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  She was careful not to step on them as she made her way over to the grave marker that had her name and dates on it.

  The groundskeeping staff had done a pretty crappy job with the rolls of grass over all that loose dirt, the lengths a little cockeyed, one of them trimmed too short.

  She pictured her funeral mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral. Her mother crying. Her sister. Her father. She saw her artwork arranged in the narthex . . . and that groundskeeper who had been so kind to her . . . and all the people, young and old, who had come to pay their respects.

  Abruptly, it was hard to breathe.

  None of them deserved this destiny of hers.

  And the longer she stood over her own grave, the more she became convinced that virtue was so overrated. If she hadn't been a virgin, none of this would have happened. Instead, she'd be gearing up for finals right now and in the studio with her favorite art teacher, Ms. Douglass. She probably should have just given it up to Bobby Carne when she'd been a junior in high school. Even though he'd had octopus arms and a tongue like a dripping sponge. . . .

  From out of nowhere, another image of Jim popped up, this time from when she'd knocked on his door the morning before and he'd scrambled to open it. His hair had been a mess and he'd been half-dressed, nothing but loose sweats hanging off the curves of those pelvic bones. He'd looked at her . . . in a way he hadn't before.

  If she didn't know better, she'd swear it was the way a man looked at a woman when he--

  "Okay, you need to stop," she said out loud.

  God, she really couldn't believe he had a girlfriend in the middle of all this. Or that she cared one way or the other.

  What she needed to get focused on was freeing the others who were like her, those who didn't belong down below, the poor fools who had been sacrificed and claimed because of their virtue.

  On this fine spring morning, she needed to put the crazy anger aside, go back to that house, and sit down with that ancient book Adrian had given her. She had to find a way, a loophole, some wiggle room where she could right the wrong that had ruined her own life as best she could for the others like her . . .

  It was hard to say how long she had been standing there when she realized she wasn't alone: Just as the iron fencing had gradually gotten through to her, so too did the presence that was in the shadows under the cedar trees over on the left.

  A woman. With long brunette hair and tight black clothes. And she was looking right at Sissy as if waiting to get noticed.

  Talk about out of place. She was like some model at a fashion shoot, and as she started to come over, she somehow managed to walk across the grass without her stillies sinking into the earth and tripping her up. In fact, it was as if she were floating . . . ?

  Sissy's instincts started to roar, her mind making connections and conclusions that were horrific--this was no stranger, and the female, or whatever she actually was, was definitely not out of place in a cemetery.

  Run! an inner voice screamed. Run--get out of here now!

  Except no. She wasn't turning away; she wasn't giving in. She was standing her ground over the symbol of why she needed to fight.

  "So you know who I am," the demon said as she got within earshot.

  "You look different. But yes."

  The demon stopped on the other side of the grave marker, her black eyes glinting. "You look just the same."

  The dry tone indicated that that was not a compliment. Then again, you didn't get to be the biggest source of evil in the world because you were a stand-up gal.

  "Annnnnd?" Sissy kicked up her chin. "You have something to say to me?"

  "Don't kick a hornet's nest, little girl."

  "What are you going to do? Kill me? Been there, done that."

  The demon leaned forward, her shadow darkening the top of the smooth granite marker. "As if that's the only thing I can do to you."

  Sissy shrugged. "Threats don't scare me. You don't scare me."

  And this was true even though she was alone in the cemetery with the specter of all evil: Her inner anger was a kind of power in and of its own.

  The demon settled back on her high heels and crossed her arms. Then she smiled--which was somehow more dangerous. "Do you want to know how I spent last night?"

  "No."

  "I don't blame you." The demon flexed her hands, her long, red painted nails flashing in the sunlight. "I think it would upset you."

  That image of Jim's scratched chest barged into the front of Sissy's mind like it had been planted there deliberately.

  Oh . . . God. No--

  "Jim's a fantastic lover." The demon reached up and rubbed the back of her neck, arching as if stiff. "Very aggressive. I don't think he'd be for you, honestly. Not that you have anything to compare it to, of course. It's just, you really need to have a certain . . . stamina . . . to keep up with a man like him."

  Sissy could feel the blood leaving her head, the world tilting on its axis, the sky spinning around her. "I don't believe you."

  "No? Ask him. And go into it knowing that he's in love with me."

  "Bullshit. He's fighting against you."

  "You want to know how he got his job? I picked him. Me and that simp archangel Nigel put our heads together and made the choice--and the reason Jim was right by my standards? He's got plenty of me in him, Sissy. He's got evil inside, deep under that surface of his. And that's going to win out over the stuff you're no doubt fantasizing about. At the end of this, however and whenever it finishes, he's going to be with me."

  In a flash, Sissy's fury boiled up hard and fast once more, taking over her body, her heart, her soul. And the sight of that sly smile made her positively violent.

  The demon's voice got lower, so low it seemed to warp. "That's right, Sissy. You got it right, everything you're thinking, the hatred that you feel. Go with it. Be with it. . . . Jim was calling my name all night long, Devina, Deeeevina . . . and that pisses you off. I can give him things you can't, and that eats you alive. Go with the anger, little girl . . . don't be a pussy like you were in life. In death"--the demon leaned forward again--"be strong."

  At that point, Sissy's hearing conked out, and yet even though her ears stopped working, somehow she was still able to hear what the demon was saying as images of bloodshed flickered through her mind--

  For a third time, something intruded upon her consciousness. A rhythmic sound, repeating over and over, getting louder.

  The demon's head snapped around. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

  Sissy glanced over and did a double take. It was Jim's dog, and the scruffy, limping mutt was coming across the grass at a clip, ears pricked, short snout angled up like he was giving a lecture.

  The demon took a step back. "Listen to me, girl. Jim is not for you." That smile came back. "I can feel your anger from over here, and it's a beautiful thing. Better than a man you can't have, that's for sure. Breathe in and embrace it--let it take you. Be strong. Let it take you, girl . . . be strong and fight back."

  Just like that the demon was gone, no poof of smoke lingering where she'd been, no spark of light extinguishing or anything--there was simply air left in her wake, as if she had never been.

  But that wasn't true, was it. Deep in the recesses of Sissy's brain, those words were repeating, the demon's voice like a seed planted in earth that was fertile. Let it take you, girl . . . be strong.

  Where was the dog? Sissy wondered, looking around.

  It was only her, however. Her and her grave site. And that anger.

  Jim Heron was sleeping with the enemy. And not as in the old Julia Roberts movie.

  That bastard.

  "I'm sorry, what the fuck did you just say?"

  As Adrian's forkful of eggs went back down to his plate and the other angel did some more swearing, Jim lit up a Marlboro and took a nice long drag. "Quitting."

  "Lemme get this straight. Devina comes to you and says, 'How 'bout we hang it up.'" Ad jacked forward over the table. "And you fricking took her seriously. Was
that before or after she won this round?"

  "I'm just telling you what she said."

  "So what, the two of you just no mas it and then what? You think the Creator's not going to have an opinion?"

  "Relax. I'm not saying I buy it."

  "Good. Because then you'd be a fool as well as an asshole."

  "I'll take that as a compliment." Jim exhaled a steady stream of smoke. "And she had another happy little update. She says now that Nigel's gone, I'm due for a promotion."

  "Excuse me?"

  "That's all I know." Jim leaned back and looked at the ceiling, which had had all kinds of flaking paint about a week ago. Now? It was like it had been sanded, sealed, and rolled out with a fresh coat. "Is it me or is this house, like . . . rejuvenating itself?"

  At first he'd assumed things were looking better because they had a woman around and Sissy was cleaning. But in the last two days, the changes that had emerged were structural, not anything explained by one hell of a Swiffer job.

  "Wait, wait, promotion like what?"

  Jim shrugged. "With Nigel gone, I'm supposed to take his place up there."

  He pictured the archangel with his three dandy backups, having a proper English tea up in Heaven. Then tried to imagine himself sitting there, passing scones and the sugar bowl around with his pinkie extended and his legs crossed at the knees.

  Yup. Right.

  Adrian moved around in his wooden chair, his weight causing the thing to groan. "I didn't know that was in the rules."

  "What a fucking surprise." Jim took another drag. "We need to verify the information. Any idea where we can go?"

  "Yeah." Ad resumed eating. "And he's dead up in the attic."

  There was a period of silence during which Ad became a member of the Clean-plate Club. When he was finished, he pushed himself away from the table, cupped the back of his neck with both hands and sprawled.

  "Maybe we should just take a trip to Purgatory."

  "Excuse me?" Jim asked.

  Ad shrugged. "That shit about not making it into Heaven if you commit suicide is no bullshit. Trust me."

  As the guy cleared his throat like he'd gone too far, Jim's wheels got turning. "You're saying Purgatory is real."

  "Been there, got the T-shirt. Blah, blah, blah."

  "So how'd you get out?"

  "Eddie."

  Jim sat up straight. "You're telling me Eddie went in there and came back out? With you?"

  "Hold up." The guy extended his hands in classic stop-it-right-thur style. "I was just being a smart ass--don't even think about that. You're our special golden boy, whatever--and Eddie condemned himself to do it. Besides, no offense, but you're still getting up to speed, this is a clutch round, and we both know how well things go when you're 'distracted.'"

  The air quotes would have made Jim violent . . . except for the fact that he had come to the same conclusion, which was why he was here and not going after Sissy. As much as it pained him, he needed to win and he needed to somehow keep his job even with Nigel being dead. If he could prevail, and avoid turning into an archangel, then after the great victory or whatever he'd have an eternity to help Sissy. Now was the crisis time for the war, though.

  Besides, the rounds had been coming faster and faster. Forty-eight hours. Maybe seventy-two--and he could refocus on her.

  "I've got to go over and bring him back."

  "Jim, you're fucking crazy--"

  "What's my other option?" Jim narrowed his eyes. "If Devina's right, and I'm supposed to succeed Nigel? I can't let that happen. I don't trust anyone else to do this job--I can win this, Ad. I can goddamn win this."

  All he had to do was think back to the way he'd spent the night. Devina had a critical weakness . . . and it was him. She wasn't suggesting they both throw in the towel because she was scared of losing--it was because she didn't want to lose contact with him: Unless he quit, he was apparently going to have to step into Nigel's spats and she didn't want to fight with anyone other than him. Fuck the rules, fuck the archangels, fuck the Creator--Devina was a parasite addicted to acquisition and he was her number one target.

  And she was going to take that weakness to her grave.

  Because he was going to personally escort her there with it.

  Adrian's one functioning pupil roamed around Jim's face, and Jim held himself perfectly still. He was prepared to take any scrutiny, because he knew, down to his soul, what he needed to do . . . and how he was going to do it.

  "Ad," he said in a low voice, "I can do this."

  The other angel almost hid the tremors that crept into his hands. But the fine tic that teased his bad eye was nothing he could camo. "No, you can't."

  "What put you in there, Ad. How'd you get over." Not questions, because he knew the answer. "Devina got into you, didn't she. She got to you somehow, and you couldn't take it--so you ate a bullet. You slit your wrists. You hanged yourself--"

  "A cliff." The voice that interrupted was so hoarse, it was made of ninety percent air. "I, ah . . . I had made a deal with her to save someone."

  Jim waited for the story to roll out. When it didn't, he said, "What happened."

  Ad cleared his throat and covered his face with those shaking hands. "I made an arrangement to save someone and I turned myself over to that demon. I was down on that table of hers for . . . it felt like years. Eddie told me later it was two nights of earth time. When I came back, after she released me, I wasn't the same."

  Like bats out of Hell itself, memories of Jim's own time down there swarmed and descended, clouding his brain. He knew exactly what Ad was talking about. He'd been on that table, too.

  That was how his path had first crossed Sissy's.

  After he'd found her body, that was.

  "I thought I was okay." Ad shook his head. "I wasn't. I lasted about a week, made some excuse to Eddie about going somewhere. I was going to shoot myself, but I'm an angel, right? I wanted to die flying. So I jumped and did nothing about it . . . the canyon was about seventy feet deep. I hit hard and that was all it took. Split second later--shit, I thought I'd survived. I woke up in Purgatory--I thought it was gray because of moonlight or some shit."

  Finally, Ad dropped his arms. His eyes, both of them, were red ringed from tears he refused to let fall.

  "Eddie went there because of me, but he was also the reason we got out. The Creator has a thing for love." Ad stared at his own hands, watching them shake. "I mean, Eddie sacrificed himself for me, and that's love, right? Not the dumb-ass romantic kind . . . but the real shit. So yeah, when Nigel went to the Creator and argued for us--that was what worked. Nigel was able to strike an arrangement that freed us about a month before you came along. If we see you through this war? We're free. It's our penance."

  "So you can help me find that archangel and get him back."

  "Maybe Devina is talking out of her ass, though. Not like that bitch has a problem lying--"

  "So you can help me," he repeated.

  Ad shook his head again. "Jim, this is a really bad idea."

  "But you can get me there, can't you."

  "No, that's on you."

  As their eyes met, Jim knew exactly what the guy was talking about. "But you can help me out of there."

  "No, I can't. Didn't you listen to me? It's not up to us, buddy." Ad looked up at the ceiling. "Your exit visa can only be issued by the Creator."

  Jim could sense the guy retreating--and that couldn't happen. "Listen, this is an extraction. Nothing more, nothing less. You think I haven't done one of these before? I'll go in, get him, bring him out--"

  "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

  "There has to be a way." Jim curled up a fist and banged it on the table, making the plate and fork dance. "Even if Devina is wrong? Heaven is stronger with Nigel back up there. Colin's head is completely fucked with the bastard gone, and right now, Bert and Ernie--"

  "That would be Albert and Byron."

  "Fine, whatever. Call 'em Mozart and Beethoven
for all I care. The two of them are holed up in the Manse of Souls, stuck there, while Colin is disintegrating. And this is not a hypothetical. I went up there after I got home last night. All it's going to take is for Devina to get a hard-on to hit the place, and then we got another set of problems we don't need. Hell, the Creator can't even control her, and she sure as shit doesn't follow the rules. What do you think is gonna happen."

  "But what if I can't get you back? Then what? Or haven't you thought it through that far."

  "Then you take over."

  "Not in the rules."

  "Fuck the rules. You'll handle things because that's what men like you and me do."

  "On that logic, you could just go up and be Nigel now, and let me take care of the next schlub who fills your shoes. Save the trip to the other side and skip the risk that you're going to get stuck there."

  "But I'm the reason Nigel's gone." Jim jabbed his thumb into his own chest. "I did it. It's my fault. If I had done shit different . . . except that doesn't matter anymore. I want to make amends for the death, and the only way to do it is to bring him back. I settle my debts, Ad. You hear me?"

  Adrian scrubbed his face. "I don't know. I guess there might be a way to get you out."

  "See, I knew this was going to work."

  "I did not say that."

  "Whatever, I'm not a quitter. Even if Devina wasn't a liar, I'm not quitting this. I'm marshaling my weapons and moving forward. First, we get Nigel back. Then we're going to hunt down Devina's lair, we're going to take that mirror of hers, and we're going to win these final two rounds. That is our plan. We are going to execute it."

  "What about the next soul?"

  Jim opened his mouth to reply--but didn't get that far. The back door to the mansion blew wide open like it had been hit by a gale-force wind.

  "You're fucking her?!" Sissy spat.

  Chapter

  Four

  Sissy was breathing hard even though she'd run only the fifteen feet between where she'd parked the Harley and the back door to the old house. Then again, she'd had to hang onto the bike's handlebars with a death grip on the ride back. It was either that or lose total control.