, I think I'm fine-"

"Oh, c'mon, it'll be fun. I'll do the soul mate spread."

"I don't believe in that stuff, Rosanna."

"That's what makes it fun." She pulled out a deck of cards from her nightstand and set them up on the carpet. I sat down with her, reluctant. She shuffled the deck and fanned the cards out. "Okay, choose three cards. Just pick whatever you feel drawn too."

I did, handing them to her face down.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Wow, this is a really powerful hand," she said. She laid down the first one. "This is the Queen of Cups. It's who you are. Someone like water, creative yet grounded, with a good heart. You're in touch with your emotions." I nodded, and she showed me the next card, smirking.

"What is it?" The question died in my throat. It was a picture of the Devil. "Oh god," I said.

Rosanna laughed. "This is your soul mate. Handsome, isn't he, with those cloven feet."

"No." I paled. "He's not."

"Oh, don't worry. The Devil can mean a lot of things. Like sexuality. Maybe your soul mate is hung." Rosanna giggled.

"Great."

"And the last card..." Rosanna said, laying it down. "Is Death. It's what stands in the way of your relationship."

"You're kidding me." I remembered that Samael was the angel of death. "Am I going to die? Is my soul mate going to kill me?"

Rosanna laughed. "No, no. The Death card means change. Transformation. Your soul mate, and you, both have to change before you can be together."

"I think my soul mate needs a good wax," I said, eying the hairy Devil card.

Rosanna nodded her head in agreement. "And he needs his horns trimmed. They could put an eye out."

We laughed nervously. Rosanna collected the cards. "It's just a little trick," she said, putting the deck away. "My abuela was a bruja."

"A what?"

"A witch. Kind of like a folk healer, back in Mexico. She was into Santeria."

"Oh, like Voodoo?" I asked.

"Sort of," Rosanna said. She pulled me up off the ground. It was late, after dinner, the day before classes started, but Rosanna had a glimmer in her eye. "We should do something to celebrate the night before classes."

"Like what?"

"Let's go to the lake and flash it, then make a wish."

"What?" I asked. "This isn't another one of your crazy ideas, Rosanna, is it?"

Rosanna laughed. "It's a little tradition the women in my family do. We show our chichis to Ochún, the Orisha of water, and she laughs and grants us a wish. It's a little bit of nonsense my abuela started. C'mon, it'll be fun."

"That's kinda weird, Rosanna."

Rosanna shrugged. "I know, but it works."

"It does?"

Rosanna nodded. "Oh hell yes. Let's go." She dragged me out of the room and down the stairs. I found myself on the same dirt path Baxter and I had taken to the lake. It was deserted, but just to be sure, we walked a ways into the woods. The moon glowed above in a clear glass sky. We faced the lake and Rosanna flashed it, whispering her wish. I, hesitant, did the same, only to hear a low wolf-whistle greet me. Startled, I tugged my shirt down, glancing around in panic.

"Did you hear that?" I asked Rosanna.

She looked at me in confusion. "What? I didn't hear anything. What was it?"

"A wolf-whistle."

Rosanna paled. "Oh crap. Someone must have seen us." We ran away from the lakeside, giggling. Giggling, that is, until I ran straight into our voyeur.

"Was that for me?" Sam asked, smirking.

"No!" I said, pounding his chest. He grabbed my wrists, immobilizing me. I looked to Rosanna for help, only to see her slumped on the ground, snoring. "What the heck?"

"I put her to sleep. Didn't want her interfering." Sam shrugged. He let me go, then helped Rosanna up. She stirred.

"Who are you?" she said.

"No one," Sam – Samael? - said, pressing two fingers to her brow and whispering into her ear. "Now be a good girl and go back to your dorm."

Rosanna smiled dreamily and did just that.

I gawked. "You just mind-controlled her."

"No, I suggested something. She was just wise enough to listen."

"Liar!"

"I've been called worse."

"I know who you are." I pointed at him, accusing.

He chuckled. "Oh really?"

"You're Samael, the angel of death, aka Satan, aka a demon."

His amused expression disappeared. "How did you figure that out, worm?"

"Hah! You're not denying it, then?"

He shrugged. "No use lying, I suppose. Why are you so excited? Shouldn't you be voiding your bowels in terror?"

"I'm sick of being scared," I said, hands on my hips. "I don't care what you are. I looked up the lesser banishing ritual of the pentagram, and I'm not afraid to use it."

"I'm quivering in fear."

"You should be."

"Now where's the pentagram?"

I faltered. "I – I could draw one-"

He laughed. "With what chalk?"

"Never mind." I scowled. I noticed he was dressed in khaki shorts, boat shoes, and a black polo. "Where's your death robe?"

"Oh, it's in the wash." He wiped his shoulder of dust. "I've been meaning to speak with you, Shannon. Our conversation was cut short the other night."

"Like hell you have. I'm not looking to be possessed, and I sure as heck don't want to call in an exorcist. So why don't you leave me alone?"

He sighed. "If only it was that easy. You see, you pose a danger – to others and yourself. You have abilities beyond mortal ken."

"I what?"

"You can wield the scythe of the angel of death, for one, and you sashay across hellmouths unescorted. Things that should be impossible come easily to you, and I am determined to figure out why."

"Maybe I'm naturally gifted," I said.

"Perhaps. Or maybe Hell has need of you."

"What the heck is that supposed to mean?" I said, pulling a loose thread from the hem of my red plaid sundress.

"Hell is in chaos at the moment," Samael said.

"Isn't that sort of the definition of Hell?"

"Perhaps. But it is more chaotic than usual. Something is stirring – there have been freak accidents, assassination attempts, and criminals escaping across the border of Earth to wreak havoc."

"Sounds a lot like your problem and nothing like my business," I said, grinding the heel of my shoe into the dirt.

"Shannon, sometimes fate is strange. It threads together in ways that even I can't quite see. I think – no, I am sure – that you have a role to play in the theater of the cosmos." Samael brushed a lock of ebon hair behind his ear.

"Why should I trust a word you say? You're Satan."

Samael sighed. "Do you know what Satan is, Shannon? It's a title. I'm the accuser, seducer, and destroyer. I destroy the petty lies humans build around themselves and show them their true potential. I can do that for you, if you'll allow me."

"No way!" I said, backing away. "I don't want anything to do with you. Stop stalking me."

"I didn't stalk you here. I was trying to discover how you crossed over into a hellmouth the other night-"

"You changed my clothes!" I said, blushing.

"I what?" Samael said.

"My pajamas. You put me to sleep and left me back in my room, with my pajamas on, clearly not in my shirt and shorts. You didn't even leave on my underwear, you perv."

"They were dirty," he said, defensive. "Anyways, I already told you. I'm not attracted to redheads."

"My hair is auburn, Corpseboy. There's a difference."

"Whatever you say. I was just trying to do you a favor," he said, smoothing his shorts.

"By undressing me?"

"And redressing you, cleaning you up, and tucking you into bed. I think that was rather courteous of me. I could have just left you lying here by the lake."

I fumed. "Yeah, Sam? Well you missed a big swatch of hellhound blood."

He grinned, revealing sharp incisors. "I wanted you to remember, not to think it a dream."

I glared at him. "I'm not going to work with you, or whatever it is you have planned for me. I don't care if I'm 'useful.' I have exams to ace and friends to make. I'm going to be a field biologist-"

Samael snorted.

"What?" I said. "What's funny?"

"I'm not asking you to drop your prior commitments, Shannon. Merely urging you to open your mind to a world beyond the mundane."

"My dreams aren't mundane," I said. "The natural world is filled with beauty, and I plan on capturing every moment of it. I'm going to travel, to lead a gypsy life on different research trips, hopping from place to place and not giving a single thought to the disaster you're trying to drag me into." I rose to my full height and faced down Death. "And you don't scare me, so don't for a second think you can pressure me into selling my soul."

Samael scoffed. "What would I want with your soul? I already have one, thank you very much." He stared at my heart, and I felt my pulse quicken. "Though it is a very exquisite specimen."

I crossed my arms over my breasts. "Gee, thanks. I haven't heard that line before."

Samael's temple throbbed. "I'm not remotely interested in you, Shannon, even if you do try to flash me."

"That wasn't for you! That was for a wish!"

"What wish?"

I scowled. "For you to leave me alone. Apparently Ochún wasn't listening."

"Who, the Orisha? She's nice. Kind of a hippie."

"She's real?"

"Of course. Most gods and spirits humanity has thought up are. Not so much with the Scientologists, though. Xenu is definitely a hoax." Samael chuckled. "No, Shannon. I don't want your soul. I want to make you an offer: protection from the beings that are hunting you at this very moment, in return for me taking you on as my pupil."

I gaped. "Someone's hunting me?"

Samael nodded, face grim. "After the hellhounds caught scent of you – a human in Hell – they alerted their masters that an ascendant walked Earth and had crossed over into the underworld."

"What the heck is an 'ascendant?'"

Samael's smile was thin, devoid of humor. "Are you familiar with Dante Alighieri's work _The Divine Comedy_?"

"You mean _Dante's Inferno_?"

"Yes, that's the first book. In it, Beatrice is Dante's guide to Paradise, a human soul capable of crossing the borders between worlds. She is an ascendant. She leads him to Heaven. But she also has the ability to cross over into Hell. There are legends of humans of such pure hearts that they are able to cross over into other worlds, such as Galahad, or Beatrice. The stuff of myth, really. But it has been theorized that perhaps, if Heaven or Hell had need of a certain human, and the stars aligned in such a way as to make a hellmouth or heaven's gate appear in their vicinity, that a mortal of pure heart could enter." Samael scrutinized me. "You appear to be such a human."

"Okay, but why would demons want to hunt me?"

"Because you pose a threat," Samael said. "Only individuals with mortal blood can kill an immortal."

"But I thought the point of immortality is that you don't die," I said, angrily stripping a branch of its leaves.

Samael buried his hands in his pockets. "No, the point of immortality is that I can't kill them. That they are beyond the reach of psychopomps, illness, and time. But immortals can still be destroyed. It is very difficult, but entirely possible."

I narrowed my eyes. "So you're saying people want to kill me because I'm dangerous? But I don't have beef with anybody. Except maybe you. Why would I want to take their lives?"

"Perhaps you don't now, but there will be battles fought over you, attempts to take you into different demons' possessions. Do you really want to be kidnapped?"

"Heck no. So if I align myself with you, I can keep going to Hortense – all I have to do is take lessons?"

"Among other things."

"It sounds like you're the one that's trying to take possession of me," I said, plastering him with a hard look.

Samael shrugged. "You don't really want to fend for yourself, do you? You've seen what I can do, how the hellhounds wanted to eat you. There are beings much more brutal than I out there, lusting after your power. There are bloodthirsty beasts and trackers, stalking the border of Earth this very moment, attempting to slip through a hellmouth and come after you. Without my protection, it's only a matter of time before you are enslaved. Or worse."

My eyes grew wide as dinner plates. "Enslaved?" I shuddered. "But... but why?"

"Because you're a very useful pawn in an ancient war."

"This is all your fault!" I said. "If you had just let me go before the hellhounds came, no one would have known about me but you!"

"You're lucky you ran into me. You would've been stuck in the hellmouth, unable to escape, or worse, wandered off and become dinner for hellbeasts. Be grateful I was there."

I massaged my temple, a headache raging behind my skull. "This is all too much," I said. "Fine. I'll make a deal with the Devil, as long as you keep the underworld off my back."

He held out his hand to shake on it. I took it hesitantly. Heat zinged from my palm to my spine, and I jumped back. "What was that?"

"Our contract being sealed. Now go get a good night's rest for tomorrow. We meet here at 7:00 PM. Don't be late."

"But that's when art club meets. I can't miss that," I said.

"The only thing you'll be painting with is blood if you don't stick to our little agreement," he said. And with that, he disappeared. No puff of black smoke. He just melded into the air and was gone.

Muttering to myself, I returned to my dorm. Rosanna was fast asleep. Sighing, I slipped into bed and sank into the oblivion of sleep.

Chapter 4

The first day of classes passed in a blur. I had Intro to Biology and Inorganic Chemistry in the morning, a whammy of classes, and found myself frantically jotting down notes in an attempt to retain information. Divya, a premed, joined me in my first two classes, and we got lunch together out on the college green.

"You look tired, Shannon," she said, makeup immaculate, with a hint of blush on her cheeks.

"I didn't get much sleep," I said. "Nervous about classes." And other things.

She bobbed her head in agreement, daintily eating her wrap. "I know, my nerves were on fire in bio. The professor talks a mile a minute. Luckily it was a review. What class do you have next?"

"Advanced Portfolio Studies, thank god," I said.

"That's supposed to be relaxing?"

"It is to me." I shrugged.

Divya smiled. "Good for you. So are you rushing?"

"Oh, you mean sororities? Nah. That's not really my thing." I sipped my lemonade. "Which sorority are you interested in?"

"Alpha Phi Zeta, or APZ. They have the highest GPA of all sororities on campus, and a lot of the girls are in the sciences. I thought it made sense."

"Sure," I said.

"Hey, Rosanna, Seth, Cooper and I are going to the 'Welcome Back' school party tonight. It's at 8:00 outside the athletics building. Can you make it?" Divya asked.

I calculated: 7:00 was my meeting with Corpseboy. Would I be done in time with whatever nefarious thing Samael had planned to get back in time for the party? Probably not. "I don't think so," I sighed.

Divya peered at me curiously. "But it's only the first week, Shannon. There can't be that much to do."

"I know, I've just... been feeling out of sorts lately," I only semi-lied. "Everything's happening so fast."

"True. Well, we'll miss you. At least get dinner with us at 6:00."

"Sure."

Soon, it was midway through the afternoon, time for art. I went to the studio of the art building and was impressed by the displays of student work. The studio itself was open and spacious, with wide windows for natural light that framed the college green.

We had a thirty minute free sketch period to start off, and I found myself rendering charcoal drawings of hellhounds. "What the heck am I doing?" I muttered, tearing out the pages from my sketchbook and tossing them in the trash. The professor glanced over at me but said nothing. I settled back into my seat and went to work on a sketch of a raven. Birds were my absolute favorite to draw.

"Nice work," the professor noted. "What year are you?"

"Freshman," I replied.

The professor whistled low. "That kind of craftsmanship is hard to come by. I'm proud to have you as a student."

I glowed at the compliment. "Thanks a lot."

"What's your preferred medium?"

"Ink or oils. But sketching is fun."

"I want to get you started on painting right away then," the professor said. "I want you to have a few pieces ready in time for the Winter Exhibition."

"Really?" I asked, surprised. Usually only juniors and seniors were supposed to exhibit their works in the showcase. "Are you sure?"

"Oh, I'm very sure. But chose a theme for your work." The professor smiled, then moved on to another student. I instantly began contemplating a focus for my work, pretty sure mine was going to be of the avian strain.

Dinner rolled around, and I felt at home with my new friends. Rosanna was telling stories of the month she spent abroad in Germany, sneaking into industrial clubs and meeting obscure German Goth bands. I stirred the noodles in my soup as talk turned to the party tonight. A rather popular band was playing, there was going to be a comedy show, and a movie screening out on the college green afterward. It sounded like a fun time, and I cursed Samael for not being able to go. I made a convenient excuse to leave dinner early and went back to my dorm, then changed into exercise shorts, a black tank top, and running shoes that had seen better days. I tied my hair back in a high ponytail, spritzed on some bug spray, and made my way to the College Woods.

I only had to walk several minutes around the lake until I ran into Samael, smoking beneath a tree. He was dressed in leather pants, combat boots, and a torn gray muscle shirt, with chains at his waist and plenty of piercings on his face. His lip ring glinted silver in the twilight. Samael gave a mocking salute and crushed his cigarette under his boot, grin crooked.

"Did you get mauled by punks?" I said.

His sizable biceps rippled as he crossed his arms over his chest. "This is what I usually look like. Last night I went boating on the Styx. I had to dress the part."

"You look like the bastard child of a motorcycle gang and a heavy metal band. Also, you need a haircut."

He bristled. "Did you come here to insult my outfit, or are you actually going to be agreeable?"

"You're lucky I came at all. Now let's get this over with. Whatever 'this' is."

"I just can't win with you, can I?" he said, more to himself than me. Samael sighed and straightened his too-tall frame. "We're going to Pandemonium."

"Wha?"

"The capital of Hell. To a bar my friend owns. Then, after drinks, training begins. I can't do this sober."

I scoffed. "Because teaching under the influence is such a great idea. And no way am I going to Pande-whatever. That's like licking shut the envelope on my death warrant."

Samael chuckled. "You'll find it's nicer than you'd expect. Anyways, you'll be under my protection, worm, so there's no need to fear."

"Whatever you say, Satan."

He squinted at me. "I'm finding it awfully hard to protect someone I have the desire to strangle."

"Well I find it awfully hard to take a guy with hair longer than mine seriously."

"Shut your trap. Let's go," he said. A scythe materialized in his hands. Samael spun it in a circle, then spoke in a booming language. A black hole appeared around the blade, and before I could protest, he tossed me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and walked through. I screamed as the vortex tore at my hair. It was like diving into an ice-water bath. Just as quickly as we had entered, Samael strode out the other side, with me in a daze. He deposited me on an oxblood comforter spread over a four-poster bed. I took in my surroundings.

We were in a sparsely decorated room with dark wood paneling and high stained glass windows. A few shelves were built into the walls, lined with books, weapons, and pieces of what looked like driftwood. The bed was unmade, strewn with belts, pants, and worn t-shirts. A leather jacket hung over a slick wing-back chair beside a mahogany desk, which was littered with piles upon piles of papers, cigar boxes, and half-drunk cups of coffee. A nondescript laptop was fired up, playing jazz, and the single picture on the walls was a beat-up poster for a Billie Holiday concert, apparently decades old. In a corner of the room was a worn saxophone, half-tucked into its case, sitting beside a walk-in closet that seemed endless. Sam smiled as he scanned the room, stretched, and checked his watch.

"We made good time," he said happily. "Now, to find something appropriate for you..."

"What?"

"You need to blend in," he said, head buried in the closet. He reemerged moments later with a tiered ruby dress.

"Why do you have women's clothes in your closet?"

He smirked. "Because I knew you wouldn't dress the part." He bent over and picked up a pair of strappy white heels, then flicked the closet light on. "You can change in there," he said, motioning to the closet.

I side-eyed him. "What I'm wearing is fine. I thought we were training for something."

"That comes later. First we need supplies."

"Supplies?"

Samael grinned like a shark. "The bartender I'm friends with is only the best arms dealer in Pandemonium."

"That makes me feel so safe."

He ushered me into the closet and closed the door behind me. I sighed, slipping out of my exercise outfit and into the dress. It fit like a glove, and the heels added a good three inches to my 5 foot-nothing. After quickly braiding my hair, I walked out and surveyed the weapons lining Samael's wall.

"Why can't I just use that?" I joked, motioning to a crossbow. "Or that?" I pointed to a katana poking out of its sheath.

Samael was lounging at his desk, apparently texting someone on an ancient cell phone. He didn't bother to glance up. "Those are of sentimental value. And I doubt you'd know how to wield them."

I sat on the bed and smoothed the skirt of my dress. "I handled your blade-on-a-stick thing just fine, even though it was supposed to incinerate me on touch." I picked up a metal-studded belt from the mess on his bed. "Also, if you knew I was coming over to your man cave, why didn't you clean up beforehand?"

He shrugged. "Why bother? No use misleading you. I run on coffee, jazz, and mayhem."

"In other words, I'm not worth impressing."

"I didn't say that." Samael took a sip from one of the half-filled coffee cups and flipped his phone shut.

"Do demons even need caffeine?"

"We don't, but it helps." He rose, dusting off the knees of his pants. His smile was chipper. Too chipper. He glanced at me over his shoulder. "You coming, worm?"

"Don't call me that. And yes." I followed him out the door, about to mouth a retort, when my breath was stolen by the elegance of the hallway. It was like stepping out of a disheveled trust funder's room and into a cathedral. Red marble floors shot through with veins of quartz echoed our footsteps. My voice bounced off the towering, sandy walls and curving, vaulted ceiling. High, high windows let in the last glimmers of sun, light painted jewel tones by the stained glass. The twilight rays played against columns that dripped down like stalactites, and rich paintings and tapestries spanned the length of the hall. We passed too many doors to count, some open to reveal rich interiors, others bolted shut. I felt like I was in the midst of a Renaissance castle.

"What is this place?" I asked after a few moments of taking it in. We rounded a corner into a wider hall, this one more glorious than the last. "Where's the fire and brimstone? The screams of the damned?"

Death's lips curled in distaste. "You really think I'd want to live among that? All the wailing dead would put a damper on my saxophone practice. You're thinking of the pits of Abaddon. This is my home. It has its uses."

"Uses? It's enormous! Who needs all this space?" I said, agog at the sheer beauty. Bay windows looked out upon an exquisite courtyard, with abstract statues and fountains, blooming with unfamiliar flora. "Is that – is that a flying snake?" I gasped, stopping to plaster my face to the glass. A brilliant blue serpent, like the gliding snakes of Asia, threaded by, but it had a crown of brilliant green feathers and elegant red wings. It looked like the bastard child of a tropical bird and a basilisk.

"Oh, that. That's a quetzalcoatl," Samael said fondly. "It was a gift of the Aztec pantheon when we had a conference last year. I've always had a fondness for slithering things."

"Can I take a picture?" I begged, wondering about its anatomy. If only I could dissect an already dead specimen. I didn't want to harm the beautiful creature, but my curiosity at how it functioned burned like a supernova.

"I'm afraid you'll find that human technology doesn't work here."

"But you have a cell phone, and a computer."

"Totally different systems, Shannon. They run on ether."

I looked from the window to him, narrowing my eyes. "You're pulling my leg."

"No, I'm not. Now let's go. We'll miss happy hour. You can play in the garden later."

I sighed, wistful, and followed Death. He seemed amused and glanced down his long nose at me to make sure I was keeping up. The Grim Reaper almost glided across the floor, feet barely touching the ground. It was as if his walking was an illusion put on for my sake. I shivered at the thought, almost jogging to keep pace, which wasn't the easiest thing to do in heels.

Finally, after twists and turns through endless corridors, we arrived at the main hall. It was tiled in brilliant blues and whites, walls and floor a fresco of the heavens, with starry cosmos on the ceiling. A crystal chandelier rained white light on the lobby, and a grand staircase wound up to the next level. Samael strode to the entrance and lifted the bolt. Elegant locks rose like vines on the surface of the double doors, clinking together as the bolt unlatched and mechanically opened to reveal a street framed by gardens. A black carriage waited with a pallid horse at the entrance.

Something was off about the carriage. "Is that a hearse?" I asked.

Samael smirked. "Maybe. I am the Grim Reaper."

"I am so not riding in that deathtrap."

"Too bad."

I sighed, following Samael. He held open the carriage door for me. The interior was furnished with red velvet, large tinted windows, and a space clearly designed for a coffin. "Ugh," I grunted, climbing in and sitting where the coffin was supposed to be.

Samael chuckled and climbed onto the front, outside seat. He took the reins of the horse. "Let's go, Pallor," he addressed the steed, giving the reins a flick. The horse took off at a trot, drawing us down the cobblestone street. Soon we arrived at large, intimidating gates that automatically opened to let us through onto a bustling main street. Labyrinths of mansions lined the sidewalks, tucked into foliage, each dwelling like a slice of time. There were Oriental houses with rice-paper walls, huge Gothic manors, even a castle or two. Through the streets, demons of every strain mingled, manning stalls and drawing customers to their exotic wares. Rich scents rose from strange foods and perfumes, and the inhabitants of Hell were many-colored, tailed and horned, some animalistic, others chimeras of creatures. Harpy urchins played soccer with ball of rags, weaving in between carriages and cars. A centaur and reptilian demon haggled over what looked like Turkish rugs. My face was plastered to the window, staring in awe.

After perhaps fifteen minutes, we pulled into the market district, where shops lined the streets. Samael handed the carriage off to attendants in front of a pub and helped me out onto the crowded sidewalk. The valets – or whoever they were – drove the carriage and horse off to the stables beside the bar. Samael motioned for me to follow him. He offered me his arm.

I looked at him, skeptical. "What are you, a Victorian gentleman?"

He smiled crooked, guiding my forearm so it rested on his. "The only reason humans are ever in Hell, besides ascendants or the damned, is because they have sold their soul to a demon. We must keep up appearances so no one suspects you're an ascendant, as no damned would ever be walking free through the streets of Pandemonium. That means you must pretend to be one of the Claimed, those whose souls are the property of demons." He held open the oak doors for me.

I shivered. "That's horrible - the idea that someone could be owned by a demon. I would never do that."

"It's called acting," he murmured, smiling in a genteel manner and waving his hand at an albino demon in a military outfit with fly wings. "Beelzebub! You look dour, as usual."

Beelzebub, sitting sternly at the bar, looked up from his vodka and gave Samael a look of annoyance. "Look what the snake dragged in. Another concubine?" he said, sour, as Samael guided us to seats beside the military demon. Beelzebub glanced at me with cold eyes.

I blushed madly. "I'm not his concubine!-" I said.

Samael put his hand over my mouth, muffling me. "She prefers the term consort," he chuckled. "Beel, this is Shannon. Sorry for her manners - she's a feisty bitch. Just how I like 'em." Quickly leaning over to me, Samael hissed into my ear: "Go along with it, worm."

I broiled.

Beelzebub took a sip of vodka and wiped his lip. "Don't you tire of playthings, Sam? You've neglected work for the past week. What in the nine hells have you been doing?"

"Oh, this and that," Samael said, voice airy. "What, did I miss something?"

Beelzebub narrowed his crimson eyes. "A referendum, a hearing, and a tactical meeting. But then again, what to expect from the laziest wart on the ass of Hell?"

"Oh, Bub, you don't mean that," Samael said. "I'm only the second laziest. Belphegor's got me beat – he's the demon of sloth, after all."

Beelzebub sighed and finished his drink. "I have work to do," he said, excusing himself and heading out the door through the smoky room.

I glanced around the pub. Some demons gambled, others played pool with blood at stake. Samael motioned for the bartender, smiling warmly. The bartender shuffled over, a middle-aged man with a black beard and twinkling yellow eyes. He was stocky, with tribal tattoos on his arms.

"Sam!" the bartender said, embracing Death and clapping him on the back. "What can I get for you?"

"The usual, Damien" Samael said.

"And you, pretty thing?" Damien's smile was kind.

I quickly decided it would be a terrible idea to be under the influence in Hell. "Umm, can I have a root beer?"

"Sure thing," He quickly served us, bringing me a foaming mug of soda and Samael absinthe. Damien settled before me, jovial. "So, what's your name, sweetheart?"

"Shannon." I took a sip of root beer. I was surprised by the sweet musk of the drink. "Wow, this stuff is really good."

"It's homemade," Damien said, proud. "I'm surprised Sam here hasn't driven you to drink yet."

"It's been a challenge to resist." I was warming up to the bartender.

Samael poured water over his sugar cube and dissolved it in the green liquor. "I can hear both of you," he said. He stirred the sugar into his drink, added a few ice cubes, and tasted it. "Mmm. Perfection."

Damien snorted. "You're the only one of my customers that likes that crap, Sam. Your friend here has much better taste. My root beer is a legend in Pandemonium." He set to polishing glasses behind the bar. "So, Shannon, why in Gehenna are you hanging around this loser?"

"Honestly, I don't know," I said, swirling the ice cubes in my drink with my straw.

Damien chuckled. "None of us do, sweetheart."

Samael scoffed. "I've saved your life too many times to count, wolf, not to mention keeping the angels off your back."

Damien peered into a shining shot glass. "Well, there is that," he said, amused. He placed the shot glass behind him on the shelf and smiled wide. "Shannon, you look too nice to be mixed up in this mess. Not like your typical Claimed. You're definitely too refined for the likes of Sam," the bartender said. He narrowed his golden eyes, glancing at Samael. "What's really going on here?"

"Damn it, Damien, why are you always so observant?" Samael said. He finished his absinthe. "Well, I was going to tell you anyways. Might as well get on with it. Damien, can we go to the back room?"

Damien's friendly eyes darkened. "What's this about, Sam?"

"I'll tell you when we have privacy," Samael said.

Damien shrugged, leading us behind the bar to a hallway squeezed between two cabinets. Pictures of Italy hung on the walls. A door was hidden in the woodwork, and Damien pushed it open, revealing a dim warehouse full of shelf upon shelf of weapons of every imagining. Flails, halberds, staffs, spears, swords, cannons, guns... they were endless. There were instruments of death humanity hadn't even dreamed of. Damien led us to a corner with a table and sat down. Samael pulled out a chair for me and settled on a wooden stool carved to look like interwoven trees limbs. I took my place beside him.

"You really are an arms dealer," I said, impressed.

"Eh, I'm pack leader. I need to find a way to make a living beyond a skuzzy bar," Damien explained.

"Pack leader?" I asked, putting two and two together – his lupine eyes, how Samael had called him 'wolf.' "Oh," I breathed. "You're a werewolf?"

"Child of Lupa is the term we use," Damien said. "You know the founders of Rome, Romulus and Remus? It's said they were reared by a she-wolf, Lupa. The Children of Lupa are her descendants." He glanced down at his hirsute arm. "I'm certainly hairy enough to be a wolf." He laughed. Damien turned to Samael. "Now Sam, what was it you were going to tell me?"

Samael rubbed his shoulders of dust. "Ah, that. Have you heard talk of an ascendant, Damien?"

Damien's eyes bugged out. "No," he said, looking at me in concern. "I've heard rumors, sure, but I thought they were just that – nonsense bored immortals made up. You're not saying that she's... she's... you idiot, Samael! Why the hell did you bring her here? You think I'd put my daughter in that kind of danger?" the bartender yelled.

"She needs to learn how to defend herself," Samael said, voice cool.

Damien looked at me in awe. "Lupa bless me," he said. "I knew she wasn't one of the Claimed the moment I saw her. But I never imagined..." He shook his head, gaze almost reverential. "Shannon, you have a choice," he said. "In no way do you have to work with Samael."

"Damien, what is your problem?-" Samael said.

"No, go on," I said to Damien, cutting Death short.

"I can give you protection, Shannon. Get you free of the influence of demons. You remind me of my daughter, Arietta," Damien said. "You don't belong in this cesspool." He gave Samael a hard look.

Samael scoffed. "I can keep her the safest, Damien, and you know it."

"True, but what value is there in becoming one of your pawns, Sam?" the bartender asked.

"Pawn?" I said. "Oh no. No way. Bonebag here's got nothing on me."

"You're not my pawn, Shannon," Samael said, frustrated. "I would never dream of using you for petty gains. You're much too valuable. And Damien, I brought Shannon to you for a reason. Because I trust you. We can help her together."

"The way you helped Eve?" Damien said. "You've got gall, Samael. Using this girl for your schemes. I'll help you, but only because I don't want you corrupting her. I'm going to keep an eye on you, Sam, make sure you don't abuse her gifts." Damien looked to me, golden eyes blazing. "Shannon, to be honest, the protection I could give you would be great, but it's nothing compared to what Samael can do for you. I just... I just... after so many years waiting for an ascendant, I want to do everything I can for you." The bartender sighed, drumming his fingers on the table.

"You've been waiting for an ascendant?" I asked. "Why?"

"Because," Samael said, "ascendants can, besides crossing into other worlds, open doors. Doorways to places that have been closed for a long, long time."

"Pan's woods," Damien said, voice a reverie. "I haven't seen them in so many years."

"Like the goat god Pan?" I asked. "So there are places besides Heaven and Hell? Mythological places?"

Damien nodded, lost in a daze. Samael answered for him: "There are many realms that have been lost over time, Shannon, due to the demise of religions and wavering human belief. The gods of those places have weakened, and it's hard to access their homelands, even for the inhabitants of those places, like Damien. It costs each time to cross over into other realms, be it Asgard or Olympus. That's why an ascendant has been prayed for for centuries – they can open long unused doors to those realms."

"But why did you leave Pan's woods, Damien?" I asked gently.

Damien had a faraway look. "Hell is closest to Earth now, thanks to human belief. Right under the surface. Damn metaphysics." He laughed slightly. "It was getting harder and harder to come to Earth from Pan's woods, and after Christianity took over the Roman Empire, it became nearly impossible. Lesser immortals like my family moved to Hell after their religions fell in a thousand year exodus, tailing the rise of the Abrahamic faiths, in order to be closer to Earth."

"Immortals thrive off humanity's memories of our kind, and the farther we are from humans, the more our powers fade," Damien continued. "Sure, we'd still exist, but not with half our usual glory." Damien half-smiled. "Damnit I'm not a Hindu asura or something. Then I'd still have a home." He paused. "But you, Shannon. You're the first hope I've had in a long, long time."

I felt like a great weight had been placed on my shoulders as I absorbed what the bartender said. "You mean you were forced out of your home?"

"Pretty much," Damien sighed.

I looked to Samael. "But I don't even know how to open these doors, or even if I can. How can I possibly help?"

Samael stretched his arms above his head and yawned. "Slow down, maggot. We have time."

I furrowed my brows. "Don't call me that."

"Then don't call me 'Bonebag,'" he said, crisp. "Damien, do you have any clavises?"

Damien pursed his lips together. "Hmm... I may have one." He took off into the back of the stacks, to a locked safe, and entered the combination. The bartender came back carrying a short sword shaped like a key, with a ridged edge like teeth, meant for hacking, and a round grip at the end. It was beautiful, but looked deadly.

"Is that for me?" I asked, shocked.

A knowing glance passed between Damien and Samael. "Clavises are used to access working doors to Earth, Shannon," Samael said slowly. "But in the hands of an ascendant, they can be used for much more. They can create new doorways. They're quite useful."

"You want me to fight with that thing?"

"Defend yourself," Samael said. "There's a difference."

Chapter 5

Somehow I found myself back at Samael's estate on the practice fields, dressed in my exercise shorts and tank top, in dirty running sneakers, fighting for my life. Samael wielded his scythe like a master, bringing it down stroke after relentless stroke, forcing me to defend myself. I thrust my clavis to the right and left, attempting to deflect his blows. Death grinned madly back.

"Faster, Shannon," he shouted. "I'm going pathetically easy on you."

I panted. "Yeah? I couldn't tell." Sweat dripped into my eye and I wiped it away, shifting just in time to parry his scythe as it came for my neck. True, Samael's strokes were light, nothing near lethal, but I was still getting the workout of my life. "Shouldn't it be night now?" I asked. "It's been twilight for hours."

"Time moves differently here. You'll find not a second has passed when you return to Earth."

"Really?" I asked. "I can make it to the 'Welcome Back' party at 8:00!"

"Congratulations," Samael said, clearly not caring. He twisted like a cat and brought his scythe up from an undercut. He paused, allowing me to block it. Then he brought the staff of his weapon to rest over his shoulder. Death appraised me. "You've done surprisingly well for your first day. I think it's time we call it quits."

"Thank god." I exhaled. "What do I do with this thing?" I waved the clavis around.

"Kiss it."

"What? Gross. Why would I do that?"

"Just try."

I looked at him with judging eyes, but did as he said, pressing my lips to the blade. Suddenly, it shrunk to the side of a charm, with part of it looping together to form a silver chain and clasp. I looked at it dumbfounded. "It looks like one of those cheap necklaces you buy for two dollars at Walmart."

Samael looked offended. "That cost a lot."

"Sure." I fixed the clasp around my neck. The charm rested just below my collarbone. "Can I go now?"

"Beelzebub's balls, just wait a minute." Samael stretched, then took off his exercise shirt, slick with sweat, revealing perfect pecs and pale, chiseled abs. He threw it on the ground and yawned, sitting down and patting the grass beside him. "Let's watch the sunset."

I looked at him suspiciously. "And why would I do that?"

"Because you're wound up from practice, and you need to relax." Samael's gaze strayed to the firmament.

As if in answer to my question, a smattering of stars appeared, dancing across the pale yellow sky, following the sun. The gold of the heavens turned rosy, tinged with dusky purple. I gasped at the glory. "The stars are moving!" I said.

"They're not stars – they're Marquis Phenex's attendants. Phenex is our version of the sun. He's the most angelic demon in Hell, and he flies through the sky every day, shining his glory upon us." Samael laid on his back and crossed his arms under his head. His smile was content. "It's my favorite part of the day."

Sure enough, what I thought was the sun drew closer. I could make out great, fiery wings and talons that reflected the light. A sonorous cry split the night as Phenex descended. His attendants – like stars – followed in double trails, twin Milky Ways, as if they were a great V of geese. Slowly, the spectacle ended, and the 'sun' slipped behind a great mountain to the east.

"He's roosting for the night," Samael explained.

"What's that, then?" I asked, pointing to what looked like the moon as it sailed into the sky.

Samael's smile was thin. "Lilith. She's nocturnal. We have a bit of a history."

I watched Lilith's looping trail, like a bird circling the sky. "Of course you do. Wasn't she the first woman? The one who didn't want to have sex with Adam in the missionary position?"

Samael snorted. "Adam couldn't please a blow-up doll. He was a failure in bed. That's why Lilith and Eve both came to me." Death grinned like a shark.

It was my turn to snort. "I thought you just gave Eve an apple. Anyways, what kind of woman would possibly fall for you?"

Samael laughed, rolling over onto his stomach. "Desperate ones, I suppose. Am I really so horrible?"

I sat down beside him, looking at the sky. "You're pretty annoying, yeah."

"I'm an acquired taste. Like absinthe."

"No, you're not. And you desperately need a tan, and a haircut."

Samael plucked a blade of grass and blew it away. "Whatever you say, worm."

"Why do you keep calling me 'worm' and 'maggot'?"

"Partially payback for your nicknames, and also as a sign of endearment. I like slithering things. Snakes. Worms. Maggots. Larvae and annelids are good for decomposition, and snakes, well, they've always held a special place in my heart." Samael yawned. "I suppose I should take you home."

"Thanks."

We stood, brushed dirt off ourselves, and Samael summoned a portal. He led me through it, back to the College Woods.

"How can you summon portals and travel freely between Hell and Earth? Wouldn't Damien need to be a clavis to do it?" I asked.

"One of the perks of being an archdemon," Samael replied. He slipped his shirt back on. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have saxophone practice. Have a good night, and see you tomorrow - 7 PM."

I nodded. "See you." And with that, he was gone.

I collected myself, thoughtlessly touching the clavis at my throat as I walked back to campus. It was exactly 7:00, and I had about an hour to get ready for the 'Welcome Back' party. I entered my room, opening the door to find Divya and Rosanna half-dressed, Rosanna braiding Divya's hair into an elaborate coiffure.

"Shannon, you made it!" Rosanna called from in front of the mirror, pausing mid-braid to wave. "Come here! We're getting ready, and I need your and Divya's help choosing an outfit."

"Ooo, I like the lacy black maxidress," I said, eying the selection on Rosanna 's bed. "Do you have any chunky red heels?"

"Dios mio, of course," Rosanna laughed, finishing Divya's hair. "Can I give you a smoky eye, Div?"

"Do you think it will match my skirt?" Divya asked, slicking back her bangs in the mirror.

"Definitely," Rosanna said, darting to her bed and changing into her dress. She eyed the rose-patterned oxblood skirt on her pillow and glanced at me. "Hey, Shannon, do you want to borrow my skirt? I've got the perfect top for it, and you've got a great butt. I think we're the same size."

I looked enviously at the skirt. "Are you sure, Rosanna?"

"Sure, no problem. It would look perfect on you. Gotta impress your soul mate, eh?" she winked, then smoothed the skirt. "I think the Devil would like roses, anyways."

"And what makes you think I'll meet my soul mate tonight?" I said.

Rosanna smiled, waggling her finger in the air. "You always gotta be prepared, right? You never know who you'll meet."

"I guess," I said. "Hey, I'm gonna go shower, be back in a bit."

"We'll wait for you," Divya said, sliding into a cream skirt and cheery yellow top.

I went to the hall bathroom and slipped into the shower, letting the water cleanse me, rinsing the dirt from Samael's practice fields off my tan. I touched my necklace, thinking of my time in Hell. It felt like a lifetime ago. My body still ached from holding the clavis and darting to and fro.

I sighed, leaning against the shower stall, thinking of what Damien had said. That an ascendant could open doors. But could I really? Why now, of all times, had I stumbled upon a hellmouth? If I'd had this ability all my life, why hadn't it happened before?

Clean, I dried myself off, donned my bathrobe, and went back to the room to blow dry my hair. Chatting with Rosanna and Divya, I did my hair in a fishtail braid and tried on Rosanna 's skirt and the top she'd chosen, a leafy green number with pockets on the breast. I felt like a flower, in a good way.

"Oh, I have the perfect heels for that," Divya said, nodding approvingly. "What shoe size are you?"

"Eight," I answered.

"I'm eight and a half. I'm sure they'll fit," Divya said, going to her room and retrieving the heels. They were strappy black stilettos with little red bows. I instantly fell in love.

"Thanks so much, you guys," I said, trying them on. They fit perfectly.

"Nice necklace, Shannon," Rosanna said. "Is it an antique key?"

"Something like that."

Divya checked her crystal watch. "It's almost eight. Ready, girls?"

We chatted on the way to the athletics building, soon finding ourselves in the midst of a bustling crowd. Freshmen from all dorms were out, dancing to a student rock band under discos hung from trees. Moon bounces gleamed under the shining rainbow light. Overall, it was fairly tame, but a fun time.

I headed back that night content, and the weeks passed in a blur, with classes during the day, studying in the afternoon, and sparring with Samael in the evening. Whatever was between Baxter and I fizzled out, and I decided to lay low from the dating scene, making time for friends and schoolwork. I even managed to join the running club and art club, while Rosanna happily spun yarns for the creative writing group. Divya joined her desired sorority, APZ, and we attended a few classy parties there with her. I even went to see Mo at football games, where he blew me mocking kisses from the field.

For the Winter Exhibition, I drafted a painting of a peacock, inspired by Hell's sun. I imagined Phenex as the proud bird, cocking his head to the side with a grand crown of blue feathers. Samael noticed a white paint smudge on my nose one night that refused to come off, towards the end of September, when we were practicing in his arena.

"What's that, angel crap?" he joked at the end of a sparring match.

It had rained the day before, making the grass damp. The dew soaked through my socks. I squelched my shoes in some mud. "Nothing," I said, kissing my clavis and shrinking it to necklace-size.

"Is it paint?" His glacial eyes lit. "You're not an artist, are you?"

"Maybe," I said. No way did I want to tell him about my painting.

"I'll take that as a yes." He shouldered his scythe and followed me inside, latching the door shut behind us. "I thought you wanted to be a biologist," he mused, smiling as we walked into his cozy kitchen. It had state of the art, stainless steel appliances and red marble counter tops. He fixed himself one of his perpetual cups of coffee and made me some jasmine tea.

"I do – art's just something I do for fun."

"Ah, so you're a renaissance woman. I'm abysmal at painting, and most things artistic. You should have seen me in the angelic choirs. I couldn't sing a lick."

My mind flashed back to the night I met him in the churchyard, when Samael had sung in such a beautiful, somber voice. "But your voice is wonderful!" I said, surprised by myself. I blushed at his taken aback expression. "I mean, maybe not in the traditional sense," I said. "But, but in a Nick Cave kind of way."

Samael smiled. "Thanks. I think that's the first compliment you've ever given me, worm."

"Don't get used to it, Corpseboy," I said. I sipped my tea. "So this sparring is nice and all, but I haven't had much need for it. What's the point?"

The warmth melted from Death's face. "The point is to prepare you in case you do have to use it. But I pray you never will. I've done a thorough job hiding your presence from Heaven and Hell. Besides me, only Damien knows of your true nature." He took a long slurp of his coffee. "Speaking of Damien, I have somewhere I need to take you. Hop in the shower and change. There are clothes for you on my bed, and a towel."

I choked on my tea. "Your shower?" I said. "Are we on that level now?"

Samael snorted. "Funny, Shannon. Very funny."

I wound down the halls to his room and entered a bathroom straight from a magazine. Testing the faucet, I warmed up the shower and stripped, luxuriating in the exotic smelling soaps and shampoo he'd provided. I'd never actually seen him use the bathroom, and he'd told me in so many words that it was only for guests that happened to warm his bed. I quickly wondered how many Claimed humans Samael had - how many playthings he'd collected. I'd seen Claimed in the streets of Hell, trailing after demon lords: some concubines, others servants, or a mix of the two. But I'd never heard Samael mention owning any human souls. Maybe he didn't?

I dried my hair with a blow dryer he'd left for me on the sink. On Samael's bed was a green fringed flapper dress and gold headband, with matching dancing shoes. I blushed crimson at the thought of wearing something so beautiful, imagining Samael picking it out for me. Where did he find this stuff? Did he raid runways? Regardless of my embarrassment, I tried it on, glancing in the mirror to see that the dress fit like a glove. I fixed the headband so that dark red bangs framed my face, then slipped on the shoes and was off.

I found Samael in the kitchen, dressed in a sleek pinstripe suit and red shirt. He towered over me, even though he was slouching, and his hair was tied back under a fedora.

"I'm sensing a theme for the night," I said, suspicious.

"We're going to a dance at Asmodeus'. We have to dress like it's the 1920s in New York City all over again," Samael sighed. "I know, I know, it's pastiche. Just go along with it. Asmodeus is obsessed with flappers and Fitzgerald."

I narrowed my eyes. "Why are you taking me to a dance?"

Samael fixed his tie. "Because Hell's nobility is under the impression that I'm besotted by a new concubine. Why else would I be spending so much time with you?" He chuckled. "They want to know who it is that has enchanted Hell's ruler."

My throat tightened. "You're Hell's ruler?" I said.

He blew on a stray lock of hair. "In theory, yes. Demons weren't made for being ruled. That's why we rebelled. We're more a loose conglomerate of nation-states, with me as de facto leader. When shit hits the fan, I'm who Hell answers to. But most of my duties are optional – at least, that's how I see it." Samael grinned toothily. "I do attend to the more serious matters, or those that catch my fancy, like you. You're a very promising project."

"So that's why you waste so much time on me."

"Oh, I wouldn't call it wasted time." He checked his watch. "Let's go, worm."

After a half-hour carriage ride, we arrived at something that looked like the Gatsby mansion. Rich foods and sparkling champagne made their way through an open-air ballroom, bordered by impressively shaped bushes. Jazz music flooded the air over the burble of voices, and demons were decked in their finest 1920s getups.

A swarthy gentleman with glowing emerald eyes and bat wings, dressed in a deep green sports jacket, made his way over to us as we entered. He was lean and elegant, with a cane that seemed more for pomp than practicality. He tipped his hat to me and Samael. "Well if it isn't the bastard himself?" our host said.

"You've outdone yourself, Deus," Samael replied, slapping Asmodeus on the back. They both laughed.

"And who is this jewel?" the green-eyed demon asked, looking at me.

"Shannon, meet Asmodeus," Samael said, wrapping his arm around my waist. I jumped at Death's touch, then remembered I was supposed to be pretending to be his – gag – lover.

"It's a pleasure," Asmodeus said, taking my hand and kissing it.

"Um, thanks," I replied, uncomfortable. I wished I had pockets I could shove my hands into.

"So, what can I get for you? And don't tell me you want that disgusting absinthe, Samael," Asmodeus said, curling his lips in distaste.

Samael grinned. "What else would I have, Deus?"

Asmodeus turned to me. "And you, Shannon?"

"Nothing, thank you." I shifted on my feet, anxious.

"If you're sure," Asmodeus said, disappearing into the crowd to fetch us drinks.

"I read about Asmodeus on Wikipedia," I whispered to Samael. "Isn't he the demon of lust? The one King Solomon imprisoned to help build his temple?"

Samael leaned down to whisper back: "I'm impressed, Shannon. You've kept up with your research." He straightened his tie. "Yes, Deus is the demon of lust, as I am the demon of pride. But these qualities don't define us. Don't be afraid of him, he's a good man – as far as demons go – if a bit jaded."

Asmodeus returned, his smile cool. He offered Samael his drink. "I don't know how you stomach this stuff," Asmodeus said.

"Thanks, old friend." Samael replied. He sipped the green liquor and sighed contentedly, gazing up at the yellow moon.

Asmodeus nursed a gin and tonic. "So, Sam, have you heard the rumors of an ascendant? My Claimed won't shut up about it." He laughed slightly. "Beelzebub is convinced his hellhounds caught scent of one, about a month ago. He's put trackers on the ascendant's supposed trail, but nothing's turned up. Either the rumors are loads of angel shit, or someone is covering the ascendant's tracks very well. I suppose the ascendant would have already been caught by now, but whoever has him – or her – is very wisely keeping their discovery to themselves." The green-eyed demon shook his head, ice clinking in his glass. "I'd give my best wing to own an ascendant."

I paled. "Would you?" I said, voice strained.

Asmodeus chuckled. "Oh yes. I'd just like to dangle them in front of the angels, light a cigar, and watch the fiasco that ensues." He elbowed Samael gently. "Can you imagine, Sam? Michael soiling himself in desperation, trying to obtain the ascendant, only to find that they're already mine."

"It would be very satisfying, yes," Samael said, sparing me a sympathetic glance when Asmodeus wasn't looking. I was shaking in my heels, stomaching the urge to punch the green-eyed demon in the gut.

Asmodeus looked at me with curiosity. "You look a tad queasy, Shannon. Sure you don't want a drink?"

"No," I said flatly.

Samael cleared his throat. "You'll have to pardon us, Deus. We were up late last night. Perhaps it didn't agree with my lovely consort."

I almost barfed on the spot as the word 'consort' passed his lips. "Right," I said, smile thin. "We were. In fact, I don't feel so well. Maybe we should go."

"Perhaps you'd like to come inside? I can have a bed and restoratives prepared for you right away," Asmodeus offered.

"Oh, she'll soldier through," Samael assured him, giving me a look. "We have business to attend to."

"Don't you always?" said Asmodeus. "Well, enjoy the party. I have to go chat with Baphomet about a goat meat tariff." Asmodeus waved goodbye with his cane and was off.

"Goat meat tariff?" I asked. "That seems random."

Samael shook his head. "Asmodeus is head of Hell's business sector. It doesn't matter. What is important is that we find Damien. And sorry for Deus' little comment about ascendants – he doesn't mean you any personal harm - as long as he doesn't find out."

"Gee, I feel so reassured."

Samael led me through a crowd doing the Charleston to the ballroom entrance, where burly, Italian-looking bodyguards were standing. He bowed his head and talked to one, who radioed in on his headset, then pointed in the direction of the gardens. The guards were olive-skinned like Damien, and had the same striking golden eyes. Samael whisked me away down a garden path framed by orchids.

"Are they werewolves?" I asked, pointing back at the bodyguards.

Samael nodded. "They're Damien's pack. The best security this side of Pandemonium. He runs events like this, and as Hell's best arms dealer, you know his guards come well-equipped. He's here overseeing his pack tonight."

I almost tripped on a root. Samael grabbed my wrist, steadying me. "Thanks. So what do we need to talk to Damien for?"

Samael's eyes scintillated. He talked in a quiet voice: "We're going to test your clavis's mettle."

I stopped in my tracks. "You mean? - no. I'm not going to kill anyone, or do some kind of immortal assassination. I'm not your pawn."

Samael snorted. "As if. We're going to see if you can successfully open portals, like you did the night I first met you."

My eyes widened. "Really?" I whispered. "But I thought I just stumbled on a hellmouth. I didn't deliberately try to open anything."

Samael shrugged. "There is no stumbling upon hellmouths. Either you needed Hell, or Hell has need of you."

His words iced my bones. "I didn't want anything to do with this," I said, voice weak.

"And yet here you are."

We rounded a corner to a circular area with a fountain, enclosed by a high stone wall. Damien was sitting on a bench with his back to us, drink in hand, scanning a computer with security feeds. He closed his laptop as we approached, gold eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"Samael?" Damien said. "Is it really wise to be parading around public with an ascendant in tow?"

"Wiser than hiding her and arousing suspicion," Samael replied. "I need your help, Damien. Do you have a moment?"

Damien smoothed his pants. "I have hours. My pack can handle routine security. Let me just radio in." He did, alerting his guards of his absence, then turned to us, eyebrows crooked. "So what is it, Sam?"

Samael crossed his arms behind his head. "Oh, nothing much. I was just wondering if you remembered where the portal to Pan's woods is."

Damien's eyes shot open. He looked at me, suddenly anxious. "No," he breathed. "You can't mean – already? You think you're capable of opening portals now, Shannon?"

"I – I don't know," I admitted. "But I can try."

"Excellent," Samael said, giving me a proud smile.

I felt like an honor roll student in the presence of their glowing-with-pride parent. I shuffled my feet, uncomfortable. "So where do we go?" I asked.

Chapter 6

We arrived at the forested wild-lands of Pandemonium's border at half-past twelve. I fought back a yawn, surrounded by thick, beautifully colored trunks that shone even in the moonlight. Their bark was colorful, deep reds, purples, and greens, even a rare blue or yellow, all mixed with brown in a natural, yet surprising, way. The leaves were already tinged by fall, dusky golds and reds, and strange birds sounded through the night. I shivered at a particularly shrill cry.

"What was that?" I said.

Damien, lighting the way with a lantern, shook his head. "A Lilin. One of Lilith's brood. They prey on travelers lost in the woods. Half-man, half-owl, and altogether gruesome."

I glanced at Samael, who glided after me, dressed in his Grim Reaper robe. "Your ex-girlfriend doesn't sound very nice," I observed.

Samael scoffed. "Who, Lilith? Of course not. She's the mother of sin. Then again, I'm the father of it."

I twisted my lip in disapproval. "And that's something you're proud of?"

He seemed to consider his answer. "There's value in questioning, Shannon. That's what I taught Eve to do." Samael glanced up at the moon sailing high above us. "Lilith is many things, but above all, she is free-spirited. Even I couldn't hold her down."

"It's here," Damien said suddenly, taking a whiff of the air as if scenting the trail of prey. He set his lantern down at the base of a towering, silvery oak. He palmed a whorl in the bark, and the trunk glowed at his touch. "This is it. This is the closed portal to my home." His voice rung with emotion. Tears shone in his eyes. He dabbed at them with his sleeve.

Samael put a hand on Damien's shoulder, as if reassuring him. "Thank you, friend. I know this isn't easy for you."

Damien shook his head. "To think, that I could see my old villa again. It's too strange to imagine."

I stood rooted to my spot, unsure. "So, um, what do I do?"

Samael's ice blue eyes met mine. "I'll guide you through it," he said gently. "First, summon your clavis."

I kissed my necklace's charm. It grew to the size of a small sword. "Okay, what now?"

"Touch the point to the whorl in the oak tree, and twist it."

The tip of my clavis met the rough bark. I twisted it, unsure. Suddenly, a column of light shot up from the oak's base, enveloping the tree. It shimmered like a geyser, and the cloudy outline of a doorway appeared.

"Oh my god," I said, lowering my sword.

Damien fell to his knees, crying out in Italian. "Thank Lupa," he finally said, shaking, his hands clasped together as if in prayer. He rose slowly from the ground, turning to look at me as if I was on fire. "Shannon, you are a blessing to us all," he said.

I blushed. "I wouldn't go that far."

"No," Samael said, "Damien is right. You are the harbinger of a new age for immortals."

I was silenced by that. I stared at the glowing portal. "So," I slowly said, "do we go through?"

On the other side of the doorway was an olive grove atop a cliff by the sea. It was day, and sea spray wafted up to us, the salt biting my nose. I gasped at the beauty of the Mediterranean hills that spread out before us. Islands dotted the horizon, and Damien fervently kissed the ground, running his hands through the soil. He seemed to be praying to the gods, naming deities like Diana and Selene.

Samael laughed. "It worked," he said. "It truly worked."

"This is Pan's woods?" I said, leaning against an olive tree. I reached up and plucked one of the ripe globes from the branches, weighed it in my hand, then chucked it into the ocean. It crested over scree and plummeted into a wave. "Nice place."

Damien rose from the ground, face filled with reverence. "Thank you, thank you, Shannon," he breathed.

I nodded my head. "No problem."

Damien's eyes were misty. "I'd like to go see my villa. Please give me half an hour at most."

"Sure," I said. I twisted my feet in the rich soil.

Damien smiled. Suddenly, there was a crack of bones, and he doubled over, crying out. Fur sprouted over his body, springing through his skin, and his face elongated, teeth sharpening.

I screamed: "What's happening?"

Samael steadied me. "It's fine, he's just shifting."

"Oh," I said, watching in morbid fascination. The transformation was grotesque, and within moments Damien was a half-man, half-wolf chimera, with the same glowing, golden eyes. He gave a feral grin and took off on all fours, disappearing into the brush.

"Do you know where he's getting?" I asked, curious.

Samael scratched his chin. "Absolutely no idea. Damien's a funny fellow. His villa is probably hidden."

We mulled around for half an hour, chatting. Samael grilled me about my artistic ability, and I admitted I was working on a painting of my interpretation of Phenex:

"I know he's not literally a peacock, but I'm playing with light in the painting, trying to incorporate solar imagery into the work," I said.

"No, he looks pretty much like a peacock, albeit golden and orange," Samael said, impressed.

Something disturbed the underbrush. I looked to see that Damien, in werewolf form, had returned. He grinned, revealing sharp teeth, and transformed back into his human form.

Damien was wistful. "If only I could stay here. But I can feel my vitality dwindling already – I guess that's what happens when an immortal is far away from humanity." He sighed and looked to the Reaper. "Samael, is it possible to realign the doorway between Earth and Pan's woods?"

Samael scratched his brow. "It would take work, that's for sure." He scrutinized me. I flinched under his calculating gaze. "But with an ascendant, many things are possible."

Damien smiled and nodded his head. He clapped his hands together. "Let's go. I've got a security detail to run."

I went to an olive tree with a large whorl in its bark that Samael pointed out, pressed my clavis to it, and opened the portal. We crossed over to Pandemonium's border, with Samael leading the way. He stopped dead in his tracks, and I bumped into him, stubbing my toe.

"Ow!" I yelped. "What is it?" I squinted in the darkness to see.

Samael ignored me. "Beelzebub," he sighed. "Damn it. What are you doing here?"

In the glow of the strange, blue fireflies that hovered in the canopy, I could make out the albino demon from Damien's bar. Beelzebub's fly wings glistened in the moonlight, and his red eyes simmered. "Coming to get you for the midnight toast at Asmodeus'. I was hoping to discuss business with you afterward – there's a backup of souls in the Styx due to you neglecting your reaper duties – but apparently, you've been busy." Beelzebub's eyed me coldly. "I saw how she summoned a portal to Pan's woods, Samael. Your supposed concubine is an ascendant, and you've kept it from the archdemons? I knew you were selfish, but something of this magnitude – no, I shouldn't have put it past you."

Samael balled his hands into fists. "It has nothing to do with selfishness," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm trying to keep her safe."

"From me?" Beelzebub's lips curled. "Asmodeus and the others, I can understand. But Samael, I'm your right hand man, your general. I guard your back during war and serve you in times of peace. Surely you don't suspect me of ulterior motives?"

"We all have ulterior motives," Samael said. "And I do trust you, Bub. But Shannon's the only hope we have. If she's lost, Hell is lost. I've waited a long time for an ascendant."

Beelzebub tucked his hands into his pockets. "Then let me help, Samael."

"Wait," I said. "How is Hell lost without me? What's going on?"

Beelzebub narrowed his eyes. "Our politics don't concern you, girl. All that matters is that you obey us."

My temper flared. I crossed my arms, defiant. "Hey, compound eyes? I'm not going to help you if you're an ass."

Beelzebub buzzed with irritation. "You're a tool, insolent mortal. Nothing more. Be grateful you're not in shackles."

"Suck a carcass, you oversized fly!" I yelled. I launched at the arrogant demon, aiming to place a well-deserved slap on his face.

Samael restrained me. "See why I didn't introduce you two?" he said.

Beelzebub stepped forward, a hair's breadth from me. I struggled against Samael's grip. The red-eyed demon smiled coldly, daring to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "The only carcass I'll be feeding on is yours if you so much as lay a hand on me, girl," he said. "I am Baal Zebub, lord of souls. I can keep you alive until you're slivers of flesh, or grind your bones down to salt my meat."

I spat in his face. "I don't care who you are. No one talks to me like I'm less than them."

Samael dragged me away from him. "Bub, what the hell? That's no way to treat an ascendant!"

Damien growled: "Lay a hand on Shannon and I'll sic my pack on you, Fly Lord."

Beelzebub's lips curled. He looked at Samael and Damien with disapproval. "If we put her on a pedestal, she will turn on us. All this girl is is a means to an end." He straightened his jacket. "I will help her, but do not expect me to respect her. Humans have caused us enough grief throughout the millennia."

"We've caused you grief? We're not the ones that enslave human souls!" I said. "How many Claimed do you have, Beelzebub?"

"None," the fly-demon said. "The practice disgusts me. I have no desire to associate with the race that defiled Earth."

"What are you talking about?" I said. "You're the demon, not me!"

Beelzebub's eyes burned. "Did we dredge a hole in the ozone layer? Destroy the natural beauty of your planet? Endanger hundreds of species and spoil your God-given heritage? I think not. My Father gave you all, and your kind treated His gifts like an arrogant child." Beelzebub checked his watch. "Lecturing this girl on the past is a waste of my time, Samael. Call me when you need me. I have to drive my wife home." And with that, Beelzebub dissolved into a swarm of flies and darted off into the woods.

Samael released me. "Who the hell would marry that jerk?" I said, furious.

Samael snorted. "Astaroth. They're disgustingly enamored." Death smoothed his hair. "I'm sorry for the way he treated you. Beelzebub has an inherent distrust of humans. Mostly because they swat so many of his flies."

Damien ground his fist into his palm. "I can't stand that oversized flea. Samael, you have horrible taste in friends."

"True, but what does that say about you?" Samael paused. "Actually, don't answer that." He turned to me. "Shannon, it's been a long night. Let's get you home."

"But am I safe? Now that that creep knows I'm an ascendant?" I said.

"Who? Beelzebub?" Samael asked. "Oh, you're fine. He's all bark and no bite. It's past his bedtime, that's why he's so vicious."

I was highly skeptical of that, but bit back my words. We returned to Samael's mansion, minus Damien, and I changed into my clothes and traveled back to Trothman Hall.

It was jarring, returning to an early Virginian evening from a late night in Hell. I wiped sweat from my brow and made my way to my dorm, guided by the swollen moon. Rosanna was strumming chords on Viper, her electric guitar, when I entered the room. She glanced up from the fret board, smiling.

"Hey, Shannon. You look angry. Something wrong?" my roommate said as she finger-picked a melody.

I sighed, sinking into my plush pink chair. "It's nothing. I just met a jerk in the, erm, woods."

"Oh, on the trails you go running on every night?"

"Um, yep. He's so arrogant. I wanted to smack him."

Rosanna's lips curled in distaste. "Ew, was he a frat bro? Is that why he had such attitude?"

"I... don't know. Whatever, it doesn't matter – he's gone. Let me listen to you play." I nodded, encouraging her.

Rosanna adjusted the tension of the strings. "Sure. It's about La Llorona – the weeping ghost of Mexico."

"That's a light topic."

Rosanna shrugged. "You know I'm into ghost stories." She picked a haunting arpeggio, letting her silky voice fill the room. The song was in Spanish, and though I could barely understand it, it was beautiful. After a few enchanting minutes, Rosanna finished. She smiled shyly. "So, what did you think?"

"Amazing! It was gorgeous, as always." In truth, I was blown away. "So, do you really believe in ghost stories? I thought it was just a hobby of yours."

Rosanna took the shoulder strap of her guitar off and unplugged Viper from its amp. Gingerly, she hung it on the wall. "Well," she said slowly, "you know my abuela was a bruja, and I saw some odd things around her, back when my family used to visit her in Mexico. So I don't know. Are ghosts real? Maybe. I just like the idea of them." Rosanna unzipped her leather boots and flopped onto her unmade bed. "What do you think, Shannon?"

I paused. If Death incarnate was real, what about ghosts? "Well, it's possible. The first law of thermodynamics says that energy is neither created or destroyed, only transformed, and when it comes down to it, all humans really are are chemical processes and firing neurons. Maybe we become something else when we die."

"Hmm," Rosanna said. "I guess that makes sense. You know, my abuela always said my abuelo haunted her house. She claimed he played with the radio and whistled at night. I never saw him, but I did hear the whistling-"

There was an urgent knock on the door.

"Come in!" I called.

Divya entered, breathless, her café au lait skin a shade lighter than normal. She trembled, eyes panicked. "I saw something in the woods," she said. "I – I don't know what it was. It looked like a big dog, but it had red eyes." She laughed faintly. "I sound crazy, don't I?"

I paled. "Was it black, Div?"

She nodded. "How did you know?"

"Because I've seen them before," I said. "Where were you in the woods, Div?"

"Out – out by the lake. I'm scared, Shannon. What if I'm hallucinating?" Divya twirled a silver ring around her finger, anxious.

"You're not, Div," I said.

Rosanna rose from her bed. "It sounds like a cadejo," she said. "They're like hellhounds. Some say they're devils. They look like black dogs."

"You know about them?" I asked, surprised.

"My abuela used to tell stories about the cadejo. They all ended badly." Rosanna's eyes glimmered. "You've seen them before, Shannon?"

I quickly lied. "Um, yeah. In a movie."

Rosanna grabbed a flashlight from her desk. "We have to go find it," she said, excited. "Let's try to take a picture with our phones."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Rosanna," I said.

Divya was sitting on my bed, staring out the window in shock. "It smelled like sulfur and blood," she said. "I've never been so scared in my life."

"We'll be fine if we have this," Rosanna assured her, fingering the gold cross around her neck. "C'mon, it'll be exciting, like hunting Bigfoot."

"I really think we should stay here, Rosanna," I said.

"Fine, you guys can stay, but I'm going to go look for it." Rosanna zipped up her leather boots and slipped on a red jacket.

"Rosanna! You don't know what those things can do!" I said.

Rosanna looked at me oddly. "I thought you said you just saw hellhounds in a movie, Shannon. What are you going on about?"

I fumed. "I – I did. Look, I'll go with you, but only so you don't get lost in the woods like I did."

Divya shivered. "I don't want to be alone. I'll – I'll come with you guys and show you where it was."

"Are you sure?" I said.

Divya rose from the bed, forcing a smile. "It was probably just my imagination. But I'd rather face my fears than have nightmares about them for the rest of my life."

And that was how we ended up in the woods tracking a hellhound. My palms sweat, and I glanced around, nervous, waiting for the hound's telltale howl. I didn't let go of the clavis around my neck. Rosanna hummed to herself, flicking her flashlight around, trying to find the beast's tracks. Divya tailed us, stone silent.

We were in the thick of the woods, far from the trail, when Rosanna stopped short. "Whoa," she breathed. Illuminated by her flashlight was a paw print the size of a dinner plate. Her eyes widened as she knelt to examine it. "Dios mio, the cadejo's real. I was just kidding!"

Divya shuddered. "I – I wasn't imagining it."

"Happy, Rosanna? Can we go now?" I asked.

"Yeah," Rosanna said, "Let's jam-"

A low growl interrupted her. I whirled around to see a sinewy hellhound staring back at me, bloody foam on its muzzle. It licked its lips and sprung forward. Divya screamed.

"Run!" I yelled, bringing the key charm to my lips. My clavis grew to sword-size and I assumed a defensive position, brandishing the blade against the monster. I cut the hellhound's front leg, and a tendon snapped. It yipped, hot blood spurting onto my feet.

"Ow!" Divya said, tripping on a root. She fell to the ground.

"We're not leaving you, Shannon!" Rosanna said. She helped Divya up. "Why the hell do you have a sword?"

"Long story," I said. The hellhound loped toward me. "Stay back!" I darted to the left and blocked the hellhound's path. Baring its fangs, it made for my throat. I hacked at its neck, drawing a shallow cut. It whimpered and backed away, only to circle us.

I panicked, mind reeling as adrenaline kicked in. The oversized dog zeroed in on me. A low rumble like thunder came from its throat as it limped forward.

"You don't scare me," I said.

Regardless of my bravado, the hellhound lunged toward me. All it took was a misstep - a sword slice in the wrong direction - and its teeth were in my shoulder. I shrieked as it throttled me and dropped my blade to the ground. The hellhound made mincemeat of my flesh, and I heard bone snap. My friends screamed my name, but all I could hear was the satisfied crunch of the hellhound. It dropped me to the ground, and I lay there crying, clutching my ruined collarbone. The beast put its paw on my neck and applied pressure, trying to snap my spine. I cried out.

Vision hazy, I could barely make out the sudden flurry of white and gold that descended from a patch of sky. Rosanna and Divya looked up and shrieked. The hellhound squealed, releasing me as a great volley of air ripped at its fur. It quaked in what appeared to be fear. I struggled to turn my neck, but all I could see were two pairs of sandaled feet and the tips of feathery wings – one plumage ivory, the other like the sun.

"Help," I said, feeling hot blood pour down my shoulder. The pain was like a hammer to my brain. I couldn't move my injured arm, only struggle to drag myself away from the hellhound on my unbroken limbs.

Soft hands scooped me up, and I was immersed in an ethereal glow. The face I looked up at was bright, too bright, like the heart of a star, but the molten fire of the being's skin cooled to a golden tan, lightly dusted with freckles. A button nose, sleek black hair, and slanted eyes crinkled in a smile.

"Who are you?" I choked.

Golden wings wrapped round me and gentle fingers glided over my wound. "No one special," came a voice like a bell. My wound pulsed hot, and before my eyes, the flesh knitted together, bone shifting back into place. "There. Your shoulder will ache for a while, but it's a lot less of an eyesore, right?"

Shocked, I glanced to my friends, only to have my view blocked by a towering angel with silvery wings and hair like blood. He was dressed in a golden tunic and had apparently brought a sword of flame down upon the hellhound's neck, slicing it clean off. The angel was cleaning the volcanic sword on his pants, where it left streaks of gore, but no fire.

"You girls do this often?" the blood-haired angel asked. His voice was like thunder.

"N – no," I heard Divya stammer from behind him.

The angel with the sword crossed himself with his weapon and whispered a word. The hellhound's corpse disintegrated into ash. He sheathed his blade at his back. "Gabriel, how's the injured girl?"

"In shock, but otherwise fine," the angel holding me said. She set me down gingerly. I reeled back.

"You're Gabriel?" I sputtered. "As in the angel of the Annunciation?"

The healing angel, a petite woman with golden wings, smiled. "The very one. And, because I know you're going to ask, that's Michael, the ginger – I've never been able to figure out if his hair's a terrible dye job or not."

"It's natural," Michael said. He helped a shocked Rosanna and Divya to their feet. "Now, do you three deliberately chase hellhounds for fun, or were you sent by someone?" His nostrils flared as his gaze settled on me. "You smell like you crawled out of a hellhole."

I wiped sweaty bangs from my forehead. "I kind of did," I said. "And we're here of our own, admittedly stupid, free will."

"We didn't think the cadejo actually existed," Rosanna said rapidly. "I thought my friend just imagined it or something." She clicked her flashlight on and off, then took a deep breath. "But more importantly, how the hell is this actually possible? I mean, you two are angels, right? Or did we die and go to Heaven?"

"I'm not even supposed to go to Heaven," Divya said faintly. "I'm Hindu."

Gabriel laughed. "Don't worry. You're alive." She toyed with the fringe of her cyan robe. "But you almost weren't. What were you girls thinking? You have a clavis, so you obviously came prepared. Are you Claimed?" she asked gently. "Because we can help you if you are."

Rosanna and Divya glanced at each other in confusion. "What does that mean?" Divya asked.

"No, we're not," I said.

"Then how did you get such a priceless weapon?" said Michael, voice cool. He nudged my clavis into a pile of leaves with his toes.

I blushed deep red, terrified at the idea of lying to an angel.

Michael focused on me. "We're not here to harm you," the crimson-haired archangel said slowly, as if coaxing a wild animal.

I shifted on my feet, uncomfortable. The archangel was handsome, too handsome, as if carved by Michelangelo, and Gabriel – she was beyond compare. I felt like a wilted flower in their presences.

"I – I got it in Hell," I admitted, deciding that lying to an archangel was a dangerous thing to do, despite their assurance of peace.

"You've been to Hell?" Rosanna said.

"Rosanna, be quiet!" Divya said, clearly panicked.

Gabriel and Michael shared a knowing glance. "You're not Claimed, but you've been to the underworld?" Gabriel said.

I nodded yes, staring at my feet with determination.

"Are you Nephilim?" Michael asked.

I looked up. "Am I what?"

"I guess not." Michael sighed, rubbing his temple. "Well, then. You're an anomaly, aren't you?"

Gabriel's eyes flashed. "Wait, Michael. The answer's staring us in the face."

Michael straightened his back. "What is it, Gabriel?"

Gabriel peered at me intently. "She's the ascendant we've heard about. Why else would she be carrying a clavis or stink of Hell?"

"Samael," Michael groaned.

My skin prickled. "Wha – what?" I said.

He muttered to himself. "That's why he was so chipper when we went boating on the Styx. Damn wyrm."

"And why he drank so many margaritas," Gabriel said in realization. "Sam only drinks those when he's plotting something." She looked at me in concern. "Oh, you poor girl. What has he done to you? He hasn't made you listen to his saxophone, has he?" She asked the last question as if it were a punishment worse than death.

"Um, no," I said. "But he's been training me. Is he really that bad?"

"On the saxophone, yes. He's wretched," Michael said. He rubbed his temple. "And Samael's no better in other aspects. You're better off pulling your teeth out one by one than dealing with that pain-in-the-ass. But I suppose it could have been worse. You could have been found by Asmodeus and forced into his harem."

I shivered at the mention of the green-eyed demon.

"Samael's too lazy to do that," Gabriel said. "Anyways, only Lilith can stand him."

"And he's the only one that can stand her," Michael said.

"Excuse me, um, but, what are you going to do with us?" Divya said, timid.

Gabriel glanced at Divya, a look of sympathy on her face. "You three have had a rough night. We're going to let you two go – I'm afraid you won't be able to speak of these events to anyone but each other. It's a precaution we take with mortals who have divine experiences. You'll find a frog in your throat any time you think of mentioning us or the hellhound." Gabriel placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "However, your friend the ascendant has to stay."

"Shannon, will you be okay?" Rosanna said, exhaustion etched on her face.

"Yeah, you guys can go. I'll explain everything later."

Divya gazed at the two angels in awe. "Thank you for saving us," she said.

"Our pleasure," Michael said. "Now, please promise me you won't go chasing after demons again. It will save everyone a headache."

"Never," Rosanna said. Holding each other, she and Divya disappeared into the darkness, sparing me a worried glance back. It seemed they wanted to stay, but didn't dare defy the archangels.

The blood-haired angel reached into his pocket and took out a cell phone. He began to furiously text someone.

"How did you know where we were?" I said.

Gabriel's cheery expression waned. "Michael and I were on the trail of the hellhound. It caught scent of something interesting, so we decided to see where it led us instead of killing it immediately. It was tracking you."

"But where did it come from?" I asked.

Michael sighed. "Samael might have told you about the current chaos in Hell, and the patchy border between the underworld and Earth. The same can be said for Heaven. The border between Heaven and Earth is riddled with heaven's gates, and last month, a group of highly dangerous fallen angels escaped Dudael and crossed over into Earth. They brought with them mercenaries and packs of hellhounds. Their leader must have sent a hound out to track the rumored ascendant."

"But – but Samael said he would protect me from anyone trying to hunt me," I said. "How could he have missed this?"

Gabriel gave Michael a furtive glance. "We didn't alert Samael about this particular group's escape due to his status as a fallen angel," she said after a moment's pause.

"But wouldn't Samael know about their escape anyway? He's the ruler of Hell – how would they get past him?" I struggled to understand.

"Dudael isn't in Hell," Michael said. "It's under Heaven's jurisdiction, and its location is kept secret from demons, in case they get the urge to free their rebellious brethren."

I shivered, trying to imagine something worse than demons. "Who are they? The escaped fallen angels?"

Michael narrowed his eyes. "For your own safety, I can't tell you."

Apparently the archangels had forgotten about the internet. I would be plugging 'Dudael' into a search engine as soon as I got back to my dorm. Hiding my plans, I nodded my head as if in understanding.

Gabriel crossed her arms behind her head. "Shannon – that's your name, right?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Shannon," she said, "Samael's dangerous. As an ascendant, any path you take will be entwined with immortals. But it doesn't have to make you a demon's pawn. If you align yourself with Heaven, you could do a world of good."

My thoughts flashed to the tears in Damien's eyes when I'd opened a doorway to Pan's woods, his old home. Hadn't I already done good? "Would I be doing the same thing with you guys? Realigning mythical places with Earth?"

Gabriel inhaled sharply. "You're doing what?" she said slowly.

Dread laced my veins. Had I misspoke? "Um, Samael's been teaching me how to open doorways. I – I thought that was a good thing."

Michael cursed. "That oily snake," he said. "If you realign Earth and the pagan realms, Shannon, Heaven's reign will end."

"Heaven's reign?" I repeated, confused.

Gabriel nodded. "For the last thousand years, give or take a few centuries, Heaven has been a shining beacon of peace, leading immortals into a new era of prosperity, united under the banner of a single God. Deities no longer war against each other for believers – they work alongside us, subjects of our Father. If you realign the pagan realms, there will be war. Utter chaos."

I gawked. "You're kidding me."

Michael shook his head, face grim. "I'm afraid it's true." His cell phone beeped. He flipped it open and frowned. "Samael's replied. He's coming now."

Chapter 7

Reality tore open, allowing Death to step through. He wore his robe of shadow, face contorted in anger. "Well if it isn't the piety posse," Samael said. "I'd say good evening, but there's nothing good about tonight."

Michael snapped his phone shut. "Quit the dramatics, Samael. We're here to negotiate."

"She's mine," Samael said, summoning his scythe and planting himself squarely in front of me. "End of negotiations."

"Samael, you're not being reasonable," Gabriel said, voice honey-sweet. "Think about what you're doing. Trying to realign the pagan realms? It's insanity."

"To you. To me, it is freedom. Freedom from the shackles of a negligent Father." Samael glared daggers at Michael. "How long has it been since Father last spoke to you, brother? Years? Decades?"

"That doesn't concern you," Michael said, voice steely.

"Father is unfit to rule," Samael said. "The other gods may do a half-assed job, but at least they do it. And I'm sick of refugees wasting away in Hell. They deserve to go home." He ground the heel of his boot into the dirt. "I'm tired of watching my citizens suffer, crowded into tenements, trying to make ends meet. You oversized seagulls have grown corrupt. It is time for a new age."

"The only corrupt one here is you, Samael," Michael said coolly. "You speak nobly, but the reality of your plan would be disastrous. You itch for chaos, and you thrive off war. Do you really think I'll allow that to happen?"

Samael smirked. "Whether you allow it or not, it will come to pass. The ascendant has sided with me."

"Jeeze, you guys have daddy issues," I said. "And I'm not siding with anyone. I don't know the first thing about celestial politics. All that matters to me is that I don't cause World War III."

"You won't if you allow us to help you," Gabriel said. "Samael can only lead you down a path of destruction."

I crossed my arms. "Now, wait a second. You two basically want me to support a dictator. There's a reason I stopped being Catholic: I can't deal with dogma, and I can't deal with the Christian God. Samael may be a creep, but at least he's trying to help people – immortals – whatever. If I have this gift, I want to use it for good." I picked up my clavis and wiped pine needles from the blade. "I'm sorry. I can't on good conscience work with you."

Michael's lips drew thin. "Samael will only bite you on the ankle, and soon, you'll find yourself neck deep in venom."

"Thanks for the endorsement, Michael," Samael said. "It's settled. She's mine."

"I'm not anyone's!" I said, glaring at Samael. "Look, it was nice meeting you guys, and I'm grateful that you saved me, but I have a biology test to study for, plus I need to explain to Rosanna and Divya what the hell just happened. Time is precious, and I can't waste it on a family feud."

Michael's temple throbbed. "This is the fate of the worlds, Shannon. Not a petty fight."

I shrugged. "You could've fooled me. You guys obviously have bad blood between you, and I don't want to be anywhere near it. I'm going."

"We will stand in your way, ascendant," Michael said, blocking my path. "If you're not with us, you're against us. Do you really want to make an enemy of Heaven?"

I narrowed my eyes. "What are you going to do, kill me?"

"Unless God commands it, no," Michael said. "But we will thwart you-

Michael gagged, crimson blooming from his breast. Samael's scythe pierced his heart.

"Don't threaten her, ginger," Samael said. He wrenched his blade upward, brutally tearing through Michael's ribs. I flinched as his bones cracked. The scythe launched free of his shoulder.

"Samael!" I said, bringing my hands to my mouth in horror. Michael doubled over, spitting blood. His tunic was ruined, but before my eyes, his flesh knitted together, bones resetting.

Michael roared, launching at Samael with his flaming sword. The two met like combusting stars. I stepped back, shellshocked.

"Stop it!" Gabriel said, darting into the middle of their melee to pry them apart. Michael and Samael glared daggers at each other.

"Wyrm," Michael said.

"Dog," Samael said. "All you do is sic yourself on humans at Father's imagined command. If you so much as lay a hand on a strand of Shannon's hair, I'll jump rope with your guts."

Gabriel planted herself firmly between them. "Michael, Sam, get off each other's throats. Fighting over the ascendant does nothing. She has free will."

"She's ignorant of the harm she's causing," Michael said, sheathing his blade. He gave me a hard look. "You're foolish, ascendant. Foolish as Eve, lulled by the serpent's charm."

"Samael's about as charming as a corpse," I said.

Samael sighed. "Everyone's on my case. Brother, I don't want to stand against you-

"You skewered me with your scythe," Michael said.

"-but you're blind to Father's true plans," Samael said. "You always have been. His lust for control will ruin all worlds."

Michael's lips cracked in a rigid smile. "Funny for the man who sought to usurp Him to say that. You're just as ambitious as Father, Samael – don't deny it. You will reap the benefits if the pagan realms are aligned, profiting off your alliance with the pagan gods."

Samael's gaze was heavy as stone. "We will all benefit. The worlds need diversity to thrive."

"We're not arguing against diversity, Sam," Gabriel said, gentle. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It just needs to be controlled to thrive. Like weeding a garden."

"You're comparing genocide to weeding?" Samael said, shoving Gabriel's hand off him. "To Gehenna with you both. Didn't it tear you apart when you leveled Sodom and Gomorrah to the ground? Our Father's word has caused so much grief. We may have been created for destruction, but we can rise against our Maker's design. We can be more than machines. Don't you want that, sister?" Samael looked at Gabriel with burning eyes.

Gabriel crossed her arms over her breasts. "Humans have always sinned in Father's name. We can't stop that," she said. "As for Sodom and Gomorrah, and all the times angels have intervened in humanity's course, it was expressly for humanity's evolution into nobler beings. You are just as guilty at engineering Homo sapiens' destiny, giver of the Forbidden Fruit."

"I had no choice!" Samael said.

Gabriel sighed. "I'm not trying to anger you, brother, just proving a point. You interfere with humanity to benefit yourself; we aid humanity because it benefits God."

"In other words, we act out of goodwill, while your motives are pure selfishness," Michael said.

Samael's fists shook. "You're condemning entire worlds to death, Michael. Entire races to extinction. They are fading as we speak, drifting farther from Earth by the moment."

Michael's eyes were slits. "That's Hell's purpose, Samael: a refuge for the fallen. The pagan realms stand against the true God, so below the heavenly throne is where their occupants belong. In the filth you call your home."

"I built an empire on ash and bone, brother! And never once did you mourn a third of our family!" Samael said. He launched off the ground on ebon wings, gliding over Gabriel and diving like a hawk towards Michael.

Michael spread his pinions, face grim. In a lightning motion, he drove his sword through Samael's stomach. Samael's steaming entrails spilled onto the ground as he slid down the blade. The stench of burning meat filled the air, and I gagged.

"Not a moment goes by when I do not mourn your fates," Michael said. He wrenched his blade free of Samael.

Samael clutched at his stomach as his guts snaked back into his wound. He spat blood at his brother's feet. "You kicked me into the Pits of Abaddon, Michael. You sentenced the woman I loved to death in the wastelands beyond Eden. You have no conscience with which to mourn."

"Stop it!" I said. "How can you call yourselves angels when you act like beasts?" My knees rattled. I fell to the ground, sobbing.

Samael, healed, walked to me and knelt by my shoulder. "Shannon, don't cry," he said, stroking my back. I dry heaved.

"We're leaving," Michael said. "I will never convince you of my love for you, brother. But everything I did was to keep our family together. You are the one who tore us apart."

"Take care of her, Samael," Gabriel said, sad.

The archangels took wing and vanished into the night.

I buried my face in my hands. "Why is the universe like this?"

Samael sighed. "Because immortals are petty. Because of entropy. Because we have lived too long to change."

I looked up at Death. "I've always fought with my twin, but it's nothing like the hatred between you and Michael."

Samael shook his head. "We were the firstborn. Polar opposites. He is God's right hand, and I'm His left. It's natural that we clash. Are you fit to go home?"

"No." I sniffled. "I'm sick to my stomach. I never thought this night would be so horrible. I thought angels were supposed to be nice, like Hallmark cards."

He helped me to my feet. I didn't let go of Death. "You can spend the night at my place. No time will have passed on Earth, and you will return restored."

Exhausted, I didn't have enough energy to protest. Samael led me through his summoned hellmouth to the practice fields behind his cathedral-like abode. I stumbled beside him into the foyer and followed him to a spare bedroom by the courtyard. It was clearly meant for a woman, with a large vanity, walls painted a pale blue. I collapsed onto the bed and rolled onto my stomach, wanting to hide from the world. Samael perched on an armchair beside me, gaze distant.

"I wish I'd never met you," I said.

Samael stared out the window at the topiary. "I suppose you do."

Images of the brothers' violence flashed in my mind. "How can you do that? Attack Michael like it means nothing?"

"He was threatening you. I couldn't allow that." Samael ran a finger down the leather of his armchair. "As immortals, we can't kill each other. Violence has a different meaning to angels and demons."

"But it's still violence!" I said, frustrated. I kicked my legs back then slammed them down onto the comforter.

Samael scratched at the stitching of his armrest. "If I really wanted to injure someone, I would have sent a Nephilim after them. I didn't want to harm Michael permanently."

I perked up. "Nephilim? What's that? Michael thought I was one."

Freeing a thread, Samael held it taut between his index fingers and thumbs. He looked cross-eyed at the fiber. "Nephilim are the bastard children of angels and humans. Haven't you read the Book of Enoch?"

I shook my head no.

"Good. Enoch was senile." Samael blew the string onto the ground. "Anyways, because Nephilim are mortal, they can kill immortals. They're used as mercenaries and assassins."

"What's the Book of Enoch about?"

Samael's face darkened. "It's about the Irin, angels charged with watching humanity, and how they fell in love with human women. They made a pact against God and taught humanity the arts of civilization. Their offspring, the original Nephilim, drove my Father to create the Biblical flood. Raphael bound the Irin in Dudael, and Michael slaughtered their wives. He plucked out their eyes so they would never look upon women with lust again."

"That sounds awful." I recalled the archangel's mention of Dudael. "Wait, Michael said the hellhound tracking me was sent by fallen angels that escaped Dudael last month!"

Samael's eyes snapped open. "What?" he said.

I shrugged. "It's what he said. Does that mean the Irin broke free?"

Samael rose from his chair, cursing. He paced the room, robe of shadow trailing behind him like spilled ink. "That's why Michael was drinking tequila when we went boating on the Styx," Samael said. "He only drinks that when he's hiding something."

"How can you party with Michael one day and stab him the next?"

"Our relationship is complicated. Be quiet. I need to think." He fell silent, giving the window a cutting glance. After a few minutes' pause, he spoke to himself. "Azazel's escaped. Semyaza too. They're biding their time, scoping things out, seeing how the worlds have changed since their imprisonment. The Irin are finding allies, plotting revenge." Samael ran his hands through his hair. "Many demons will flock to them. I need to perform damage control immediately." He glanced at me, calculating. "Shannon, stay here. I'll be back in the morning."

"But-

"No, this is important. It's late. Get some sleep." He stormed out of the room.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. I touched the key at my throat. "The Irin, eh?" I murmured. I vaguely remembered them from the annals of the Internet, from something on the apocrypha.

I tried dozing, but I was too rattled from earlier. Deciding to make the best of my situation, I set out to explore the gardens. I found myself lost in a maze of flowers and moonlight. The winding stone path was labyrinthine. The trees lining the walkway obscured my surroundings. All I could see were the soaring walls of the mansion. After perhaps an hour, I paused to sit on a bench carved from the trunk of a tree. The strange blue fireflies from the outskirts of Pandemonium thronged round the branches. I lay down, watching the slow path of the moon.

Only it wasn't slow. It shrunk to a pinpoint, then flashed like a comet down towards me. I cried out as it descended, jumped off the bench and hid behind it. The moon landed before me, beside a trickling fountain. I shielded my eyes from its glow, blinded just as I had been by Gabriel's face. The moonshine faded into the form of a naked woman. She was bird from the waist down, with long, scaled legs that ended in talons and striated owl wings. Her skin was the color of earth. The moon folded her wings and tucked a braid behind her ear.

"Lilith," I said, remembering that Hell's moon wasn't a satellite, but a woman. I stood motionless under her penetrating gaze.

Lilith cocked her head to the side, just like a bird. "You're not Samael," she said. Her voice was pleasing, low and husky. She smiled slightly. "You're Shannon, aren't you? His new concubine."

I blushed in anger. "I'm not his anything. We're just... associates."

"I see. Samael doesn't have many friends, much less human acquaintances. That makes you a curiosity." She stepped into the fountain, craned her head back, and let the water drench her. It poured down her skin like crystal. "Ah," she sighed, washing her hair. "Flying makes me sweat like a horse. This is refreshing."

I shifted, uncomfortable. "Do you want a shirt or something?"

Lilith laughed. "I never ate the Forbidden Fruit, daughter of Eve. I know no shame in nakedness." Her breasts rose as she inhaled deeply. "Out of all the things I've experienced, water's touch is the most peaceful. It brings me back millennia, to the Red Sea."

I looked down at my feet. "Um, do you want a towel?"

She stepped out of the fountain and wrung her braids dry. "I can help myself." With that, Lilith launched into the air, sailing to where I imagined the garden door was. I followed her flight, finding my way back to the mansion. I stumbled up the stairs, exhausted.

Lilith was at the entrance, a towel around her shoulders. Her face was serene as she gazed at the stars. She sat beside a rose bush. "I remember you, Shannon O'Connor," Lilith said, voice distant.

I froze.

"You were born with your umbilical cord wrapped around your neck, blue as a bruise. Samael doesn't recall those that evade him, but I do. I almost had you." Lilith craned her neck to smell the roses beside her. "7 pounds 8 ounces, eyes like a mockingbird's wing. You smelled like lilies and myrrh. I thought your soul particularly beautiful."

I shuddered. "How do you know that?"

Lilith smiled sadly. "I'm death's midwife. God slaughtered my offspring, so in retribution I vowed to take the lives of His beloved human children. I was rash and young, and I didn't understand the pain it would cause me to be the mother of abortion and infant corpses. I have paid dearly for that choice." She fanned her feathers. "I am glad you resisted my call."

"I am too."

Lilith cocked her head to the side. "Don't go, daughter of Eve – your smell. I remember the third thing you smelled of."

Ice dripped down my spine.

"Apples. You smell like her. The first ascendant."

"Eve?" I said.

"Yes. The first woman to walk Earth." Lilith's honey eyes clouded with... tears? "She was my best friend. I pine for Eve, long after she has became dust. No one knew me like her."

"I'm sorry," I said, surprised to find myself pitying a demon. She seemed lonely.

"I know now why Samael values you. Why you smell like the forbidden. You're the Magdalene."

I gawked. "Excuse me?"

Lilith looked at me like the answer was obvious. "The woman of seven devils. Our seers prophesized your arrival long ago. The Magdalene is destined to wield the power of Hell's seven archdemons and redeem the fallen. Like a watcher high in a tower, she will judge God's sins and reopen the gates to Heaven." Lilith smiled softly. "Or so they say."

I shook my head in denial. "No. No way. That's impossible. I'm not the Magdalene. I can't zip my jacket shut without it snagging. You think I have the finesse to wield the power of seven demons?"

"Samael seems to."

"He never told me about this! Damien didn't either, or Beelzebub, or even the angels. Anyways, I don't believe in prophecies. They're loads of crap." I sunk onto the bench beside Lilith, flabbergasted.

She plucked a rose and tucked it behind her ear. "There's a reason Samael has invested so much time in you. Have you used his scythe?"

I remembered cutting myself free of his robe during our first encounter. He'd said the scythe should have destroyed me. I paled. "Yes."

Lilith nodded. "All archdemons have a sacred weapon, forged from the Lapis Exillis, the stone of exile. The Lapis Exillis was the gem on Samael's crown. It was the source of his power."

"I haven't seen him wear a crown. What happened to it?"

"It broke into seven shards when Samael fell from Heaven. He gave a shard each to his six most trusted friends, including me, and kept the last for himself. Samael was unable to fix the stone, but the Magdalene is capable of taking the shards and making the stone anew. With it, you could reverse the curse God placed on us."

"Curse?" I said.

Lilith hung her head. She scratched her talons on the patio. "Our natures were twisted when we fell. We became husks of ourselves. Our purposes were perverted. That is what makes us demons. The Lapis Exillis is pure glory, God's first Word. It is the Word of Creation. It has the power of making - to make us whole again." Tears shone in the demoness' eyes. "I would no longer be Lilith the child-killer, but Lailah, the spirit of conception." She paused. "Like I used to be, before this madness began."

I reeled. "So you're saying, if I use this mythical stone, that I could wipe the slate clean?" I thought of the enmity between Michael and Samael. Could that ever be healed? "I just don't see how that's possible," I said, overwhelmed. "Hell is such a sad place. Even when it's beautiful, it's somber. If I could change that, I would, trust me. But I don't know the first thing about saving lives. I study life, I dissect it, but putting things back together? That's beyond me."

Lilith took the rose from behind her ear and plucked its petals, one by one. "Isn't it worth a try, though? You've come this far, Shannon, and in such a short time. That's the thing I envy about humans. What I envied most about Eve: your species can accomplish almost anything they set their minds to. Flight without wings, faith without meeting God. Immortals have such limited imagination. We copy humanity's inventions and thrive off their beliefs. That's why our technology looks like yours. We may give inspiration, but it's humans that develop our ideas."

Dawn tinged the sky pink, and Phenex rose on the horizon. Lilith stretched her arms. The door slid open behind us, and I turned to see a haggard Samael, muttering to himself. His hair was mussed, and his robe hung unevenly off one shoulder. He stopped abruptly when he saw us, piercings flashing in the sun.

"Lilith?" he said. "I wasn't expecting you."

Lilith rose from the bench. "Sam, you look like shit. What happened?"

"The Irin happened. They've escaped, and chances are they're trying to capture the Magda- I mean, Shannon."

Lilith and I glanced at each other. "She knows," the demoness said.

Samael cursed. "Why would you tell her that? Knowing what she is will just put Shannon in more danger!"

Lilith shrugged. "It's her right to know what you have planned for her."

"You should have told me a long time ago," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "Like back when I used your scythe without needing to go home in a matchbox."

Samael looked weary. "The Magdalene prophecy is ancient. I didn't want to give citizens like Damien false hope. And I've waited too long for you to be taken from me by the angels or Irin. The less you know, the better off you are."

"You can't just keep me in the dark forever, Samael," I said. "This is serious stuff."

"And you're a mayfly that has no inkling what you're capable of," Samael said. "The Lapis Exillis is a cross no one should bear. I suffered under its weight for eons, and never once was it easy to wield."

Lilith flashed the Reaper a shrewd look. "But Shannon lacks your fatal flaw, Samael: pride. She is humble. The Lapis Exillis won't overpower her."

"You may be right, Lilith," Samael admitted, "but the Lapis Exillis is still a gamble. If we can just realign the pagan realms and return our allies' power, we can free ourselves from Heaven's shackles. Shannon wouldn't have to use the stone and endanger herself."

Lilith frowned. "No action against God is worthwhile unless it is bold. Don't you tire of being Father's pawn?"

There were bruises under Samael's eyes. He slumped against the wall. "Yes, Lilith, of course I do. But we can't act impulsively with so many lives at stake."

"Then don't sacrifice lives. Assemble the Lapis Exillis," Lilith said. She placed an encouraging hand on my shoulder. "Shannon, untold people would be indebted to you. You could make more of a difference than millennia of politicking and wars have."

"If she assumes the duties of the Magdalene, she will be the target of both Heaven and the Irin. It's too risky," Samael said. He spat sparks onto a cigarette from his pocket and took a slow drag.

"Don't I get a say, Samael?" I said.

He exhaled, expelling smoke from his nose. "No."

I fumed. "You're not my father! Don't tell me what to do." I collected myself. "This is important to me, Sam. I want to help Damien. To restore balance. I want to give these people a home again and end your Father's despotic rule."

Samael's features hardened. Silence stretched between us. "Using the Lapis Exillis is not as simple as Lilith claims," he finally said. "It could take years of training. You'd have to master each of the seven shards. The shards owe allegiance to different masters, and you'd have to show proficiency with all seven weapons to recreate the Lapis Exillis." He paused to smoke. "We'd be acting in open defiance of Heaven. If the angels found out, it would mean war."

"Aren't you already at war with them?" I asked.

Samael stubbed his cigarette out with his boot. His lip ring shone in the dawn. "Not outright. It's more of a covert cold war. We've been at stalemate for centuries. And with last month's outbreak, we need Heaven on our side to combat the Irin. We'd be double-timing the angels." Samael smirked. "Not that that's unprecedented."

Lilith checked the sun's course and rose from the bench. "It's almost breakfast. I'm meeting Deus for coffee. Let me know when Shannon's training begins, and I will be at your disposal."

"Training?" I echoed.

Samael nodded once. "You'll need to train with the seven archdemons to master their shards. That includes me, Lilith, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Astaroth, Belial, and Rofocale."

Lilith flashed me a smile. "I am at your service, Magdalene." She launched into the air and sailed over the hedges.

I yawned. "I couldn't sleep a wink."

"Lilith is dangerous, Shannon," Samael warned.

I stretched. "She seemed perfectly fine, minus the whole baby-killing part. Anyways, I thought you two had a thing."

Samael looked defensive. "Centuries ago. We're friends now. My relationships don't tend to last long."

I snorted. "I wonder why. And if she's dangerous, what are you, Hannibal Lecter?"

"I suppose you have a point."

"Can I go now? I still have a chance of getting some sleep back in my dorm."

Samael obliged.

Chapter 8

After approximately an hour of explaining what the hell had happened to a shaken Divya and Rosanna, I crashed into bed, a vortex of snores. It was the weekend, and I slept until Saturday afternoon, getting over twelve hours of shuteye. Rosanna suppressed her curiosity until she could no longer bear it and poked me awake at half past one.

"Wha?" I groaned, drool on my pillow.

"Shannon, you slept like you were hibernating. I can't take it anymore. Tell me more!" She bounced onto the mattress beside me.

I rubbed my eyes of sleep-grit. "I already told you everything, Rosanna. I don't know anymore."

"But you have to! Are the Orishas real?"

"Apparently. And Ochún's supposed to be a hippie," I said, recalling the Orisha of water we'd flashed last month.

Rosanna's green eyes widened. "What about la Llorona?" she whispered.

I shrugged. "I think so. I mean, the pagan gods are real, and there are werewolves, and vampires, so I'm guessing most mythological beings exist."

"So all the times I prayed to angel Miguel and the saints, they actually heard me?"

"Maybe. I don't know how prayer works."

"Miguel was fierce. Just like a warrior of God. The way he killed the cadejo..." Rosanna shivered. "He scares me."

I remembered how Michael had rammed his flaming sword through Samael and paled. "He scares me too."

Rosanna's desire to discuss last night's events wilted, eclipsed by fear. We dressed and went to brunch, meeting a solemn Divya, still rattled by her encounter with the hellhound. Her eyes were haunted.

"Shannon, are you alright?" Divya said quietly.

"I'm fine. Are you?"

Divya trembled and looked past my ear at the omelet bar. "I... I've believed in the gods for so long, done puja each day to honor them, but the reality of them? It's shocking. If angels are real, Shiva and Parvati are too. Why have they never answered my prayers? Why haven't they spoken to me? How many people have they appeared to?" She angrily bit into her toast. "If humans can't speak of their divine experiences, then there could be dozens, maybe hundreds of people that have met the gods. Do they even need our worship? Has everything I've done been for nothing?" Wiping marmalade from her lips, she gazed stonily at the ground.

I reached out for her hand. "Div, of course they do. Human belief is what gives the gods power."

Divya shook her head. "That hellhound was terrible, Shannon. I can't sleep without thinking about how it bit you, all the blood that fell on the ground." She seemed to steel herself against something. "When I was little, my sister would tease me about rakshasas and how they would come to eat me if I played in the woods, just like they ate Brahma. I thought she was being stupid, but I stayed out of the woods anyway, just to be safe. Do I have to live my life like that now? Always looking over my shoulder, thinking a rakshasa might attack?"

"Whatever a rakshasa is, they have no reason to come after you, Div," I said. I squeezed her hand. "The hellhound was after me. It was just a coincidence that you saw it in the woods."

Divya bit her lip. "Rakshasas are cannibals. And even if they don't attack me, the thought that things like them are after you scares me, Shannon. How can you protect yourself with an oversized key?"

I forced a smile. "I've managed to so far. Kind of."

Rosanna sipped her coffee. "I think we need to fight back," she said.

"No! I'm not involving you guys in this. It's too dangerous," I said.

"Pfft, please," Rosanna snorted. "You don't get to decide what we do. The cadejo would have killed us all. It doesn't matter that it was only after you. With Divya's brains, your key thing, and my grandmother's lessons, we could actually make a kickass team."

"Hmm. Rosanna has a point," said Divya. "These things are coming onto our campus. We should at least be ready if it happens again."

"It won't," I said firmly. "Samael has this under control."

Rosanna narrowed her eyes. "I don't trust this Samael guy. He sounds shady. Isn't he basically the Devil?"

"Erm, well, yeah. But God's kind of a despot. Nothing's black and white."

"No wonder I didn't like the angels," Divya said. She steepled her fingers under her chin. "My family's Brahmin. We were priests and priestesses, back when the caste system existed. I have some books on Hindu folk magic and rituals that I brought to college to prep for my World Religions class. I'll dig through them and see if I can find anything useful."

Rosanna bobbed her head in agreement. "And I've got my abuela's 'recipe' book. It's chockfull of weird potions and spells."

"You guys, this is totally unnecessary. I can take care of this," I said, making a cutting motion with my hands. "You don't need to worry."

"Oh, yes we do," Rosanna said. "It was almost our heads on a plate. We're going to deal with this together."

"And how do you know that Samael's on your side?" Divya said. "The Hindu gods can be double-faced. I'm sure it's the same for demons."

"Because he's saved me, multiple times," I said. "And if you guys are so deadest on helping me, then we need to be careful. This stuff is dangerous."

"We know," Divya said, eyes hard.

Someone cleared their throat. I looked up to see Mo behind Rosanna. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked.

"No," we said in unison.

"Good. I hope you girls are enjoying your morning. Except for you, Shannon."

I stuck out my tongue.

"Hey, Rosanna. Great dress. Can I get the notes for the lecture on Chaucer?" Mo asked in his lady-killer voice.

Rosanna smiled. "Sure, Mo-

"You guys are in British Literature together?" I blurted.

They looked at me like I was crazy. "Yeah, so what?" Mo said.

I flashed him a warning look, trying to communicate that if he put the moves on my roommate, there would be hell to pay. But he, oblivious, slid into the seat next to Rosanna and bantered with her. Divya left to refill her tea, leaving me to scowl at my twin, contemplating the possibility of being sexiled by my brother.

My phone beeped. I flipped it open. There was a text from a string of sixes: "LAY LOW FOR THE WEEKEND, WORM. I'LL MEET YOU ON MONDAY AT 7, THE USUAL PLACE." Then the screen died. I clicked my phone on, only to see the message had disappeared. Apparently, the Devil knew my number.

The weekend passed in a blur. Divya, Rosanna and I taught each other what we knew of Hinduism, Santeria, and ceremonial magic that I'd gleaned from the Internet. Sunday night was filled with coffee, cramming for a chemistry test, and blasting David Bowie on repeat to distract me from my panic. The exam came Monday like a guillotine to the neck. I stumbled out of the classroom and trudged to biology lab, where we were dissecting frogs. I sat next to Divya, who was dressed in a crisp white lab coat, her hair tied back in a ponytail. I donned goggles and we set to work skinning the amphibian.

"Scalpel," Divya said.

I handed it to her, and she made an incision. She used forceps to pry back the frog's moist flesh and expose the creature's heart. I reached in with tweezers and removed its organs, one by one, placing them on a laminated diagram of the frog's anatomy. We paused to take notes on the process in our lab books.

"It's female," I said, noting the eggs.

Divya paused from writing. "Do you think we're like this frog, Shannon?"

I slid my goggles onto my brow. "What do you mean, Div?

She twisted her silver rings. "Just experiments. Something to entertain the gods."

I set my pen down. "I think we're here for a better reason than that. And who knows? Maybe we came first, and the gods are our experiment."

Divya frowned. "I don't like either of those options."

I arrived at the lake at 7:00. Samael was skipping stones, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket.

"I got your text," I said. "Really? Your area code is 666?"

He smirked, septum piercing flashing. "Did you have an exciting day at school? Crash any keggers?"

"No, Sam. College students don't party every day of the week. I was murdered by a test, and then I dissected a frog." I sat on a boulder and wrapped my arms round my knees. "So are we training today, or what?"

His face darkened. "The archdemons know what you are now. I told them you can wield my scythe. They want to test you."

"But I just had an exam!"

He lobbed a smooth rock at the lake. It skimmed the surface nine times. "The angels suspect what you are, Shannon. They know you're an ascendant, and soon, they'll think you're the Magdalene. We need to prepare you immediately."

I threw up my hands in defeat. "Fine, do what you want. But can we get root beer at Damien's first?"

Samael smiled. "Sure."

We arrived at the bar shortly thereafter. I downed two glasses of soda and was working on a third. Damien set to washing dishes while Samael nursed his absinthe.

The werewolf's eyes shone. "So it's true, Sam? She can use the scythe?"

"Yes, Damien, for the umpteenth time, she's the Magdalene. But don't tell anyone." Samael burped.

"Excuse you," I said.

Death grinned lopsidedly. "Hell's citizens can't know what's at stake."

Damien nodded. "My pack's tracking the Irin. They've set up camp on Earth, but we haven't had any direct run-ins with them yet. They're lying low, for now."

"As to be expected," Samael said. He finished his absinthe and swiped a peanut from a jar, cracking it open with his fang and munching on the nut's meat.

"Come back once you're done," Damien said.

"Sure," I said.

We left in Samael's hearse for the capitol building, the Hellopolis. It was built like the Parthenon, with soaring columns, rising high above Pandemonium on a merciless hill. The River Styx, red as blood, rushed along behind it, and a great statue carved of white stone jutted from the hill-face, depicting a falling angel reaching for a star. A valet took the carriage to a great cavern below the building. I looked for a road to the entrance, finding none.

Samael's wings burst from his back and he held out his arms as if to embrace me. "Free hugs, worm."

I put two and two together. "Oh no. Oh no no no. I hate heights!"

"Too bad." He scooped me up and we rocketed off the ground. I screamed, joining a throng of flying demons – secretaries, clerks, businessmen, all streaming above us on their way to the Hellopolis. Tails snaked out of pencil skirts and pens were tucked behind horns. My stomach dropped as the ground receded.

"I hate you," I said, queasy. "If I barf, it's all your fault."

"Ruin my jacket and I'll feed you to Leviathan."

Just as soon as we had taken flight, Samael landed, depositing me on the marble floor. I gaped at the beauty of the building. Samael tugged at my arm. "Let's go, worm."

"Stop calling me that!"

He laughed and led me inside.

We entered a cross between a courtroom and a stadium, with row upon row of seating rising to the ceiling. A large oculus framed the sun, and seven platforms stood before me, fronting an elevated dais at the center of the room. I squinted to see the six figures who sat on the platforms – Lilith, Asmodeus, and Beelzebub, alongside three demons I didn't recognize, with the middle platform empty. I realized I was in the presence of the archdemons. My throat constricted and I swallowed hard, palms sweating.

Samael squeezed my hand. "Don't be nervous, Shannon. We're at your service."

"I thought you were going to test me."

"Well, that too."

He guided me forward then took off, soaring to the middle platform, where he sat on a black throne. I trudged forward and climbed the steep steps of the dais. Seven weapons were laid on a table – a whip, Samael's scythe, a revolver, a mace, a trident, halberd, and a cane. The seven pieces of the Lapis Exillis.

I looked up, up, up at the archdemons, searching their faces for – well, I wasn't sure what for. Lilith smiled cryptically, naked as God had made her. Beelzebub looked like he'd swallowed a pineapple. Asmodeus was toying with his gloves. And Samael – he looked nervous, face taut, perched on his seat like a bird. I looked to his right, at the three unfamiliar demons. There was a willowy brunette with a severe face, decked in armor. Beside her was a voluptuous girl with a carefree smile. She looked at Beelzebub with affection, and the two exchanged a meaningful glance. I guessed she was Astaroth, his wife. Finally, on the edge, there was a disheveled demon with a mop of blond hair, dressed like Kurt Cobain. He was asleep.

"Belial, wake up!" Beelzebub boomed.

The grunge rock demon startled. "Wha?" he said.

"The Magdalene is here," said the brunette, voice cool.

"Oh," Belial said. He ran a hand through his bangs. "Umm, okay. Rofocale, what do I do?"

The brunette sighed. "Belial, we went over this last night."

Belial scratched his nose. "I was stoned."

Rofocale smoothed a pile of papers in front of her. "Of course you were. Never mind, I'll address her." The demoness cleared her throat. "Shannon O'Connor - as Prime Minister, I welcome you to the Hellopolis. These hallowed halls have served Pandemonium for millennia, carved from the very ground on which our regent fell. Samael has told us of your progress - he speaks very highly of you." The brunette narrowed her eyes. "But there is only one way to know if you are the girl we prophesized of. The seven shards of the Lapis Exillis lay before you. If you can wield them, you truly are the Magdalene."

I trembled.

"Look at her. You're scaring the human, Rofocale," Belial said. "Look, we're not grading you, kid. Just do your best."

"Ooo, pick mine first! It's the mace," Astaroth said, pointing at her weapon.

"Uh, okay," I said. I picked up the spiked mace. Nothing happened.

Astaroth's jaw dropped. "Impossible," she said.

The mace's handle began to burn. I screamed, dropping it.

"Well, it's impressive that she could even touch it," Rofocale said.

I shook the heat from my hands.

"She'll have to be possessed to use the weapons properly," Beelzebub said, voice cold.

"What?" I said.

Beelzebub narrowed his eyes. "Samael didn't tell you?"

Rofocale steepled her fingers under her chin. "Of course he didn't. You're aware of Jesus' companion, Mary Magdalene?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I guess. She was a prostitute, right?"

Rofocale drew her lips thin. "She was much more than that. Mary Magdalene was a disciple. She was descended from King Solomon, and she carried in her blood his legacy."

Asmodeus scowled. "Damn Solomon."

Rofocale glanced at the dapper Asmodeus. "Deus was imprisoned by Solomon for several years. King Solomon commanded legions of demons, a skill he passed on to his descendant, Mary Magdalene. Mary was an ascendant, like you. She had several dealings with us, one that ended with her being possessed. We made an attempt to win Jesus to our side, using Mary as a vessel, but that plan backfired when Jesus exorcised us from her."

"Great story, but what does that have to do with me?" I said, nervous.

"You're descended from Solomon, like Mary Magdalene was. That's why you have her abilities," Rofocale said. "The ability to wield the power of seven devils."

My eyes widened. "My brother's name is Solomon-

"I hate him already," Asmodeus said drily.

"-it's a family name," I explained. "But I mean, if it's hereditary, why am I an ascendant, and not Mo? Why am I the Magdalene?"

There was silence.

"Because of a promise," Samael finally said, voice off.

"Huh?"

The archdemons looked at each other knowingly.

"You're really going to tell her?" Lilith said, voice low.

"She has a right to know," Rofocale said.

"Tell me what?" I asked.

Samael's face was haunted. "Not here, Shannon. I'll explain later, in private-

"No! Stop keeping things from me!" I fumed. "You never explain anything, Samael. I'm sick of half-truths. You should have told me what I was the moment you met me. Spit it out. Why am I the Magdalene?"

He begged: "Please, Shannon-

"Now!"

Samael's hands shook on the sides of his throne. "Before Eve was cast from Eden, I made her a promise. I couldn't bear the thought that she was mortal - that her soul would thread through my fingers like sand. I gave her my heart, so that her soul would be immortal – an angel's heart is the core of their being. With it, she became like the seraphim. Without it, I became Death." Samael shuddered. "It was the greatest mistake I ever made. My heart was the Forbidden Fruit, and giving it to Eve was Original Sin. But I was blinded by love. I was selfish then, and I didn't think of the consequences,"

My stomach dropped. "What consequences?"

"I... you... she..." Samael cursed. "When Eve died, she was thrown into Limbo, a place beyond my reach. Humans aren't meant to be immortal, but because she had my heart, her fate was bound to me. To Hell. I thought she would reincarnate immediately after her death, so I searched for Eve. For years, I found nothing."

"There's a reason your soul smells like her's," Lilith murmured. "Like apples."

"What are you saying?" I said.

Samael, already pale, turned chalk-white. "I consulted seers to discover when Eve would reincarnate," he said, voice hollow. "All predictions pointed to the end of the second millennium, A.D., a time when humanity would have progressed at an alarming rate, when science would parallel the marvels of immortals, and the very fabric of the worlds would tilt horribly askew. A time when Hell would have need of an ascendant."

Samael's nails dug into the wood of his throne. "From the bloodline of Solomon, Eve would bloom – able to play host to seven devils like the Magdalene before her. Her reincarnation would wield the Lapis Exillis and judge God. She would realign the pagan realms and restore balance to the worlds. She would, after so long, bring peace." Samael's eyes shone. "I thought the prophecy was foolish nonsense. I never thought – I never dreamed..." He bit his lip, tears flowing in earnest. "I'm – I'm sorry, Shannon. It was never meant to be like this."

My legs buckled, and I sank to the floor. Samael's words clanged like cymbals in my brain: Eve's reincarnation... play host to seven devils... judge God...

I buried my head in my hands, angry tears clouding my vision. "No!" I screamed. "No no no! I'm not her! I'm not your pawn!"

"We're all pawns," Beelzebub said. "It's just a matter of which king we choose to serve."

"But I don't have a choice!" I rose, and with an angry fist scattered the seven weapons before me to the floor.

Samael stood, reaching out for me. "Shannon-

"No! Don't talk to me! I don't want anything to do with you. I won't be possessed like Mary Magdalene, and I sure as hell won't work with an angel that damned a woman to an eternity in Limbo."

"I didn't mean-

"I don't care! Don't follow me!" With that, I sprinted from the room, track muscles propelling me through the entrance. My eyes misted. I rubbed at them, furious.

I heard the beating of wings as I stood on the sharp slope of the hill. Samael landed beside me, hair in tangles. "I didn't mean to hurt you-" he said.

"Stop." I shook my head, hands balled into fists. "It's too late. You've kept too much from me. Since the moment I met you, you've been deceiving me. Why did you drag me here? To make an idiot of me in front of your friends?"

"No." Samael picked at a thread in his sleeve. "I was going to tell you in time. It's just – it was hard for me."

"Hard for you? You're not the one who found out she's the reincarnation of the original naked ditz in front of a bunch of strangers. Whose identity was just destroyed!"

Samael flinched. "Eve wasn't foolish. She was brave. The bravest woman I've ever known-

I broiled. "I don't care who she was! She's dead. I'm not her. Get over your childhood sweetheart and stop lying to me!"

Samael dabbed at his eyes. "Shannon, calm down. I haven't deliberately misled you-

"Yes you have!"

His face was fierce. "If I did, it was only to protect you."

I scoffed. "No, you did it to serve yourself. Michael was right. All you want is power. How can you expect me to be a vessel like Mary Magdalene? This isn't the 'Exorcist,' and you aren't Pazuzu. I don't want to be possessed. I don't want to masturbate with crosses. How could you even think I'd be willing? Being possessed would kill me!"

Samael put his hands on my shoulders. "No. It wouldn't. I wouldn't let that happen again."

"Again?"

"When you – when Eve died young, I couldn't bear it." He shook his head. "I would never let anything happen to you."

"Fuck you," I said. "You really are the Devil." I pushed his hands off my shoulders. "If you have an ounce of decency, you'll leave me alone. Now."

"In Hell? No, it's too dangerous-

"Now!"

Samael winced. "Come back inside when you're – when you want to. We'll be waiting."

I scowled. Samael bit down on his sentence, then left.

"Stupid Corpseboy," I said, shoving my hands in my pockets. I surveyed the steep slope. "Like hell am I going back in there." I scrambled from boulder to handhold down the hill, breathless when I reached the bottom.

Furious, I stomped to Damien's bar. He was shooting pool with a hydra. "Shannon?" the werewolf said, putting his pool stick down. "Where's Samael? It's dangerous to be wandering around Pandemonium without protection."

"I don't care. I hate him." I bit back tears and slumped onto a seat at the bar.

Damien hurried to my side. "What did that bastard do?" he said.

"He – he and the archdemons want to use me as a weapon for their stupid Lapis Exillis. They want to possess me."

Damien bared his fangs, giving a low growl. "Over my dead carcass they will. Samael never said anything about possession."

"I wasn't strong enough to use their weapons on my own. I don' think they were planning to originally." I wiped my nose with a dirty napkin. "And then – and then Samael said – he said I was Eve. That the Magdalene prophecy was about her reincarnation. It can't be true, can it?"

Damien's face darkened. "It's possible. All I know about the Magdalene prophecy are the rumors – that you'll deliver us. The archdemons keep many secrets."

"Too many," I said. I shuddered at the idea of being possessed, picturing the girl from the 'Exorcist' scuttling on her back like a spider. "How do I stop them, Damien? I don't want to help Samael. Not anymore."

The bartender's brows furrowed in thought. He was about to speak, but was interrupted by the front door slamming open.

"Not you!" I yelled, lobbing a shot glass at the visitor. The bar patrons fell silent.

Samael stood there, face wild. He let the glass shatter on his forehead, drawing a shallow cut. Red dripped down his nose. His tongue flicked out to taste it, as if in afterthought.

"Shannon," he said.

"Go away! Or do you want me to throw more things at you?"

"Everyone out of this shithole!" Damien said. The stunned patrons streamed out, leaving behind a harried demon, a bristling werewolf, and a very angry girl.

Damien rolled up his sleeves and made rocks of his fists. He stood in front of me, blocking Samael from my vision. The bartender began cursing in Italian: "Pezzo di merda! Porca miseria!"

Samael held up his hands as if in defeat. "Calm down, Damien. I'm just here to take Shannon home."

I crossed my arms in defiance. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

Samael narrowed his eyes. "Shannon, why did you run off? You could have been killed."

I lobbed another glass at him. It bounced off his jacket. "That's better than spending another second with you."

Samael unzipped his jacket. "You're angry, Shannon. I understand. It was unfair of me to spring your origin on you. But I had no choice. You wouldn't stop asking, and if I hadn't told you, one of the other archdemons would."

"A fanabla," Damien growled. "You were going to possess her, Samael. Your morals are low as dirt."

Samael sighed. "I wasn't planning on it. I thought Shannon could wield the Lapis Exillis without assistance, but I was wrong. It's been so long since I've used it that I'd forgotten how potent it was."

I was beyond riled. "So me using it was a crapshoot all along?"

"Shannon, the fact that you could touch Astaroth's mace without being incinerated is a miracle in of itself. We just need to figure out how you can wield the Lapis Exillis without backlash."

"Yeah," I said. "By possessing me."

Samael's expression hardened. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. It was merely a suggestion-

"How could you guys even think of that? That'd I'd be okay being a – a vessel! I hate you!" With that, I stormed from the bar, out into the sunset streets of Hell.

Damien restrained Samael: "Let her go."

I hated the tears on my face, the confusion that churned in my gut. I ran, twisting through the market district, lost in alleyways and sidewalks littered with cigarette butts. When I could run no more, I slumped against a brick wall hidden by a fence and angrily tore tufts of grass that sprung up from cracks in the concrete. I stared at the twilit sky, feeling hopelessly small. Whatever role Samael thought I had to play in the grand scheme of things could go to hell. I was just Shannon, just eighteen, without a clue as to who I was. Wasn't college enough to angst over? Why did Samael have to add a celestial dimension to my anxiety? I already had exams to stress over, I didn't need high-stakes heavenly war on my plate.

"You look lost," came a rough voice. I startled, looking up to see a painfully thin demon with ragged hair and burns covering half his body. There were no eyes in his sockets. He leaned against the brick wall and took a drag from a cigar. The stranger sighed, exhaling smoke. "It's been a long time since I've been down here."

"Down here?" I echoed.

"In Hell, I mean. So, pretty thing, who are you?"

I shuddered at the way 'pretty thing' rolled off his tongue. "I'm – I'm Shannon. Who are you?"

"Jeqon."

"You look like you're hurt."

He laughed hoarsely. "Spending time in Dudael will do that to you. It's a bloody desert." Jeqon finished smoking his cigar and stubbed it out with his bare heel.

"Du – Dudael?" The prison of the Irin. He was one of the fallen angels that had escaped. "Why are you telling me this?"

Jeqon grinned, revealing needle teeth. "Because, sweet girl, you won't leave here alive."

He launched at me. I screamed, summoning my clavis. I swung it wildly, drawing a shallow gash across his chest.

He chuckled, drawing back. "Feisty, eh? What kind of Claimed are you?"

"I'm not Claimed," I said, assuming a defensive position.

We circled each other. Jeqon feinted several times, trying to catch me off guard. I gritted my teeth.

"It's been so long since I've had a human woman," Jeqon said, hardening beneath his shabby pants. "Their silky legs. Their giving flesh. It's too tender to bear."

Fear prickled through my skin. "You're disgusting."

He stroked himself obscenely, trying to get a rise out of me. "I'll savor taking you, Shannon. I'll make sure it hurts."

I shrieked, charging toward him. "You bastard!" My clavis speared through his arm.

Jeqon snarled, wrenching the clavis, still caught in his flesh, from me. He tore it from his bicep and tossed it from my reach.

I panicked, landing a volley of punches on his bleeding chest.

"I love it when prey puts up a fight," Jeqon breathed, overpowering me. He kicked my legs out from under me. We toppled to the ground, and he wrestled me out of my clothes.

My mind was white fury. I tore at his skin, made wild sounds, but it was no use.

He licked my neck and groaned. "You taste like apples. How strange."

"Help!"

"Shut up or I'll bite off your tongue," Jeqon said.

I fell silent. Nervous sweat flooded my pores.

Something glinted in the corner of my eyes. "Shannon!" came a cutting voice. A scythe blade bit into Jeqon's skull. The Irin rolled off me, slamming into the wall. I cried, curling in on myself, struggling to cover my breasts. "Shannon, Shannon!" Samael gathered me in his arms. He draped his jacket over me. "Can you stand?"

"I – yes."

Jeqon spat blood at Samael's feet. "Rot lord. What a pleasant surprise. Do you want to share the girl?"

Samael roared, diving towards the Irin. In a blinding series of cuts, he shredded Jeqon to ribbons. The offal stunk like burnt meat. Samael crushed Jeqon's still-beating heart with his boot.

I sunk to my knees, dry-heaving. Stars danced across my vision. There was a shaking hand on my back.

"You're okay. You're okay," Samael sputtered. His scythe clanged to the ground. The reaper pulled me into his arms. I was too shocked to protest. He buried his face in my hair and trembled.

I screamed into his chest.

Samael ran his fingers through my loosened braid. "You're okay. You're okay," he said, rocking me. I sobbed.

The stench of burning meat drew closer. I looked over Samael's shoulder to see Jeqon's flesh knitting back together, inching towards us along the concrete. I shrieked.

Samael's face darkened. "Where's your clavis?"

"Over – over there."

"I need you to listen to me, Shannon. Do exactly as I say."

"Why should I? This never would have happened if you hadn't pissed me off!"

"I know, and I'm sorry. But I need you to trust me. Only a mortal can kill Jeqon. All I can do is subdue him, and I don't have the proper equipment to bind him. Will you help me?"

I nodded.

"Good." Samael set me down. He reached for the clavis and gave it to me. "Take this, stab Jeqon's heart, and twist it to the left. That's all you need to do."

"O – okay."

I struggled to my feet. The ridged edge of my clavis pierced Jeqon's half-formed chest. The Irin wheezed as I turned the clavis counterclockwise. Jeqon's remains shriveled to dust.

"Is he gone?" I said, voice hollow. I remembered his tongue on my throat and winced.

"Yes.

Chapter 9

I couldn't sleep for weeks. October crept in like an old ginger cat, but its brilliance was lost on me. I was haunted.

I stopped going out and threw myself into my studies. Life was crunching numbers for chemistry and memorizing the citric acid cycle for biology exams. Every time I paused from work, my mind slipped back to the Irin. I couldn't paint. I couldn't dream. All I could do was think about how I had almost been raped.

I couldn't bear to tell my friends what had happened. Divya and Rosanna watched me clam up at meals, and our plans to defend ourselves against the supernatural fell flat. It was like I had lost all enthusiasm for life.

Samael kept texting me, begging me to meet him, but I ignored his pleas. I just wanted to be alone. After he dropped me off at home, barely able to speak through his rage, I had realized how truly terrifying he was. Surely Jeqon was a nightmare, but the way Samael had disposed of him, mincing him to meat, had been like a butcher. A butcher of men. He was the destroying angel. The Reaper. Not human. Nothing like me.

It was the night before Halloween, a Thursday, and students were buzzing with talk of parties and plans. I was in the dining hall with Rosanna, staring at my fork as I nudged the sweet potato on my plate from side to side. We ate in silence. Rosanna flashed me a look of concern.

"Shannon?" she said gently.

"Yeah?" I sighed.

"Look, I know something happened. You haven't been yourself. I hate seeing you like this, and I wish you would tell me what's wrong. I want to help you."

I looked up from the ruins of my dinner. I paused, then spoke bluntly: "The demons want to possess me, and I was almost raped. But hey, it doesn't matter, right? We're all just pawns, and all I am is that chick from the 'Exorcist.'"

Rosanna gasped. "Mijita , no! I'm so sorry!" She was by my side in a flash, bear-hugging me. "You were attacked? Are you okay?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I guess. I should probably see a therapist or something, but I don't think any psychologists are trained to deal with fallen angel assault. Maybe I should just see a priest."

"Did he... did your attacker...?"

"No, no Rosanna," I assured her, squirming free of her hug. "He didn't... he didn't do that. But he did lick me. It was really gross."

"Dios mio! Shannon, you should have told me!"

Tears stung my eyes. "It's hard to even think about, Rosanna. I wasn't ready to talk about it. I feel like I have no one to go to. The only other person who knows is Samael, and I hate him." I shook my head. "I should see someone. I just – I just don't know what to say."

"You can call one of those telephone numbers, with people who deal with abuse," Rosanna urged.

I gave a low laugh. "And say what, that I almost had Rosemary's baby?" I stared at the wall. "I killed him, Rosanna. I killed him. Jeqon turned to dust. I keep wondering, how many women did he murder before me? How many girls' last memories were his... his touch? He was ancient. One of the Irin. He's defiled so many women, their bodies could fill whole graveyards. What kind of God could make a monster like that? What kind of Creator would allow it?"

Rosanna looked terrified.

"I'm sorry, Rosanna, I shouldn't have told you-

"No," she said. "I'm glad you did. So I know what we're really dealing with."

I hung my head. "It's not something you should worry about. They're not after you. I can't believe I got you and Divya involved in this. I should have – I should have been stronger."

Rosanna sat beside me. She looped her arm around my shoulders. "Shannon, when you faced off against the cadejo, you were beyond brave. I shit my pants – it's true! – but you busted out that sword and swung it around like a maniac. You tried to fight it even after it bit you. If that's not strength, I don't know what is."

A chuckle escaped my lips. "You really shit yourself?"

Rosanna held up three fingers as if swearing. "Honest as Santa Maria."

The tension I'd harbored all month burst like a dam and spilled forth in laughter. I felt lighter, dizzy even. I took Rosanna's hand and squeezed it. "Thanks Rosanna," I said. "I needed that."

"What, toilet humor? Because if that's what you need, I have tons of dirty jokes..."

I spent the rest of the night singing along badly as Rosanna strummed her guitar. After my Janis Joplin impression, we retired for the night. I awoke to my cell phone beeping with a text message. Groggy, I flipped it open:

"SHANNON, I NEED TO SEE YOU. I'M TRYING TO RESPECT YOUR PRIVACY, AND I KNOW YOU'RE HURTING, BUT YOUR SILENT TREATMENT IS DRIVING ME INSANE. I'M WORRIED. PLEASE MEET ME. NOW."

I groaned, tossing my phone onto the end of my bed. I didn't have class until the afternoon, and I wanted closure. Maybe I could exorcise Corpseboy from campus. I dressed in leggings, boots, and a peasant dress and made my way to the College Woods. The red skirt of my dress swished like a cardinal in the chill autumn wind.

Samael sat at the base of an oak, dressed in a severe black robe and gloves. He was oblivious to me, focused on watching a squirrel bury a nut.

"What do you want?" I interrupted.

Samael looked up. The squirrel ran away. "Shannon. Please, sit down." He patted the ground beside him.

"No."

"Please?"

I sighed. "Fine." I leaned against the oak, rubbing my hands together to warm them. "It's cold."

Samael nodded. "It's almost All Hallow's Eve. My favorite day."

I rested my arms on my knees. "I hate Halloween. I got food poisoning from bad chocolate once when I was seven. I never went trick-or-treating again."

Samael chuckled. "That's a shame."

We sat beside each other in silence. I used a stick to poke at leaves. He lit a cigarette.

I struggled to form words. "Sam?"

He blew smoke through his nose. "Yes?"

"When you held me, after I was attacked, you were trembling. Why?"

A dark look passed over his face. He studied the flight of a red-tailed hawk. "Because, Shannon, I was afraid."

I planted my stick in the ground. "Why? You're Death. Nothing should scare you."

He tossed his cigarette over his shoulder. "Everyone gets scared, Shannon. Even demons. We fear losing things."

I shivered, perhaps from the cold, but perhaps from something more.

"Where's your jacket?" he said.

I watched the hawk shoot up a thermal. "Not on me." I raked my hand through dirt. "You still think I'm her, don't you?"

Samael's eyes were piercing. "Who?"

"Eve."

He frowned.

"Grimacing isn't an answer, Sam."

He bit his lip. "I don't, Shannon. You're not like her. You're too stubborn." Samael tucked a loose strand of inky hair behind his ear. "Your soul was her's once, but you're not the same."

I raised my eyebrows in question. He went on.

"Eve was curious. Too curious. It got her into trouble. Her mind was a vacuum, sucking up every bit of information she could get her hands on. You're more grounded than her, more practical. You won't make the same mistake."

I stripped a stick of twigs. "What mistake?"

He pulled the hood of his robe over his brow. "The mistake of trusting me."

I blew air through my nose. "It's too late for that. I've got a target on my chest, and the Irin are out to get me. It's stick with you or be killed."

Samael scuffed a rock with the heel of his boot. "I suppose that's true."

We watched a passing plane.

"Are you alright?" Samael finally said. "I know that what happened with Jeqon was traumatic. I wish you would talk to me."

"I don't have anything to say!" I said, short.

Samael flinched. "I'm sorry."

I gritted my teeth. "It's my own stupid fault. I shouldn't have run away. I should've been strong enough to kill him. But I wasn't, and I needed to be rescued. Like a goddamn damsel in distress." I fisted a handful of dirt and hurled it over my knees. "It pisses me off! I mean, all I am in Hell is an object. The Magdalene. A vessel. A girl to be raped. I thought I was going to help people! I want to do something, not sit like a duck, waiting be manipulated. If I have these powers, why is my life turning to shit?"

He shook his head. "None of this is your fault, Shannon. It's mine. I shouldn't have angered you. I should have protected you. You're just eighteen – you're my responsibility. I expected too much from you. You're so capable that I pushed you too far, too fast. You needed time to acclimate, but I thrust you into the middle of this chaos without a second thought. I want to apologize for that."

"Thanks," I said. "I guess some good's come out of this, though: my grades are great because I've been studying so much, avoiding people, mainly you."

Samael chuckled. "How is your portfolio coming along?"

I slumped. "It's not. I haven't been in the mood."

"That's a shame. Maybe you can find some inspiration tonight."

I perked up. "Tonight? What's happening tonight?"

Death slipped off his gloves and tucked them into his pocket. "I'm inviting you to All Hallow's Eve in Pandemonium. It's the anniversary of our fall from Heaven, and to spit in Heaven's face, we celebrate. I thought it might be a good break for you and help get your mind off less pleasant things."

I narrowed my eyes. "You think trick-or-treating with demons is going to help me."

"It's a festival, Shannon. Give it a chance. Let me show you how beautiful my home can be." Samael stood. He offered me a hand and helped me up. "Anyways, Damien's daughter, Arietta, wants to meet you. She's back in town from Dartmouth."

I wiped dirt from my dress. "A werewolf goes to an Ivy League school?"

Samael straightened his robe. "Yes. She's a senior this year, studying environmental science. She spent the summer working with wolves in Yellowstone. I'm sure you'll get along."

I contemplated partying in Hell with the werewolf mafia. "I'll think about it."

Death smiled. "Good. Meet me here at eight if you want to come."

I wanted to go, if only to meet Arietta. After class, Divya, Rosanna and I had a late-afternoon 'Tales from the Crypt' marathon. Eight o'clock rolled around, and I found myself slipping into a costume I'd borrowed from Rosanna – a belted black dress and ebony wig. I made my eyes up dramatically with purple shadow.

"Who are you?" my roommate called from across the room.

"Elvira."

Rosanna laughed. She had painted her face and neck white, streaked her cheeks with red tears, and donned a flower crown of pale roses. Using a cut-up bed sheet, she made a torn white dress stained with fake blood. She twirled in front of the mirror. "How do I look?"

"Like a zombie."

Rosanna giggled. "Good. I'm la Llorona. God, I'm so excited for the party at APZ," she said, referring to Divya's sorority. We were going together at nine, but I had a prior engagement before that.

I slipped on black stilettos. "I'll be back soon, Rosanna. I'm just going to stretch my legs."

Rosanna wagged her finger. "Don't trip on any ghosts!"

"I'll try not to."

Chapter 10

I didn't want to worry Rosanna by telling her I was meeting Samael. She definitely wouldn't approve. And maybe I was a fool to spend another second in his presence. But I had no one else to turn to. No one human, at least, who would understand what I was going through. Maybe Arietta, who lived in two worlds, could give me some advice.

The lake was on fire with the harvest moon. Samael was nowhere in sight.

"Hello?" I called.

Leaves stirred behind me. I turned to find myself face to face with a skeleton. I shrieked.

A bony hand stifled my scream. "It's just me, Shannon."

"Samael?" I squeaked.

"Yes. Sorry for the decidedly ossified appearance. I can't help it. Demons assume their true forms on All Hallow's Eve." The Grim Reaper lowered the hood of his robe. His jaw bone clacked when he spoke, and his brows moved like there were invisible muscles attached to them.

"Is this what you really look like?" I felt queasy.

Somehow, without lips, he smirked. "Handsome, aren't I?"

"I'm going to barf."

"Don't do it on me, worm. I just waxed my skull."

I glared. "Is everyone else I'll see tonight going to look like a freakshow?"

He scratched his chin with a finger bone. "Only the demons. We'll be more monstrous than usual. But it's nothing you can't handle. It's Halloween. Just think of us as wearing costumes."

"Ugh. Fine."

Samael summoned a portal with his scythe and we arrived at the practice field behind his estate. I side-eyed the towering skeleton. He was still smirking.

"Can you do something besides smile? It's creepy."

He shook his head no. "My teeth are stuck this way. If you have a problem with it, take it up with my dentist."

We walked to the back door. Samael opened it for me. I shuddered as I passed under his arm bone.

"I thought you were a biologist. Shouldn't you like corpses?" Samael mused.

"What? No! Sure, I like dissecting stuff, but walking skeletons is another thing entirely."

Death snickered.

"It's not funny." I scowled.

We made our way through winding halls to the grand front entrance. Samael undid the elaborate locks. Expecting to see a hearse, I was surprised to find a white motorcycle parked by a bush.

Samael cracked his knuckles and mounted the crotch rocket. I stayed far, far away.

He patted the seat behind him. "Are you coming?"

"Are you secretly Ghost Rider?"

"Nope. It's just too crowded to travel by carriage. Anyways, Pallor, my horse, can become any vehicle I desire. I thought we'd ride in style."

I shifted in my stilettos. "Motorcycles are dangerous. I don't want to end up street pizza."

Samael snorted. "You're already riding with Death."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"Come on, I have a helmet. You'll be fine."

"I don't know..."

Somehow, he convinced me to ride the deathtrap. We sliced down the streets through parades of grotesque demons baring their true colors. Human-spider chimeras crept along the cobblestones, carrying banners. Needle-thin waifs crawled on all fours, towing floats behind them. Ghostly beings drifted above, and throngs of children ran past us, begging for ashes, which they collected in baskets. They ate them with spoons.

"Why are the kids eating ashes?" I asked as we paused behind a caravan.

He chuckled. "They're granules of dyed sugar candy. It's like trick-or-treating. The ashes symbolize how sweetness can be found in the most unlikely things."

The children dipped their fingers into the candy and drew upside-down crosses on each other's foreheads.

"That's not Satanic at all," I muttered.

We arrived at Damien's. I was whisked into the bar by the werewolf's drunk relatives, all eager to meet me. The men were stocky and the women short and plump. Italian opera blasted from the radio.

After many introductions, Damien bear-hugged me. He lifted me off the floor. "Ah, Shannon, sweetheart, I'm so glad to see you're well. Come here, come here, Arietta wants to meet you."

"I'd like that," I said.

Samael poured himself the usual. I wondered how he was going to swallow absinthe without a throat.

Damien led me to the back room where the weapons were stored. It had been cleared to house a dance floor, bedecked with strobe lights and a stereo system. The youth of Damien's pack danced to a throbbing beat as a twenty-something in a hoodie DJed. She looked up from the turntable. Her golden eyes crinkled in a smile.

"Arietta! What is this – this sound?" Damien yelled.

She took off her headphones. "It's techno, dad," the DJ called. "I've told you like a million times." Arietta waved at me. "Hey! You're Shannon, right? Nice to meet you." She changed the song on her laptop and came over to us. Her knuckles were tattooed with the letters "DOLCE VITA<3" and her hair was in dreadlocks. Arietta grinned, revealing sharp teeth. "You can leave, dad," she said.

Damien chuckled. "If you say so." He left.

"So, you go to Hortense?" Arietta said. "Good school. It's near a lot of nature preserves. I worked with red-cockaded woodpeckers in a park near your college, once. They're endangered. We did controlled burnings to restore their habitat."

My eyes lit up. "Really?" I said. "I love birds. So you're into environmental science?"

"Heck yes. Dad says you're studying biology. What do you want to do?"

"Well, I want to work in the field. That's about as much as I know. I'm still exploring my options." I fixed my wig. "So do controlled burnings really work? How do you contain them?"

Arietta smiled. "Of course they do. They're crucial to maintaining the woodpecker's habitat."

"That's so neat. I've read about controlled burnings, but I've never actually seen one done..."

We sunk into a conversation about ecology and bird-watching. The strobe lights flared, illuminating the dancers, and Arietta's computer played experimental music on shuffle.

"You're not what I was expecting, Shannon," Arietta said after a while. We lounged on two chairs, nursing drinks.

I raised my brows. "Who did you think I'd be?"

Arietta shrugged. "Someone more jaded. Not anyone like me. I mean, you're the Magdalene. You're Pandemonium's hot topic. I thought you'd be older. Corrupt. Just like the rest of Hell."

The hair on the back of my neck prickled. "How corrupt is this place?" I asked in a low voice.

Arietta's eyes darted around, then focused on me. "Look, I love my dad, but he's the Don of the capital's underworld. That's why he's so tight with Samael. I want to do something different, you know? Not go into the family business. I hate violence."

My stomach turned. "Is there any way to escape it, though? Hell seems so brutal."

Arietta's eyes hardened. She took a slow sip of her margarita. "It's the way it's been done for centuries. The same seven archdemons have ruled Hell for thousands of years. There's no upward mobility, unless you turn to the black market, and no way to enact real change." She swirled the ice in her cup. "A lot of immortals leave for Earth, like me, to start fresh. It's funny. We left our first homes, thinking Pandemonium would be better. But it's not. I was born here, but I sure as hell won't stay." Arietta checked her watch. "Crap! We're late."

"For what?"

"The ceremony. Okay, everyone, party's over!" Arietta yelled at her cousins. She unplugged the stereo system and flicked on the lights. "Come on, Shannon. You don't want to miss it. It's great."

I followed her out onto the street, not sure what to expect. But all I had to do was look to the sky. There it was, the morning star, surrounded by six points of light, each pulsing a color of the rainbow. The center was a burning blue. Each star thrummed a different tone, like tuning forks, humming at different levels as they wove around each other. The morning star circled itself like a bird.

"What are they?" I gasped, amazed by the celestial theatrics.

Arietta looked surprised by my ignorance. "The archdemons. They're opening a portal to Earth."

So Samael was up there. The center star. "But why?"

Arietta didn't look away from the display. "So the Claimed can go home. On All Hallow's Eve, the human spirits of Hell are allowed to visit their relatives, just for the night."

The ground shook. Suddenly, the stars exploded like fireworks, and a vortex the size of the moon opened in the great maw of space. Hosts of spirits rose above the roofs, streaming like wind through the portal. Their translucent bodies shimmered like dragonfly wings. It was a Jacob's ladder of angels. The ghostly train went on, until finally, the last soul slipped into the sky. Then the stars coalesced, and they fell, like fiery brands, back to Hell.

There were tears in my eyes. I thought of the lost souls. Were they happy? Sad? A bit of both? What would it be like, to walk the Earth, long after they'd departed? Would they regret the choices they'd made? The blue star plummeted, crashing like lightning to the street. From it rose the Reaper, wings outstretched, eyes aflame. A slow clap came from the crowd.

Samael's gaze locked on me. He seemed somber. Death glided to my side, and Arietta backed away.

"My favorite time of the year," he said quietly. "All the souls' hopes - I can taste them. Their dreams. Their longing." He hung his scythe from his back. "What did you think?"

I crossed my arms over my chest to guard against the cold. "That it was beautiful, but that you're a creep. What do you mean you taste souls?"

He straightened the neck of his robe. "Every soul is unique. Some are like brandy, others wine, sometimes even tequila. Each person is different on the senses."

I curled my lip in disbelief. "So you're a soul sommelier?"

"Sort of."

"Fine. What does mine taste like?"

He paused. "Nothing."

I scrutinized him. "But the first time we met, you said it was, and I quote, 'delectable.' I thought you were checking me out, but apparently not." I chafed my arms to warm them. "And don't tell me I taste like apples."

Samael grinded his teeth.

"Fine, don't tell me," I said. "Just brood. Don't mind me-"

"Absinthe. You taste like absinthe."

I froze. "You're shitting me."

He looked away.

Anger broiled in my stomach. "You can't say that, Sam. You can't. It's not fair!"

"None of this is fair." He cursed. "Not to you. Not to me. I need a bloody drink."

I bit my lip, hard. He stalked to the empty bar.

"So that's it?" I said.

Samael stood at the entrance, door half open.

I stormed over to the Reaper, blocking his way. I looked up, up into hollow eyes, and I exploded: "Stop drinking absinthe! Stop moping! And by God, stop thinking of her!"

"Don't invoke my Father!" Samael said. He pushed past me and raided the liquor cabinet. He went straight for the absinthe and emptied it into his hollow chest. The liquid soaked his jaw bone, dripping down to the floor. He smashed the bottle on the ground and grinded the shards with his boot.

Samael's robe came undone, slipping from his shoulders to reveal a collarbone and ribs. I flinched.

He laughed hoarsely. "You can't even look at me, can you? What I've become."

"No, it's not that-"

"It is."

I didn't know what to say.

He was a thunderhead. The air grew frigid. The werewolves stayed outside, partaking in festivities, leaving us in the dark of the room.

"What do you want from me, Sam?"

"Nothing," he said. In the shadows, I saw him tremble. He inhaled sharply, skull buried in his hands.

"Are you crying?"

"No!"

"Are you sure?"

He sobbed.

I put a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Samael...?"

He looked up, gaze stony. "You have her eyes. It's like being haunted."

I was taken aback. "But you're the one haunting me."

"Funny, isn't it? That most ghosts are alive."

I frowned. "You really loved her, didn't you?"

He pressed his index fingers together. "Do you know how hard it is, Shannon, being around you? You look like her. You smell like her. The same hair, the same freckles, the same mole at the corner of your nose. I ignored it at first, chalked it up to coincidence. When you've lived so long, all humans look the same. But you're her doppelganger. Even your voice is similar." He pressed his palms against his chin. "I hate it."

I bent a straw. "It's not my fault."

"I know. It's mine. This happened because of my selfishness."

There was a knock at the door. Damien entered, grim-faced. "The angels are here, Sam. It's not good."

Samael shoved his chair away from the bar. "What? How did they get to Hell?"

Damien glanced over his shoulder. "Well, the funny thing is, it looks like they've got an ascendant."

Chapter 11

Samael flew out of the room. I followed, hair raised on the back of my neck. Another ascendant? But who?

Outside, the werewolves had cleared, allowing a host of angels to occupy the street. I was overwhelmed by their glory, armor-clad and open-winged. Michael stood at the front, flaming sword drawn. In the shadow of his wing was a devastatingly handsome man, with tousled brown hair and amber eyes. He leaned on a golden clavis, dressed in chinos and a blue button-down.

The pit of my stomach ached. The ascendant looked familiar. But I'd never seen him before.

Samael stopped dead in his tracks. "You found him," he said, voice cracking.

Michael smiled slightly. "It was only a matter of time."

Gabriel, decked in a silver chest plate, sheathed her saber. "It's over, Samael. Give up the Magdalene, and we'll let you leave in peace."

"Over my broken bones you will," the Reaper said. He shoved me behind him and drew his scythe.

"You're so predictable, brother," Michael said. "She was never yours. And she never will be. Eve's soul is Father's creation, just like Adam's. Relinquish her, and we won't burn Pandemonium to the ground."

"I don't belong to any of you!" I said. I flipped Michael the bird over Samael's shoulder.

Michael's temple throbbed.

"We're on your side, Shannon," Gabriel said, patient. "All the demons will do is abuse you. They know no other way."

"Don't listen to her," Samael said. "Angels are overgrown seagulls. They're liars through and through. Now do I have to dice you to bits, Michael, or can we settle this like adults?"

"I'm not here to talk to you, snake," Michael said. "I'm here for the girl."

I drew back. "Well, that's too bad. Because I'm not going with you."

The ascendant turned to the blood-haired archangel. "That's her, right? She's shorter than I imagined." He had a British accent.

I blushed. "Well excuse me."

The young man pushed back his bangs and gave me a lopsided grin. "No offense. You're still fit. I just thought you'd be blonde, with more fig leaves. Like a Michelangelo fresco."

The blood drained from my face. "You're Adam?"

The ascendant laughed. "I was, I guess. My name's Henry."

"But... but how?" I stuttered.

Henry shrugged. "The same way as you, I think. We ate something nasty, then got stuck in Limbo for a few eons. Good thing I don't remember it. That would've been bollocks."

I turned to Samael, eyebrows cocked.

The Reaper sighed. "It's true. That's your loverboy," he said. "You're twin souls, like Michael and I. When I made you immortal, it affected Adam's soul. I didn't care what happened to him, and I never bothered to look for his reincarnation. He's a prick, Shannon. Ignore him."

"Well aren't you a nutter," Henry said. "I've never met you, chap. But according to what I've heard, you're the prick. Not me."

Samael's eye-hollows flashed blue. "Did you bring the sheepfucker here to irritate me, Michael?"

"Oi! I'm not Scottish!" Henry said. "What the bloody hell is your problem?"

"You, mate," Samael said, mocking. "And as I remember, you were quite fond of animals in your past life. Giving them names and fondling them."

Henry flushed red.

"Samael," Gabriel said. "Jealousy isn't flattering. Your grudge against Adam was old a millennia ago."

"Jealous of the inventor of bestiality?" Samael said. "Right."

"I'm being insulted by a skull," Henry said in disbelief. "How does that even work?"

"I'm not a skeleton," Samael said. He rolled up his sleeves, exposing elongated radiuses and ulnas. The skeletal diagram I'd had to label for biology was turning out to be useful.

Henry cocked his head to the side. "Really? Because you kind of had me fooled."

"Don't think that because you're human I won't eviscerate you, fleshbag," Samael said.

"Whoa, Sam! Henry hasn't done anything," I said.

"Yes he has. His mere existence is a thorn in my phalanges."

"Why do you hate him so much?"

"Because Adam has what my brother never did," Michael said, voice dry.

"What?" I asked.

Michael's eyes were like pins. "You."

I shook my head no. "Nuh-uh. No one has me. What is it with immortals and thinking of humans as possessions? It's messed up!"

Michael looked me up and down. "You were built for Henry, Shannon. Not Samael."

"Whoa, chap, I'm engaged!" Henry said. "She's pretty and all, but I have a fiancé."

"And I'm not interested in Henry or Samael," I said, throwing up my hands. "I really don't need an archangel matchmaker, thank you very much, Michael."

Samael slumped.

Michael's smile was thin. "See, brother? You're delusional," he said. "She'll never love you. She never did. You were a passing curiosity, nothing more. Whatever beauty you had is long gone. Look at yourself. You're a corpse. You may as well give her up now."

Death's bones rattled.

"Michael, that was harsh," Gabriel said. "What Michael means is-"

"What I mean is that you're pathetic, pining after something alive. You're Death." Michael flexed his wings. "You weren't meant to love, brother. You were heartless long before you stitched Original Sin into Eve's flesh. You can't love. You're selfish. Cruel. You betray the things you should cherish: Father, your ideals, us. I look at you, stripped of flesh, and I see nothing of the man I knew – Heaven's prince."

"Michael!" Gabriel said. "Stop being cruel! Do you want this to turn into a bloodbath?"

Michael tucked his red braid over his shoulder. "Maybe I do, Gabe. Maybe I do."

Gabriel looked nervous. The other angels were eerily silent, like drones. They wore veils over their faces. I checked them for any sign of hostility. Henry shifted on his feet.

Samael paused, then gave a ragged laugh. "Love? You know nothing of it, Michael. All you know is blind obedience. That's why I was Father's favorite – I could think."

Michael's eyes were slits. "So that's what you believe? That your intellect elevates you above us? You're as stupid as a dung beetle making a nest of shit."

Samael stalked closer to his twin, hands fists. "And your mouth is full of feces. Filthy, stinking crap that spews from your lips like diarrhea. I don't give a rat's ass if Shannon cares for me. I will protect her until I'm shattered bone."

Michael brandished his sword. "So be it. Brothers, raze this cesspool to ash."

Gabriel shook her head no, tears in her eyes. She sheltered Henry under her wings, and the two vanished.

The angels took off. Symbols flashed on their skin, and from their palms poured flame. The street became an inferno. I screamed.

"Get back, Shannon!" Samael said, pushing me to the ground. He stood over me, and blue lightning flashed from his scythe, incinerating several seraphim. He swung it in merciless arcs with one hand and pulled his phone out with the other. Death furiously texted someone – apparently the archdemons. They arrived within seconds, all monstrous in their true forms. The fire obscured my vision. I saw a flash of shadow, bullets spiraling into the night, a swarm of flies. Samael towered over me, aiming bolts at the angels and slicing those that approached.

"How did Heaven breach our defenses?" Beelzebub buzzed, covered in insects.

"They found an ascendant: Adam," Samael grunted.

The fly-demon cursed. He fired a shot from his revolver, compound eyes reflecting the flare. "This complicates things."

"I want to fight," I said. .

Beelzebub scoffed. "You'll die."

I rose. "I killed Jeqon. Samael said immortals can't deal fatal blows. But I can. The angels are dicks. They set this place on fire. I want to help."

The werewolves howled, biting at angel's ankles. Beelzebub and Samael shared a long look.

Samael spoke: "Shannon, you can't-"

"I can! Just tell me what to do."

The Reaper shook his head. "It's too chaotic, Shannon. Jeqon was just one target. These are dozens of seraphim, not a single Irin. And Michael..."

Anger painted my cheeks red. "This is my fight too, Samael! They're trying to kidnap me."

The Reaper chopped an angel to ribbons. "I can't, Shannon. I'd have to possess you for you to even stand a chance."

I made a choice. "Then do it."

"I – what?"

My hands balled into fists. "Possess me. I want to fight, goddamnit!"

"Shannon, are you sure?"

I nodded.

Beelzebub met Samael's eyes. "It's our best bet for damage control," the fly-demon said. "It will take forever to bind the angels. Killing them is much more effective."

"See?" I said. "Just make sure I don't vomit green goo."

Samael was silent. I could almost hear gears churn in his skull. Finally, he handed me his scythe. "Calm yourself, Shannon, and steady your breathing. This may sting."

I grasped his weapon's staff. "Okay."

"Now close your eyes..." Samael said. "I'm going to count down. Three."

My world went black.

"Two."

Ice. Ice in my bones.

"One."

Pressure. Like a vacuum-

A flash of red.

I screamed.

My spine jolted straight. It was like a whisk beating my brain. Something stretched inside me, waking in my core and knitting into my marrow. My eyes sprung open, and the world was brilliance, etched in colors I'd never seen. Power coursed through me, pure raw strength. Instinctively, I knew what to do.

_Are you alright?_ Samael's voice pulsed through my mind.

"I think so."

_Good._ He sounded relieved.

I felt something brush my neck. Like a feather duster. I looked to see shadowy wings attached to my shoulder blades.

"I hate heights!"

You'll learn to love them.

My pinions pumped of their own volition. I sprung off the ground, soaring into the air.

"Did you do that?" I panicked.

Yes. Think of me as pilot control. I'll take over when you're in danger.

An angel veered in my direction. It swooped down, flaming palms extended. I flew to the left, avoiding the stream of fire. It was like a reflex: I aimed the scythe and squeezed, emitting a bolt of lightning. It struck the angel through the heart, and the seraph turned to ash.

"I did that? But how?"

Everything I know, you know.

I shook my head in disbelief. Looking down, I saw Damien's bar was on fire. Fury broiled in my gut. "Let's ravage these mother-lovers."

_It would be my pleasure_.

I thrilled at the ease with which I disposed of the angelic drones. Fighting beside the archdemons, we made quick work of them. Rofocale and Belial cornered several angels, dealt the first blows, and I took care of the rest. We were soon down to the last host of angels. The six other demons weakened the seraphs and I delivered the killing strikes. Samael was silent, allowing me to focus. I lost all fear of heights, and a strange pleasure – bloodlust – heated my guts. My possessor seemed to enjoy slaughter.

Michael was nowhere in sight.

"Where's your twin?"

Gone. He won't make a move now that I've possessed you – Michael doesn't want to put your body at risk.

Hell's equivalent of the fire department was hard at work. Soon, the inferno was put out, leaving behind drenched, but intact, buildings. Pandemonium's market district had suffered, but Damien's bar seemed to have resisted the fire. Only the front was singed.

I landed beside the werewolves. My muscles relaxed, and my mouth opened automatically. Black smoke poured from my lips, like I'd inhaled a hundred cigarettes. I sputtered. The dark cloud formed itself into a shadowy robe.

Samael stretched. "That was impressive, Shannon. You're a natural."

I shivered, feeling hollow. "A natural what?"

He steadied me. "Fighter. Do you feel well?"

I was dizzy. "As good as I'd expect."

The archdemons peered at me curiously. I flinched.

"Why are you wearing a wig?" Belial asked.

"It's Halloween. I'm Elvira," I said, weak. "Though I'm not feeling very festive right now. I think I'm going to puke."

I did. Up went the margarita.

"Damn it," Samael said.

I collapsed. His bony arms caught me.

"I'll care for her," said the Reaper. "Beelzebub, oversee defense. I want legions deployed throughout Pandemonium to ensure no more angels slipped through the hellmouth Henry opened. Rofocale, do a damage assessment on the property loss. The rest of you find some way to be useful."

The archdemons debated the best way to approach reconstruction. Samael carried me to his motorcycle. He held me close as we sped to his estate. I shivered, wind biting my skin. My wig flew off at an intersection and I lost both stilettos. I was bone tired.

"You should rest, Shannon," Samael said, parking in front of his mansion.

I mumbled incoherently.

He pressed two finger bones to my brow, like he had the first night we met, and I fell asleep.

Chapter 12

I awoke in the girlish blue room near the courtyard. Sunlight threaded through the windows. Samael was asleep in an armchair, a paperback thriller on his lap. He had returned to his human form, with dark circles under his eyes. He snored lightly.

My body ached. There was some kind of sweet-smelling poultice on my brow. I undid the bandage holding it in place and used a towel from the nightstand to wipe off the paste. I glanced in the mirror: my makeup was gone, and I wore a kimono-like robe with lotus flowers, supposedly meant for sleep. I blushed, thinking of Samael changing me.

"Well that's embarrassing," I muttered. "Good thing he doesn't like redheads."

I paused, remembering his absinthe-fueled words:

You have her eyes. It's like being haunted.

And Michael's speech:

You're delusional. She'll never love you.

I panicked. "He's still in love with Eve! And I look just like her. I am her - no, no no no!" I remembered Rosanna's tarot cards: my soul mate had been the Devil. Nervous sweat gelled my hands.

Samael grumbled: "Shut it, maggot. I'm trying to sleep." He didn't open his eyes.

I chucked a pillow at him. "We have to talk. Now."

He yawned. "What?"

I crossed my arms. "You were a pill last night."

He smirked. "Pills are good for you."

"Not only were you a jerk, you – you-"

"Spit it out, Shannon."

"You can't like me!"

His lips were a hard line.

I continued: "It's not right. I'm not a necrophiliac. You're like a bajillion years old. It's practically pedophilia."

"Are you done yet?"

I fisted the covers. "I – I – no! You annoy me, with your stupid jokes and sarcasm. You think you're so tough, but you're not. You're just a lonely, bitter old skeleton – angel – demon – thing. Ugh!" I rolled onto my side, facing away from him. I screamed into a pillow.

He sighed.

"You're not even denying it," I said, staring at the wall.

"You wanted me to stop lying to you."

Sunlight crept onto the armoire. I turned to Samael. He was weary. "You have horrible taste in women," I said. "Lilith the baby-killer. Eve the apple-picking sinner. What did you even see in her?"

His eyes were like the heart of a flame. "What I see in you."

Fear thrummed through me. "So it is about me?" I said. "You're not just projecting your feelings for Eve? You're in love with me?"

Samael bowed his head. "You have her spirit. Her wit." He toyed with an undone armchair thread. "Last night, Shannon, you were amazing. Being inside you felt like being home."

My jaw dropped. "Don't say that! That you were inside me. It's gross."

He gave a rough laugh. "It's not like I haven't thought about it."

I blushed. "You're a pig!" I stormed from the room.

"Shannon, wait-"

"Eat roadkill, you vulture!"

He caught my wrist. "Shannon," he said, voice low.

"What?" I yelled.

"Shannon, it was just a joke. I didn't mean-"

"It doesn't matter what you meant, because you did it anyway. You're a manchild."

"Shannon, please." He tugged me toward him. "You need rest. You're still weak."

"Then get out of this room."

"I'm not leaving you."

He was close. Too close. I could feel his breath on my skin.

"You scare me, Samael."

He winced. "I don't mean to." He clasped my hands in his.

"Sam, please, let me go."

"I don't want to."

"I don't care what you want. You're Death. You're supposed to be cold, emotionless – you shouldn't even exist." I shook my head. "But that's not the thing that scares me. What scares me is that you go from gallows humor one minute to filleting someone the next. You're unpredictable. I can't – I could never."

What color was in his face drained.

I continued: "Last night, when you... possessed me, I could feel your emotions. You loved killing the angels."

"They were trying to hurt you," he said quietly.

"It doesn't matter. We're too different, Sam. It's wrong, and it wouldn't work."

He let go of my hands, then straightened his collar. Samael looked away. "You should get more rest, Shannon. I'll make breakfast."

"I can't go back to sleep. Not now." I glanced at the rising sun. "Anyways, I should get back to Earth."

He nodded. "Alright. I'll take you home."

*

October exited in fiery brilliance, giving way to November. Winter's first snow came after Thanksgiving, and campus was frosted with sugar. I spent my days studying and painting, preparing for the art department's Winter Exhibition. Samael and I never spoke of what had passed between us. He seemed distant, focused on my training. Now that Heaven had an ascendant, most of his efforts went into guarding Hell's border. He used me to lock the hellmouths Henry had opened. We never discussed possession, and the archdemons laid off me, sensing our dynamics had changed. We were on the defensive, cautiously fixing the damage the angels had caused during the Halloween fiasco. We prepared for the worst.

I dodged a snowball Divya hurled at me. She laughed, ducking behind a bush in the College Woods to avoid retaliation. We were bundled in coats and scarves, waging icy war.

Something cold hit my neck. I yelped. Rosanna chuckled.

"Gotcha," my roommate said.

I chased her past a copse of pine. We came to a clearing with a sloping hill.

Rosanna's eyes widened. "This would be perfect for sledding."

Thirty minutes later, we returned with laundry baskets. They slid perfectly down the hill if we crammed ourselves into them. I sped forward, crashing into a snow bank. I spilled out of my laundry basket.

Someone gave a slow clap. I looked up through the powdery white to see Samael, taking a drag from a cigarette.

"Impressive." He grinned.

"What are you doing here?" I said. "It's not 7:00 yet."

My friends landed at the base of the hill. Divya rose from her basket and wiped herself off. "Are you Samael?" she asked, suspicious.

Samael nodded.

A snowball landed on his trench coat. Rosanna waved her fist. "That's for being a total creep to Shannon."

"I probably deserve that," Samael said.

"Oh yes you do," Rosanna said, hands on her hips. "Why are you bothering us?"

Samael shrugged. "I want to see her art show tonight."

Divya narrowed her eyes. "Is that really all you want?"

"Yes." Samael blew smoke from his nose. "You're one of Shiva's, aren't you? Your soul is marked by him."

"I – I guess. It is?" Divya said.

Samael stubbed his cigarette out under his boot. "Yes. We're good friends. Both destroyers. He's great at cricket. The god can't hold his alcohol, though."

My lips curled. "Neither can you."

Samael chewed on his cheek. "That hurts, worm."

"Why do you call Shannon such disgusting nicknames?" Rosanna said. "You have a lot of ego for a garbage disposal."

Samael smiled. "Garbage disposal?"

Rosanna narrowed her eyes. "You're Death. You get rid of things and chop them to bits. How do you like being called gross names, huh?"

The Reaper looked up at a V of honking geese. "I've been called worse."

Divya examined Samael. "Aren't you supposed to be a skeleton?"

Samael gave Divya a fleeting glance. "It's winter. Not having skin gets cold." His gaze returned to the birds.

Divya looked at me in concern. "Shannon, you're really going to invite him to the art show?"

"I've been looking forward to it," Samael said.

I sighed. "Fine, Sam, you can come. Just don't make an idiot of yourself."

Samael fixed a loose button on his jacket. "Excellent. I'll pick you up at six."

I raised my brows. "Pick me up?"

"I'm taking you to dinner beforehand. As an apology for being an ass."

"Are you now?" I said.

The geese flew away. Samael spoke softly: "Let me do this one thing for you, Shannon."

"Fine," I said.

Six o'clock arrived, and a white Mustang stalled in the parking lot behind Trothman Hall. Samael lounged behind the driver's seat, a red scarf wrapped tight around his throat. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Is this Pallor?" I asked. I slid into shotgun.

Samael tapped the dashboard. "It certainly is. Isn't she beautiful?" Samael eyed my sea foam-blue wrap dress. "You look - um. You look nice."

I blushed. "We're supposed to dress up."

"Right." He adjusted his scarf. "Well, then. Off we go."

He started the engine and drove down Hortense's winding lanes, exiting onto the highway. The last leaves clung to bare branches. We drove for nearly an hour, making idle chatter. A light snow began to fall.

Samael flicked on the windshield wipers. He cleared his throat.

I pressed my cheek against the window and watched cars zip by. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He was biting his lip.

"Are you okay, Sam?"

He fiddled with the radio. "I'm fine. Perfectly fine." He turned the knob to a jazz station. Samael looked repeatedly at something in the rear view mirror.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

I glanced behind me. His beaten saxophone case was in the back seat. "Why is your instrument here?"

He adjusted his collar. "No reason."

We rounded a corner into downtown Richmond. Samael parallel parked next to a small building with tinted windows. A few well-dressed men lounged outside, smoking. The sidewalk was littered with cigarette butts and gum.

I side-eyed the entrance's revolving doors. "This looks legit."

"Just wait." Samael pulled his saxophone case out of the back. I followed him inside.

The glass door was cold to the touch. Inside was dim, with red lighting, frayed furniture, and a bar. A stage rose at the back wall, complete with a piano in the corner. A curtain hung behind it, swishing with hidden movement. Patrons lounged around, draped over couches, and nursed drinks.

Samael smiled. "Well, what do you think?"

I waved cigarette smoke from my face. "You took me to a jazz club?"

Belial poked his head out from behind the curtain. "Sam! Our set's about to start. Get your ass up here."

"One second, Bill," the Reaper called. "Shannon, I wanted to surprise you. My friends and I have a band. We're not the best, but we love making music. I thought you'd enjoy it."

"You're going to play?" I said. "You're in a demon jazz band, and you're going to play for me?"

"That's the idea, yes."

I found myself listening to jazz that had been shot in the legs, stuffed in a barrel, and sent over Niagara Falls. Asmodeus' piano playing whined, Samael's saxophone sounded like a dying whale, and Belial's drumming was off-beat. Only Beelzebub's double bass was decent. The demons were absorbed in their music, seemingly tone-deaf, and blissfully unaware of the cringing audience. I sipped sparkling water half-heartedly. They received no encore and little applause.

After packing up their set, Samael and his cohorts came to my table. Drinks in hand, they made small talk

"You were off tempo, Bill," Samael said.

"Off tempo?" Belial said, running a hand through his blond mop. "Your saxophone sounded like Raphael after he eats too much gumbo – flatulent and slow."

Asmodeus laughed low. "I miss Raphael's cooking."

Beelzebub raised his vodka. "Cheers to that."

They clinked their glasses together.

I polished off my sparkling water. "So, um, why do you guys have a band?" I said.

"I thought you were mute, kid. You've been so quiet," said Belial. "We play to relax. Things get tense, running Hell."

"It's nice to have an outlet," said Asmodeus. "Making music is the best way to unwind after a long day."

"Make music?" Beelzebub said. "You three couldn't play to save your lives."

"I take offense at that, Bub," Samael said. He nudged me. "Shannon says I sing like Nick Cave. Isn't that right, Shannon?"

I looked at the floor. "Uh, yeah, I guess."

"Sam, you sing like you've been run over by a truck," Belial said.

Asmodeus snorted. "Yeah, that or swallowed knives."

Beelzebub looked at me with hard eyes. "Are you deaf, girl?"

"What – no!" I said.

Samael smiled crookedly. "She just has eclectic taste in music. Tell them what you listen to, Shannon."

I blushed. "Nothing."

Belial's eyes lit. "Nirvana? Soundgarden? Mudhoney?"

I shook my head. "Nah. I'm not really into grunge."

Belial nodded. "I'm not into jazz, either. I just play with these guys because Samael was desperate for a drummer."

"He forced us into this band," Asmodeus said. "Now classical. That I enjoy."

Beelzebub buzzed with disapproval. "Opera. Opera is the only music worth listening to."

"What do you listen to, kid?" Belial asked.

I focused on the table. "Um, hair metal. Glam rock. I like Davie Bowie a lot, and Guns 'n Roses. Stuff like that."

Samael sipped his absinthe. "Have you heard Guns 'n Roses' cover of 'Sympathy for the Devil?'"

"Yeah. I like the original version better," I said. "Is it like your theme song? Or is that 'Don't Fear the Reaper?'"

Samael sloshed the ice cubes in his glass. "You know, I can never decide."

I glanced at Samael's saxophone. "Aren't you supposed to play the fiddle, anyways? Like in 'The Devil Went Down to Georgia?'"

Samael shrugged. "I used to, before the saxophone was invented."

Beelzebub set his vodka down. "He was even worse at that."

"Something to do with proper fiddles not being made of gold," Asmodeus said. "That thing whined like a cat in heat."

Samael looked wistful. "I miss that fiddle."

A waitress served us dinner. The demons debated the finer points of how much Samael's music stank.

"So do you guys play gigs here often?" I asked between bites of shrimp scampi.

"No, we just thought we'd haze you," Belial said. "Welcome to the demonic brotherhood, kid."

I curled my lips. "Thanks, I guess."

Samael and I made it back to Hortense for the Winter Exhibition at nine. We parked near the campus art building and entered the lobby, where faculty and pupils fraternized, taking in the students' works as they sipped wine. My pieces were in a corner by a window, framed and glossy. I grabbed a plate of crackers and brie from the refreshment stand and wandered over to my paintings. Samael studied them intently.

"Is that Lilith?" he asked, indicating a charcoal owl on a moonlit branch.

"Maybe."

He peered at the oil of a croaking raven. "And this one?"

I munched on brie. "Guess."

"Me?"

"Bingo."

My art professor came over. "Shannon! I'm glad I caught you. Your works are a hit – I love their execution, especially the peacock."

"Thanks, professor," I said.

"The President especially likes the raven," my professor said, nodding at Hortense's president. "He was wondering if he could add it to the school's collection?"

I saw stars. "Really?"

My professor smiled. "Of course. You're one of my most promising students."

"I – thank you," I said.

My professor looked at Samael. "And this is...?"

"Um, Sam! This is Sam."

Samael shook my professor's hand. My teacher shivered.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Samael said.

"You too. Is there a cold spot here?" my professor asked.

I looked at Samael. "Um, yep, I think there is."

My professor adjusted his glasses. "Right. Well, you look too old to be a student, Sam. Are you one of Shannon's professors in the biology department?"

Samael looked amused. "The study of life? Something like that."

My professor nursed his wine. "That must be interesting. So much of science stems from art, and vice versa. I find their intersection fascinating. Many great artists, like Leonardo da Vinci, were scientists as well."

"Ah, Leonardo. He was quite fond of corpses," Samael said.

My professor gave the Reaper an odd look.

I glared daggers at Death.

"Leonardo dug up cadavers and dissected them." Samael said. "Surely you're familiar with da Vinci's anatomical drawings?"

My professor gave a stiff smile. "Yes, of course. It was a common practice at the time. Well, erm, Sam. It was nice meeting you. I should get back to my colleagues. Shannon, once again, excellent work."

I ribbed Samael as my professor walked away. "You did that on purpose!"

Samael smirked.

"I can't take you anywhere, can I?"

Samael dusted off his shoulder. "You're very cute when your buttons are pushed."

My cheeks flushed. "Stop trying to irritate me."

"I also like it when you blush."

"I don't care what you like."

Samael's eyes softened. "I care what you like."

"Sam, we're not doing this." I wove through the crowd and exited, not caring if he followed. Snow piled above my ankles. I waded through it to my dorm.

"Shannon, wait," Samael said. We were on the wooded path back to Trothman Hall. It was empty, save us.

"Ugh." I turned. "What, Sam?"

He loomed over me. "Your night shouldn't end this way. This was supposed to be an apology. I wanted to make you laugh."

I wiped snowflakes from my hair. "You embarrassed me in front of my professor."

"I'm sorry. I have an odd sense of humor."

"I've noticed."

He fiddled with the top button of his trench coat. "Shannon, I have something I want to give you."

"What could you possibly give me?"

"Think of them as a peace offering."

"'Them?'"

He reached into his coat. Squawking came from inside the fabric.

"Samael? What the hell?"

He produced two hooded crows. They pecked at his knuckles, resting on either wrist. "These are Gog and Magog. They're my pets. I – I know you like birds, and I was worried about your safety, so I trained them to whistle if they see Irin or angels."

"You're giving me crows."

"I – well, yes." He removed their hoods. Beady black eyes peered at me.

I reached out to tentatively pet one. It leaned into the curve of my hand and squawked appreciatively. "That's very, um, thoughtful of you."

Samael smiled. "That's Magog. He's the more affectionate one. Gog's the princess. She likes to be spoiled."

"Crows have personalities?"

"They're highly intelligent birds."

I pet Gog. She ruffled her feathers, pleased. "I like them," I said. "They're beautiful."

Samael lifted his arms, and the crows took off. They spiraled above us, then disappeared into the trees. "You look cold, Shannon."

My teeth chattered. "I am."

Before I could protest, he draped his coat over me. "Keep it. I have too many."

"I couldn't."

His hands lingered on my shoulders. "Shannon..." His scarf was like blood at his throat.

"What?"

"Now I'm cold." He trailed pianist fingers down my back. "But you're warm. So warm."

I shivered at his touch. "You can have your coat back."

"I don't want it." His hands settled at the small of my back.

My heartbeat was in my throat. "Why not?"

"Because," he said, voice rough. "I want this." He pulled me to him.

His lips met mine like wine pouring from an amphora: smooth, rich, dark. My mind became a blank slate. There was no thought, only reaction. I snaked my arms behind his neck and leaned against him.

He sighed, reaching under his coat to trace my spine. I inhaled sharply as his lips danced down my jaw, to the hollow under my ear. His fangs skimmed my skin.

"Shannon," he groaned. He scooped me up into his arms and pressed my back against a tree. He sucked at my earlobe and nipped it lightly.

I laughed. "You're like a vampire."

He paused. "I'm nothing like a leech."

"What are you going to do next, bite me?"

"If you'd like."

I shifted. "I was joking, Sam. God, I should slap you. You don't give up, do you?"

He placed a kiss on my collarbone. "When it comes to you, no." He set me down. "You'll freeze out here. Let me walk you back to your dorm."

I blushed. "If you want."

Gog and Magog flew after us. He offered me his hand, but I didn't take it.

"So," I said. "Nice weather, eh?"

He slowed. "You're embarrassed."

My breath fogged from the chill. "No. I just wasn't expecting... that. To feel that way."

His gaze pinned me like a butterfly to a board. "What way?"

I was flustered. "Do I really have to explain?"

His smile was crooked. "Indulge me."

"That's the last thing I'm going to do, Sam - feed your already ginormous ego."

We arrived at Trothman Hall.

He grinned. "I'll see you tomorrow, worm."

I tucked my hands into his coat pockets. "Okay."

He walked back to his car. I was left standing in the snow, wondering what had just transpired.

The porch door opened. Rosanna exited, two mugs in hand. "Shannon! There you are. I was looking for you – I made us hot cocoa." She scrutinized me. "You look funny."

I looked at the crows circling above. "I feel funny."

**Chapter** **13**

The weekend passed in a flurry of studying for finals. I texted Samael to tell him I couldn't meet over the next few weeks, canceling our scheduled training sessions. He texted me before my last final:

"THINKING OF YOU, WORM. HOW ARE YOUR STUDIES?"

"Oh god," I said. I fumbled with my phone: " _Good. I have my biology final in an hour. I'm nervous."_

"I'M SURE YOU WILL SLAY THE EXAM. IS THIS YOUR LAST ONE?"

" _Yep. And I don't know if exams are meant to be slain._ "

"IT'S A FIGURE OF SPEECH, MAGGOT. I WANT TO SEE YOU. I AM COMING TO VISIT TONIGHT."

" _Really?_ "

"DO YOU MIND?"

I contemplated seeing the skeleton I'd locked lips with. "Umm..." I said to myself. " _Sure?_ "

"GOOD. MEET ME BY THE LAKE AT 7:00."

I turned my phone off. "Whatever you say, Corpseboy."

My biology final was difficult, but I exited the exam room feeling I'd done well, even though I'd probably lost a few points on my photosynthesis reaction diagram. Rosanna, Divya, and I got a celebratory lunch at the Golden Dragon. I tried their legendary beef and broccoli.

"What are you doing over winter break?" Divya said between sips of sweet and sour soup.

I shrugged. "Just hanging around D.C.. You know how my grandparents live in Georgetown. What about you guys?"

Divya smiled. "I'm going to Delhi to visit relatives. The weather will be so nice compared to here."

"That sounds like fun." Rosanna mixed rice with her General Tsao's chicken. "I'm going to Mexico to spend time with my aunts. They're like hens, clucking nonstop. At least my cousins will be there. We're gonna hit up a few clubs." Rosanna poked me. "Make sure Mo texts me, Shannon."

"Oh god," I said. "You guys are together now?"

Rosanna shook her head, grinning. "Not really. Remember, Shannon? I have flings. He's just for fun."

"I don't want to think of my brother that way. Why can't you go for another Goth?"

Rosanna laughed. "Maybe I'll meet one in Mexico."

I walked through wintry woods to the lake around 7:00. Samael was balancing his scythe on his nose.

"Impressive," I said.

He glanced at me, and the scythe toppled to the ground. "Shannon." He ran a hand through his hair. "How are you?"

I reached into my bag and handed him his jacket. "Fine. Here's your trench coat. What do you want, Samael? Are we closing another hellmouth?"

He took his trench coat and looked at it dumbfounded. "But I gave this to you."

"I don't want it. It's too big. And it smells like coffee."

"Coffee's a good smell."

"Yeah, but you sweat caffeine."

Somehow, he stuffed the coat into the pocket of his Grim Reaper robe. "Fine. And no, there aren't any hellmouths \- the angels haven't made any advances into Pandemonium. We're in a stalemate, and they're too concerned with tracking the Irin."

I tucked my hands into my jean pockets. "Why did you want to meet me, then?"

He bit his bottom lip. "I – I thought we could watch my favorite movie. You're done with exams, and I haven't seen you in weeks."

I was taken aback. "You have a favorite movie?"

He looked offended. "Of course I do. Eternity is a long time. I like to fill that void with entertainment."

"Um, okay, sure." Anxiety stung my nerves. "What movie is it?"

" _Harold and Maude_. It's a cult classic. Cat Stevens wrote the soundtrack."

"I love Cat Stevens!"

He smiled slightly. "It's settled then."

I found myself munching popcorn on a couch in Samael's estate, seated next to Death. He reached into the bowl on my lap and popped a few kernels into his mouth, engrossed in the movie. I laughed at the film's dark humor. Finally, we came to the end.

"I can see why you like this," I said. "It's about death."

Samael shook his head. "Not just death, Shannon. It's about Maude's joie de vivre. It's a celebration of life." He took the bowl from my lap and put it on the table in front of us, then slid his hand into mine. "Did you like it?"

I took my hand from his grasp and shifted away. "I did. I liked it a lot."

"Shannon, what's wrong?"

"Sam, I – I don't know if this is right."

His face darkened. He didn't say anything.

"I need to think about this. About you." I played with a pillow. "I mean, technically, this is what screwed you over in the first place – Original Sin."

Samael folded his hands in his lap. "It was more complicated than that, Shannon. A third of heaven didn't fall because I loved a woman."

I looked at our reflection in the blank TV screen. "Then how did you fall?"

Samael sighed. "I was Heaven's mercenary, Shannon. Angels are tools, nothing more. Our hands are stained in blood, and Heaven's foundation is a lie."

My eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

Samael smoothed his robe. "My Father told us we were the only ones, that He was the true God, and for eons, I believed Him. This was before humans walked the Earth, before Earth even existed. The cosmos were still being formed, carved up among different deities. The ideas of mortals existed, but they were prototypes. Whatever original spark that had fueled the gods' existences was running out, and each pantheon was looking for a new source of power. Thus, mortals were made."

I remembered Divya's words. "So we are your experiments?"

"In a sense, yes. You are our children. The gods' legacy, meant to populate the cold void of space." He paused. "But perhaps we're your creations – time flows differently in the immortal realms, and we have no way to track of it. Maybe we fancy ourselves your creators, when all we are are your ideas, sprung from grains of dream-sand. It's a topic of hot debate."

My head hurt. "I hated physics in high school, and I hate metaphysics even more."

Samael snorted. "Fair enough. Whatever happened, no one can tell how many angels dance on the head of a pin, and not even I can say when it went wrong – what the tipping point was. Perhaps it was when, out of curiosity, I strayed past Heaven's gates, and I saw the vast abyss Father told us to never venture across. I yearned for it. I wanted to shine my light into that darkness, to shoot like a star through space with the Lapis Exillis at my brow. I always did what I wanted."

Samael took a breath, then continued: "But I flew too far, and I saw what lay beyond. The vast cosmos beyond Father's Creation, where his Word did not reach. There was Asgard, Olympus, Avalon, the Dreaming. So many places, with such strange beings. They looked at me, and I at them, and I grew angry, for Father had kept me caged - He had kept us all caged, like a flock of doves. I confronted Him. I accused Him. And He cast me out, into the abyss. I followed the Milky Way, and I traveled to other realms. I befriended tricksters and vagabonds, an exile. But I missed home. So I returned, tucked my head under my wing, and repented. I went about my business as Heaven's prince. But I carried in my heart coals, coals of discontent, the seeds of rebellion. I kept my lips shut about what I had seen and let my brothers live in Father's beautiful lie, until it was too much to bear. So I took my brothers to the abyss, shone my light into it, and revealed what I had seen."

Samael balled his hands into fists. "My Father was beatific when we confronted Him, His grin like rain on glass. He illuminated His throne room, and He said-" Samael took a sharp breath. "He said we were just children, that we didn't understand. How could we understand? The gods were His playthings, things He'd created to train us. 'For what?' I asked, confused. I doubted myself. I doubted what I had seen. He put His hand on my shoulder and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. 'Oh my beautiful child,' He said. 'You and your brothers must grow. These toys are false spirits. They are here to teach you what you are.'"

Samael looked sick. "And so He taught us. To slaughter. To destroy. We razed legions to the ground, killed innocents, and waged war on other pantheons, all the time thinking it some game." Samael shook. "I – I thought it was a lesson. And I was good at it, so good. It was just like chess." He gazed out the window with a haunted face. "But the coals were still in my heart, and I began to have doubts, doubts that multiplied with the sick pleasure of killing. I soon saw what I was: a vessel of Father's wrath."

"That's horrible," I said, guts twisting.

The Reaper hung his head. "My brothers and I conspired to rebel. While we were plotting, Father was experimenting, dreaming up new ways to increase His power. He created humans to worship Him. First came Lailah – Lilith – and Adam. Then, when Lilith failed, you. Father set Michael over Adam as his guardian angel, and I became yours. We were supposed to teach you what we knew, to discover your potential. I was fond of you, too fond, and Father saw that. He made me bow to Adam and acknowledge that bastard's place above me. That was the final straw. I refused to bow to the sheepfucker, as did a third of my brothers, and so Father cast us out. We rebelled against our exile and waged an eon long war, but it failed, and you were lost in the sands of time. Which brings us to today."

I shook my head. "I don't know what to say, Sam."

He sunk into the couch and stared up at the ceiling. "Say what you think."

"Okay," I said. "That was a very long-winded, sucky story. God sounds mad."

Samael closed his eyes. "It's hard to tell if He's insane or incredibly shrewd."

I look at his shadowed lashes. "Why do Michael and Gabriel still believe Him?"

Samael shrugged. "Because there's a chance He's right: the other gods don't know where they came from. No one does. Perhaps my Father did create them. Why has His Word prevailed over the faiths of the other pantheons? Why has His cult lasted thousands of years and dominated Earth? Judaism, Islam, Christianity – they're all just different masks He wears. Whether He goes by Adonai, Yahweh, or Allah, my Father is still foremost amongst immortals, the most powerful. Maybe He was the first one, like He says."

I looked out the window at the failing light. "I hope not."

**Chapter 1** **4**

I took the train back to northern Virginia the next day with Mo, suitcase in tow. I stared at the passing farmland, thinking of Samael's story. Mo flipped through a thriller, unable to focus on a single page.

"Shannikins," he said, elbowing me.

I took out my ear buds. "What, Mo?"

He closed his book. "How's Rosanna?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself? You have her number."

Mo bit his lip. "I hate texting her."

I paused my music. "Why, Mo? What could she possibly do to you with sentences?"

Mo sighed. "It's just, I don't know what to say. She's into all these things I don't know about, all these bands I've never heard of. And she's so good at guitar. The only instrument I can play is the kazoo."

I laughed. "You're even horrible at that. God, remember when we had to play the recorder in elementary school? You sucked."

Mo frowned. "I have good memories about that recorder. Especially 'Hot Cross Buns.' Don't insult them, Shannon."

I snorted.

"What about you, Shannikins?" Mo asked. "What happened to Baxter? He's still got a crush on you."

"Oh god, not him. It was like dating meat– all muscle, no brains. Kinda like dating you." I glanced at the time on my phone. We had an hour to go.

Mo whistled. "Harsh, Shannon, so harsh. I'll let you know I had a straight C average this semester."

"I'm so proud of you, Mo."

Mo smiled. "I know you are, Shannon. I know you are." Mo took a sip from his water bottle. "So you really haven't dated any other guys?"

I blushed, remembering Samael's kiss. "No."

Mo narrowed his eyes. "I can tell when you're lying, Shannon. Your right eye twitches. Spit it out: who is he?"

I tapped my fingers on the armrest. "No one you'd know. And we're barely dating. Barely."

"Oh, so he was just a hookup?"

"No! I don't want to talk about it, Mo."

Mo chuckled. "So how many crusty parties do you think gramps and gram will drag us to?"

I was glad for the change of subject. I thought of my grandfather, a former senator and political advisor, and the elaborate parties my grandmother threw for his inner circle. "Too many."

"There better be a shrimp bar again," Mo said. "And we better be allowed to drink. I can't deal with politicos sober."

They didn't let us drink. I found myself milling around a shrimp bar, suffocating in a conservative dress. I toyed with a branch of holly. My grandparent's townhouse in Georgetown was festive, hung with mistletoe and red and green streamers. An ornamented pine tree stood at the center of the room. Mo talked with a House representative about football, and Washington's best surrounded me, dressed elegantly, with glasses of wine in their hands. I dipped a shrimp in cocktail sauce and avoided questions about my studies.

"You're a biology major? How impressive."

"Your grandfather tells me you draw. Is it true? Is the still life over the mantelpiece yours?"

"Have you considered a career in politics?"

"The funniest thing happened during last year's campaign..."

I wanted to run for the hills. Capitol Hill, that was.

I looked to my twin for help. Finished discussing his touchdowns, Mo swooped in to save me from gramps' associates. He enthralled the adults with tales of fraternity life, giving me an opportunity to escape. I went to the balcony, plate of hors d'oeuvres in hand. The cold stung my legs, but I endured it, if only to be away from the lobbyists.

The sliding glass door opened behind me. Out came my dad, dressed in his lawyer's best. His hair was ruddy in the winter sun.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, nabbing some brie from my plate. "How are you holding up?"

I sighed. "You know how I feel about gram's parties, dad."

My father laughed. "There's a reason I became an environmental lawyer, Shannon. I couldn't deal with my parents' stuffy politics and stuffier traditions. But hey, the food is good."

I smiled. My dad had gone through a hippie phase, to the chagrin of gram and gramps. I inherited my love of the outdoors from him.

Something black darted across my vision. I looked to see Gog and Magog land in my grandparents' garden. They pecked in the flowerbeds.

"Two for mirth," my father said.

"What?"

"You know, that old rhyme about crows. One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a wedding, four for death. It goes on."

"Death?" I shivered. "Dad, what do you think happens after we die?"

My father straightened his tie. "That's not a very festive question, kiddo."

"Humor me, dad."

My father leaned against the balcony railing. "I think it's like sleep. We drift off to dream in the Earth, become one with flowers and trees. I think it's peaceful. Why, Shannon? Is winter getting you down?"

I watched Magog eat a worm. "No, it's just that mom's Catholic, and you're an atheist. I don't get how you make it work – how you reconcile your differences."

My father stole a shrimp from my plate. "If you love someone, you make it work."

I looked up at the billowing clouds. "Love. I've never been in love."

Dad laughed. "What about Thomas? Or Shane? Not even Peter?"

I shook my head. "That was high school. It doesn't count."

"You're young, Shannon. You have time. Just have fun, okay, kiddo? Stop worrying."

If only dad knew how much there was to worry about. I wanted to tell him, to tell him everything, but it died in my throat, like Gabriel said it would.

Christmas dinner came, and gram sliced honey ham with a silver knife. We sat round my grandparent's elaborate dining room and ate off china. There was laughter and rich food – cranberries, rolls, butter so creamy it melted on your tongue. I shed my worries like a snake skin. We spent the night at my grandparents, and Christmas morning came. I could have sworn I heard someone downstairs at midnight, but chalked it up to dreams. Presents were unwrapped and placed in neat piles besides the couch. I came to the last gift, a small box addressed to me in spidery script. I tore the wrapping off and found a leather-bound sketchbook with a Celtic knot-work of crows and roses pressed onto the cover. I gasped at its beauty and leafed through the silky pages.

"This is amazing," I said. "Thank you so much!"

My family looked at each other in confusion.

"Where did you get that from, Matilda?" gramps asked gram.

"I didn't buy that for her, Albert," gram said. "Ernest?"

My father shook his head. "No. Rose?"

"I got her the oil set, Ernie," my mother said.

We all looked at Mo.

"I gave Shannon the novelty socks!" my twin said.

"Then who..." I said, turning to the back of the sketchbook. A slip of paper fell from the binding. I picked it up:

"MAYBE YOU'LL DRAW ME SOMETHING, WORM."

I dropped the sketchbook.

"What's wrong, Shannon?" my mother asked.

"N – nothing," I said. I put the sketchbook underneath my other presents.

Mo and I went to see David Bowie, my favorite artist, at the 9:30 Club two days before New Year's Eve. We entered the mosh pit, jostling against sweaty bodies. Mo crowd-surfed.

During intermission, the heat of hundreds of people got to be too much, and I went out back to cool off. The pavement was wet with melted snow. People milled around, smoking cigarettes, toying with their phones. I looked up at the curving moon, so much like the smile of a Cheshire cat. I thought of the past few months, of their chaos, and wanted to be alone. I wandered into an alley, only to find something that looked like a drug deal going down.

I turned to leave, but heard a name come from one of the shady men: "Azazel, she's here. At the concert. Samael's nowhere in sight. We can take her without anyone noticing."

My blood ran cold.

Gog and Magog landed at my feet and began to whistle. The Irin looked up, eyes hollow pits, burns on their skin.

"It's her. The Magdalene. Quick!"

I ran, darting down the street, taking right turns and lefts. I whipped out my phone and speed-dialed Samael.

"Merry late Christmas, maggot. I was wondering when you'd call."

"Sam! The Irin are here! In D.C.!"

He cursed. "Hide, Shannon. Send me your location. Now."

I scrambled behind a dumpster, then texted him the street name. A dozen Irin rounded the corner, pulling guns from their belts. Their eyes were plucked out, but somehow, they could see.

One snarled, revealing jagged teeth. "There she is. Come out, kitten. Let's play."

I summoned my clavis. "Get back, you trash!" I said.

A bald Irin laughed. "Nice toy. What are you going to do, lock the dumpster shut and hide in it?"

"Don't underestimate her, Sariel," said the one with the jagged teeth.

"She's weak, Azazel," said Sariel.

"No," said Azazel. "She's our key. Our beautiful key. We'll treat her well, won't we, gentlemen?"

A fallen angel with golden skin approached. "The bitch killed Jeqon, Azazel. Why should we show her mercy?"

Azazel's lips were a thin line. "Jeqon disobeyed orders, Semyaza. He got what he deserved." The jagged-toothed Irin focused on me. "Didn't he, Shannon O'Connor?"

"You're all rapists!" I said, stepping back. "I've read the Book of Enoch, I know what you did."

The golden-skinned Irin – Semyaza – smirked. "That's not how the women felt. They thoroughly enjoyed our affections."

Azazel grinned. "Thoroughly. Perhaps we can give you the same pleasures we gave our wives."

Sweat made my hands clammy. "You're filth," I said. "Pure filth."

A vortex opened before me and out stepped Samael, scythe shining. His eyes were storms. "Stay back, Shannon."

Azazel pointed his gun at the Reaper. "If it isn't the king of carrion. I'd say you look well, Sam, but I can see through your disguise. There are more cracks on your skull than rings on a tree."

"See, Azazel?" Samael said. "That must be hard to do with your eyes ripped out. What, you don't have enough power to hide your wounds?"

Semyaza hissed. He fired a shot at Samael's breast. Samael doubled over. Steam rose from his wound.

Death struggled to rise. "Adamantine bullets. Where the hell did you get those?"

Semyaza blew smoke from the barrel of his gun. "We have our sources, Samael. Now, let's make this easy. Give us the girl, and we'll let your bony ass off with minimal damage."

Azazel aimed his gun at me. "Or you could try and defend her. It might be more fun that way."

"Sam! Get up!" I yelled.

"I'm trying, Shannon," Samael said. He fell onto his stomach and hacked up blood. "Adamantine is poisonous to angels, even fallen ones," he choked. "It's like kryptonite."

I was terrified. "No."

"Yes, Shannon O'Connor," Azazel said, smile menacing.

"Do what we did last time, Sam – with the angels!" I said, desperate.

Samael groaned. "Shannon... I'm too weak. The adamantine is spreading, like arsenic."

The Irin closed in.

"Try, damn it!" I said.

Samael vomited gore. He wiped his lips with a shaking hand. "It will hurt, Shannon. I can't keep back the pain this time – I'm not strong enough."

"I don't care!"

"Okay."

My vision went black. Agony beat my bones like a jackhammer. I screamed, slumped to the ground and curled in on myself. I felt broken in a hundred places, with snapped limbs and bruised ribs. It hurt to breathe.

Shannon? Get up!

I struggled to open my eyes. "Sam?" I scrabbled for his scythe. Sickly power coursed through me, mingled with pain. My body went on autopilot, with Samael at the controls. Shadowy wings burst from my back and beat with fury, lifting me off the ground.

The Irin shot at me, earthbound. I avoided the stream of bullets, twirling the scythe to deflect them with the flat of Samael's blade. I squeezed the scythe's staff and aimed a lightning bolt at Sariel. It struck his heart, and the Irin collapsed.

"Damn bitch!" Sariel said. He fired off a shot.

There was no time to prepare. The errant bullet hit my back, below my shoulder. Samael cried out in my mind, his pain mingled with mine. Blood poured down my spine.

We have to get out of here, Shannon. They're too strong. I need to heal you.

It hurt to move, bullet lodged deep in my muscle. I flew a rough path over the buildings, with Samael at the helm.

"Let her go, Sariel," Azazel said. "It will be a stalemate with Samael possessing her. We need to get her alone."

The Irin disappeared behind an apartment complex.

What if someone sees me? I thought.

Mortals can't see immortals unless we make our presences known. The Irin and you are invisible. That's why no police came. You think that many gunshots would go unnoticed?

Where am I going?

Somewhere safe.
**Chapter 1** **5**

My surroundings blurred. I landed in Arlington Cemetery, at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The graveyard was empty. I collapsed to the ground. Icy stone froze my cheek. My mouth opened wide, and black smoke spewed from my throat. Samael materialized, splayed on the ground beside me, a skeleton in black robes.

"Where's your skin?" I struggled to say.

He wheezed. "Too weak. Can't hold that form."

I rolled onto my stomach, blood pooling beneath me. "It hurts, Sam. It hurts."

He crawled over to me. Samael put his hand on my back and choked out alien words. The pain ceased, and I felt the bullet rise from my flesh. It exited the wound and fell to the ground. The hole in my back healed and puckered in a scar.

"Better?" Samael said, voice hoarse.

"Yeah." I sat up, dazed. "Why the graveyard?"

Samael lay on his back, eye-hollows looking at the stars. "I'm more powerful here." He clutched at his chest. "You're good at dissecting things, right?" he rasped. "There's a bullet, Shannon, behind my sternum."

I shivered at the thought of touching him.

"Please."

"Okay." I crawled over to him and opened the neck of his robe. His rib cage rose and fell in a semblance of breathing. He smelled like autumn leaves and loam. I flinched, touching his collarbone. "This is so gross."

Samael grunted. "Thanks, worm."

The bullet was lodged beneath his sternum. I pried it loose and tossed it aside. Samael hacked up gore onto the sleeve of my jacket.

"How are you bleeding?" I said. "You shouldn't have any blood."

Samael sat up slowly. He shook. "Shannon, you never shut up, do you?"

"You're the one that rants! Are you okay?"

"I'm weak, and I feel like shit, but I'll be fine. I don't have enough energy to summon a portal back to Hell, and you don't have your clavis."

I reached for the charm at my neck, only to find it gone. "Crap. I left it with the Irin. Can't you text someone?"

Samael shook his head. "My phone runs on ether, remember? It doesn't get service here."

"Can I text Beelzebub? Or Lilith?"

Samael leaned against the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. "No. There's no coverage."

I sat next to him, breath heavy. "Then how can I text you?"

"Your heart is mine. Our life forces are bound. I use that as the network conductor."

"What the actual hell, Sam." I looked up at the moon. Gog and Magog flew past.

He chuckled. "Strange how things work, isn't it?"

I toyed with a stick. "That's not scientific at all."

Samael shrugged. "You're the scientist, Shannon, not me."

"Why are you so annoying?"

Samael wiped blood from his teeth. "To bring out the best in you, worm. Did you like your present?"

I sighed. "Sam, you snuck into my grandparent's house like a demonic Santa. Was that really necessary?"

Samael smiled. "We take extreme measures for the ones we love."

Anger flushed my cheeks. I scooted away from him. "Stop saying you love me. You barely know me."

Samael scraped his finger bones along the ground. "It's been five months, Shannon. Almost half a year." There was longing in his voice. "Of course I know you."

I looked away, uncomfortable. "Can we talk about something else? Like how I'm going to get back?"

Samael tapped on the monument. "You can't the leave the graveyard. It's holy ground. You'll have to stay here for the night."

I broke the stick in half. "In a graveyard? With you?"

Samael lowered the hood of his robe. "I'll be strong enough in the morning to take you home. Please, Shannon. I need you safe."

I shook my head. "I hate graveyards. They creep me out. You creep me out. I'm talking to a corpse, for chrissakes."

Samael frowned. "I'm a skeleton, not a corpse – I'm much more sanitary."

"Same thing." I threw the stick pieces into the remnants of Christmas snow. "Ugh, this sucks. I'd rather saw off my toes than spend another minute here. I'm freezing, and the only company I have is the Crypt Keeper."

Samael crushed a leaf in his hand. "I look nothing like that puppet. Just like you beared no resemblance to Elvira on Halloween. You're not busty enough."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Shut up, Corpseboy."

He toyed with the fabric of his robe. "It's not that I don't like your chest. Your breasts are the perfect size. All you need's a handful."

"You bastard!" I punched his skull, but only ended up hurting my fist. It was tough as steel.

"Now your ass. That's your crowning glory." Samael spat sparks onto a cigarette he'd pulled from his pocket and took a drag.

I rose from the ground, ready to storm off.

Samael didn't take the hint. "It's so round. Like two apples. I could bite it."

I kicked him in the pelvis, to no avail. "My toes!" I said, hopping on one foot.

Samael laughed. "You're so easy to get a rise out of."

"You think this is funny?"

He hugged his legs to him. "Yes, I do. Nice skirt. This is a lovely view."

I stopped hopping, realizing my miniskirt was riding up from the movement. "I hate you."

Samael exhaled smoke in my face. "Really?" he said. "It didn't seem like that when we kissed."

I broiled. "You kissed me. I didn't want it."

Samael whistled low. "Harsh, maggot."

Gog and Magog responded to his whistling and landed on his bony shoulders. He stroked Gog's wings. Magog tried to feed him a worm.

"Those are my crows! Stop corrupting them," I said.

"They were mine first." He plucked the worm from Magog's beak and offered it to me. "Hungry, Shannon? Lots of protein. Very tasty."

"Eat it yourself it it's so good."

Samael laughed, then coaxed the worm into Gog's mouth. He waved the crows away and rose from the ground. "You liked it when I kissed you. There was a dopamine rush in your brain." He dusted off his robe.

I put my hands on my hips and squared off against the Reaper. "Are you trying to use biology against me? Because trust me, I'll win this argument."

Samael tucked his hands into his pockets. "There was serotonin too. Infatuation."

I glared into his eye sockets. "What, are you a mind reader now?"

"No, but I can guess."

"Fine! Maybe I like you, sort of. But that pales in comparison to how much you annoy me. Are you happy now, Satan?"

He grinned. "Yes. Now, will you finally hold my hand?"

I drew back. "No! I'm not touching you. It's disgusting."

"Hold my hand, worm."

"No."

"Please?"

Irritation constricted my throat. "Will you shut up if I do?"

"I swear on your undug grave."

I cursed and held his hand-bones.

"There. Is that really so bad, Shannon?"

I grimaced. "Yes, Samael. It is." I let go of his hand and wiped my palm off on my skirt. "Ew. Ew ew ew."

He smiled.

"I can't believe I'm stuck here with you until sunrise," I said. "This is going to be so boring."

Samael scratched his chin. "I know several ways we can pass the time."

"Don't you dare say anything sexual. You're a bag of bones."

"I was going to suggest charades. But sexual – sexual I can do. Thought it might be difficult without a tongue..."

"I'm going to barf."

"Charades it is."

The hours passed slowly. There was no cell phone reception, so I couldn't text my family and tell them I was okay. I worried about the consequences.

"I spy something red," Samael said.

"Is it my hair again?" I asked, bored.

Samael feigned surprise. "How did you know?"

I sighed. "You're really bad at this game."

I yawned, then checked my phone. It was 3 in the morning. "I'm so tired."

"Then rest," Samael said. "I have enough strength now to lull you to sleep."

"But I'll freeze to death if I do. Aren't you supposed to stay awake if you're lost and cold?"

Samael slipped out of his robe, revealing bare bones. He tossed the garment at me.

I caught it. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Wear it, obviously. It will keep you warm."

"Sam, I couldn't. Won't you freeze?"

He shook his head. "I'm fine."

The robe hung on me loosely, but I couldn't deny its insulating effect. I thumbed the material. It felt like liquid. "What is this made of?" I said.

"It's my shadow. Haven't you noticed how I don't cast one?"

"No, I haven't." I snuggled into the robe. "Can we find a park bench and make like bums so I can sleep on it?"

Samael chuckled. "Sure."

I slept on a bench near the Civil War graves. I woke to Samael poking me.

"The park's about to open. I need my robe back."

I wiped sleep-grit from my eyes. "Wha?"

"Robe."

"Oh, right."

I eased out of it. Samael put it on and shifted back to his human form.

"Aren't you afraid someone's going to see you looking like a punk monk?" I asked.

Samael stretched, snakebite piercings lit by the dawn. "Remember, Shannon? Mortals can't see immortals under normal circumstances. That effect extends to my associates, namely you."

Confusion knotted my brain. "Then how could I see the Irin?"

"Because you're not fully human. When I gave Eve my heart, she became like the seraphim. That allows you to see immortals."

We walked to the park entrance and on to the Metro station. My cell phone finally got reception. I dialed my dad and held my breath.

"Kiddo? Where are you? We were about to go to the police!"

I spun a lie. "I drank something bad, dad. I think someone roofied me."

I could hear his heart stop. "Jesus Christ, Shannon. Did anything happen? Can you remember anything?"

Guilt cinched my gut. "Yeah, dad, my memory's hazy, but it's there. The person who drugged me must have lost me. All I did was wander around and go to sleep in, um, in an alley. I just woke up now. I'm fine. I'm at the Arlington Cemetery Metro stop and I'm about to get on. Can you pick me up at the Rosslyn station?"

"No, Shannon. Stay where you are. I'm coming to get you. We're going to a doctor right away for-" he choked back tears, "-for testing. Then we're going to the police."

My marrow froze. "No, dad. Really, I'm fine-"

"Shannon, you're a biology student. You know how dangerous drugs can be. Don't move. I'm driving there now. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?"

"No Dad, like I said, I'm fine. You're really overreacting."

"I'm not overreacting, kiddo. We thought you were gone. If that happened, I couldn't – I couldn't live with myself. You're my little girl."

"Dad, stop it. You're making me feel horrible."

"I'm sorry. Are you sure you don't want me to stay on the phone?"

"Nope, I'm good. See you soon, dad." I hung up before he could protest. I looked at Samael and made a cutting motion across my throat. "My head on a platter. That's what's going to happen, Sam, all because of those stupid Irin. Ugh, why couldn't they just leave me alone? What do they want from me?"

Samael's face darkened. "I don't know, Shannon. There could be many reasons, none of which are pleasant. Are you alright?"

I smoothed my skirt. "My dad's a wreck, which means my mom probably is to, and I don't even know how bad Mo feels after losing me at the concert like that."

My father picked me up, in tears, and we went to the emergency room for testing. The doctors didn't find a trace of drugs, even though they made me pee in a cup multiple times. My arms were red from blood draws and I grew to hate the smell of waxed, antiseptic, linoleum floors. Next was the police station. I couldn't ID the suspect, of course, and claimed I didn't remember what the drink was, so my family filed a mostly useless report. I dealt with a shaken household for the rest of break and a mirthless New Year's.

**Chapter 1** **6**

My parents were reluctant to let me return to Hortense and warned me multiple times about drinking. But I'd be damned if something kept me from my Ecology 101 class.

"Ecology is the Earth in motion," said Dr. Crane, a woman with short black curls and skin the color of coffee. We were half an hour into the first day of class for spring semester. Dr. Crane adjusted her glasses. "I want you all to take a walk in the College Woods. Peel back bark and look for termites. Watch for birds – maybe a hawk, maybe an owl. Bring a journal, and write down what you see. Think – what put these organisms there? Why are the trunks of the wetland trees near the lake swollen at their bases? What physiological processes are occurring in plants that lay dormant for the winter? Dig up roots, look for the nodules on legumes. Think about the symbiotic bacteria in them, without which there wouldn't be agriculture. Everything is balanced, like a top spinning."

She pulled the mentioned top from her pocket and set it twirling on her desk. It moved in lazy circles, then came to a stop. She caught it before it rolled to the floor.

Dr. Crane smiled. "There are inflows and outflows. Apex predators and detritovores. Everything has a place, a rhythm. When you walk in the woods, try and find yours."

I did just that. Gog and Magog sailed through the sky after me. I found a wolf spider and followed its scuttling trail, down a ravine to a creek. I looked at the markings on its abdomen and sketched them in my notebook. Water trickled by, laced with algae and sediment. It was a peaceful, peaceful day.

Next week, Dr. Crane asked me to visit her office after class. Nervous, I entered the airy room in the top floor of the biology building, to the right of the rooftop greenhouse. I sat in a cushy chair opposite her.

"Shannon O'Connor. It's nice to formally meet you," Dr. Crane said. A hot water dispenser dinged behind her. She swiveled in her chair to attend to it. "Ah. It's ready. Would you like some tea? I have Earl Gray and Mint."

I relaxed my grip on the sides of my chair. "Mint would be lovely, thanks."

"Do you take sugar or cream?"

"Both, please."

Dr. Crane nodded. She fixed herself Earl Gray and handed me my cup. "Shannon, you must be wondering why I've asked you here."

"Well, yes," I said.

Dr. Crane blew on her tea to cool it. "I looked over your assignment from last week - your nature walk observations. They're very detailed, like an ecologist's notebook. I can't help but see myself in you."

I blushed. "I don't know what to say. Thank you, Dr. Crane."

She nodded, smile warm. "I looked at your transcript, Shannon. You have stellar grades, and I noticed you interned at a nature center the summer before you attended Hortense."

I nodded. "Yep. I did. It was great. I got to handle snakes and feed turtles."

"How fun. Hands-on experiences like that are one of the best ways to learn." Dr. Crane took a sip of her tea. "I feel that your passion and abilities qualify you for my lab. I'm always looking for enthusiastic students."

My eyes lit up. "Really?"

Dr. Crane set her mug down. "Yes. I noticed your interest in wolf spiders. Your sketch was very detailed. I'm an ornithologist by trade, but I dabble in entomology. My lab deals with evolutionary biology. I like to give my students leeway in their research and the opportunity to get a paper under their belt before graduation. Many of my students are published by the time they reach senior year. I could see you having the same success."

I looked at my feet. My blush deepened. "I don't know, Dr. Crane."

"Don't doubt yourself, Shannon. Just because you're young doesn't mean you can't accomplish great things. I'm getting a new graduate student this month: Arietta Lovato. Perhaps you could work with her."

And that was how I ended up breeding spiders with a werewolf.

Arietta, Samael, and I sat at Damien's bar. Damien hummed along to Italian opera.

Samael couldn't stop laughing. "Hah! Let me get this straight. You're – aha – studying spider's sex lives? Isn't that a bit too deviant for you, Shannon?"

I squeezed my mug of root beer. "I thought it was a good research idea – looking at how mate selection relates to predation."

"It is," Arietta said, nursing a beer. Her dreadlocks were woven with silver charms. "And sorry I didn't tell you I was going to Hortense for grad school, Shannon. I wanted to surprise you. I'm studying red-cockaded woodpeckers. Dr. Crane's one of the most respected ornithologists in North America. It's amazing that I'm working with her on my Ph.D."

"That's my girl," Damien said, proud. "You always loved chasing birds, even when you were a pup."

"That's right, dad." Arietta smiled. "But I can help you with your study, Shannon. We can order supplies and raise the spiders together. I can help feed them."

Samael downed his absinthe. "I know. How about I lend you some of my crows? They can eat your spider sex club." The Reaper burst out laughing.

I glared at Samael. "It's not a spider sex club, Sam."

Samael snorted. "Right, I forgot – it's science."

Arietta narrowed her eyes. "You could learn something from us, Samael. Hell relies too much on magic. There's no place made for innovation. It's not valued. The only thing anyone cares about is tradition. There's no room for new ideas. Nothing changes. We should be more like humanity, more dynamic."

"I'll leave that to you, Arietta," Samael said. He turned to Damien. "I remember when I was young and radical."

Anger flushed Arietta's face. "I'm not radical. I have good ideas, and so does my generation, if you and the other archdemons would just listen to us."

Samael steepled his fingers under his chin. "What are you suggesting, Arietta?"

Arietta crossed her arms over her chest. Her tattooed knuckles made a statement under the bar-light. "Elections. You've grown corrupt, Samael. Maybe you can fool my father, but I see straight through you. You're selfish, and you've let your kingdom go to waste. We need a new government."

"Arietta!" Damien said. "Don't be brash."

"It's fine, Damien." Samael's eyes hardened. "Hell isn't a democracy, Arietta. We do things this way because it works. My people, you included, are constantly under siege, barely surviving by the skin on our teeth. In Hell, power rules. That's all."

"That's a weak excuse, Sam," I said. "Anyways, if you're so powerful, why did you faint when Sariel shot you with that adamantine bullet thing?"

"Adamantine?" Damien said. "When the hell did that happen?"

Samael's lips drew thin. "It's not important, Damien."

Damien's temple throbbed. "Only Metatron can make those – a few a year, at most. They're Heaven's most powerful weapons. How did the Irin get a hold of them?"

Samael grew irritated. "I don't know, Damien. Will you and your daughter let me drink my absinthe in peace?"

Damien gave a low growl. "No." He swiped Samael's absinthe from the Reaper's hands. "Someone's supplying the bullets, Sam. Who?"

Samael snatched back his drink. "I don't know, Damien! You think I'm not devoting every resource to figuring out who the supplier is? The Irin are elusive – how do you think they escaped Dudael? They've had centuries to plot their revenge. Who knows what allies they made during their imprisonment? Which angels visited them while they were in shackles? Azazel's persuasive, Semyaza even more so. They could have won dozens of angels to their side. Maybe even an archangel. But which one, and why? These are the questions that rob me of sleep." Samael hung his head. "I'm doing everything I can. Everything I can. They almost took Shannon." He balled his hands into fists. "To think of what they almost did to her. I can't live with myself, knowing that nearly happened."

I put a hand on Samael's shoulder. "Hey, Sam. I'm okay."

He covered my hand with his. "But I'm not, Shannon. I'm worried. I was supposed to protect you, and I failed." Samael looked at Damien's daughter. "I'm glad you're on campus with Shannon, Arietta. It's an added level of safety."

Arietta nodded. "I'll keep an eye out for danger."

Death turned to Damien. "Shannon needs a new clavis."

Equipped with a new weapon, I went back to Samael's, and we trained. Midway through our session, Samael's phone rang.

"Hello?" Samael said. I tried to listen to the other line, but only heard indistinct chatter.

Samael cursed, then closed his phone.

"What's wrong?" I said.

"Loki just called. He's in a standoff with Michael and Henry. Heaven's moved on to the next phase of their plan. They're locking the gateways from Earth to the pagan realms. They're trying to break the Bifrost bridge that leads to Asgard. Heimdall's hurt. He needs backup."

My eyes widened. "You know Loki? The Norse trickster god? Isn't he evil?"

"Of course I know Loki. And he's not evil, just lukewarm. Come on, we have to go." Samael summoned a portal, supposedly to Viking heaven.

I didn't move. "Wait, what's Bifrost? Why is Michael breaking it? Who's Heimdall?"

Samael bit his lip in irritation. "It's a rainbow that connects Earth to Asgard. Heimdall is Bifrost's guardian. If he's down, that means they're close to severing Asgard's connection to Earth." He pulled me into the black void.

We emerged in chaos. Blood, blood on green fields, innards strewn across flowers. Warriors in bearskin fought against veiled angels. Valkyries flew above, like something from a Wagner opera. A city of silver and wood rose in the distance, and before me was a great gulf into darkness, spanned by a glimmering bridge.

I summoned my clavis, on guard. A swarthy man with gold teeth clutched his guts. He struggled to rise at the foot of Bifrost. Michael stood above him, flaming sword held high.

"Surrender, Heimdall, and no more of your men will be hurt," the archangel said.

Heimdall spat blood at Michael's feet. "I'd rather Yggdrasil burn than wave the white flag for you."

Michael's smile was thin. "It will burn if you do nothing."

Thunder clashed above Michael's head, and over his shoulder a chariot descended, pulled by giant goats. The vehicle carried a burly man with a hammer. The attacker drove his weapon into Michael's shoulder. Lightning exploded from the impact. Michael flew off Bifrost and plummeted into the darkness. The angels swarmed, and the chariot raced after him.

"Thor," Samael said. "But where are Odin and Loki?"

"Here," came a gravelly voice. I turned to see a hoary man with an eye-patch beat down angels with his staff. He charged forward on an eight-legged steed. Behind him was an elfish-looking figure with Titian red hair. He shot plumes of fire from his fingertips, incinerating Heaven's army.

"Just in time, Sam," said the redhead.

"What the hell happened, Loki?" Samael said, guarding me from an attacking angel.

The redhead shrugged. "I went for a walk. Everything was fine. I came back, everything was on fire. Usually that's my doing, but I couldn't remember incinerating anything, so I assumed the worst."

The hoary man pummeled a cherubim. His horse reared.

"Are you Gandalf?" I said.

The rider gave a rough laugh. "I'm afraid not. Is she the ascendant, Sam?"

Samael chopped an angel in two. Chunks of its brains flew onto my pants. "Of course, Odin. Why else would I bring her?"

I wiped the gore from my jeans and felt bile rise in my throat. "Um, what do I do, Sam?"

Samael's face was grim. "We need to force Michael and the angels back through the heaven's gate." He pointed to a white hole in the sky. "I need you to close it, Shannon."

My stomach sunk. "I'll have to fly again, won't I?" My fear of heights plucked my nerves like guitar strings.

Samael nodded. "Odin, Loki, can you take care of Michael? We're going for Adam's reincarnation."

Loki grinned. "Are you kidding me, Sam? Getting rid of stick-up-his-ass will be like swatting a fly."

"Don't underestimate Michael, blood-brother," Odin said. They charged at Odin's signal, riding over the gulf and into the darkness. Lightning from Thor's hammer shot over the lip of the cliff, and furious cries rose through the mist.

Samael turned to me. "I know I'm asking a lot of you, Shannon. But it's the only way. Asgard's desperate."

"What, possessing me?"

Samael nodded.

I swallowed the bile in my throat. "Okay."

Pain shot through me as Samael settled into my bones. Shadowy wings sprouted from my back, and I took off.

Relax, Shannon. I'll handle this.

My limbs moved of their own accord as I diced angels to bits, severing their wings, severing their hands. I flew among valkyries and goddesses. Samael's bloodlust burned in my gut. Asgard's forces corralled the angels towards the heaven's gate and drove them back until only Michael was left, warring against Odin, Loki, and Thor.

Loki flew, aided by a feather cloak, and Odin's steed raced across the air like it was earth. They wove circles around Michael, who lashed out with his flaming sword. He drew a shallow cut from Loki's shoulder, and the trickster fell back. Suddenly, there was an opening, and I sailed towards the archangel, clavis raised.

A look of disgust passed over Michael's face. "You're possessing her, brother? Only you would stoop so low."

"Samael's not the one attacking innocents," I said, clavis singing as it met Michael's sword. I parried his strike.

Michael's eyes seared. "Asgard is hardly innocent. Odin's warmongering knows no bounds, and Loki's mischief has brought ruin to worlds. They're false spirits. They must be purged in God's name."

"You're justifying genocide," I said. "Your Father is insane."

I misstepped. Michael's sword was at my throat. It was a cold fire – it didn't burn.

"You've been drinking Samael's poison, Shannon," Michael said. "He's feeding you lies."

"All I see is blood, Michael," I said. "Please. Don't hurt me."

Michael lowered his sword. His face darkened. "I can't hurt you, Shannon," he said softly. "Father wouldn't want that, nor would I. You're His daughter, just like I am His son."

Samael snarled in anger. _Father speaks in riddles once a decade, if that. How can Michael know what He wants? None of us know what He wants - what the damn point to all this suffering is!_

"Samael, calm down," I said. His wrath made my grip on the clavis unsteady.

Michael furrowed his brows. He looked to Odin and Thor, who had their weapons pointed at him, then back over his shoulder, to where Henry was silhouetted against the heaven's gate, keeping the portal open. Michael spoke: "My twin will corrupt you, Shannon, just like he did Eve. You'll wake up with your life in ruins and your dreams charred to ash. Do you want that?"

Arrogant bastard.

"I'd rather cast my lots with Death than live a lie in Heaven," I said.

"So be it." With that, Michael flew into the white portal. Henry lowered his clavis, and the heaven's gate began to shrink.

"Oi, what the bloody hell are you doing here?" Henry said.

"Fixing the damage you've caused," I said.

"Damage? What kind of Christian are you?" Henry said. "These things are demons. You're supposed to kill the evil buggers."

"I'm agnostic!" I said.

"Whatever, mate. Guess I'll see you around." The gate closed.

_Time to lock it, Shannon_.

I twisted my clavis and sealed the portal.

"Woo!" Loki said. He clapped me on the back. Blood flowed onto his feather cloak. "What style. Sam, that was ingenious – using the girl to play on Michael's heartstrings."

We landed in the ruins of Asgard. Samael poured out of me in black smoke. I coughed and sunk to the ground.

"Shannon?" Samael said, kneeling beside me. "Shannon, are you alright?"

"I'm fine." I sputtered.

Samael draped his robe over my shoulder and helped me up. He wore cargo pants and a sweater. I leaned against him, weak.

"He could have slit my throat," I said, voice hoarse.

"Michael wouldn't do that," Samael said.

We walked to a great wooden hall on the outskirts of Asgard. Crews were putting out fires and collecting the dead. Odin watched atop his steed as the wounded filed in through the entrance. Loki followed us, clutching his injured shoulder.

"Close call, eh Sam?" Loki said. He went to the side of a golden-haired woman who was tending to Heimdall. "How is he, Idunn?"

Idunn pressed a compress to Heimdall's brow. "He's recuperating. Get me an apple, Loki, from my basket over there. I'll see to you next."

Loki did as she said.

"Why don't the gods automatically heal like you do?" I asked Samael.

Samael sat at a long table and motioned for me to join him. "The Norse gods are more mortal than immortal. They eat Idunn's apples to remain youthful. She's critical to their survival."

Idunn grinned. "Thanks for the compliment, Sam."

I sat next to Samael. Food materialized before me – roast pig stuffed with apples, a flagon of mead, stew, and hearty bread. Samael downed the mead. Hunger reared in my stomach.

A cold wind came from behind me. I turned to see Odin, his eyes like storms. "Help yourself. You need your strength," he said. Two ravens perched on his shoulders. He petted one's neck. It croaked in appreciation. "Samael, I trust Gerd and Magni are well?"

Samael nodded. "They are, Odin. Very trusty birds. I gave them to Shannon."

I paused between bites of bread. "Wait – Gog and Magog?"

Odin chuckled low. "You renamed them, Sam? Well, I hope they serve you well, daughter of Embla." Odin raised a horn of mead. "To your propitious arrival."

Loki, shoulder bandaged, clacked his flagon against Odin's cup. "Hear hear."

I spent the night enthralled by Loki's tales and Odin's riddles, none of which I guessed right. Thor came in midway through the evening and challenged me to a match of Hnefatafl, which was basically Viking chess. I lost miserably.

"You have no mind for strategy, Shannon," Samael said, amused.

I glared at him. "Yeah? You haven't seen me play checkers. I'm lethal."

Thor laughed. "We have a checkers set somewhere. Perhaps you two should play."

"It's on," I said.

Thor produced the board game. I was red, Samael black. A battle ensued.

"King me!" I said.

Samael narrowed his eyes. "How did you do that?"

"King me again!"

I won.

I cracked my knuckles. "Aren't you supposed to be unbeatable, Sam, being death and all?"

Samael frowned. "You're thinking of chess."

"Does this mean I get a year added onto my life?"

"Don't push it, worm."

**Chapter 1** **7**

The following weeks fell into a rhythm – research with Arietta in the afternoon and training with Samael in the evenings. Michael made advances into the pagan realms. I found myself battling angels in Olympus, fighting seraphs in the aboriginal Dreaming, slaying cherubim in the Aztec afterlife, and pummeling ophanim in the home of the Tuatha dé Danann. I got drinks with the Morrigan and danced with Coyote, making rounds through different pantheons and reading up on their mythology afterward. It was a crash course in the supernatural, and I barely kept up with my studies.

February came. I hunched over my desk, studying methylation for genetics. Rosanna looked up from painting her toenails. She waggled her foot at me.

I laughed. "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing," she said, dipping her brush into the bottle of cherry red paint. She swiped a streak on her big toe.

"You've been grinning all day, Rosanna. Obviously, something's up."

Finished adding a top coat, she closed the bottle. "You won't like it," she said in a sing-song voice.

"Try me."

She stood up and twirled around, lacy black skirt billowing. "Mo asked me out, and I said yes!"

I groaned. "No, ew! Not my brother! Anyways, I thought you just had flings."

Rosanna laughed. "I'm making an exception for the meathead. His calves are to die for."

"I did not need to hear that, Rosanna. This is my twin we're talking about."

Rosanna pouted. "You're no fun, Shannon. You haven't dated anyone since Baxter. Live a little, chica."

I blushed. "Um, that's not entirely true."

"Wha?" Rosanna said. "You've been keeping secrets from me? Qué terrible!" She flopped onto her bed and hung her head over the edge. She looked at me upside-down. "Dish, chica."

I twiddled my thumbs. "It's embarrassing, Rosanna. I don't want to talk about it."

Rosanna pursed her lips. "Shannon! Please? Stop being mysterious."

My cheeks burned. "Sam kissed me," I muttered.

Rosanna gasped. "Dios mio. The Tarot cards were right. If only my abuela could see me now."

"No, Rosanna, it's not like that. I don't like him." I looked at the floor. "Okay, I do, but that's not the point. The point is that he's creepy, and rude, and a pile of bones. It's gross. I can't see myself with him. It'd be like dating a mummy."

My roommate laughed. "But he's cute, Shannon, when he's not the Grim Reaper. Didn't you say he has abs?"

"But they're just an illusion!"

Rosanna shrugged. "I mean, can you touch them?"

I sighed. "I don't know, Rosanna. I haven't touched Death's abs."

"But you want to."

"I don't know. I don't know what I want."

Rosanna rolled onto her stomach. "Do you think his skin would be cold? Like a vampire's?"

I snorted. "Like a corpse, you mean. He's pale as paper."

My roommate bit her lip. "Do angels... can they even?"

I raised my brows. "What, Rosanna?"

It was Rosanna's turn to blush. "You know. Can they make angel babies?"

"Well, considering I was almost raped by one, I'm guessing yes." I shivered at the memory of Jeqon.

Rosanna's eyes widened. "Sorry, Shannon. I didn't mean to remind you."

My hands balled into fists. "No, it's okay. I'm just determined to kill those bastards." I shook my head. "Immortals see humans as objects. The Claimed are treated like commodities. Asmodeus has a huge harem of men and women, and Rofocale uses her Claimed as militia. They're servants, fucks, or both. I know Sam doesn't have any Claimed, but I can't stop wondering if he sees me the same way - as a means to an end."

Rosanna pillowed her head on her arms. "I think he likes you for who you are, Shannon. He wanted to go to your art show, and he keeps sharing personal things with you – his favorite movies, his horrible band. Didn't he get you a sketchbook for Christmas?"

I glanced at the untouched gift on my shelf. "Yeah. I don't want to use it. It's too pretty."

Rosanna sat up and walked over to the sketchbook. She traced the cover. "Roses and crows, eh? That's morbidly romantic."

There was a light knock at the door. "Come in!" I said.

Divya opened the door, followed by Seth Yoon, her on-again off-again boyfriend. She had a bottle of sparkling cider in hand. "We're watching a Bollywood movie, girls, and you're both invited."

We watched it in the lounge and drank the cider from plastic cups. Rosanna texted Mo, and as the two couples beside me cuddled, I got a sinking feeling in my gut. Would I ever have a normal relationship, now that I was something more than human?

My friends were deeply absorbed in the movie, but my mind drifted. Something pecked on the window behind me. I looked to see Gog and Magog – or Gerd and Magni – perched in a tree beside Samael. The Grim Reaper pressed his nose to the glass. I rolled my eyes.

"I have to go, guys," I said.

"But Shannon, we're about to get to the dance sequence," Divya said.

"I'll watch it later, okay?" I went to my room to get my coat, then went down to the porch. Samael was on a rocking chair, smoking. Gog pecked for bugs in his hair.

He exhaled a snake of smoke. It slithered up to the clouds. "Hello worm." Gog bit his ear. "Ow."

I looked at the moon. "It's late, Sam."

He rocked in his chair. "It's 9 PM, and it's Friday. The night is young. Shouldn't you be at a kegger?"

I frowned. "Why are you so fascinated by keggers?"

He stubbed his cigarette out under his boot. "It's Valentine's Day tomorrow, worm."

I looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights. "It is?"

He laughed low.

"I forgot," I said.

He rose, hair a dark curtain. "I'll help you remember."

"Sam..."

"What?" He cupped my face with a single hand. "You looked lonely inside. By yourself in a crowd."

I didn't draw back. "There were only four other people, Sam."

"It doesn't matter. I know that feeling, all too well." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

I shivered. "It's cold out here."

"Then let's go somewhere else."

Before I could protest, he summoned a portal, and we were sitting on his bed. His room, usually a disaster zone, was almost clean. He hastily swiped a belt to the floor, then snapped his fingers. The lights dimmed.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" I said, inching away from him.

He lay down on the comforter. "No. I wanted to show you something."

"What?"

"The Cave of Souls." He patted the pillow next to him. "Come here, Shannon."

I narrowed my eyes. "Are you sure you're not trying to seduce me?"

He blew air through his teeth. "Will you just trust me?"

"Fine." I lay on my back beside him and stared up at the bed canopy. "What now?"

He took my hand in his. "Close your eyes."

I did.

"Now open them."

The room was gone, leaving only the bed. Darkness stretched around us – rich and cool, like the embrace of Mother Earth. We were in a cave, if caves were cathedrals, and pews carved of stone. Candles lined the stone, rising up the walls into oblivion. Some were full tallows, others dying flames. One melted to burnt wick, and the wax reformed itself into a pillar, lighting anew. It smelled like possibility, a great untapped well of things to come.

"Where is this?" I said.

Samael smiled, eyes like glaciers. "The base of the Tree of Knowledge. It's a place out of time. It has always existed, yet never will be."

Sure enough, roots hung from the ceiling, dripping water onto stalagmites. I caught a droplet on my hand.

"What are the candles?" I asked, feeling the answer in my bones.

Samael looked upon them fondly. "Souls. Aren't they beautiful?"

"They are." I watched another tallow die. "What happens when they go out?"

"They pass on, and another soul takes their place." He squeezed my hand. "Do you like it?"

"I do. It's quiet." I breathed deeply. "The air's nice. It clears your head."

Samael threaded his arm under my waist. "I come here when I feel lonely. When I need to think. In this cave, I'm surrounded by countless lives, innumerable loves and joys. I can take them all in. It comforts me."

I looked into the deep pools of his eyes. "I like it when your façade's gone, Sam. You're an old soul. Like, bajillions of years old. You have an interesting perspective."

He pulled me close. "My façade?"

"Your prickly exterior. When you're like this, you're actually tolerable."

He rested his chin atop my head and folded his wings around me. "Tolerable. That's an improvement from scaring you."

"You're moving up in life."

He laughed. "I could spend all night like this. With you in my arms. Your heart beating against me. It's like a hummingbird's wings: so fragile, but so strong."

I thought back to Rosanna's words and noticed that his skin, though not as hot as a human's, was still mildly warm. I absently wondered about his abs.

"What's on your mind, Shannon?"

I noticed his shapely biceps. "Oh. Deep, deep thoughts. The usual."

He traced lazy circles down my spine. "My little philosopher."

I toyed with one of his feathers. "I hate philosophy. It's a waste of time."

Samael chuckled. "All pursuits are worthwhile if you love them – ow!"

I dropped the feather I'd plucked. "Whoops."

"Why did you do that, maggot?"

"It was tempting."

"If that's the case..." He slid his hand down my back and fondled my ass.

"Sam!" I said, swatting his hand away. "The hell!'

"But it was so tempting."

I blushed. "I take back my old soul comment. You're a frat boy."

He grinned. "I do love keggers."

I rolled so my back was facing him. "Just when I thought we were having a conversation, you act like a pig. I can't even talk to you."

He caught my hand in his. "Shannon, don't say that. You can always talk to me."

I pulled free of his grasp. "About what? You think everything is a joke."

His breath stirred the fine hairs at the base of my neck. "I don't think you're a joke." He crossed his arms around my waist, trapping me. His lips skimmed my shoulder. "I take you very seriously."

I sighed. "What are we, Sam? I mean, do demons even go on dates? Don't they just corrupt girls then move on?"

Samael laughed. "We do what people do – some look for quick fucks, others get married. There's a widely varied spectrum."

I turned to face him. "But what do you want from me?"

"To see you smile." He tweaked my nose.

I batted his hand away. "Don't do that, Sam. It's annoying."

"Mmm." He kissed my brow. "Your soul tastes like absinthe. It's intoxicating."

"You lied. You are trying to seduce me."

He chuckled. "Maybe." He trailed his mouth down my jaw, to my lips. I breathed in his scent, like autumn spice. Heat sprang from my solar plexus. I knitted my arms behind his shoulders and leaned into him, lips questioning.

He slid his hands down my hips. His fingers skimmed my outer thighs. I brushed black hair from his face and sucked at the hollow under his throat. He groaned and dug his fingers into my skin. Samael sought my lips with urgency, kiss burning.

"I want you like Hell's fires want water," he said, voice rough.

I nipped his ear. "Eternal damnation. What a turn on."

"Shannon," he exhaled. He eased me onto my back and set to unbuttoning my sweater. He paused at the sight of my cherry petal-colored bra. "I hate pink," he said.

I ran my hands down the thick muscles of his back. "It's my favorite color."

"Then I suppose it's allowed." He kissed the center of my décolletage and sucked lightly on my skin. His fangs were twin points of pressure. He cupped my ass and ran his tongue down the rise of breast exposed by my bra. I shivered.

"You're practically predatory," I said.

Samael smirked. "I could eat you, you know. You're delectable."

"Great. I'm in bed with a cannibal."

He gave a purr of laughter.

Samael unhooked my bra and guided it off my shoulders. I gasped as his mouth circled my breast's peak. He breathed lightly on my nipple then rolled it with his tongue.

I dug my hands into his back, electric zings shooting through my nerves. A pulse of pleasure built in my core and I ached, ached for him. He lowered me onto my back and kissed a trail to my navel, then pinned my hands behind my head with his wings.

I clutched at his feathers, so much like clouds, giving way to the sensation. He focused on the jut of my hip bone and cupped my breasts, working my flesh like clay. Samael moaned, a deep sound that made my hairs stand on end. He looked up, and his eyes were like black holes, sucking in light. Like they wanted to consume me.

His smile was crooked. "I am so terribly hungry," he teased, unzipping my jeans.

My eyes widened as he zeroed in on my panties. "That kind of eating?" I shivered.

He chuckled, but didn't respond. Samael slid off my pants and tossed them onto the floor. Gently, he spread my legs, then pressed his lips to my inner thigh. He nipped me playfully.

I knotted my hands in his wings. "You bastard!"

He nestled his head between my legs. "I've been called worse."

He smoothed his hands over my knees and began kissing me, working his way up to my groin. Pressure built in my stomach as he mouthed my labia, running his tongue over the warm wetness flowing from my core.

"Oh!" I gasped.

He groaned, then ripped off my panties. "I want you, Shannon," he breathed. "All of you. You're the sweetest thing in this world, save fresh-strained absinthe."

I jabbed him with my foot. "You're such an alcoholic."

"Relax," he said, voice husky.

His voice sent tremors through me. I swelled below, shining pink and slick. He eased my lower lips open and slid a finger in, then flicked his tongue over my clit. Heat seemed to flow from his mouth to my flesh.

I drew in a sharp breath. "Oh God," I said, digging my fingers into the joint of his wings.

He paused. "You had to say my Father's name, didn't you? What an utter turn-off."

"I'll tell you where you can take your daddy complex and shove it."

He grinned, then began anew.

Samael's tongue was rapid, serpentine, a testament to his demonic nature. The friction built and built, blissful fire spearing into me. I shuddered as time stretched out like grains of sand in an hourglass. Aching, aching – too much. I arched my back, leaning into him.

"Shit!" I cried out, on the verge of orgasm. He plunged his tongue into me and brought me over the edge. It was like a supernova across my vision, blossoms of flame licking my skin.

My orgasm cleared, and I found myself spooned by Samael. He stroked my hair and pressed kisses to my neck. "I've waited for this for so long," he whispered.

Samael's voice was tantalizing. Longing burned in me, and his erection pressed into my back, hinting at further possibilities. I clasped his hands in mine and rolled over so that I was facing him. "That was amazing," I breathed, bringing my lips to his.

He moaned as I reached under his robe and teased his shaft. "Are you sure?" he asked, eyes hooded.

I nodded yes, untying his robe. "You're a skeleton half the time. Jumping your bones seems like the natural next step."

He snorted, hugging me to him. "You think you're so clever with your insults and wordplay. I think you're just ashamed to admit you like me."

I smiled. "Shut up, Sam. That was a good pun."

He was about to issue a retort when I mouthed the head of his cock. He sucked in air and cursed. I licked its head, and he razed his wings up my back. I sucked, creating pressure as I deep-throated his long, thick member, barely able to contain him.

" _Shannon_ ," he moaned, running his hands through my hair.

I worked his shaft, licking the precum from its tip. I kneaded his ass with my hands and bobbed my head up and down. His breaths came hard and heavy. Desire flared in me and I ached below, wanting to be filled.

"Fuck, do you have a condom?" I paused to ask.

His eyes simmered. "Getting pregnant by an immortal is more complicated than that. I can control it."

"Oh," I said. "Well then..."

He sat up, stroking my back. "Shannon, I don't want you to feel pressured," he said gently.

Lust was a haze on my mind, but piercing it was how right this felt. How right Samael was.

"If we don't do this now, I'll regret it for the rest of my life," I said. "I need to know why. Why every time you touch me, it feels like a runner's high. Like I'm miles off the ground, racing after stars."

Samael cupped my breasts and rolled his thumbs over their peaks. "In that case, it would be my pleasure."

He guided me with molasses hands onto my back and devoured my neck with kisses. Gently parting my legs, he teased my clit with the head of his cock, creating delicious friction. I gasped as Samael grinded against me.

He swelled even larger, working himself into my core. The impact was like an asteroid crash, obliterating all in its path. We both moaned. Samael pumped into me at an agonizingly slow pace, teasing me. I raked my nails down his back and he cursed, picking up speed until he was going mercilessly fast, rubbing against my clit and sending electricity through my limbs. Time ground to a halt in the Cave of Souls, and it was just him and me, immersed in one another, like two vines twisting up to the moon. The candles flared, bathing us in light.

He scooped me up with his wings so that I was on his lap. My hips met his thrusts in perfect measure, and my guts flared, stomach rubbing against his abs. He buried his head in the crook of my neck and breathed in deep, murmuring in an old, old language, one that was incomprehensible. I wrapped my arms round his shoulders and rode him, my head turned up towards infinity.

Tension built until it spilled out between us like pearls from a broken necklace, and we both cried out, uttering each others' names. My orgasm broke a dam in my depths, and liquid ecstasy spilled out. His seed was hot inside me. I shuddered, spent.

Samael lay me down gently and nestled me against his chest. He pillowed his head on my breasts. Light snoring came from him.

I looked down to see his eyes closed. The Reaper was firmly asleep.

"Sam?" I said, prodding him.

He refused to budge. "This is perfect." He went back to snoring.

I looked up at the roots suspended above us. "I'm not tired, Sam."

He placed two fingers on my brow and slipped sleep into my mind. I was knocked out within seconds.

His words drifted across my sinking hearing:

"I love you, Shannon."

**Chapter 1** **8**

We bobbed in a boat fit for Charon. I stared at the claret river and reeled in my lure. "I didn't know the Styx had fish."

Samael removed his hook from something that looked like a bloodthirsty salmon. He tossed it into the bucket. "It has a lot of things. The Leviathan, mermaids, corpses-"

Something bit my line. "Oh! Oh! I got one!"

My fishing pole was tugged forward with tremendous force, sending me over the edge. I splashed into the river.

"Great," I said, treading water. "My clothes are ruined."

Samael laughed. "You're abysmal at fishing."

"It's not my fault these fish take steroids," I said. I pulled myself back into the boat. It was my third time falling in. Grim-faced, I sat down in a puddle of my own making. "I don't see how this is supposed to be fun."

Something bubbled in the water, and my fishing pole rose to the surface, attached to an angry demon. He clutched a soaked morning paper – _Hell's Herald_. The demon waved the paper angrily. "I'm trying to read, Samael. Stop fishing in my shoal."

Samael cast his line again. "But Leviathan, this is where the fish bite."

Leviathan dislodged my hook from his ear-fin. "This is the third time you've caught me. I think you're doing it on purpose."

"Don't blame me. It's her you're after." Samael pointed at me.

"Sam! You didn't tell me this was someone's home," I said.

Samael snorted. "This isn't Leviathan's home. He squats here. The bum doesn't want to pay property taxes - he thinks they're a conspiracy."

Leviathan's gills flared. "Money is an illusion, Sam. Just like the skin you wear. We should live free of it, in the wild depths from which we come." With that, Leviathan dove back into the Styx. His mermaid tail splashed me.

Samael jigged his line. "Damn hippie."

I lay on my back and watched clouds drift by. "It's Valentine's Day, and I smell like fish. How romantic."

"And what experience do you have with romance, maggot?"

I thought back to Peter. "My last boyfriend was romantic. He got me flowers all the time, held the door open for me, iced my sprained ankles at track meets. Too bad that didn't last."

Death glanced at me. "What happened?"

I shrugged. "After we slept together, things changed. We didn't get along as much, and after graduation, we grew apart. I wanted to come to college unattached."

Samael's face hazed over in thought. "Lilith hated romance. She thought it was about men infantilizing women. Eve, though – she thought it was sweet. I used to garden in Eden, and I always gave her cuttings from flowers. If Adam named animals, Eve named all the plants. She loved greenery."

I looked up at the round disc of the sun. "Who were you with first? Lilith or Eve?"

Samael reeled in his line and sat at the prow of the boat. "Eve. Lilith, for the longest time, was uninterested in men. She was in love with Eve. They would spend hours together, making up games, chasing each other through the woods. The two had their own secret language. When Eve died, Lilith turned to me. We found comfort in each other."

I let his sentence hang in the air. "You mean Lilith and Eve were, erm, together?"

"Is that so shocking?"

I shaded my face with my hands. "But I thought you and Eve were together."

"Eve loved us both in different ways, just like she loved Adam. That, I never understood."

I blushed. "My past life got around a lot."

Samael took off his robe and lay down in his swimming trunks. He attempted to tan. "Don't be embarrassed, Shannon. She's not you, not really. Her soul's just been recycled."

I shook my head. "I don't like girls. Like at all."

Samael stretched. "That's fine. Eve was willing to try anything once."

I blew a strand of hair from my face. "You must have been really close. Being her guardian angel and all."

The Reaper lowered his sunglasses. "I watched her grow up. I knew her pretty well."

A fish jumped beside the boat. "I don't like it. Being someone else. It's weird."

Samael yawned. "Is it?"

I dangled my arm over the boat so my fingers skimmed the water. "Yeah."

Death pillowed his head on his arms. "You know, we change so much during our lives, it's like we're constantly becoming different people. I'm nothing like I was when I was the Lightbringer. I don't think you should worry about it so much."

We retired from fishing shortly thereafter. After a quick shower, I went back home despite Samael's protests, insisting I had to study for my genetics test on Monday. It was still 7:00 PM, Friday night on Earth, and I found myself unable to sleep, having woken up only a few hours before.

The weeks blended together, and I made headway on my spider research, producing a generation of aggressive spiders and one of docile ones. Arietta and I ran a gamut of tests on the young. In my ceramics class, at which I was miserable, I attempted to make pots and sculptures, only to end up with lumps of clay that could most generously be described as abstract. I lived for Ecology 101 and Dr. Crane's insightful lectures. I ran out of space in the nature journal we kept for class, so I decided to use the sketchbook Samael had given me.

March rolled in, bringing rain, and coaxed early flowers to bloom, all of which I chronicled in the sketchbook's silky pages. Battles with Michael stalled, and it seemed we had reached a stalemate. Samael said his twin didn't want to risk my injury and was most likely testing me.

"Why? Why would Michael do that? This isn't a game," I said, blocking Samael's scythe with my clavis. We were on the fields behind his estate, honing my fighting skills. Though Samael's powers were transferred to me during possession, it was more effective if I practiced.

Samael relented. "He wants to see if you're capable of reassembling the Lapis Exillis. Then he'll know he's in deep shit. You can already use my scythe, quite well. It's only a matter of time until we move on to the other archdemons' weapons."

I rested. "Right, I almost forgot about that thing. What do I have to do to use it?"

"Each shard of the Lapis Exillis is attuned to a different archdemon. You'd have to be possessed by all seven of them to reassemble it."

I shivered. "It's one thing when you possess me – I know you. But the other archdemons creep me out, even if they're your friends. I'm still not very comfortable with the whole demon thing."

Samael sharpened his scythe with a whetsone. He lazed on a wooden fence. "Which is why we'll move gradually."

Anxiety gripped me. "What if I can't do it? What if being possessed by so many demons hurts me? What if I die?"

"I won't let that happen, Shannon." He tucked his whetstone into his pocket. "You did well today. You've improved dramatically since August."

"Thanks." I paused. "Sam, about what you said the night before Valentine's Day - I can't stop thinking about it."

He looked at me blankly. "I said something?"

I looked at my feet. "Yeah. When we were in the cave. You said you, um, well. You said the L-word."

"Damn it. I thought you were asleep."

I blushed. "How can you say you love me and call me 'worm?' It's like you look down on me."

His lips drew thin. "I don't look down on you, Shannon. It's a term of affection. Worms are valuable to the ecosystem - they decompose things. Would you prefer I call you maggot? Or larva? Perhaps nematode?-"

"Sam, stop. Stop avoiding what matters."

"What?"

"Your... the way you feel about me. And how I feel about you."

Black slashed across my vision. Pain shot through my head.

"Shannon!" Samael said.

Something warm rolled down my neck. I crumpled to the ground, waterfalls in my ears.

"Touch her, and I'll slice her neck clean through," came a bell-like voice.

Cold metal pressed against me. My surroundings spun. "The hell?" I moaned, struggling to move.

The metal bit into my flesh. I yelped.

The clarion voice came again: "Move, mortal, and your head comes off. All I need is your heart."

I lay still.

"Damn Nephilim," Samael said. He brandished his scythe.

I heard a revolver click. "Take a step closer, and I'll shoot. Adamantine stings, doesn't it?"

Samael froze. "You're bluffing. She's too valuable to kill."

"To you, maybe. But for my father, all we need is what you gave her, so many eons ago."

Samael bared his fangs. "Who's bastard are you?"

A plump figure stepped into my vision. She had olive skin and long, black ringlets of hair. "I am Raziel's daughter, he who mends the fabric of the universe. My name is Noor. I am no bastard."

Samael's lips drew thin. "And what does Raziel want with my heart?"

Noor narrowed her eyes. "My father has looked into the threads of fate and seen the chaos the Magdalene will cause. She needs to be terminated, for the good of all worlds. Her heart – yours – will be used to power the disalignment of the pagan realms and ensure Heaven's dominion. We intend to use her properly."

"Why are you so forthcoming with information, Noor?" Samael said, still not moving.

Noor gave a quick laugh. "Because there is nothing you can do. We are bold enough to do what Michael cannot. Your twin is soft, too soft. It is his undoing."

Samael's temple throbbed. "Michael's honor is the only thing that's held Heaven together under my Father's despotic reign. Your father is a bastard, Noor. He's only in it for himself. You're Raziel's tool – nothing more. Why else would he have sired you?"

Pain pounded my head.

Noor's eyes flashed. "I'm not my father's tool. I'm his daughter. The love he has for me is something you would never understand, heartless as you are."

Something bled down the back of my throat. I coughed up gore.

"Don't move!" Noor said.

"Sorry." I gagged.

"Let me heal her, Nephilim," Samael said. "She's losing blood."

Noor cocked her gun to the side. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

Samael roared. He launched at Noor, who fired a round into his chest. The Reaper stumbled to my side, bleeding profusely.

"Damn adamantine!" he said. He slashed Noor with his scythe, drawing a deep cut across her back.

Noor cried out. "To hell with both of you!"

Samael could barely stand. "Shannon, run," he said. "That bullet was blessed by Metatron. It's too potent. I have to fight dirty - things will get ugly. I don't want you to see."

Noor struggled closer. She clutched her back.

I panicked. "I can't run, Sam. I can't stand."

He cursed, then turned to Noor. "You picked the wrong day to piss me off, Nephilim."

Noor gritted her pearly teeth. "Did I?" She spread yellow canary wings, the feathers streaked with blood.

"Oh yes." Samael's body disintegrated into a cloud of darkness. He expanded, bitingly cold, and enveloped Noor. Noor screamed, waving her sword and gun, trying to fight him back as he choked her lungs. Samael slipped into her orifices and possessed her. Her spine cracked; her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Noor's body contorted into impossible positions. She shrieked. I flinched at the ghastly sight. She levitated feet in the air, limbs askew, teeth gnashing.

Someone grabbed me and slipped a mask over my head. I screamed.

"Shannon!" Samael cried out through Noor's throat. Her body thumped to the ground.

"Contain him, Noor," came a familiar voice – Azazel, the Irin with jagged teeth. Cold arms lifted me off the ground.

I couldn't see past the mask. Someone carried me away. There was a great pounding; things crashed. The iron scent of blood pervaded the air. Noor's screams laced with Samael's curses.

"Let me go!" I said, weakly kicking my captor. All strength had fled me, and I was dizzy from the beating Noor had given me.

"Shut her up, Azazel," said another Irin – Sariel.

"I'll do it," came a silky voice. Semyaza. He punched the base of my spine, and I blacked out.

**Chapter** **19**

I awoke in chains, strapped to a gurney in what looked like an abandoned hospital. The ceiling had caved in at the corners, and operating tables were strewn across the room. The Irin stood round me, and an olive-skinned angel loomed at the head of my bed. He had the same features as Noor. The angel flipped a scalpel between his forefinger and thumb.

"She's come to, Raziel," Semyaza said. His eye-hollows bore into me.

The March air bit at my skin. My torso ached. I looked down to see my shirt ripped open. Incisions crisscrossed my chest, sewn up with thick stitches. I screamed.

"Hush, darling girl," Raziel said, voice comforting. "I was just probing around. You'll live."

"What have you done to me?" I said.

Raziel smiled. "I've assessed you. You really are our dear Eve. Don't you remember me? I taught you to sew."

I cried. "No. No you didn't. You're a monster."

Raziel chuckled. "No, Samael's a monster. I'm an archangel. But you, you have an archangel's heart. A very special heart. The first seal of the Apocalypse."

I paled. "What did you say?"

Raziel wiped my blood off his scalpel. "Samael is the fourth horseman of the Apocalypse. He is the master of the horsemen, and his heart is the key to unlocking the first apocalyptic seals."

I struggled against my chains. "The Apocalypse? But Noor said you were going to disalign the pagan realms. Not start the end of the world."

Raziel's smile thinned. "My daughter is too faithful to my Father. She wouldn't understand the beautiful fruition of my plan."

"So you decided to side with the Irin?"

Raziel shrugged. "These gentlemen are my brothers, darling. We're thick as thieves. Anyhow, the Irin and I have a long history of experimentation. No one quite understands my endeavors like them."

Azazel smiled. "We've been through a lot, haven't we, Raziel? We've shared wives, taught humans marvels, been misunderstood by our Father. It's a pity you weren't imprisoned with us in Dudael. You learn much, watching centuries pass. Waiting to be released."

Raziel set his scalpel down on the gurney. "I was busy during your imprisonment, Azazel, searching for the other seals. I needed to wait until the right opportunity to free you."

Azazel nodded. "I understand, brother. And here we are. Our dreams finally realized."

Semyaza removed latex gloves. They were stained with my blood. "Her biology is fascinating, Raziel. Seemingly human, yet not. However did you manage to form her?"

"Form me?" I said. Sweat beaded my brow.

Raziel wiped my blood from his hands. "I'm the angel of secrets, Shannon. And what is a secret but a hidden desire? I know things the Lord does not. I see things my Father cannot. The universe is my tapestry, its secrets my threads. I knew Eve's wish at the hour of her death, and I granted it. She wanted to escape mortality, so I helped her. I guided your ancestors and inspired them to produce a genetic line close to the original woman, until one day, you were born: the identical match of Eve, down to the last nucleic acid. And aren't you a marvel? The Whore of Babylon, mate of the Beast. Eve, the mother of sin."

"Did you call me a whore?" I said.

Raziel placed a hand on my shoulder. "No. But humanity does. What else would they regard Samael's lover as?"

I was flustered. "Lover?"

The Irin laughed.

Raziel squeezed my shoulder. "Just wait. You two will fall into your old pattern: loving and hating, bringing ruin wherever you go. The Whore rides the Beast and brings reckoning to Earth. Your destinies are entwined, and I will not stop you. On the contrary, I will help."

"Help me destroy the world?" I said.

Raziel brushed hair back from my sweaty head. "No, darling. I will help you make it anew."

I choked back bile. "You're mad, Raziel."

Raziel glanced at the manacles on my wrists and ankles. They unlocked, leaving white marks on my skin. "Sit up, darling."

I gathered my shirt, trying to cover my breasts.

Azazel laughed. He knocked my hands away from my sweater, letting the fabric fall open. "Now now, Eve. Modesty never became you."

Anger heated my stomach. "I hate you all!" I spat in his eye socket.

Azazel wiped the spittle away, grinning. "That's the spirit."

"What are we waiting for, brothers?" Sariel said. "Let's put this bitch to work."

"No, Sariel. The dear girl is scared. We will treat her with the utmost delicacy," Raziel said. He swept my chains to the floor and offered me his hand. I swatted it away.

"Get away from me, you freak," I said.

Raziel edged closer. "I'm your benefactor, darling. Can't you see? I'm helping you fulfill the purpose you were born for."

I wished to high heaven for my clavis. It had been knocked out of my hand when Noor attacked. "Over my dead body will I help you."

"Darling," Raziel said, voice quiet. "All I need is your heart. Now, will you open it to us, or should we force it from you?"

My arms formed an X over my chest. "No." I shook my head. "No! This is insane. I'm not the fucking Whore of Babylon! Eve I can deal with, but saying I'm some Satanic slut is too much. I won't help you."

"Just what I wanted to hear," Sariel said, taking the scalpel from the gurney. "This is for the lightning bolt-"

Raziel raised a hand to stop him. "Wait, Sariel. Give her a moment to decide. This can be easy, darling, or quite painful. It's your decision."

The Irin closed in, their empty eyes drilling into my brain. I could feel their cold breaths on my skin. Panic made my head swim.

Sariel brought the scalpel to my throat. "All it takes is one cut."

"No."

Sariel pressed the blade into my skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Sariel, stop," Raziel said. "She's more useful alive. There are other ways."

Sariel cursed, but lowered the scalpel. "So that's how you're playing, bitch?" he said. "Should I carve your mother's heart out? Scoop out your father's kidneys? We know where they live. What little tortures will it take to make you comply?"

The blood drained from my face. "You wouldn't."

Azazel chuckled. "Oh, Sariel would."

I looked to Raziel.

The archangel shrugged. "Your family is expendable, darling. You aren't."

I shrieked: "No! I won't let you! Don't lay a finger on them!"

Raziel's haunting smile was back. "All this can be avoided, darling. Just do as I say."

I looked at my feet, defeated. "Okay," I said, voice weak. "Just don't hurt them."

"I knew you'd see the light," Raziel said. "Now, relax, darling, and place your hand over your heart."

I did as he said, arm trembling. "Why are you doing this?"

Raziel put his hands on my shoulders. He leaned in, close. "Think of it as carding wool. The universe needs to be purified – it's too unbalanced. The Apocalypse will do that. It will restore order and give my brothers a place to start over. No judgment, just freedom. Wouldn't you like that, darling girl?"

Tears welled in my eyes. I was silent.

Raziel sighed. "It may be painful now, dear, but you will see the benefits soon enough. Now, close your eyes. Empty your mind. Reach into your heart, and release your fear. Let go of your anger. Be cleansed of it."

I closed my eyes and struggled to be calm. "You sound like a New Age guru," I said, voice strained.

Raziel laughed. "Focus, dear. Be at peace."

I honed in on my heartbeat, remembering the familiar twist of my clavis. I echoed the motion over my chest.

Fire. Fire in my skin. I crumpled onto the gurney. Light poured from my ribs, up through my throat, out my mouth. From my screams rose three riders: one white as a corpse, one red as war, the last dark, like dried blood. The specters raged around the room on burning horses. They galloped up through the ceiling.

Raziel clapped. "War! Pestilence! Famine! Go forth, brothers, seek a host, and make the world anew," the archangel said.

I curled in on myself. My head pounded. I reeled at what I had done. "Why didn't Samael tell me that those – those things were inside me?" I choked. "Am I a monster?"

Azazel grinned, revealing jagged teeth. "Funny how he kept this from you, isn't it? Perhaps he thought you'd run away if you found out that you're the bringer of the Apocalypse."

I tore at my hair. "But he said I was the Magdalene! That I was supposed to save people!"

Semyaza snorted. "Perhaps to Hell, you're a savior. But to Heaven, you're nothing more than the Devil's whore."

"No." I wept. "What have I done?"

Raziel smoothed my hair. "Don't fret, dear. You've begun a glorious undertaking-"

The door fell to the floor. In stormed Damien, in werewolf form, and Samael, his scythe drawn.

"You filthy sons of Gorgons!" Samael said.

The Irin scattered, drawing their guns. Damien sunk his fangs into Sariel's throat.

Samael roared, making for Raziel. Raziel drew silvery thread from his pocket and wove it around the Reaper. Samael tripped, caught in Raziel's web. He tore it apart with his scythe, but by the time he escaped, Raziel had slipped into the hall.

"We'll meet again soon, dear," Raziel called before he vanished into the darkness.

Samael looked to me and cursed. "Shannon, no!" he said. "Damien, they've done something to her. Let the Irin go, I need to heal her."

Damien relaxed his bite. Sariel threw him against a wall. The werewolf slumped to the ground.

Sariel wiped blood from his neck. "Let's go. We can't take on Samael now – the bitch released the powers of the horsemen. He's at full strength."

Azazel and Semyaza nodded. The Irin crashed through a window, out into the night.

Samael's eyes were wild. He came to my side and pulled down my shirt, examining the extent of my surgery. He sucked in air. "Oh god, Shannon. Oh god."

I cried. "They – they operated on me. They made me break the seal. Why didn't you tell me Samael? Why?"

Samael's eyes widened. "They did what?"

"These – these things came out of me. War, Pestilence, and Famine. Goddamnit, Samael, why didn't you tell me I'm the fucking Whore of Babylon?"

He clutched me to him. "Shannon. Shannon. I didn't want to scare you." He bit his lips. "Shannon, I'm so sorry."

I cursed. "It doesn't matter what you wanted, Samael. Raziel chose for me. The Irin were going to hurt my family, to kill them. I couldn't let that happen." I trembled. "But – but now, I don't know what I've done."

Samael rocked me in his arms. "It doesn't matter, Shannon. All that matters is that you're alive. I need to heal you, okay? Lay down-"

"No, I want to get out of here."

"Okay. Okay. I'll take you home."

Damien shifted back to his human form and limped to my side. Tears shone in his eyes. "Sweetheart, please tell me you're alright."

I laughed hoarsely. "I'm far from it, Damien."

Damien sniffled.

The fiery sensation from earlier still lingered, like biting ants under my skin. "It's okay, Damien. I'll – I'll be okay. I think."

**Chapter 2** **0**

When Samael said 'home,' he meant his place. He took me back to the blue room by the courtyard and set to healing me. I was too drained to protest. I only wanted to sleep.

The night dragged into day, and Samael kept a vigil by my bed. My dreams were fevered and mad. I stirred the following afternoon.

"Sam?"

There were dark shadows under his eyes. "Shannon. You're awake." He held my hand gently.

I nodded, body sore. "I started the Apocalypse," I said, voice hollow. "What happens now?"

Samael bowed his head. "The Irin and Raziel are searching for the last seals. Heaven's in chaos, in hot pursuit of a rogue archangel. Michael's pulling out all the stops in order to prevent the Apocalypse, but prospects are grim. The pagan realms are panicking, everyone's scared, but all I can do is worry about you. I don't have time to deal with this."

I pulled the covers over my bandaged chest. "I was a ticking time bomb, and you never told me."

Samael squeezed my hand. "Shannon, the Bible's gossip and prophecies are crapshoots. All that matters is your kindness, your decency. Forget what the Irin called you. There is no Whore of Babylon. No Beast. We don't have to be puppets, acting out scripted roles. We're so much more."

Tears welled in my eyes. "But they were right. All I do is mess things up. I put my friends in danger, my family in danger, humanity in danger. I'm as much of a monster as you are."

Samael sat at the head of my bed. "We're not monsters, Shannon."

I shook. "What else do you call the Devil and the girl who started the end of the world? What happens now? Plagues? Famine? World war? It's all my fault."

Samael put his hands on my shoulders to steady me. "Shannon, calm down. The horsemen won't manifest until the last seal is broken. We still have time."

I pushed his hands away. "No we don't. Everything's gone to shit and there's nothing I can do. They dissected me, Sam. They picked me apart and had their way with my insides. It was worse than Jeqon. At least all he wanted was a quick fuck. No, Raziel had to manipulate my parents, my ancestors. I'm his experiment. Who let you and him toy with my life? You're all the same. Playing god. You're just like your Father!"

Samael's lips drew thin. "Shannon, I've never toyed with you. And you're not an experiment, mine or Raziel's. You don't belong to anyone." He smoothed the covers over me. "I'm nothing like my Father."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Samael furrowed his brows. "You're angry, I understand. Maybe you should do something to relax. I can get you a book, or a movie-"

"I don't want anything from you." I ripped the bandages from my chest. Pink flesh shone where the incisions had been. "You weren't there, Sam. You didn't stop them. You said you'd keep me safe. You said you'd protect me. I'm just eighteen. I'm jobless. I can't legally drink. How the hell am I supposed to defend myself against fallen angels?"

He wrapped his arms around me.

"Let me go!" I beat his chest, pounding my fury onto his skin.

He didn't release me. "Shannon, I failed you. Please forgive me." He stroked my hair.

My fists hurt, so I stopped. "I can't, Sam. Ever since you entered my life, everything's gone to hell. You can't fix this." I wilted against him. "I'm so tired."

He wiped tears from my eyes. "I am too."

I looked up at the crown molding on the ceiling. "I feel so alone, Sam."

He rested his chin on top of my head. "I'm right here, Shannon. You don't have to be afraid."

I bit my lip. "How can you say that with all that's happened?"

He traced my spine. "Because things will be alright. Your story isn't over yet. It may be hard, getting to the final page, but in the end, it will be worth it."

I met his eyes. They swelled with some unnamed emotion.

"How can you believe in happy endings?" I said.

He bowed his head so our noses touched. "Because faith is all I have."

"Faith doesn't matter, Sam. It won't fix anything."

"You don't know that, Shannon."

I laughed hoarsely. "I don't, do I? What do I know? I'm just your whore. It's written in the freaking Bible."

"Shannon, that's not true-"

"Not true? Don't lie to me, Sam. What, are you afraid you'll corrupt me like Eve? Grow a pair, you bastard. You fucked up my life the moment you walked into it. What else could you possibly do?"

He winced. "Shannon, I never meant to hurt you."

"Then why do these horrible things keep happening? Tell me why!"

Tears fell, hot, from his eyes to my cheeks. He cupped my face with his hands. "I don't know, Shannon. I don't know."

I rolled over onto my side and stared at the wall. "I hate you. What you've done to me. What you've let happen."

He dabbed at his eyes. "Please don't say that."

The bluebirds on the wallpaper mocked me. "It's true. You came into my life and left disaster in your wake. I've been threatened, dissected, and nearly raped. What else has to happen? What else do I have to go through?"

"Nothing, Shannon. I won't let anything else happen to you." Samael's face was hollow. "Maybe my Father was right. Maybe I am poison."

"Poison?"

He slumped. "It's what my name means. Poison of God. It's some kind of sick joke. Everything I touch withers. Turns to shit." His human form slipped away, revealing a sad pile of bones. He looked at his hands. "Why should I even bother trying to fool you? I'm nothing but a scourge. All I create is ruin."

My anger cooled. I sat up. "Sam, that's not true."

He made a fist with his phalanges. His shoulders shook. "It is."

I picked his robe up off the floor and draped it over him. I smoothed it down his spine. "I don't hate you, Sam. I'm sorry. I'm just frustrated. Everything's spinning out of control, and I have no one to turn to but you. You're easy to blame."

"Perhaps you should blame me." He sighed. "I thought things would be easier when I met you. I didn't think I'd be putting you in so much danger. But I underestimated the circumstances. I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was put you in harm's way. I don't know how to fix this. I keep miscalculating – focusing on Michael when I should have been focusing on the Irin. I never suspected Raziel. His plan was ingenious – using his daughter to distract me. He knew I would possess her. Noor is strong, too strong. I had to fight my way out of her, and when I emerged, you were gone." Samael shook his head. "I can't believe I let this happen."

I looked at the obnoxiously cheery bluebirds. "The wallpaper in this room sucks. This situation sucks. Everything sucks." I beat my fist into the bed. "God, I have to study for my midterms. It's halfway through the semester, and my life is falling apart. How am I supposed to focus?"

He looked at me with empty eye sockets. "I don't know, Shannon."

But focus I did. Just as I had after Jeqon's attempted rape, I shoved my feelings to the side and went into autopilot, shutting myself in my room to study. I made misshapen blobs in ceramics and narrowly scored a B on my genetics midterm. Only in Ecology 101 did I shine. My nature journal sketches turned dark, filled with crows picking at carrion and rotting logs. Dr. Crane called me up to her office after class, concerned.

"You look sick, Shannon. I'm worried about you," Dr. Crane said, adjusting her glasses. "I know you're doing well on paper – your midterm was excellent – but your nature journal is bordering on the macabre."

The teacup in my hands shook. "Things are kind of hard for me right now, professor."

Dr. Crane nodded. "If you ever need to talk, Shannon, I'm here."

Tears welled up in my eyes. "I was harassed. It's happened before, and each time, afterwards, I close up, afraid. I haven't felt like myself for weeks now."

Dr. Crane's eyes widened. "Have you reported this to the campus police or gone to the counseling center?"

I shook my head. "It's more complicated than that, and they couldn't help. I've already been to the police over winter break. They couldn't do anything. I can't - I can't explain it, Dr. Crane. But I'm constantly scared. I can't sleep."

Dr. Crane reached across the table and placed her hand over mine. "Shannon, this is serious. I'm glad you told me. If there's anything I can do, please let me know."

I nodded.

Dr. Crane squeezed my hand. "Do you still feel up to doing your research, Shannon?"

I wiped the tears from my eyes. "Oh, please, yes, Dr. Crane. I love the spiders."

Dr. Crane smiled gently. "Good. Maybe it will take your mind off what you're going through."

Later that afternoon – the first of April – I was in the lab with Arietta, observing a cross between a docile male spider and an aggressive female from the generations we had bred.

The male displayed and approached the female. The female proceeded to eat him. I cried.

Arietta was at my side in a flash. "Shannon! Shannon? What's wrong?"

"The stupid spider ate its mate! Why is nature so fucked up? Why are demons so fucked up? I feel just like the spiders – a freaking experiment." I slumped against the table, head in my hands.

Arietta hugged me. "You're not, Shannon. Angels and demons are bastards. Don't let them win by thinking they control you. You're so much better than Samael and the Irin."

I looked at the female spider wrapping its mate in silk. "What if I'm not? What if I really am some apocalyptic whore?"

Arietta shook her head. "The Book of Revelations is a pipe dream some hippie apostle had when he was high, Shannon. Don't worry about it. Look, spring break is almost here. You should do something fun to take your mind off everything. Forget Samael. Forget the archdemons. Forget Hell. Just enjoy yourself."

"I can't, Arietta." I wiped snot from my nose. "I'm supposed to go camping on the Appalachian Trail with my friends, but I'm worried. What if the Irin attack? What if Michael comes? I know Samael's warded campus, but he can't ward the entire AT. I feel defenseless."

Arietta's golden eyes lit. "Know what? How about I come with you?"

I sniffled. "Really? You would do that?"

She nodded. "Of course, Shannon. We could look for migrating birds. Maybe we'll even see a cerulean warbler."

I rose from the table. "I'd like that, Arietta."

That weekend, we rented camping gear and tents from the campus recreation center. Divya, Rosanna, Arietta, and I crammed into Arietta's electric car and made the long, three hour drive to Three Ridges Wilderness outside of Charlottesville, Virginia. We were in brewery country, with glorious, rolling hills flushed with spring.

My phone buzzed with a text in the parking lot:

"I MISS YOU, WORM. HAVE FUN."

I didn't reply.

It was a four mile hike, all uphill, to the campgrounds. Mountain laurel bent like old women besides the trail, and promontories overlooking the valley gave excellent views. I breathed in the fresh mountain breeze, redolent in blooming orchids, and for the first time in weeks, felt at peace.

Rosanna sucked in air. "This hike is torture! I don't have muscles, guys. I'm a delicate flower."

Divya laughed. "There's nothing flower-like about you, Rosanna, unless you're thinking of rose thorns."

"We're almost there, Rosanna," Arietta said, sniffing the air with her lupine nose. "I can smell the fire pits."

"So do you eat raw meat, Arietta?" Rosanna asked, curious. "Being a werewolf and all."

Arietta smiled. "I can if I want to. I like a bloody steak, or fresh deer. Plus, I eat hamburgers rare."

"Do you change during the full moon?" Divya asked.

"Yep, but only at night." Arietta plucked a dogwood flower and tucked it behind her ear. "It's fun, really. Going on runs through the woods. I can change any time I want to, though."

"So you can fight off any black bears we meet, eh?" Rosanna said.

"Black bears are shy," I said. "Don't worry, Rosanna. The only thing we need to be concerned about are overcurious squirrels."

We arrived at the campground, a series of clearings with several fire pits, and pitched two tents. Arietta and I bird-watched while Rosanna and Divya got a fire going. Soon, it was time for dinner. We pumped water from the creek using a filter and boiled it over the fire for chili. The meal was delicious, and we lazed around the campfire until late at night, telling ghost stories.

"... and then la Llorona drowned the lost child. The child's soul still wanders Mexico, crying out for his mama," Rosanna said, finishing with a flourish.

"That was uplifting," I said.

Rosanna smiled. "My abuela used to scare me with stories about la Llorona before bed. I have PTSD from them."

"Enough ghost stories. Time for s'mores," Divya said, drawing chocolate bars, graham crackers, and marshmallows from her backpack.

We toasted the marshmallows on sticks and smushed them on top of chocolate between the graham crackers. The goopy bliss melted in my mouth.

"Mmm," I said. I wiped chocolate from my lips. "God, this is so messy."

Something rustled in the bushes behind me. Startled, I turned to see a shadowy silhouette step into the firelight.

"Hello?" Arietta called.

"Oi, mates. What's up?" said the figure – an extremely handsome brunette.

"Henry?" I said, on guard. "Why are you here?"

He made a cutting motion with his hands. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. I come bearing an olive branch."

"How did you find us?" I said.

Henry shrugged. "We're connected, remember? We've been keeping tabs on you, Shannon, trying to keep the Irin off your back."

"Why would you care?" Arietta said, bristling.

Henry narrowed his eyes. "Because if the Irin get ahold of Shannon, they could force her to open more seals. Seeing as the Devil's done a piss-poor job of protecting you, Heaven's been on guard. We don't want more shit to hit the proverbial fan." Henry eyed the marshmallows. "Hey, can I have a s'more?"

"Why would I give you a s'more?" I said. "After all you've done – trying to destroy the pagan realms, trying to kidnap me? We're not friends, Henry."

Henry pursed his lips. "Please, mate? I hiked a long way to find you girls."

I sighed. "Fine."

Henry sat on the log opposite me, toasting a s'more. We looked at him warily.

"You're the idiot who almost killed Shannon on Halloween, aren't you?" Rosanna said, glaring.

"Oi, I didn't hurt her!" Henry said. "If anyone hurt her, it's that bugger Samael."

"You still haven't told us why you're here," Divya said.

Henry paused mid-bite, marshmallow on his lip. "Look, I have a busy life. I'm an engineer in London. I'm about to get married. I don't like this celestial crap anymore than you do. But I'm a good Christian, and if God needs me, I'm there."

"This has nothing to do with God," I said.

"Of course it does," Henry said. "We're dealing with angels and demons, Shannon. What I don't understand is why you side with those nasty demonic buggers. They don't give a toss about you – you're their toy."

I flushed with anger. "That's not true."

Henry swallowed his s'more. "Whatever, mate. Anyways, I'm here because we need your help. Michael's pinpointed the seal. Only the person who opens the seals can destroy them – you."

Gooseflesh raised on my arms. "The next seal? What is it?"

Henry's face darkened. "The Holy Grail."

I dropped the stick I was roasting my marshmallow on. "What? That thing is real?"

Henry nodded. "It was carved from the Lapis Ex Caelis – the stone from Samael's breastplate that Michael grabbed when his brother fell. It's the twin stone of the Lapis Exillis."

My mind reeled. "You mean there are two stones?"

Henry's lips drew thin. "Yep. One's the stone of heaven, the other's the stone of exile. One's evil, one's good. Just like God and the Devil."

I groaned. "Things aren't that black and white, Henry. You've been brainwashed by the angels."

"I haven't," Henry said. "Angels tell the truth. Demons twist words for their own gains. Haven't you read _Faust_?"

"I'm pretty sure Faust brought all of his suffering upon himself," Divya said.

Henry licked chocolate from his lip. "Whatever. We need your help, Shannon, for the good of both Heaven and Hell. The Earth won't be recognizable if the Irin succeed."

I sighed. "Can't I get a single measly day off?"

Henry threw his stick into the fire. "The longer we wait, the closer the Irin get to obtaining the Grail."

"Ugh," I said. "Fine, I'll go. But I won't go without Sam. I need someone to back me up. I don't trust you or the angels, even though we have a common enemy now."

Henry relaxed against a tree trunk. "Fine, mate. We'll leave in the morning – you need a good night's rest."

My friends and I looked to each other.

"You're not sleeping in one of our tents," Divya said.

Henry looked up through the canopy at the stars. "Fine by me. I like sleeping outside." Henry reached into his backpack and brought out a bottle of wine and plastic cups. He uncorked the bottle with a Swiss army knife, filled a cup, and handed it to me. "See? I have an olive branch. I got you girls moscato. My fiancé likes it. I thought it would be girly enough for you."

"Ooo, I love moscato," Rosanna said. She reached for a cup. Henry obliged.

"This doesn't make us friends," I said, taking a sip of the sweet wine.

Henry scratched his chin. "Whatever, mate. All we need to do is get along, for the sake of the world."

Henry slept under the stars. I woke early, with the first birds' calls, and texted Samael:

" _Henry's here. I need your help._ "

He texted back instantly, as if he was on the other end of the line waiting for my response:

"DAMN IT. WHAT IS THE SHEEPFUCKER DOING THERE? I'M COMING NOW."

A scythe slashed through the air, tearing open a portal beside me. Samael emerged, bruises under his eyes.

"Where's the animal fondler?" he sneered.

Henry snored beneath a tulip poplar. Samael pressed his blade against Henry's throat.

"Oi?" Henry said, startled awake. "The hell, bloke?"

Samael drew a thin line of blood from Henry's neck. "Why are you here, fleshbag? Should I carve your liver out? Mince you to ribbons? If you lay a hand on Shannon, Father help me, I will eviscerate you."

Henry rolled away from the scythe. "Christ, you're loony. I'm here to ask for help, not to hurt your girlfriend."

"I'm not his girlfriend!" I said, blushing.

Henry threw his hands in the air. "Okay, sure you aren't. No reason to murder me."

Samael looked at me. "Shannon? I thought we – you – I..."

My blush deepened. "What, Sam?"

Samael's eyes bore holes in the ground. "Nothing."

Divya poked her head out of her tent, bleary-eyed. "Shannon, are you okay?" She glanced at Samael. "Oh. You're here."

Rosanna unzipped the flap of her tent. "Would you guys be quiet? Ugh. I'm so hungover." She glared at the Reaper. "Go away, garbage disposal."

Samael's lips drew thin. "Glad to see you too."

Rosanna ran a hand through her bed-head. "Are you guys going somewhere? You can't just ditch us, Shannon."

"I'm sorry, Rosanna. I have to go," I said.

"We're coming with you," Divya said, stepping out of her tent. "I'm not going to let you be alone with these creeps."

"Yeah, what she said," Rosanna said. She poked a sleeping Arietta. "Hey, Ari, wake up, the Crypt Keeper's here."

"Wha?" Arietta said, dreadlocks in knots. "Damn it. Samael?"

Samael smiled at Arietta. "Started any youth movements, Arietta?"

Arietta flipped Samael the bird.

Samael whistled low. "Your father wouldn't approve, Arietta."

Arietta groaned. "Stuff it, you old sack of bones."

Samael laughed. "That's no way to talk to your godfather."

My eyes widened. "You're her godfather? I didn't think you had a familial bone in your body."

Samael smirked. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Shannon."

Henry blotted at his nicked neck with his t-shirt. "Can you two stop flirting so we can go? Really, it's disgusting."

I glared at Henry. "We're not, okay? Stop labeling us."

Henry narrowed his eyes. "Right. You ready?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Where are we going?"

"Yeah, where the heck is the Holy Grail?" Rosanna said. She, Arietta, and Divya stood at the ready.

"The Holy Grail?" Samael said. "You're telling me Michael is going to destroy the Lapis Ex Caelis? He has no right. That's my stone. It was a gift from my Father."

"A gift you lost when you rebelled," Henry said.

Samael's hands balled into fists. "You know nothing of the matter, you Procrustean ooze. I won't allow Shannon to tamper with the Lapis Ex Caelis, and I won't babysit a gaggle of teenagers and twenty-somethings."

I blew air through my teeth. "As if you're more mature than us, Sam. Anyways, do you really want Raziel to get his hands on it?"

"It doesn't matter if we destroy the Holy Grail, Shannon," Samael said. "The first seal – your heart – set off a ripple effect, activating other seals. The Lapis Ex Caelis is just one of several. It's of too much value, and Michael isn't thinking clearly – he's acting out of desperation. If we destroy it, we lose one of the most sacred objects of Heaven."

I knitted my brows together. "Look, wouldn't it be better to get rid of it anyway? Just in case?"

"She's right," Henry said. "We don't have all day, mates. We have to go."

"I didn't ask for your opinion, sheepfucker," Samael said, glaring at Henry.

Henry's temple throbbed. "You're loony."

Samael looked at me, eyes hard. "Shannon, if you do this, there will be consequences. The Lapis Ex Caelis, the Holy Grail, is symbolic of many things. It's one of Heaven's greatest treasures. There will be angels that will take offense at its destruction, and they may turn against us. Michael wants you to take the fall for this, so if anything goes wrong, he can blame you. Are you willing to take that risk?"

I nodded. "I have to, Samael. I don't want the horsemen to manifest."

Samael bit his lip. "Fine. I can take you to Heaven's gates, but I can't go in. You'll have to make that journey alone."

"What about us?" Divya said.

Samael side-eyed my friends. "You girls can wait with me. We can throw rocks at angels or something."

Divya squinted. "Is he being serious, Shannon?"

I glanced at the Reaper. He smirked at me. "Honestly, Div, I don't know."

"Swell," Henry said. He summoned his clavis and opened a heaven's gate. "After you, ladies."

**Chapter 2** **1**

The outskirts of Heaven were lush, green, a paradise. Trees swelled with glittering fruit. Morning dew sparkled on the flower-laden fields. We followed a dirt path through a meadow, bordered by forest, to burning gates. An intimidating angel stood guard with a flaming sword. Her umber skin was tattooed with spirals and she wore a veil, like Michael's soldiers.

Samael saluted her mockingly. "Uriel. You look constipated, as usual."

Uriel shouldered her blade. "Come slithering back for forgiveness, Sam?"

Samael smiled without warmth. "I'm afraid that's not the case. Just escorting the Magdalene to Michael, who seems to be in desperate need of her. He could have called, you know."

"Whatever, Sam." Uriel scanned us. "Henry, what took so long?"

"She had to be plied with wine," Henry said.

"Plied?" I said. "You said the moscato was a peace offering!"

Henry flashed me a crooked grin. "Same difference, mate."

I put my hands on my hips. "I never should have trusted you."

Uriel, who seemed reluctant to display emotions, gave a hesitant smile. "You two always squabbled."

"Always squabbled?" I asked.

Uriel nodded. "Even when you were kids. Adam would pull your hair; you would bite him for no reason. It was amusing."

Henry looked as uncomfortable as I felt.

Uriel's face hardened, humor gone. "The Magdalene and Henry can enter, but only those two. You know the rules, Sam. No fallen can enter Heaven's gates."

Samael faked offense. "What? I'm not invited to brunch with the piety posse?" He looked to Arietta, Divya, and Rosanna. "Start gathering rocks, girls. It's going to be a long morning."

Henry motioned for me to follow.

"Be careful, Shannon," Samael said. "Michael won't make a move on you – when he offers a truce, he means it. But that doesn't mean you can trust him."

"Okay," I said.

Uriel approached Heaven's gates. She thrust the tip of her sword into a blazing lock and twisted it. The gates inched open. Past their flaming glory lay a city of wonder, rising above the trees in splendor. Rosanna gasped.

Uriel motioned for us to enter. I walked in behind Henry, in awe. The gates closed behind us, and I found myself in a city indescribable to human tongue. I followed in a daze, past multitudes of angels, into some sort of building stitched of dreams.

Burning wheels spun under the ceiling, strings of words and sparks. They descended and took human forms. Michael stood at the front.

"Hello, Shannon. You look well-rested," the archangel said.

I was on guard. "I am, I guess."

Michael folded his wings. "Henry, thank you for bringing her. You can leave us now."

Henry nodded. "Sure thing." He walked into what became a hallway, the building ever-shifting, like a Rorschach ink blot.

Michael smiled slightly. "I trust your trip was comfortable?"

I looked to the other angels, all strangers, and the hair on the back of my neck rose. "Sure. Um, what do I do?"

Michael tilted his head to the wall. A doorway appeared. "This is my Father's throne room, where we keep our most treasured possessions. The Lapis Ex Caelis is this way."

The angels murmured amongst themselves. I followed Michael into some sort of garden, if prayers were flowering plants. The whispers of millions echoed around me. A swirling cloud formed a table, enshrining a stone chalice. It pulsed with light, red as blood. Michael gazed upon it with reverence.

"This is the vessel of my Father's blood," Michael said, voice sorrowful. "It is His promise to humanity. Even though it is just a symbol, it pains me that we must destroy it."

I was quiet. No angels or demons had ever made mention of Jesus, never saying if he was merely a prophet or God's son – but the thought that Christ's lips might have touched the vessel, and the fact that it had carried the first Eucharist, stirred my Catholic roots. I couldn't bear to touch it.

"I don't think I can do this, Michael," I said, voice faint.

Michael's eyes were gentle. "Please, Shannon. It's just that, a symbol. What matters is humanity's safety. Raziel can return to Heaven any time he wants – he's not fallen, and he can bring the scourge of the Irin with him. But what will be here to tempt him of the Grail is gone?"

"But this doesn't feel right."

Michael stared at the chalice. "It's not meant to be easy, Shannon."

I took a sharp breath. "Okay. What do I do?"

There were tears in the archangel's eyes. "Take my sword and touch its tip to the Grail. I will take care of the rest."

"Why do you care about the Grail so much? It hurts you just to look at it," I said, voice quiet.

Michael's gaze was heavy. "My Father is distant, Shannon. This is the only physical reminder of Him that I have left."

"Distant?" I said.

Michael hung his head. "Father is a wanderer. He closes His eyes and casts Himself across the stars, seeking multitudes, charting all things that will be. He rarely speaks - not like He used to. I touch the Grail, and I can hear Him, like the sea in a conch shell. It helps me remember how things were."

I couldn't help but ask Michael a burning question: "Why do you do such awful things in His name, if He doesn't even tell you to do them?"

Michael gave a weary laugh. "Awful? Shannon, there needs to be order. My Father is distant. That is why I execute His will. The worlds are falling into ruin – false spirits run amok, calling themselves gods, trying to assume His mantle. But they are mere candle stubs in comparison to His glory. If you could only remember Him, you would know God's providence - how true He is, how pure. There is a reason I serve Him, why I prostrate myself at the altar of His love. He is all there is, and He is all there will be. All the rest is chaff."

My skin prickled. "Chaff? Really?"

"Yes. Let this deed be done, Shannon, before I change my mind."

I steeled myself. "Okay, Michael. Okay."

He unsheathed his sword and handed it to me. I could barely lift it. I touched its tip to the Grail. The chalice flashed crimson. My hands stung with heat.

Michael began to sing, a deep, rich voice, so unlike Samael's rough song. The fire of his blade danced with the melody, down its length, and spread to the chalice. The Holy Grail resonated, like a tuning fork, and glowed white hot. Without warning, it shattered.

Michael stopped singing. He sunk to his knees and gathered the Grail's pieces tenderly, as if they were baby bones.

I set his sword on the ground, silent.

"Thank you," Michael said, voice hoarse. He tucked the shards of the Grail into the pockets of his robe. "I'll – I'll escort you back to Samael."

"Thanks.

**Chapter 2** **2**

May approached, finals drew close, and so did my nineteenth birthday. Samael was temporarily allied with Michael's armies in their joint pursuit of Raziel. There were several run-ins with lower-ranked Irin – Kokabiel, Turiel, Zaqiel – but they led nowhere. Raziel and the escaped angels proved elusive. I tried not to think about them and focused on my spiders, who were sacrificed each day to the altar of experimentation. More and more of the docile males were being eaten by the aggressive females. The aggressive males fared much better, spreading their genes via the sixteen-legged frolic.

I was no closer to understanding the potter's wheel and kept confusing transcription with translation in genetics. But in ecology, I shined. I met Dr. Crane for tea the first day of May, a week before finals, three days before my birthday, and got the best pre-birthday news I could wish for:

Dr. Crane stirred sugar into her Earl Gray. "How would you like to accompany me and Arietta on a fully-funded research trip to the Amazon this summer, Shannon?"

My jaw fell open. I nearly dropped my mint tea. "You're kidding, professor."

"Of course not." Dr. Crane smiled. "You'd be my assistant, Shannon. I can only take one undergraduate, and usually, I'd take someone with more experience, but you're so dedicated to my lab, and I see such potential in you. I think you could benefit greatly from the trip. We'd be surveying birds in the rainforest outside Iquitos, Peru. Would you like that?"

"I - I – yes!" I said.

I was on cloud nine for days, so much so that I forgot my birthday entirely. It wasn't until my mother called, jubilant, and urged me to pick up my present from the campus post office that I remembered.

I ran into Mo at my mailbox. Before I could evade him, he trapped me in a hug, lifted me off the floor, and spun me around: "Happy birthday, womb-mate."

"Womb-mate?" I asked, dazed, as he set me down.

He grinned crookedly. "Like roommate. Because we're twins."

"Sure, Mo. Sure." I smoothed my pants. "You ready for finals?"

Mo snorted. "Sure I am. I've been lifting extra hard, burning calories to stimulate my brain."

"That's not how it works, Mo," I said. "Maybe you should hit your books."

He shrugged. "I still have the weekend."

"Oh my god, Mo."

He laughed. "What are we doing tonight?"

"What are 'we' doing?" I said.

He ran a hand through his blond hair. "You know, for our birthday? Oh c'mon. We always celebrate it together. It's an O'Connor tradition."

"I don't know. Rosanna and Divya are going to surprise me."

"Rosanna's my girlfriend – I get dibs on her." Mo looked at my package, then pried it from my grip. "Also, I get your presents. It's the first-born tax."

I snatched the package back from him. "You were born five minutes before me! That doesn't count."

We fought over the package until the cardboard ripped.

"Whoops," Mo said.

"Ugh." I stuck the tape back in place. "Look, we can share Rosanna. You can hang out with us. Just try not to be a meathead."

Mo grinned. "Sounds good. See you later, Shannikins."

I unwrapped my present in my dorm room. It was a sapphire-and-silver belly button ring in the shape of a treble clef. Excited, I put it on and donned a red crop top, the one I'd worn the first night I met Samael.

Rosanna danced into the room and blew a party horn in my face. "Happy birthday, Shannon!"

"Aah!" I said, startled.

Rosanna laughed. "You get scared too easily, Dios mio. Are you ready to go?"

"Go where?" I asked, smoothing my jeans.

"We have dinner reservations in Richmond! Just for you and Mo. It'll take like an hour to get there. Divya's driving." Rosanna reached onto her shelf and pulled down something delicious-smelling, wrapped in tin foil. She paraded it in front of me. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"I baked a cake! Red velvet. Mo said it was your favorite."

I smiled. "Rosanna, you shouldn't have."

"Pfft. Of course I should have. You're my roomie." She grabbed her purse. "Divya's parked outside. You ready?"

"Sure."

We drove over an hour to Richmond, crammed into Divya's car. Spring flushed the land, and we rolled down the windows to drink in the flowery breeze.

The reservations were at an upscale restaurant near the Byrd theatre, nothing like the dive-y jazz bar Samael had dragged me to. We talked of summer plans and finals anxieties, then caught a zombie flick afterwards. The cake was perfect, the evening even more so. Even Mo was tolerable.

We toasted each other on Trothman's rooftop with champagne at midnight, having snuck out the third floor boy's bathroom window and climbed up the gutter to the shingles.

I drained the last drops from my glass. "You guys, this was great. Thanks so much."

My phone buzzed with a text.

Rosanna looked at my phone screen. "Is that your gentleman caller?"

Mo nudged me with his elbow. "You mean the mysterious guy Shannon barely mentions?"

"He's not mysterious," I said. I glanced at the message:

"A LITTLE WORM TOLD ME IT WAS YOUR BIRTHDAY. MEET ME BY THE LAKE? "

"Oh my god," I said. "He used an emoticon."

"Samael sent you an emoticon?" Divya asked. "That's out of character."

"What kind of name is Samael? Is that the punk version of Samuel?" Mo said. He narrowed his eyes. "I don't like this guy, Shannon. Guys don't use emoticons unless they want to get laid."

I flipped my phone closed. "Oh my god, Mo, please stop."

"I'm just saying," Mo said. "Your boyfriends are like footballs – I trust them as far as I can throw them, and I can't throw them far: you have horrible taste in men."

"I do not!" I said. "Peter was romantic."

Mo snorted. "Peter was a pothead. Then there was Thomas, the kid who couldn't eat PB and Js without the crusts cut off, and Shane, the one that turned out to be gay."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "They were all nice, Mo. Your standards are too high."

He tossed his plastic cup off the roof. "For my sister? Of course."

"Don't litter!" I said, punching him in the side. "Guys, do you mind if I go?"

"Of course not. The garbage disposal awaits," Rosanna said.

"Thanks, Rosanna." I climbed down the gutter into the boy's bathroom.

Samael was by the lakeside in a bed of tulips, smoking. "Shannon?" he said. He patted the ground beside him.

"Hey, Sam." I sat next to him. "What's up?"

"Just looking at the constellations. They're particularly bright tonight." He pointed to Orion. "There's Kesil, the angel."

I leaned against a tree. "I can never remember the constellation names."

"Are there too many to memorize?"

I pillowed my head on my hands. "I guess."

Samael smiled. "Night is my favorite time. Everything is clearer, not just the stars." He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a small, gift-wrapped box. He gave it to me. "Happy birthday, Shannon."

"You didn't have to, Sam," I said.

He closed my hands around the gift. "Go on. Open it."

I gingerly unwrapped it. Inside was an ornate wooden box with mother-of-pearl inlay. I undid the clasp, lifting the lid to reveal a golden hourglass. Shimmering sand slipped through down the neck of the glass in ribbons.

"It's beautiful," I said. "What is it?"

"It's my hourglass. It lets you peer into human's lives and observe them. Think of someone, anyone."

"Really? Wow. Okay." I thought of David Bowie.

The sand in the hourglass swirled, revealing a dusky room in which my idol was playing the piano. The image faded after a few seconds.

"Wow," I said. "I feel like this could be used for devious purposes, Sam."

He draped his arm over my shoulders. "I'm a gentleman, Shannon. I would never."

"No you're not."

Samael smirked. "It's connected to me as well. I wouldn't mind if you spied on me."

I leaned against him and looked up at the sky. "Thanks, Sam. But don't you need this to find people who are about to die? Doesn't it tell you when their time runs out?"

He ran his hand up and down my arm. "I instinctively know when it's time to reap someone, Shannon. The hourglass is just an accessory – people expect the Grim Reaper to carry one, so I do. I have no use for it."

The morning star twinkled, standing belfry to the moon. "What happens after we die, Sam?"

Samael's eyes were hooded. "I don't know, Shannon. Some souls come back, like yours, and some don't. Eventually, they all go away."

My skin prickled at his reply. "Don't people go to Heaven? What about the Claimed?"

Samael squeezed my arm. "No, Heaven is for angels. And the Claimed stay in Hell temporarily, until their side of their soul-bargain is fulfilled. Even the damned leave. They repent, and I send them on their way. What happens after death is life's greatest mystery, something even I'm not privy to."

I held his hand. "But don't reincarnated souls remember where they came from? Can't you ask them?"

He laced his fingers through mine. "Reincarnation is rare, and when it happens, the souls are blank slates, with no memories of who they were, or where they came from. It's theorized that they stay in places like Limbo – waystations for souls – but no one's really sure."

I leaned my head on his arm. "I thought you'd know."

He ran his thumb over my knuckles. "I wish."

The moon swelled like a ship's sail. I watched it inch across the sky. Samael's arm warmed my cheek.

"It feels weird being nineteen – like I'm stuck in the middle," I said. "I'm barely a teenager, and I'm kind of an adult. I have all these responsibilities now: my spiders, my studies, this whole Magdalene thing. I never thought college would be like this."

Samael shifted so his chin rested atop my head. "Did you think it would be endless keggers and boys?"

I laughed. "I don't know. Sort of. I just thought it would be different. More like TV – you know, sororities, lots of drinking, professor-student relationship scandals. College is actually kind of tame."

He wrapped his arms around my waist. "God forbid it be tame."

My back fit against his chest like a key in a lock. "It's good that it's low-key. I have enough on my plate, with you and all this supernatural stuff."

"Mmm." He pressed his face into my hair and inhaled deeply.

I squirmed. "You're smelling me again, Sam."

"So what if I am?" He planted a kiss on the crown of my head. "Your soul smells good. Like-"

"Don't say absinthe." I broke free of his embrace. "I didn't come here to be smelt up."

He pulled me back to him, onto his lap. "What about felt up?"

"Oh my god Sam."

Without warning, he pinned me to the grass. My face brushed flowers.

His breath was hot on my forehead. "I'm afraid, worm, that you don't have a choice. I still haven't given you your birthday kisses."

I curled my hands around his wrists. "Those aren't a thing, Sam."

"I'm making them a thing, Shannon." His lips skimmed mine.

Heat flared in my gut. My mouth danced against his.

"Sam," I breathed.

" _Shh_ ," he said, caressing my temple.

His cell phone rang.

"Damn it," Samael said, sliding off me. He answered his phone: "What, Michael? I'm busy." His eyes shot open. "Devil damn it. They what?"

"What is it?" I said, sitting up.

"We'll be right there." Samael closed his phone. "Raziel has the Lapis Elixir. He's trying to open the seal with your blood. Unfortunately, it might work."

I crushed a tulip in anger. "The Lapis Elixir? There's another freaking stone? Why does no one tell me these things?"

Samael's face was grim. "I thought it was gone. There was a trinity of stones my Father gave me – the Lapis Exillis, the Lapis Ex Caelis, and the Lapis Elixir. The Lapis Elixir is the Philosopher's Stone – I lost it when I fell. It's been missing for eons. But Michael's scouts picked up unusual amount of ether in London, something that would match a tampered-with seal. After the Lapis Ex Caelis was destroyed, the next seal to be activated would be the Lapis Elixir. It has to be it."

"And only I can destroy the Lapis Elixir, like the Holy Grail?"

Samael nodded. "I'm sorry this happened on your birthday."

I stood and wiped dirt from my jeans. "It's fine. I've never been to London. How are we getting there?"

He smiled without humor. "You're an ascendant, aren't you? You can open gateways, not just to other realms."

My jaw dropped. "You mean, all this time, I could have traveled the world? Why didn't you tell me!"

Samael draped his arm over my shoulder. "You'd get lost if you tried to navigate yourself. You need me to guide you."

"Bullshit. I could have been a jetsetter. I could have gone to Bali. I could have gone to Spain." I shook my head. "Wow, okay. London it is." I summoned my clavis, focused on Big Ben, and opened a portal to Britain's capital. We entered the void between reality and Samael guided me forward, scanning the black.

"Exit here. The ether's strongest in this area," he said.

"Okay."

We emerged in an ivy-choked graveyard. War cries rang through the air.

Samael stiffened. "Highgate Cemetery. There's always been supernatural activity here. No wonder this is where the Lapis Elixir fell."

A bloody Gabriel emerged from the shadows, flanked by angelic mercenaries. "Sam, Shannon. The Irin are in the Terrace Catacombs. They're holding us back, but we've almost broken through their ranks. Michael can clear the way for you two. You need to act fast – the seal is breaking."

My skin prickled. "You mean Raziel's using my blood? That bastard."

Gabriel's lips were a thin line. "I'm afraid so," she said.

Samael summoned his scythe. "Ready, Shannon?"

I nodded. "Okay."

He handed me his scythe and slipped under my skin. Black smoke trailed into my lungs. I choked, hunched over from the pain as he stretched inside me.

I opened my eyes to a world of indescribable color. My wings flared out – Samael pulled the muscles taut, and I flew off the ground, following Gabriel through thickly-leaved trees. We came to an alley of vaults where lower-ranked Irin battled back angels. Michael was at the forefront, shouting commands. He cut Irin to charred bits with his flaming sword.

I swung Samael's scythe in fluid arcs and made my way to the angelic general. I landed beside him.

"Shannon," Michael said, wiping blood from his cheek. He looked to his archers, stationed above the mausoleums. "Fire the adamantine!"

The veiled archers let loose their weapons. Molten silver arrows flew through the air, striking the Irin before me through the heart. They fell to the ground, dead, clearing a path to an open mausoleum. The other Irin cried out, advancing.

"Go," Michael said. "Raziel's inside. I'll stand guard."

_Damn it,_ Samael thought.

"Okay," I said, half-flying, half-running forward. I plunged into the darkness of the tomb. Michael closed the stone doors behind me.

Water dripped from the ceiling. A spiral staircase sunk into the floor before me. Chthonic chants came from below.

"If there are rats, I'm going to scream," I said.

_Focus, Shannon_. Samael's anxiety twisted my gut.

My mind flashed back to hollow-eyed Azazel, to Raziel's scalpel, to my excavated chest. I shuddered. "I can't do this, Sam."

_Relax, Shannon. I'll take over_.

"Okay."

I took a deep breath. My limbs loosened, and my skin rippled into gooseflesh. Samael moved me forward. I was a passenger in my own body.

I descended the staircase and entered the tomb. It was an ossuary, hung with bones. Raziel, Azazel, Semyaza, and Sariel stood round a raised stone coffin. Perched atop it was an amber jewel. Raziel let my blood drip onto it from a brass censer. The censer spiced the air with frankincense and the iron tang of hemoglobin.

Raziel paused from chanting and pinned me with his gaze. "You came, darling?" He smiled. "I was beginning to worry you'd forgotten us. But blood calls to blood, and your curiosity always precedes you."

My grip on the scythe tightened. Samael's voice exited my throat, rubbing my windpipe raw: "Drop the censer, Raziel. Your madness ends here."

Raziel raised his dark brows. "Samael, is that you? How distasteful. Possessing an innocent. Then again, I wouldn't put it past you."

Samael's fury broiled in my gut. He spoke: "You touched her, you shit-licking bastard. How dare you. She's mine."

Azazel laughed. "Yours? She's Heaven's bicycle, Samael. Everyone rode Eve – Lilith, Adam, you. Why not give us a turn?"

Samael roared, firing a bolt from his scythe via my arms. It hit Azazel square in the chest. He slammed into the ossuary wall.

"Cunt," Azazel said, unable to rise. His flesh sizzled.

"You don't know your place, bitch," Sariel said. He fired a round at my stomach. I dove to the side, deflecting the stream of bullets with the scythe. They ricocheted off the walls.

Sariel and Semyaza cornered me behind the coffin, guns raised. Raziel watched, smiling. Semyaza managed to hit me in the leg. I cried out.

Damn it!

I took to the air, unable to stand. I dove towards the Irin, blade a crimson slash, and caught Semyaza off-guard. With Semyaza incapacitated, I diced Sariel to bits. Just like I had Jeqon, I pierced Sariel's heart and twisted to the left. He turned to dust.

"No!" Semyaza said, eyes wild. He grabbed me by the neck and throttled me.

"Fuck you!" I choked. I hooked the scythe through the back of Semyaza's head like a fishing lure.

Semyaza's face crumpled. Blood streamed down his nose, out his eye sockets. "My face!" he said, scythe piercing his soft palate. He let me go.

I fell to the ground, gasping for air. Samael made me reach into my wound and pry the bullet loose. The bloody hole warmed as he directed healing energy to it. My skin sealed shut. I stood.

Azazel crawled away from me, on fire. Semyaza clawed at his face, unable to see.

Why aren't they healing? I thought.

_They're weakened from their time in Dudael_.

So the Irin are out. But what about Raziel?

Let me handle this.

Samael spoke through me: "Your men are incapacitated, Raziel. Do you want to meet Sariel's fate?"

Raziel put down the censer. "Nice work, Samael. I applaud you." He pulled a silver thread from his pocket and pulled it taut. "If I know you, Sam, you haven't looked at Shannon's soul closely, and you haven't properly assessed how close she is to death. Of course, the date isn't set in stone, but you wouldn't want to know the probabilities. It would worry you, wouldn't it? That your time with her could be cut short. Not having properly examined her soul, you wouldn't know its condition – or if a part of it was missing." Raziel smiled.

Samael tightened my grip on his scythe. "You pox-ridden bastard," he said.

What is it? I thought.

Don't move, Shannon. Don't flex a single muscle.

But what's this crap about my soul?

Shh.

He squirmed inside me, furious. As usual, I had no idea what was going on.

Raziel twined the thread round his thumb. "You have such a way with words, Sam."

"What do you want?" Samael said, voice heavy.

You're giving in? What the hell!

Quiet.

I struggled to move, but Samael clamped his will down on me like a straitjacket, keeping me immobile.

"Nothing much." Raziel pulled the thread, hard, and snapped it in two.

Pain lashed through me. I screamed.

Raziel pocketed the split thread. "Just Shannon's cooperation."

Agony assailed me. My body beat back Samael – he poured out of my orifices in thick smoke.

I sunk to the floor. "How did you do that?" I gasped. I vomited.

Samael materialized beside me. "Stop, Raziel! Don't hurt her."

"I would never," Raziel said. "I'm just using persuasion. Stand up, darling. Come here." Raziel crooked his index finger, motioning for me to join him.

"Go to hell," I choked.

Samael's face was a storm. "Shannon, do what he says."

My eyes widened. "What? Are you crazy, Sam?"

Samael helped me up. "Shannon, please."

I wiped vomit from my lip. "O – okay." I went to Raziel's side, terrified.

Raziel took my wrists in his hands. I flinched.

"Sam, why?" I whispered.

Raziel smoothed his thumbs down my skin. "I have a piece of your soul, dear: the wish you made as Eve – for immortality. The secret I granted. Without it, you'll die. Do you understand?"

I paled. "That thread?"

Raziel nodded. "The very same."

Samael clenched his fists. "Do as he says, Shannon."

I tore my hands from Raziel's grip. "No!" I said. "I don't care if I die! I won't help you."

Samael's temple throbbed. "Shannon. You don't have a choice."

"Bullshit." I reached for the Lapis Elixir, about to fling it to the ground –

Raziel twisted the thread.

Gut-wrenching pain. I was on the ground, vision swimming. I wanted to claw my brains out.

"Stop," I rasped.

The pain ceased.

Raziel twirled the thread gently. "Funny, what power a secret has."

I sobbed. "You're soulless!"

Raziel picked up the Lapis Elixir and placed it before me. "Just a twist of your finger, Shannon," he said, voice soft. "That's all I need."

I shook my head, hugging my chest. "No. No, I won't."

Semyaza and Azazel's cries pierced Raziel's silence. The Irin were in their own private hells, along with Samael, who looked rent in two. Samael bit his bottom lip, tears in his eyes.

Raziel nudged the Lapis Elixir closer to me with his sandaled foot. "Go on, Shannon. Unlock the seal."

I spat on his toes. "Bite my ass!"

He tugged the thread. More pain.

"Help me, Sam!"

Samael shook. He stood rooted to his spot. "I can't, Shannon. I won't lose you. Not again."

I couldn't think through the red haze. I reached for the Lapis Elixir and envisioned it as a lock.

I twisted my fingers, breaking the seal.

Raziel relented. "Good, darling. Very good." The pain stopped.

The ground rumbled. An earthquake.

Azazel stumbled into Raziel, and Raziel's robe caught fire.

"Damn it, Azazel," Raziel said, trying to snuff out the flames.

My rage knew no bounds. I used Raziel's distraction to my advantage. I flew at the archangel and grabbed the soul-thread from his hands. My jeans caught fire, so I dropped and rolled, smothering the tongues of heat.

"Shannon!" Samael said. I flew behind him for protection.

The ground shook, and it was nearly impossible to stand. I grasped Samael's shoulders for support.

Samael glanced at the ceiling. "The catacombs are caving in. We have to get out of here."

My legs, already weak from the torture, couldn't take the vibrations. "I can't stand, Sam."

Samael gathered me into his arms, sparing one last glance at Raziel.

Raziel wove a complex pattern with several silvery threads. They knotted together into a series of concentric circle that expanded like a spider's web. Raziel cast the net over himself and the Irin. They vanished, as if disappearing beneath a magician's cloth.

The bones fell from the walls, and the ceiling cracked in two. Samael rushed up the stairs and kicked open the doors. The violent movement of the ground, coupled with his speed, made me nauseous. I emptied my stomach contents again.

Outside was chaos. The angels fought tooth and nail against the Irin. Trees were falling, gravestones cracked in two. Sirens wailed from the streets of London, screams came from beyond the cemetery, and a fire had started on the horizon, smoke curling up like an omen.

Michael hacked down a Nephilim. His face was harried. "What happened, Sam?" the general said, voice like thunder.

Samael raced for a clearing. "He had her heartstring, Mike. She's hurt."

Michael nodded. "Gabriel and I will do damage control. There are two seals left, Sam. This can't happen again."

"It won't," Samael said through gritted teeth.

The Reaper opened a portal and we plunged into it, emerging in his room. He laid me on his cluttered bed and wiped vomit from my lip.

"Shannon, Shannon, it's alright," he said, as if to reassure himself. He took the soul-thread I held in my hand. "Close your eyes, okay?"

I did. He placed his hand over my sternum, and I felt something like a worm burrow into my heart. I opened my eyes to see the soul-thread gone.

"What did you do?" I asked, voice shaking.

He smiled weakly. "I healed you. You should feel better now."

"London's burning. The earth's cracked open beneath it. I did this Sam. I did this."

He stroked my brow. "Shannon, Shannon - it's not your fault."

"Quit saying that every time I fuck up. It doesn't help." I rolled onto my side, away from him. The pit of my stomach flopped onto the floor. I clutched a belt that lay on his pillow and bent it in anger. "Raziel tortured me, and you just stood there."

Samael clenched his fists. "If I moved, Shannon, Raziel would have permanently maimed you. You don't need to be whole to unlock the seals. You can be paralyzed, your limbs hacked off, a vegetable. You're fragile. Too fragile. I couldn't lose you." Tears slipped down his sharp cheeks like snail trails.

I threw the belt at his shelves. It knocked a piece of driftwood to the floor. "You're awfully good at coming up with excuses."

**Chapter 2** **3**

The scientists said it was a freak instance of continental plate movement. Off-the-charts magnitude, a catastrophe. Hundreds killed in fires, thousands homeless from collapsed apartments, Buckingham Palace nearly destroyed. The world mourned for London, and Hortense started a relief fund for the capital's reconstruction.

I walked campus with dead eyes, stones on my shoulders. My guilt weighed me down, and the only way to alleviate it was to study, study, study until I bled amino acid groups and whispered the steps of poly-ubiquitination in my sleep. Memorizing notes was my punishment, slaving over the potter's wheel my penance.

I realized what a masochist I was the morning of my genetics final as I stared into my bedroom mirror, hair a rat's nest, bruises under my eyes. I touched the mercury's reflection and traced my weary face. I hadn't bathed for days. I trudged down the hall in a bathrobe and slipped into the shower. The water was scalding. I rubbed myself raw with a loofah and let my skin burn, burn under the faucet. I emerged red as the Devil and trudged back to my room.

Rosanna was up, brushing snarls from her hair. She dropped her brush onto her desk. "Shannon, Dios mio. You look like a lobster. Are you okay?"

The secret I'd been keeping for days burst past my lips from water like a broken dam: "People died because of me, Rosanna."

She picked up her brush. "Shannon, what are you talking about? Are you sick?"

I sank onto my bed. "Remember how the earthquake was on my birthday?"

Rosanna paused. "You mean? No. That's impossible. Shannon, you couldn't make a natural disaster like that happen. It doesn't make sense."

I hugged my legs to my chest and choked back tears. "I did it, Rosanna. I did it. Raziel made me open another seal. He tortured me."

Rosanna flew to my side. "Shannon! Why the hell didn't you tell me? Why didn't Samael stop him?" She hugged me, hard.

I sniffled. "Samael couldn't. Raziel was going to hurt me, badly. I just wanted the pain to stop, Rosanna. I wasn't thinking."

Rosanna hushed me. "Shannon, cariña, this isn't your fault. It's that piece of shit Raziel's. Dios mio, we have to stop him. I don't want you to hurt anymore. You're a martyr for fucking Samael – he keeps making you put your life on the line, and for what? So you can get hurt? Again and again! The hell is wrong with him?"

I shook my head. "I don't know, Rosanna – everything's a mess, and I feel like I'm drowning in it. My actions have serious, serious consequences, and I can't handle them." I stared out the window, at the deceptively cheery college green. "All those people that died, Rosanna – their blood is on my hands. I feel like fucking Lady Macbeth, with a stain that won't go away."

Rosanna smoothed her hand down my back. "You need to stop letting Samael manipulate you. Every time he asks for your help, something shitty happens."

I rested my chin on my knees. "It's not his fault, Rosanna. It's mine. I'm the one that broke the first seal. I have to fix this."

"Stop trying to go it alone, Shannon! You're so stubborn. Divya and I are here to help you. You keep all your problems to yourself, and you never ask for support." Rosanna squeezed me tight. "Dios mio, Shannon, you're going to get yourself killed."

The genetics exam blurred together with my ceramics final and ecology test. Before I knew it, it was the night before my departure. I stripped my room bare, took down my Ziggy Stardust poster, and rolled up my Sylvia Plath quotes. Packing was therapeutic.

Rosanna, Divya and I went out for one last hurrah at the Golden Dragon. We promised to call each other over the summer and send postcards of our trips. Divya was leaving for a study abroad program in Australia, Rosanna had an internship at a publishing house in New York City, and I was headed to the Amazon in a week with Dr. Crane and Arietta.

My parents parked their van by Trothman Hall early the next morning. After loading the car, my family went out to brunch at a quaint bed-and-breakfast on the Chesapeake. We sat on the porch and soaked in the May warmth. Mo drizzled syrup on his pancakes. For the first time in a week, I finally felt at peace. Maybe I was getting used to the horrors of immortals, or perhaps I was too jaded to give a damn anymore. London's victims and Raziel's touch still haunted my dreams, but during the day, my nightmares slept at the back of my mind, leaving me to at least pretend I was okay.

"How did your exams go, kiddo?" Dad asked, sugar powder from his waffles dusting his upper lip like a mustache.

I shrugged. "Okay. Genetics was hard, and I probably got a B on my ceramics project. But I'm sure I passed everything."

Dad looked at Mo, who was mid-bite into a strawberry. "And you, Mo? Straight C's again?"

Mo coughed on his food. He thumped his chest with his fist.

Mom laughed. "Ernest, don't be hard on him. I'm sure he did better this semester."

"We'll see," Mo said. "No promises."

Redmont County was the same as I had left it last summer - northern Virginia suburbs interspersed with horse country. Our old farmhouse was tucked into the woods on Redmont's outskirts. Dogwood trees and azalea bushes bloomed in the front yard. Oak and maple branches swayed in the breeze, and cicadas hummed like a choir. I lugged my suitcase and boxes upstairs with my family's help and set to unpacking.

I put my spider containers on my dresser and synced up 'China Girl' by David Bowie on my speaker. Clothing unpacked and other essentials stowed away, I finally came to my backpack. Samael's hourglass spilled onto my bed when I unzipped the main pocket.

"Damn it," I said. I picked up the gift and, without meaning to, instantly thought of the Reaper.

The sand in the hourglass swirled. Samael was at Damien's bar with Beelzebub, nursing a cup of coffee. He looked up, eyes making contact with mine. "Shannon?"

I startled and dropped the hourglass. "You can see me?"

Samael nodded. "Of course I can. It's my hourglass, after all."

Beelzebub gave Samael a skeptical look. "You're talking to yourself again, Sam."

Samael took a sip of his coffee. "I'm not, Bub. Shannon's checking in on me. Isn't that sweet?"

I set the hourglass upright. "I didn't mean to, Sam. I just got home. I can't deal with you right now."

Samael slumped. "Deal with me? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means she's sick of you," Beelzebub said.

I sat on my bed. "Look, Sam, I just had finals, and I'm going to Peru in a week. I don't have time to deal with supernatural crap. Whenever I'm with you, shit hits the fan. I need a break."

"A break?" Samael repeated.

I smoothed the bed's cover. "Yeah."

**Chapter 2** **4**

Dulles International Airport was packed with people of all ethnicities, talking in every language from Hindi to Swahili. Women in colorful saris towed their luggage behind them, and Russian men in fur caps walked through the terminal, thick coats at odds with the weather.

I hugged my family goodbye and joined Dr. Crane and Arietta at the gate.

"Take pictures!" my mom called.

"Write!" dad said.

Mo waved. "Don't get bit by an anaconda!"

I laughed. "I won't, Mo. And mom, remember to feed my spiders!"

We made our way through security and boarded the Lima Internacional plane. I sat next to Arietta, with Dr. Crane behind us.

Arietta reached into her backpack and brought out two bottles of home-brewed root beer. She handed one to me and uncapped the other for herself. "From dad and my family. We're worried about you, Shannon, after the mess in London." Arietta shook her head. "I can't believe the angels let that happen. Are you okay?"

I focused at the floor. "No, I'm not, Arietta. But I'm trying to forget about it."

Arietta placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Okay, Shannon. Just know it's not your fault – nothing is."

I stared out the window. Our plane took off. Clouds billowed around us, and the land below was a patchwork quilt.

We arrived in Peru's capital late that night and took a taxi to our villa-style hotel, complete with a waterfall pool lush with greenery. The room we shared was gorgeous, and excitement swelled in my chest. I could barely sleep. We woke early the next morning and caught a short flight to Iquitos, the largest city in the world inaccessible by road. I was blown away by the city's diversity. We went to the market in the morning, where everything from monkeys to caiman tails were sold. The barrios were painted in bright colors, and the scents of cooking meat and city living flooded the streets. The Amazon river snaked through Iquitos, and lush tropical vegetation sprouted wherever there was space. Arietta and I took a motorcycle-drawn cart around the city while Dr. Crane bought supplies.

"This is amazing!" I yelled over the roar of the engine.

Arietta snapped a picture of the waterfront. "Smile!" she said. She took a picture of me.

We took a boat that afternoon up the Amazon river. Soon, we were in the thick of the rainforest. It was hot and misty, with exotic bird calls. Arietta and Dr. Crane stood at the prow, bird-watching.

"Look, professor. A hoatzin bird!" Arietta said, excited. She pointed at a gangly orange-brown bird climbing a tree by the side of a marsh.

"Good eyes, Arietta. Shannon, would you like a closer look?" Dr. Crane said. She offered me her binoculars.

"Thanks." I took them and pressed my eyes to the lenses. "Wow. What a weird bird. Its face is blue."

It clung to a branch.

"Why isn't it flying?" I asked.

"They're flightless," Dr. Crane said. "They're an ancient species – they resemble some of the first birds."

"Cool." I handed the binoculars back to Dr. Crane.

"Look, scarlet macaws," Arietta said, pointing to a flock above us. She sniffed the air with her lupine nose, supposedly picking up their scent.

I studied the red V. They disappeared behind a copse of kapok trees.

Our research station was like a giant tree house, built two stories up into the air with palm wood roofing and mosquito netting-walls. The staff was full of smiles, and I tested my high school Spanish out on them with relative success. Dr. Crane was fluent and communicated with the staff with ease. We had a delicious dinner of catfish and fried plantains. The staff had a pet blue-headed parrot that hopped from shoulder to shoulder. It flew over onto our table, attracted to our plantains.

I slept without blankets that night in the room I shared with Arietta, jungle heat enough to keep me warm. A light rain fell, dripping down the palm leaves and making its own kind of music.

We woke up at the crack of dawn, when birds were most active, to do a species survey. We hiked through what the research station staff called 'terra firma' – the dry part of the Amazon river basin. Arietta and Dr. Crane could identify birds by call alone – a black-fronted nunbird with a song like an alarm, a great potoo with possessed yellow eyes. I carried a clipboard and jotted down species names on sheets of paper. The hike was hard: uphill, downhill, puddled, thick with roots. I almost tripped into a tree with four inch-long thorns.

After an hour, we reached the end of our transect, then moved onto another one. We repeated the transects each morning and spent our downtime exploring local villages, fishing, and playing board games. I caught a piranha and cut my fishing line, afraid to touch it. Come night, we did nocturnal surveys and hiked under starlight. The weeks stretched out like a line of honey, sweet and slow.

The day before we were set to leave, I paddled a canoe up an inlet, hoping to see a pink river dolphin. I daydreamed, the sky like a china plate. The sun was a marble I could flick with my thumb.

I stopped paddling, content to let the current carry me down the length I'd paddled up. I lay on my back and closed my eyes. Mosquitoes buzzed in my ears.

Something splashed beside me. I looked up to see a pink dolphin nosing the edge of my canoe.

"Oh my god," I said, awestruck. It was beautiful, flesh a pale, cherry petal color.

It clicked and nudged my canoe. The dolphin's mouth opened in a smile. I reached out to touch its snout. I smoothed my hand up its rubbery skin. It leaned into the curve of my palm, blinked once, then slipped back into the water.

Scientists sometimes spoke of transcendent experiences. Of humbling moments in the grips of nature's wonders. There was more divinity in that dolphin than in the hosts of angels I had seen. I sat, speechless, and watched the dolphin jump out of the water and arc through the air. It finally disappeared round a bend in the river.

I paddled back to the research station, still amazed. We finished up our surveys that night. I stayed up late and watched the full moon from the porch. I was all alone - the staff had gone to sleep.

The screen door creaked open. I looked to see a young man, handsome as sin, in sopping wet clothes. He clearly wasn't one of the staff. He smiled at me, revealing small, sharp teeth. Just like a dolphin's.

I drew back. "Who are you?"

He closed the door. "Don't be afraid, senorita. I mean you no harm."

"Um, okay," I said, unsure. I clutched my clavis necklace.

The strange visitor bowed. "It was a pleasure meeting you earlier. I have a message for you, senorita – one I couldn't voice earlier. From San la Muerte."

"We haven't met before," I said, on guard. "And who's San la Muerte?"

He laughed. "Oh, but we did, senorita. On the river."

I thought back to my canoe trip. "Nope, I didn't see anyone. Just a dolphin."

The young man smiled.

"Oh," I said, taking in his sharp teeth again. "So you're telling me you're a were-dolphin?"

He nodded. "An encantado. And as San la Muerte tells me, you're one of his closest friends."

I scratched my head, recalling my rusty Spanish. "Muerte – that means death. Oh crap. You mean Samael? Not him."

The encantado – whatever that was – laughed. "I think that's what you call him. He's the bony one, right? In the black cloak?"

I rose from my chair. "Yep, that's him. God, what does he want? This is my vacation."

The encantado smoothed back his river-slick hair. "San la Muerte said you've been ignoring his calls."

I walked to the encantado's side. "I left my cell phone at home. I don't get reception down here."

"Ah, that makes sense," said the encantado. "Well, senorita, San la Muerte wants to meet with you. He's waiting on the dock."

"Why doesn't Sam just come see me, then? Why does he need a messenger?" I asked.

The encantado shrugged. "Something about not wanting to interrupt your break. He wanted to give you the option to ignore him."

I felt cheated out of my earlier experience, of the marvel I had felt at seeing the river dolphin. It had all been orchestrated by Samael. It wasn't a life-affirming experience. It was a death-affirming one.

"Thanks, I guess," I told the encantado.

The encantado smiled. "No problem." He blended with the shadows and was gone.

"Damn immortals." I muttered darkly under my breath and climbed down the stairs to the dock. The river lapped at the support poles. Samael sat on a bench, gazing up at the stars. He didn't turn around.

I put my hands on my hips. "San la Muerte? Really?"

Samael shrugged. "It's a growing cult in Latin America." He drank from a flask. I could smell the vodka on the misty air.

"Why aren't you drinking absinthe?" I asked. "Isn't that your go-to?"

Samael craned his neck over his shoulder to look at me. "Because it reminds me of you. I don't need that, not right now."

"You're pathetic, Sam. Stop using alcohol as a crutch."

"Crutch? Hardly. The world is going up in flames. I'm merely doing my part to fuel the fire." He took a swig. "Alcohol is flammable, you know."

Anger warmed my gut. "So you've given up? You're just going to let the world burn?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Haven't you given up, Shannon O'Connor?"

"No!"

He pocketed his flask. "Good."

I sat down at the end of the bench, away from him. "You told me to have faith, Sam. What made you lose yours?"

"I haven't lost mine," he said, voice soft. "Sometimes, however, I have doubts. Doubts that justice will prevail. I've lost before, Shannon, on such a grand scale that it makes faith difficult. Perhaps failure is in my blood. I'm losing this war." He looked up at the moon. "I'm losing you."

I picked a splinter from the bench. "Damn it, Sam, you're not losing me. Stop being overdramatic."

"I'm not." He toyed with the cuff of his robe. "I love you, Shannon. Can't you see that? It's like this damn rot in my chest – it's eating away at me, bit by bit. I can't stop thinking about you, wondering what you're doing, how you're feeling, if you're okay. I've put you through hell, I know that. A part of you hates me. My company has a price, and my affection is a death sentence."

I slid closer to him. "You're ranting, Sam."

He paused to breathe. "I have a tendency to do that."

I put my hand over his. "I don't hate you, Sam. But you piss me off."

He laced his fingers through mine. "I do that a lot too, don't I."

I could smell the vodka on his breath. "You're drunk, aren't you?"

He smiled weakly. "I'm always drunk, Shannon. It's the one thing that makes my existence bearable."

I squeezed his hand. "Maybe you need to spend less time at Damien's bar and more time at Alcoholics Anonymous."

"All I want to do is spend time with you, worm."

I softened. "Now would be a good time to kiss me."

His smile brightened. "Okay."

Our lips met in the jungle heat. He tasted like vodka and longing. I remembered back to our first night together, and desire flared in my gut. He ran his hands down my back as monkeys called in the distance. I thought of how broken he was, how much I could wound Samael with just a word, and tenderness unfurled within me. All my confusion at how I felt, all of my anger, melted away as his tongue danced across mine.

"Sam?" I breathed.

His eyes were liquid. "Yes?"

I took his hands in mine. "I'm sorry for how I've treated you. I've blamed you for so much, but it's not your fault. I like you. A lot. And it makes me mad – I don't like to feel vulnerable, but whenever I'm around you, I do. But I have to learn to let go. I think I could love you, if you just give me time."

He pressed his lips to my ear. "Shannon, whatever you want me to be, I'll be it. I'm yours. There's never been another option for me. You have my heart, after all."

I laughed. "I do, don't I? I'm sorry we fight. Or that I fight with you. I just – I feel so strongly about you, and I've never felt this way before."

The moment I admitted it I knew, knew why I had been avoiding him. Knew why I'd been so hot and cold. Not because I was afraid of more injury, but because I was afraid of heartache. In the hands of Death, who didn't fear? He was the cold god, alone, unswayed by human pleas or mercy.

I shook. "Please don't hurt me."

Samael embraced me. "I would never, Shannon. All I want is your happiness."

That night, we made love again, in the shallows of the Amazon river, tucked away in the roots of a kapok tree. It was sweeter this time, and slow, just like a line of molasses. The warm water enveloped us in an embrace like Mother Earth's womb. Samael lifted me up, and I flew with him, burning bright as a choir of angels. All my fears – of heights and hearts – disappeared. All that was left was beauty.

**Chapter 2** **5**

Samael and I, reconciled, began meeting in the woods behind my house. My family thought I was going on jogs, which was partially true. I took organic chemistry classes by day at the local community college and trained harder than ever at night. I was determined to beat the Irin– never again would I let Raziel have the upper hand.

We paused from practice on a balmy night in June. I set my clavis down, breaths strained. Samael relaxed on the fence, taking a smoking break. His piercings shone in the twilight.

"I think it's time to train you to on the other shards of the Lapis Exillis. We'd stand a much better chance if you could assemble it," he said, then took a drag.

My stomach flopped. "Won't I have to be possessed by the other archdemons to do that?"

He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to, Shannon."

I kissed my clavis. It shrunk into a necklace, which I looped over my collarbone. "No, it's alright. I'm ready, I guess."

Apparently, I wasn't ready enough, at least, not for Asmodeus. The next day, Samael dropped me off in Pandemonium's gambling district, over which Asmodeus was king.

Smoke hung heavy in the casino lounge where Asmodeus was enjoying a cigar, watching succubi belly-dance in skirts with jangling coins. Gamblers bet away blood at blackjack and roulette.

Asmodeus took a contemplative drag then exhaled through his nose, green eyes fixed on a red-skinned succubus who smiled at him invitingly. He crooked his finger and motioned for the succubus to approach. She sashayed over and danced round his chair, then sat on his lap. Asmodeus laughed, smoothed her bare shoulder, and stubbed his cigar on an ash tray. He looked at me under hooded lids. "So," he said, "Samael sent you here?"

I was a fish out of water. "Yep."

He eased the succubus off his lap and bid her farewell, then gestured for me to follow him. He led me into a dark room. It was set up like a cage fighting pit, complete with a fenced-in mat. He unlocked the door to the pit and ushered me in. I walked forward cautiously, dressed in sweatpants and a sports bra, ready for physical exertion. I shucked off my shoes and climbed into the ring. Asmodeus followed. He moved like a gliding snake, all sinuous movement.

"So where do we start? Your weapon is a cane, right?"

Asmodeus smiled. "We start with what fallen angels are experts in: crashing to the ground and surviving."

I quirked my eyebrows. "Falling?"

"Yes. Most fights end up on the ground. One, two, three punches, or a choke hold, and you end up on the floor. Falling right is a vital part of fighting dirty. That, and being brutal. Samael's neglected to train you in physical combat. He's more about blade-work. But cane-fighting is physical. It's like a staff. I'll teach you how to break elbows, dislocate shoulders, snap wrists. You'll learn to use your size as an advantage: you may be small, but you're quick. You react faster than someone my size. The Lapis Exillis will enhance your tactics, give you strength, but it can only benefit you if you've mastered the basics of fighting."

"Now first, falling." He demonstrated, tucking his head in and pointing one leg straight, then rolled so that his internal organs were protected. He slapped the mat with one hand, then rose. "You try."

I rolled awkwardly, nearly hurting myself, and slapped the mat as an afterthought.

Asmodeus smiled indulgently. "Good first attempt. But remember, tuck your chin and keep low to the ground. It will ease the impact in a real fight."

I took his advice and slowly perfected the technique. We moved on to shoulder rolls and backwards rolls, falls in which one landed again on their feet. Under Asmodeus' guidance I found myself learning them with ease. We repped it out. Right falls, left falls, roll after roll. I sweated, breath coming hard, but it was a good workout, and I found myself enjoying it.

"Good," he said, approving. "Now let's move on. The one arm shoulder throw. You're going to use your center of gravity to throw me. First, I'll demonstrate on you."

I paled. "You're going to throw me?"

Asmodeus smirked. "You know how to fall now, don't you?"

I nodded a tentative yes.

"Throw me a right punch. Remember, use your whole body."

I did. He stepped to avoid it.

"Now watch. I'm going to pull your right arm over my shoulders and hook my other arm underneath. Step into the opponent's attack so your back is aligned with their stomach. Sink to the ground when you're doing this, bend your knees, and lift, like this. It will get your opponent off balance." He demonstrated, lifting me off the ground. "Then, throw your opponent, holding onto the wrist of the hand they threw the punch with." He deposited me on the mat, and I straightened the appropriate leg, remembering to slap with my free hand. "Good," he said, helping me up. There was a gleam in his eyes. "Now, throw me."

"Are you sure I can do it?"

He grinned. "You'll never know if you don't try."

And try I did. It was a struggle at first: I sank improperly, not bending enough at the knee and sticking my butt out at an odd angle.

"Keep your ass flat, Shannon. Don't go Brazilian on me," Asmodeus said.

I laughed. Miraculously, balancing his weight on my back, I was able to lift him. I executed the throw and looked down, amazed, at the demon lying on the mat before me. "How was I able to lift you?" I asked, incredulous.

Asmodeus laughed, dusting himself off. "Normally, I'd recommend a different throw for a girl your size, one where you sink to your knees. But you're strong, Shannon. It's the way you were made. God intended you to carry a heavy burden."

I didn't know what to say to that. "Let me try again," I instead asked.

"Of course."

I threw him again, and again, honing my technique. He threw me in turn, and I practiced falling. We crammed as much into that day as possible, learning other types of throws, chokes, locks, and reaps. Dusk's purple-tinged light slid in through the windows that looked upon the alley and Asmodeus officially threw in the towel, calling it a day.

We bowed as per his instruction and shook hands. "You did well today, Shannon. You should be proud."

I shrugged, dabbing a towel against my sweaty forehead. "It's thanks to you, honestly. You move so well."

Asmodeus laughed. "It comes from millenia of practice."

My training progressed, and after a few weeks Asmodeus introduced me to his cane. It was a staff, really, with an adamantine head meant for pummeling. It didn't burn me like Astaroth's mace had, which Asmodeus said was because I was familiar with the cane's owner.

I grew skilled with the cane. I bashed in the skulls of practice dummies and broke mannequins' shoulders and chests. Organic chemistry raced by, and my first test passed in a flurry of functional groups and reactions. July came in a burst of fireworks, and after a month, the cane felt like an extension of my arm. Samael, Asmodeus and I would go out for drinks at Damien's bar after my practice sessions, and I found my distrust of the green-eyed demon melting away into fondness. I learned that the Claimed in his harem, of which I had been wary, had chosen to be with him willingly. Asmodeus was like a den father, protective of his lovers, whom he spoiled like children. Some he'd saved from lives of desperation. Others he'd picked up from war zones. All adored him. It was so different from the Book of Tobit's tale of Asmodeus' lethal affection for Sarah. Still, Asmodeus didn't seem to like the fish and chips I got from Damien's one night, perhaps proving that he'd been driven away by Tobias' fish liver.

"It's the smell," Asmodeus explained. "I can't stand sea creatures. Leviathan started it – he never bathed in Heaven, and barnacles and algae would coat his skin. It was absolutely disgusting."

Samael stole some of my fries. "You're so anal about cleanliness, Deus," the Reaper said through a full mouth.

"Sam, why do you always talk with food in your mouth?" Asmodeus said, lips curling in distaste.

Samael swallowed. "See, Deus? Neat freak."

Asmodeus narrowed his eyes. "You're a slob, Sam."

"He really is," I said, dipping some fish in tartar sauce. "His room is a disaster zone of spilled coffee and dirty clothes."

Damien came over and refilled my root beer. "Shannon, sweetheart, how are you?" the werewolf asked.

I took a sip of soda. "Good. My spiders are growing bigger each day."

Damien smiled. "Arietta's told me about your experiment. Now, I'm not a very intellectual guy, but I'm happy you girls have found something that interests you. Oh, I have some photos from her. She wanted me to give them to you." He reached behind the counter and pulled out an envelope. He spread the contents out on the table. "See? From the Amazon."

"Oh my god, thank you," I said, thumbing through the glossy photos. There we were on the Iquitos waterfront, racing down the street in a motorcycle cart. Holding an anaconda. Posing with two hoatzin birds. I put them back in the envelope and tucked them into my purse. "These are great, Damien."

Damien beamed.

The next day, Asmodeus and I were practicing as usual in his casino's back room. I'd moved on to fighting the cane's owner. We circled each other. He lunged forward, and I landed a blow on his leg, sweeping his feet out from under him. He picked himself off the floor.

"You've mastered the basics, Shannon," Asmodeus said. "I'm very impressed."

"Thanks," I said, handing the cane back to him.

He stopped me, closing my hands around its length. "Wait a second, Shannon. We're not done yet. My weapon has a special ability – one that will be activated during possession. If you're ready, I'd like you to try it out."

A stone set in my throat. "You mean, um, you want to possess me?"

Asmodeus nodded. "Only if you're comfortable."

I took a deep breath. "Okay."

Asmodeus smiled. "Alright. Relax."

His form wavered, then dissipated into a green mist that swirled around me in lazy circles. The mist smelled like jasmine. I inhaled the scent, and Asmodeus flooded me.

My senses sharpened. Asmodeus was a slow burn in my gut. Bat wings sprouted from my shoulders. I traced their leathery skin.

How are you?

"Fine, I think." I looked at the cane. "Okay, what do I do?"

Take the cane's head and twist.

I did. Its wood glowed, and something clicked. The head of the cane unscrewed, and I pulled out a rapier.

"Whoa," I said, impressed. I touched the sharp edge of the blade. It nicked my finger. "Ow." I sucked at the blood.

We practiced fencing from thereon out, each day. Samael served as my opponent. Asmodeus guided my movements, wearing me like a second skin.

August arrived, and I progressed with the swordstick. The Irin lay low, and my guilt about the Lapis Elixir-disaster receded. I still had occasional nightmares about the earthquake in London, but they only sharpened my resolve to never fail again.

The gods of the pagan realms worked with Heaven and Hell to hunt the Irin, temporarily at a stalemate with Michael's forces. There was still, of course, bad blood between the pagan gods and angels, evidenced by the Trickster Recreation and Partying (TRAP) soiree Samael dragged me to.

Samael was a card-carrying member of the ancient chaos spirit fraternity, whose members included everyone from Eris to Anansi. The highlight of the night included being blindfolded and trying to slip a broom handle up the butt of a Michael effigy.

It was hosted at Loki's hall in the mountains of Jotunheim, home of the friendly and not-so-friendly giants. Odin had banned TRAP from meeting in Asgard after an 'accidental' fire had burned down half the city.

Loki, a pyromaniac, was stoking a huge bonfire and roasting pigs and goats. The Morrigan played a violin, and Baron Samedi plinked away at piano keys on an open-air dance floor in the backyard. Tricksters danced a mad waltz on the raised platform. I stood at the fringes and nursed a horn of mead, a fish out of water.

"Why did you bring me here? I hate dancing," I said to Samael. The dress I wore was too thin for the cold air, and my heeled feet ached. I took a sip of mead and coughed, unused to the honeyed drink.

Samael, blindfolded, shoved a stick up Michael's ass. He pulled off his blindfold and grinned. "Because death is a dance. The _danse macabre_."

I laughed. "You're a walking caricature, you know that?"

He executed a ballet plie. "No, I'm a dancing one."

I looked away. "Oh my god, Sam. Just stop. Please. For your own self-respect. For the sake of not burning my eyes."

He smirked. "Dance with me, maggot."

"No."

He pursed his lips. "Please?"

I glanced at the waltzers. "If your dancing is anything like your saxophone-playing, I do not want to be there when it happens."

"You're a wet blanket, Shannon. You don't like flying. You don't like dancing. You don't like anything, do you?"

I set my mead down on a table. "I like not showing the world I have two left feet."

Samael drank the rest of my mead. "You danced with Coyote. Why not me?"

I bit my lip. "That was club dancing. I can do that. But I sure as hell can't waltz."

He took my hands in his. "I'll teach you. It's easy. Just one dance?"

"Okay, okay. But you have to promise to stop bothering me afterward."

He smirked. "Cross my heart and hope to live."

"You don't have a heart."

"It's a metaphor."

Before I could protest, he led me to the dance floor, leaving behind the Michael effigy that blew in the northern wind. We stood at the fringes, away from the mad waltzers. He led me in a box step.

"Sorry," I said as I stepped on his foot for the umpteenth time.

He fixed my dancing frame. "No worries. Just relax. Now, count with me."

I did.

The waltz ended, and a tango began.

I groaned. "Oh my god. Not this."

His smile was a knife. "I have an idea, worm."

"It can't be a good one, not with that look on your face."

He slid his left leg between mine and lowered me in an unexpected dip. "Do you trust me?"

"Whoa! Not right now." I regained my footing, leaning into him. "Warn me before you're about to drop me."

His breath was hot on my brow. "We move as one on the battlefield. We can bring that to the dance."

"You mean?"

His smiled.

"Um, okay," I said, unsure.

Samael squeezed my hands. Wisps of his robe snaked up. I breathed them in, like cigarette smoke. My vision became heightened under Samael's influence - the towering evergreens and snow scintillated under the setting sun. My senses sharpened, and my body felt fluid.

His will lapped at the shores of my mind, gently guiding me into the steps of the dance:

Slow, slow, quick quick slow – that's it, Shannon.

I laughed, surprised to find myself enjoying the tango. "This isn't so bad after all."

He lowered me into a dramatic corte. "Oh, Shannon, we're just beginning."

We made quick work of the dance floor, weaving between goddesses and gods. Promenades, ruedas, scissors – he explained the steps as we went, moving my body like an extension of himself. Coyote wolf-whistled as our legs interlocked. It was surreal, like an out-of-body experience.

After the dance ended, and Samael's will receded, I felt emptied. I didn't let go of his shoulders.

"That was... something," I said. My heart pumped staccato.

His eyes burned. "Shannon," he breathed.

"What?"

Samael smelled like woodsmoke and loam. He brought his lips to mine, tender. The void opened behind us, and I fell onto his bed, pinned beneath him.

I struggled out from under him. "Sam, what the hell? I wanted to dance more."

He pulled me back to him, onto his lap, and nuzzled my neck. "I know, I know, but I had another idea," he murmured. The fringes of his robe misted, entering my lungs.

Our consciousness mixed, and his desire welled up in me, overwhelming. I sucked in air.

"Do you usually feel like this?" I said. His need was too much, like a hunger.

Samael gently guided me onto my back. "Around you? Always." He kissed my décolletage.

I slid my hands through his hair. "We always seem to get interrupted. Someone attacks, or you get a phone call. Maybe it's a sign."

He eased open the lace of my dress. "I damn all portents." He smiled, a true smile, and kissed the space over my heart.

Samael's consciousness mingled with mine, bringing fierce new sensations to our lovemaking. His cock slid into me and I could feel what it was like to be in my wet, tight core. I cried out at the new experience, feeling Samael's desire. My climax was intensified, burning with the lust of Hell's king. We lay entwined afterwards, blissful in each other's arms.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Go away!" Samael groaned.

"What, are you romancing your hand again, Sam?" came a cold voice. The door opened. Beelzebub entered, eyes narrowed. "Ah. So you're just whetting your appetite, with a woman for once. I should have known you'd forego our archdemon council in favor of romancing Shannon."

I gathered my dress, angry. "Oh my god, not compound eyes."

"It's rude to enter someone's room without being invited, Bub," Samael said, temple throbbing.

Beelzebub glanced at the catastrophe that was Samael's living quarters. "I'd hardly call this a room, Sam. More a third-world dump."

"That's beside the point," Samael fumed. He draped his wings over me, letting me fix my dress in privacy. I blushed beet red.

Beelzebub set a stack of papers down on Samael's coffee-stained desk. "Here are the battle plans from our meeting, Sam," Beelzebub said. "We've pinpointed Raziel's hideout – the Irin's activity is clustered around New York City, in the meat-packing district. They seem to be hiding out in an abandoned warehouse. Your orders?"

Samael rubbed his temple. "Damn it, Bub. I suppose we should strike as soon as possible, before Raziel relocates. I say we go in full-force, with the angels at our backs. Deus and I can guide Shannon and make sure last time doesn't repeat itself."

Beelzebub nodded. "I suggest we mobilize in an hour. I'll alert Rofocale and my legions. She'll send a command through our ranks."

Samael fisted the blankets and sighed. "Right. I'll contact Deus. Shannon, I'm sorry to spring this on you without warning. Do you feel comfortable fighting?"

I remembered the chaos of London and dug my nails into a pillow. My mind flashed back to all the training I'd done with Asmodeus and Samael. It was now or never. "Let's kill these bastards," I said.

Samael smiled.

**Chapter 2** **6**

Rain fell onto the cracked pavement. Hell's and Heaven's forces amassed in the sky, invisible to mortal eyes. There were black dragons with thick-veined wings, ridden by nightmarish creatures. Rofocale led a ghostly army of the Claimed, and Belial, cloaked in smoke, was a burning wheel on the horizon. Lilith stood behind me, whip at hand, cobras by her feet. Beelzebub was a cloud of biting flies, and his wife Astaroth's skin was painted with blood.

Samael and Asmodeus stood on either side of me, dead silent. We were waiting. Waiting for Raziel to react.

The paint-peeled warehouse door cracked open. An Irin with a bandaged face – Semyaza – stepped out, guns in both hands. He opened fire. I ducked as a bullet flew straight at my head.

"Now!" I said.

Asmodeus and Samael nodded, dissipating into green and black smoke. They flooded my lungs, smelling like jasmine and woodsmoke.

The battlefield became chaos. Irin crashed through the warehouse windows, some taking wing to fight the host above, others landing on the ground and charging at the archdemons. Lilith cracked her whip and lashed a line of attackers. Beelzebub disintegrated into his respective insect parts and blinded our opponents, choking their throats with flies.

An Irin's hellhound ran towards me. Samael and Asmodeus' fused weapon appeared in my hands, two-sevenths of the Lapis Exillis. It was a spiked club, something like a mace.

What is this? I thought.

_A morning star_ , Asmodeus and Samael replied.

Of course.

I brought it down on the hellhound's skull. The hellhound whined, face a bloody cave. It slumped to the ground.

Astaroth and Belial guarded me. The plan was straightforward: locate Raziel and assassinate him. The archdemons would distract Raziel while Michael's forces held the Irin back. When Raziel was weakened, I would strike.

The first part was successful enough. Raziel was in the basement, standing guard over a large box. We had him cornered. Belial bloodied Raziel with his trident and Lilith tripped him with her whip into my line of attack.

Raziel clutched at his bleeding side. "Darling. Good to see you. I'm afraid I'm not in the best condition. I could use your help, you know." He hacked up blood.

"You bastard," I said, morning star at the ready.

Raziel flew back behind the box. "I'd be careful with the weapon, dear. This is a precious artifact."

"Shannon, now!" Beelzebub buzzed.

I lunged for Raziel.

He tore the box open. Light flooded the room.

It was a glowing golden vessel covered in gems, in the shape of two seraphim.

I felt an instant repulsion. The demons sank to their knees. The vessel radiated miasma. It crippled me. Samael and Asmodeus cried out in my head.

What's going on? I thought, unable to move.

Samael answered, his fury twisting my guts. _Raziel's defiled the Ark of the Covenant. He's tried to unlock Moses' tablets. The Ten Commandments are anathema to demons. It's God's Word in its purest form. His judgment. The final seal._

But I thought there were seven seals?

Samael continued: _The first four were unleashed when the Horsemen rode. The fifth was the Philosopher's Stone. The sixth are the tablets. The last seal isn't a seal at all – it's Michael, the Lion of Judah – the one who can voice God's Word. Raziel intends to unlock the tablets and force Michael to make the seals manifest. Once the sixth seal is broken, Michael will be forced to initiate judgment._

Raziel approached. I struggled to step forward.

No! But how did he get this fucking thing?

Samael cursed, trying to move my limbs: _Only Metatron has access to the tablets. He must be on Raziel's side. Pox and blood. They're trying to destroy the world. The bastard's had us fooled, all along._

_We have to alert Michael,_ Asmodeus thought.

_But how? We can't goddamn move_ , Samael replied.

The warehouse basement was like a nuclear war zone. The demons were poisoned. They emptied the contents of their stomachs, pale as death. I could feel Samael and Asmodeus slipping away.

Raziel watched, smile serene. As an archangel, he was seemingly unaffected by the Ten Commandments. He stepped over the fallen bodies and closed the distance between us.

Raziel spoke: "Shannon. It's a pity to see you in such a state, playing host to devils like poor Mary Magdalene. Allow me to exorcise them from you."

_No!_ Samael and Asmodeus cried.

Raziel pressed a hand to my brow. He spoke a sharp word in angelic.

Thunder clapped in my head, and Samael and Asmodeus spewed from my orifices. Free of the demons, I was able to move. I doubled over, gagging, and accidentally dropped my weapon. The morning star reverted back to a scythe and swordstick. They rolled over to where Samael and Asmodeus lay, puking up blood.

"Shannon!" Samael choked.

Raziel smiled. "Come with me, dear. It's time you fulfilled your destiny."

Raziel moved as if to grab me. I seized his arm, as I had in training with Asmodeus, and executed a one armed shoulder throw. Raziel went flying, giving me time to escape. I ran behind the vessel, shading my eyes from its glow.

Raziel rose.

I looked to Samael for help, only to find him incapacitated. The demons weakened with each pulse of the Ark's light. I needed to tell Michael this was a trap.

I ran past throngs of fallen demons, up the stairs and out into the alley. The angels flew above, fighting the Irin, but I was earthbound. I spotted a rickety fire escape and raced to it. It took minutes to climb, but finally I was at the top, on the roof.

"Michael!" I called to the blood-haired archangel above, waving my hands wildly to catch his attention.

Heaven's general glanced down at me, gore on his forehead. "Shannon! What are you doing?"

"It's a trick! Raziel has the Ark of the Covenant. The demons can't move; I need your help!"

Michael landed beside me. "Quick, Shannon, show me where it is."

I led him to the basement. He hacked through Irin I'd narrowly managed to avoid on my way up.

Raziel had laid the Ark open on the ground. Stone tablets – the Ten Commandments – were on the table. He was dripping a censer of blood – my blood – onto them, as if baptizing the stones in an unholy faith.

Michael brandished his sword. His voice was thunder: "You're honorless, Raziel. You think you can wield God's Word? A traitor like you is unworthy to use it, let alone hear it."

Raziel hung the censer from a chair. "Michael. What a pleasure. To think, we're about to witness the unmaking of the world. It sends shivers down the spine, doesn't it?"

Michael gritted his teeth. "Step away from the Ark, Raziel, and I may yet give you a painless death."

Samael dragged himself towards me. "Shannon," he moaned. His guts were caught in his teeth.

"Don't move, Sam," Michael said. "This is my score to settle. Raziel betrayed Father's trust. It is I that shall punish him." He looked to me. "Shannon?"

I nodded in understanding. Only a mortal could kill an immortal.

Michael flooded me, blinding light. It was orgasmic, so different from the pain a demon caused. Divine bliss, uncorrupted. Michael's strength was molten fire - his sword could strike down nations. With him was the wrath of God.

I charged at Raziel. Raziel wove a silvery web and cast it over me. I hacked it to bits as Raziel glided behind the Ark.

"Stop playing, Raziel," Michael spoke through me. "Face your fate like a man of God."

"I stopped being an angel of the Lord long ago," Raziel said, evading my sword.

And so Raziel spun threads like a spider, escaping my attacks. I drew gashes on his limbs and back, but kept missing his vital areas. He was too quick, too clever, too hell-bent. Still, even angels bleed.

I finally weakened him. Raziel began to falter. A misstep to the left, threads thrown too far to the right. Michael calculated in my head, cold as a machine. He was looking for soft spots in Raziel's strategy.

Raziel kept luring me back to the tablets, like he thought, if I got close enough, he could force me to unleash them.

Samael had dragged himself to the Ark and propped himself up. He looked inside and froze.

"Shannon," Samael groaned. "Get out of here."

"I can't, Sam, I almost have him!"

I severed one of Raziel's wings. Raziel tumbled to the ground below me.

Samael vomited viscera into the Ark. He looked up and his eyes were dead.

"Shannon, damn it, run." Samael's voice was a monotone. Devoid of any semblance of life.

"I'm busy, Samael!"

Samael fainted.

Blood spurted from Raziel's wounds. He was too weak to move. Still, he smiled, that haunting smile, the one I wanted to carve from his face.

Raziel spoke his last words: "It seems you've won, darling. What a pity. We were going to have so much fun."

Michael's sword sunk into his heart with a hiss. I twisted the blade, and Raziel collapsed into dust.

"I did it," I said in wonder.

Michael let go of me. The archangel materialized by my side, a soft smile on his face.

The demons were still immobilized. I walked over to the tablets, sword in hand, prepared to destroy them like I had the Holy Grail and put an end to this apocalyptic madness-

I looked into the Ark of the Covenant.

There was my brother, covered in Samael's vomit, frothing at the mouth in a seizure. I dropped Michael's sword.

"Mo!" I screamed. "Why?"

Madness set into my mind. I reached into the Ark, trying to free him. Some sort of force field jolted me back. I shrieked and beat at the barrier.

"Michael! Michael! My brother's dying!"

Michael's face darkened. "So that's where the Horsemen went."

I sank to my knees, shellshocked. "What?" I said, voice weak.

Michael put a hand on my shoulder. "Your twin shares your blood, Shannon. When the Horsemen were expelled from your body, they sought the closest thing to your flesh to be their host - your brother Solomon."

"But he's been completely normal! I don't understand - we have to save him!"

The archangel's lips drew thin. "Shannon, they killed your brother when they possessed him. The only thing that's kept Solomon's soul rooted to his body is the Horsemen's power. He's been their puppet all this time. You have to let him go."

My mouth was bitter. All I smelled was brimstone.

"But he's not dead," I whispered. "He's alive. We ate breakfast together yesterday. He's still here, Michael, he is."

"The only way for Solomon to live would be as the Horsemen's vessel. Your brother could only survive if the Apocalypse came to pass. That can't happen, Shannon. Your brother will die a martyr. It's an honorable thing to do."

I rocked back and forth. "No."

"I'm sorry, Shannon."

I knew what I had to do.

I dove towards the tablets. Michael cried out, but his voice was lost on me.

Many waters could not quench my wrath. Grief-mad, I broke the seal.

The tablets shattered.

God's Word rang through the building, rising up from the loam. The demons were released from the Commandment's hold.

Samael's eyes fluttered open. "No," he breathed. "Not this. Shannon, we have to go!"

I ran to Mo's side. Whatever barrier that had kept me from him was gone.

"Mo, Mo!" I held him. Mo's seizures had stopped, but he was stone cold, like no blood flowed through his veins. "No," I sobbed. I hung my head, ruined.

Michael's song rang through the basement. He was a vessel of God's Word, the Lord's will given life. I looked up to see him illuminated, like a figure from a monk's ancient manuscript, haloed and floating feet off the ground.

Michael looked at me, smile beatific. His song was of culling. Of the end.

"Shannon!" Samael scooped me up into his arms, along with the body of my brother. My cold, cold brother. Dead.

"Mo was supposed to wake up," I pleaded.

Samael carried us into the darkness.

I beat at Samael's chest. "Make him wake up, Samael!"

The Reaper's eyes flooded with tears. "You'll have wished he'd stayed dead, Shannon. Shannon, what have you done?"

The darkness was endless, endless. It licked at my skin like a snake.

"I had to save him, Samael."

He walked on, on into nothing. Mo was limp like a sack.

"I understand what you did, Shannon - you're a fool. A fool, just like me. You sacrificed the world for love. And now, we have to fix it."

"Fix it," I echoed. "But how?"

"I don't know."

"We'll find a way."

The void was just that, a void. A space to write feelings upon. I dreamed of my brother's breath, of a steady pulse under my hands. But Mo's wrist was silent, lungs empty. He was dead, so dead, so dead.

My sins stretched before me like shadows.

"Samael, I'm scared."

"Me too."

There would be no welcome home.

146

