Nebbish’s dreams of conquest dissipated when someone shook him awake. He lashed out in startled confusion and jumped back from a shower of hot sparks. He stared stupidly at the scepter in his hand and then at the pile of ashes that had been an angel just a moment earlier.

Shaking off grogginess, he felt the rising euphoria of unexpected
success. “Not a bad first test,” he said.

He scattered the ashes with a kick and wondered briefly why he didn’t feel remorse at having extinguished an eternal life. The reverse was true; he felt better, stronger than ever as the scepter
resumed its song of praise in his mind.

The women glanced at each other and let out twin laughs; sensual music to Jury’s battered ego. The session on Mandy’s doorstep had planted seeds of doubt that could be the death of a cocksman. Fortunately, the gods still smiled on their favored son. Why else would they have offered up these two sweet honeys to
soothe the sting of the evening’s earlier misadventure?

There was a lot of wriggling and giggling as the girls tried a variety of positions to fit themselves comfortably, if somewhat inelegantly, into the single available seat of the two-seater Roadster. Jury watched the whole thing with mounting interest as clothes were disarranged and legs rearranged before the pair finally settled into a suitable arrangement; Dee sideways in Delilah’s lap, her legs curled to give him a tantalizing view up her short skirt—made shorter from riding up during the settling in process.

“There’s something else,” Jophiel said in a barely audible whisper. “At first, only Nebbish’s followers exhibited blind-faith fanaticism. Now, even angels that were opposed to him, but unwilling to choose sides are spouting savior rhetoric.”

“It’s the scepter,” Zi’iel said through clenched teeth. “The cursed thing is ensnaring anyone not fully committed to opposing Nebbish. It seems as if uncertainty is as good as capitulation when it comes to the scepter’s insidious reach.”

That grim conclusion put an end to the discussion. The two angels stared at each other. What else was there to say when the only hopes for salvation were locked up, kicked out or gone away?

Dreams are backdoors to shadow worlds at the fringes of reality. In forever-dark places, primal terrors prowl with an ancient ambition—to break free and unmake all of existence.

And when the dreamer is a paranormal detective hunting killers
from the dawn of creation, doors are opened that should never have
existed in the first place.

“Quite the family pedigree,” Mike said without rancor. No wonder he felt oppressive weight whenever he stepped into a place of worship. He was an unholy aberration according to the righteous rules of religious doctrine.

“So he’s mother’s father. After all the demonic stuff you’ve told me, why does his giving me the letter spook you?”

The priest stopped biting at his lower lip. “Because Francis is a long time dead.”

That got Mike’s attention. “Are you saying he was a ghost?”

“I don’t know what he was. Katrina told me Francis passed away about five years after you were born. It didn’t surprise me, he was an old man when I met him over fifty years ago.”

“But now you’re not so sure?”

“Now I worry that the prophet did not foresee such an event. I wonder what else he may have missed or forgot to mention.”

The mind-seared and emotionally blistered hierarchs stumbled up the winding corridor in shaky ones and twos. Raphael’s customary grin was badly broken and the woebegone pieces hung in a limp grimace of loathing. Gabriel shared his friend’s revulsion and would have liked nothing better than scrub his mind clean of Nebbish’s vile intrusion.

With gritted teeth, Raphael followed Gabriel into his quarters
and let his pent up fury explode. “Damn the bastard’s soul. I didn’t
know I could hurt so much. What did he do to us?”

Mike’s agonized body gave Bella a monumental scare when a long sigh escaped from his lips and he settled limply on the bed.

“Mike?”

Bella’s hand was trembling when she reached out to touch Mike’s chest. Her own heart almost stopped when she couldn’t feel the beat of his.

Beyond the buzz of rushing blood in his head, the maelstrom's howl hushed to a whisper.

“You are abomination,” a silky voice said. “You should never have been created.”

The python pressure constricting Mike’s chest squeezed until it felt like his ribs would snap.

“Balance must be restored. You must be unmade.”

The insinuating voice spoke longingly of annihilation, and made devastation sound desirable. Despite the contradicting pain, Mike began to believe the perverse exhortation.

“Ah, child. I thought you were smarter than that,” Zara said with mild reproach. “Unlike Eve, Lilith was not made to serve— or to share. The jewel that gives her power and life was a present from the one who created her. Maybe Lucifer made a mistake or maybe he intended it, but the upshot of it is that Lilith has total empathy toward women, but feels not a flicker of it for men. To her, they are predators that harm those she feels a compact with.
The fault is not hers, but her creator’s.”

“I thought God made us. How is it that you credit Lucifer with her creation?”

Zara shook her head and smiled. “If I answer every question you come up with, the world will end before I’m done. Suffice it to say, creation is by God’s design, but the angels are the instruments
that brought it about.”

The sound of Saturday morning cartoons woke Jury. He let out a death-demanding groan and sank deeper into the black satin pillows. He tried to stay awake, but it felt like his eyelids were nailed shut—and the hammer was still pounding into his head.

Visions of Lilith and the party haunted his half wakefulness. He felt Solomon thumping on his chest, but it faded as the ebony giant became an ebony woman with a tribal scar. The face was just as angry though and his heart beat in near-terror when the dark queen of Lilith’s guard stared deep into his being. She dug into depths he didn’t venture into, places he preferred not to look. His
thoughts wouldn’t stay still and kept slipping out of his control as the scornful voice unraveled old memories and dragged them to the surface. The reproachful murmur was mad at him, but the words were discontinuous as he drifted in and out of reality.

The curtain around his bed was whipped back and Jury winced. He knew two of the smiling nurses standing behind his mother; their amusement didn’t bode well for his future carnal endeavors. He didn’t see anything after that as he was buried in a bear hug of concern and white fur.

Jury coughed out a mouthful of Arctic Fox. “Hello, mother. Uhm, I can’t breathe.”

Matron stood back and stripped away Jury’s remaining dignity with her light laugh. “Son, I never knew this side of you.”

Great. Everyone was suddenly a comedian.

Jury slipped into the Tox Lab, happy to notice everyone was gone for lunch. Everyone that is, except the sweet delight perched precariously on the edge of her lab stool. Mandy was completely engrossed in the sample on her microscope and didn’t notice Jury enter. He took advantage of the moment to admire the long tanned legs stretching out from the hiked up skirt. One foot rested on a rung of the high stool while the other barely reached the floor. Oh yes, she might be fun for a few weeks, not just a one-nighter.

Jophiel gave him a quizzical look and glanced around to make sure they were alone in the corridor. “I don’t know if I should say
this, but Michael had a book he wrote in after every…visitation. He was extremely secretive about it. The one time I caught a glimpse inside it, I got the impression not all of the handwriting was his own.”

“You mean the book may have belonged to someone else?”

“More likely his penmanship changed with his degree of submersion in God’s grace.” He regarded Gabriel, his eyes
narrowing. “You think the voice drove him mad, don’t you?”

Jebediah had been dreading the imminent encounter. Alley meetings with the Holy Warrior were becoming increasingly vicious. One wrong word was enough to enflame his holy leader’s temper into violence, which wasn’t really all that different from their childhood relationship.

“Damn you, Ralph. You’ve been a millstone around my neck since mother birthed your scrawny ass. How could you not keep an eye on our stupid little brother? You knew Waldo was an overzealous flake with the brain power of a peapod.”

“My holy name is Jebediah.”

“Your name is shit, Ralph. You have no right to a holy name when you stumble from one failure to the next. Now you’ve gone and lost Waldo. This is like some twisted joke.”

Nebbish twitched like a spastic puppet with tangled strings. His eyes rolled back and his head flopped erratically from side to side. He looked like he was having a seizure, but it was in fact, just a regular feeding.

The scepter hummed with an audible whine while sparkling stars danced along its surface and up Nebbish’s arm to burrow into his body. The vassal was being replenished with the Master’s power and the overflow was sorely straining his capacity to hold it in without tearing apart.

Mike took a deep breath and bulled toward the dark passage to meet the demon of his boyhood dreams. Childish hurts had healed into nettling scars, but the nearness of confrontation stripped the scabs off and ripped open the old wounds. It was time for a reckoning, and Heaven help the soul that stood between Mike and the man he’d come to revile.

As if reading Mike’s intent, the old priest tempted fate and stepped in his way; the kind blue eyes seeking to soothe some of the anger from the avenging angel.

“Be kind ta him, lad.”

Mike choked on the suggestion and answered through gritted teeth. “Like the bastard was kind to my mother?”

Jury ground his teeth as he stared at the familiar face of the near-naked corpse lying on the cold slab in the morgue.

“How did he die?”

“We haven’t begun the autopsy yet, but it’s going to be a messy investigation. The headline hacks are going to love writing this one up. Someone drained all of his blood.”

The priest’s prophetic words echoed grimly in Jury’s memory. Had the Satan worshippers found a source for their blood rites? It was a mistake they were going to regret when he hunted them down and executed their sentence.

“Are you trying to tell me a vampire sucked Paul dry?”

“No, not Dracula stuff; a single puncture in his right carotid, about the size of a ten-gauge needle. Our bloodsucker has a state-of- the-art setup—way more advanced than what’s used in hospitals. And it wasn’t done in the alley where he was found. There was no trace of blood on the ground—or on his clothes. Somebody brought the body there and laid it out carefully.”

“What do you mean?”

“Check the pictures after they’re developed. They could have tossed him in the dumpster quick and easy. It might have been days before we found him—if at all. No, they laid Paul out proper,
like at a wake; arms folded across his chest, his suit arranged neatly...almost with reverence.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Jury snapped. “That’s all I need, a psycho head
taker and a whacked bunch of neat-freak bloodsuckers.”

Gabriel remembered the final moment beside the dying Tree of Knowledge. Unlike what the aerth-born sagas conjecture, the war in Heaven wasn’t a chaotic fury of winged warriors doing bloody battle. It wasn’t even a devastating display of raw power such as the one Nebbish unleashed on the hierarchs.

No, it was a war of words and a clash of ideas that split the Heavenly Host. Ideology was the ammunition, conviction the weapon, and argument the battlefield. That was how the foremost
of God’s creatures fought for salvation and survival. In the end, they turned on each other as the cause, not the cure, for their desperation.

Wherever God was, he must have wept.

Bleak is reality in the realm once home to the pinnacle of creation. The might of creation stands dying amidst the rubble of a dead world.

The Final Five, all who remain from the first race of creation, face each other in a broken circle. Stubbornly, they cling to existence and prepare to sacrifice themselves in a last battle of a war already lost to forces poised to unmake the universe.

Gabriel stopped writing. There was no need to go on. The theme of his disarrayed thoughts was evident—and damning. His betrayal was complete, and swept him firmly out of indecision into unwanted sedition.

Delusion! Lunacy! Asylum! Disturbing facts, treacherous thoughts; frightening in their implication. The sour taste of unwelcome truth was hard to swallow, as was the bitter revelation that he would have to incite rebellion to save Heaven. An eternity of denial was revealed with terrible clarity by sparse words that spoke volumes about Heaven’s predicament.

“For all her killing, Lilith is an innocent,” Zara said. “She fell in love with her creator and despised Adam because he fell short of the Morning Star’s brilliance. She could not bear the touch of man, too great was her wonder at the touch of an angel. Lilith wanted only to be with Lucifer and abandoned Adam, whose mate she was meant to be. Lucifer admonished her for this and explained his error in creating her. For reasons of his own, he had embellished the instructions the Creator gave him and made Lilith
more than she was meant to be. In his remorse, he rejected her
devotion and sent her back to Adam.”

“But she ran away?”

“First she committed an act so heinous she shamed herself forever in her creator’s eyes.”

“She tried to kill Adam?”

“No,” Zara said with profound sadness. “She tried to kill herself.”

Jury was mad. Someone was going to pay for disfiguring him—and a damned dragon of all things. But where to go? He was fully dressed, car keys at the ready and hand on the apartment door. He had no evidence to identify a culprit, but who could it have been except the gorgeous witches he’d picked up outside Lilith’s Paradise.

He yanked the door open and dropped his jaw. There they were, the two of them standing as perky as you please with bags of groceries in their arms.

“Good morning, lover,” Dee said as she patted his cheek and
stepped past him. “Feeling better?”

Jury was flabbergasted and could do nothing except hold the door open until Delilah swished by him toward the kitchen. He was still standing there like a dumbstruck oaf when Dee sauntered back. She removed his hand from the doorknob and pulled him into the living room. With a laugh she plunked him on the black leather couch.

Mike took a deep breath and Bella screamed, first from fright then from joy.

“Darling, you’ve come back to me.”

He was willing to answer, but settled for returning the hundred or so kisses she gave him. It was then that he noticed the familiar position they were in, naked and in bed together. He really liked the sound of that—together.

“Where were we,” he said as he reached for her.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Bella said as she pushed his hands away and scrambled on top of him. She held his arms beside his head and said, “What happened to you? Why aren’t you dead?”

Mike knew that the pent up anger trying to rule him was making him irrational. He was being foolish. A confrontation with these strangers was senseless—especially if they really were priests like their white tab collars implied. His quarrel was with a man he hadn’t even identified yet.

He just about had his temper under control when the burly priest twitched his left arm and Mike saw the glint of a blade slide into the man’s hand.

The meeting of hierarchs was poorly attended, less than half of the seventy-seven were present. The shock of recent events had sent many into seclusion to expiate their trepidation while others lost themselves among the common angels, looking for security in greater numbers.

“What a pathetic group,” Dedziel said with disgust. “The Foul Lord makes an appearance and our fellow leaders scurry off to hide behind excuses.”

As was usually the case, Dedziel didn’t wait for the meeting in the Chapel of the Chosen to come to order before he started on a tirade. And as always, Malochiel intervened to take the sting out of his friend’s inconsiderate pronouncements.

“I’m sure they are coping to the best of their abilities.”

“Coping? You call pretending prayer is going to deal with Lucifer, coping?”

“Adam’s whore bride!” Emerson snarled as he slammed his fist on the table. What a vile revelation. Would women always be his bane?

“It’s a name Emerson. That is all.” Père Antoine said patiently.

“Who knows why she chose it.”

Emerson knew, he felt it in his bones. The whelp was right, the beast was a deserting bitch. The beast he’d been anointed to hunt was the harlot that ran from Adam and prepared the way for man’s fall from glory, just like his traitorous mother ruined him. No damned woman was going to keep him from his rightful destiny a second time.

“She chose it because it is her true name,” he told the others.

“Mark my words, she is the embodiment of blasphemy and must be put to death immediately...”

Keiko walked through the pitch black mine tunnel toward the muted light spilling out of a breach in the rock. The opening was wider than the mine shaft. The smell wafting out of it was horrendous.
She took off her headdress, doubled it up and covered her mouth and nose. She tried hard not to imagine how many beasts it would take to escalate the stink to toxic levels. For better or worse, she had found their foul lair.

Worse, they had found her too.

“Step inside,” the greasy voice behind her said.

Keiko let go the scarf she was holding, gripped her katana with both hands, turned and slashed at the voice, all in one fluid motion before the scarf hit to the ground. She cut empty air. The disgusting, pustule-pocked man-thing had stepped back faster
than any human could move. If the stench of the hulking beasts was nauseating, the sight of the oozing-sores face grinning at her
was enough to make her want to vomit on him just to improve his
looks.

She knew she was in trouble when the thing that looked like a man infected by every known flesh disease drooled and said,
“Mmmm, I bet you taste yummy.”

“Okay, Paul, I give, but the guy still bugs me.”

“Do you want to switch places with him? Are you willing to have colleagues, but not friends? Do you want to wake up with the screaming meemies when you dream of killers instead of babes?”

“NO,” Jury said emphatically.

“Then cut him some slack, Jack. He’s really an okay guy when you get to know him.”

Jury grinned at his partner. “Yes, big brother. I’ll be nice to the weirdo. Happy now?”

“Getting there,” Harra said with a grin of his own. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

“You’re onto something,” Jury said with renewed excitement. “Come on, spill it.”

Raphael looked critically at his friend who had lapsed into introspection again. “You’re going to do it the hard way.”

Gabriel didn’t try to deny it. “I owe him that much. He suffered the most when we lost contact with the Creator. His harshness comes from his own hurt as much as it does from whatever fear is whispering craziness in his ear.”

“Are you sure you want to consult the opposition before you attempt to depose them? Seems like a hazardous path to victory.”

Gabriel didn’t reply. He knew it was dangerous to confront Michael and risk the unstable archangel’s wrath. But, for better or worse, he had to talk to Michael before instigating war in Heaven.

Mike was lost in thought while the priest drove them to the hospital. The streets were the same everywhere, few people out and about and hardly any traffic. Everyone was glued to their TV set. Many would probably skip work to watch the end-of-theworld
broadcasts.

The news reports he saw earlier were an ever-expanding list of
catastrophes tentatively tied to the sky scar. Three volcanoes on
the Japan side of the Ring of Fire were blowing hot lava through the ocean floor and boiling the waters from Okinawa to Taipei into
fish soup. Earthquakes were rumbling a path through Turkey and
Greece and showing signs of heading north. Unusual cloud formations hovering over the poles gave every indication of inundating the cold spots with warm rain.

Malfunctioning satellites, falling stock markets, and even impotency were being blamed on the sky scar. Mike was sure
politicians would soon fault it for dips in their approval ratings.
Devout believer or confirmed skeptic, everyone agreed that the
world was experiencing an unprecedented apocalypse of misery.

The only good news was that the abundance of natural disasters restrained human atrocity to record low levels. Governments, guerrillas and fanatics finally had a more tangible enemy than each other’s points of view.

Mike tensed when a glance in the side mirror reflected a dog peeing on a fire hydrant. The act itself wasn’t cause for consternation, but the fact the pooch was hovering three feet off the ground was ample reason to do a double-take.

It had to be fatigue or a defect in the mirror, except the mirror
looked fine and he wasn’t tired.

Gabriel was troubled. Adam and Eve gained knowledge, that was certain. But what did they learn? Did they know why the Tree of Knowledge died, seemingly saving the last fruit for them? Then a flash of inspiration overturned his universe with a paradigm shattering revelation.

They both ate the fruit!

Adam and Eve did what angels had never done—they shared the fruit and split the vision. Each had half the message. What legacy would this coupled sight bring?

A disturbing idea flashed through Gabriel’s thoughts. “How well is Paradise protected?”

“Not at all. The race has become discordant since they spread
throughout the world. I doubt if there is a single idea that is shared by all of them—unless it is hatred for an opposing point of view. They are ripe for destruction.”

“Can we do anything to help them?”

“Valiant thought, Gabriel, but first help yourself. Remember, the only way...”

Gabriel didn’t hear the rest as he hurriedly tucked away the gargoyle and sprinted to the edge of the pool. There were shouts
coming from the corridor. His absence had definitely been discovered.

There was no safe place to hide. It was time to make a choice, flight or fight.

With each twist of untruth and wave of the rod, Nebbish pushed opinion where he wanted it to go. Gabriel was certain the smoke-and-mirrors show wouldn’t fool anyone, but sporadic applause and cheers contradicted him. He peered out from his hiding place. All eyes were focused on Nebbish. Few expressions expressed doubt. There was something disturbing about how easily the gaudy prince was manipulating the mood of the angels.

If Gabriel could see through the charade, why couldn’t the others?

“I am here for you,” the liar said. “Let me lead you out of the darkness of our shared sadness into the light of our former glory.”

Gabriel cringed as he watched the Shepherds cheer and nudge
wavering angels beside them to do the same.

He looked at Agatha, dried tears streaking his face. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?” He said it as matter-of-factly as a child asking for a cookie. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. I would rather die than go back to my brothers.”

His face was full of hope, then panic. “You will, won’t you? It’ll be worse if I go back. I know I have to die, just...please...don’t make it hurt.”

Agatha felt a chill as the boy’s aura turned pearly pink and his thoughts found peace from their previous turmoil. He really did want to die and escape his personal hell of brotherhood.

Agatha closed here eyes and plunged her mystic sight into the grayness. Somewhere in there were pieces of Bella’s tenuous hold
on life. If she could weave them into a solid lifeline, Bella could hang on until Lilith recovered enough life-force to share.

It was like holding smoke. The shifting tendrils dissipated even before she tried to move them. The wisps of life were just too
tenuous to touch without destroying them even with the gentlest tug. The task was arduous and at the end fruitless.

Agatha was about to give up when a tidal wave of turquoise poured into the gray void.

“No, stop,” she gasped. “You will die if you give all of yourself.”

That reminded Mike of the letter and he reverently took the time-yellowed envelope out of his pocket. Why would his mother leave it with the old priest instead of her lawyer? Nervously, he tore a thin strip off the edge and shook out the single folded page inside. He hesitated, not because a message from beyond death unnerved him, but because he was disturbed by the idea his mother had something to say she couldn't tell him while she was alive.

With Herculean effort, Harra unglued his sluggish eyelids and looked around the transformed room. The lights seemed even dimmer than before except for a bright white circle illuminating the entrance. Most of the women were holding hands and swaying with the rhythmic heartbeat of the drum, their unity a palpable thing. He felt an electric excitement course through the room that had even glum-faced Myra smiling. All eyes were turned to the door, waiting...for what?

A surge of pain cleared some of the fog in his head and Harra realized Dee was unconsciously digging her fingernails into his thigh as she stared anxiously at the door. On his right, Delilah was equally entranced, not reacting one way or another to his hand groping her breast.

Jury was beginning to get mad, but had no way to vent his anger short of shooting the door. About the time the idea was beginning to sound good, it opened and the big woman stepped in front of him. Standing a step above him, she looked like a warrior about to behead a kneeling prisoner.

“Let’s see your tin again.”

She made a production of comparing his face to the picture ID
before she led him to the nearest table by the door. She sat down
with an unhappy grunt and glared at the young detective.

“Nice place,” Jury said as he stepped past the table and started
looking around. The décor was too pretty for his tastes. He would
have preferred wall-to-wall modern nudes instead of the classic
Raphaelite art.

“I thought you had questions?” the door guardian snapped behind him. Jury was enjoying paying her back for making him wait and ignored her. He walked back to the table, but rather than sit, he cherished her flicker of annoyance when he continued past her to the bar.

“This is beautiful work,” he said, purposely running his fingers over Eve’s bare breasts on the mural beside it. Aside from
annoying the woman to spark an outburst that might give him
grounds for a warrant, he couldn’t have cared less about the fine
art. What he was really interested in was the door behind the bar.
Based on the layout of the room, it had to lead to a fairly large
backstage area; the perfect place to keep things out of sight of
customers—and nosy detectives.

Bella was a sleeping beauty lost to the world of cares. Mike was just lost. He was restless, unable to relax after the horrible dream that woke him a few minutes earlier. It was never pleasant to dream about death. And this time, the impending death had been his own. Bad news when you have a proven track record of accurate predictions.

Agreat horned demon had reared up in front of him, its glossy, leathery wings reflecting the ring of protective fire around it. Mike closed his eyes, but that only sharpened the image. He had sensed a tangle of friends and enemies fighting behind him, but had ignored their plight and plunged willingly into the fire surrounding the demon. A dream of a different madness replaced the first one before he could determine if the fire pit he fell into was
Hell.

Mike heard the scream from the front door and knew trouble had arrived. He felt unsteady, but danger to Bella spurred him to action. He slipped the jewel he was still holding into his pocket and grabbed his gun from the nightstand drawer. He stepped out of the bedroom and walked into a backpedaling Agatha.

“What’s going on?” he said.

His answer was blocking most of the afternoon light coming in the front room window. It was the beast from the alley—or at least one exactly like it.

Jophiel was a blemish on the shining face of the cheering Host. Like the other angels in the Assembly Hall, he could feel the elation of renewed hope surge through him and force out despair. But unlike his brethren, he couldn’t embrace the slippery eel of unsubstantiated certainty. Something kept him from sharing in the resplendent pleasure of resurgent purpose. Try as he might to accept it, the unrestrained passion of his enthralled brethren sang hollow substance in his mind and kept him apart.

His thoughts burned with nearly unbearable excitement, but he was blessed with only passing pleasure instead of the all-consuming rapture that swayed the others. The harder the intrusive enticement sought to dominate his will, the more he felt
drained rather than devoted. The longer the coercive influence
demanded compliance, the more he felt too muddle-minded to care that a new messiah stood in the ruby pulpit.

“Heaven is saved, Nebbish is our Savior,” sang the voices all
around him.

The joy in his brethren’s faces brought Jophiel fresh pain. Who was damned? The one who suffered while others felt saved or those who succumbed to the glory of compelled adoration?

Some angels held their arms up in obeisant homage while others
stared twirl-eyed at the swirling vortex atop the dome. An increasing number collapsed in their seats as if their offering of unbridled devotion had drained them of life.

Gabriel put away the book. Knowing Lucifer’s thoughts during the time of trouble reaffirmed his opinion of the star-bright angel, but did nothing to help them in their current crisis.

“Find anything useful, Raphael?”

“A lot of speculation on the meaning of life and the intricacies of integrating individual creations into a seamless system.

Our friend was rather single-minded on the subject. I also found
references that he was investigating multiple planes of existence and races we know nothing about, so my sub-celestial city might not be farfetched after all.”

Immortals and the dead do not concern themselves with time as others do. That oppressive encumbrance only burdens the living. Having stepped past life, the dead comprehend that time is not absolute, but a circumstance of condition. Where life has lost its meaning, time also takes on a different measure.

In the muted realm where Death grants justice to the mortally departed, a vile wind insinuates itself and disturbs the postmortem
serenity of those awaiting retribution. Unlike the living, made deaf by their lifeblood-noise, the unburdened dead hear the cry of annihilation in the terrible thunder that rumbles a promise of obliteration of all that ever was or can be.

The dead have no need for creature comforts. Nor do they retain appreciation for art or beauty. They are preoccupied only with absolution from the stain of having lived. They mill about awaiting their turn to be released from remembering life. Like moths to flame, they are drawn to the high throne, rough-hewn and shaped from a single obsidian piece, it is unadorned save for an intricate carving of an imp on the left corner of the backrest.

An abnormal calmness settled over Nebbish and he favored them with a saccharine smile. The rage may have been reigned in, but the storm still seethed below the tranquil surface. "I see now there is no hope for either of you." The smile stayed, so he obviously wasn't disappointed by the observation. "I searched for you to inform you the Blessed Messenger has ordered a special convocation of the hierarchs and leading angels."

"Care to expand on that?" Gabriel said.

Nebbish's grin just got bigger, like a child with a secret too good to share.

"Skip it, Gabe," Raphael said. "He's just an errand boy who thinks flatulence is the same as the wind of change."

The eye of the hurricane twitched but remained calm, only the smile stiffened. "Your time will come, Raphael," Nebbish said softly. "Count on it."

His dilemma resolved, the precocious imp walked along the
diamond gravel path to the OneDoor at the far end of the lightless
realm. It could only be opened if someone knocked from outside. He would have to wait for a Seeker. The sorrow-driven rarely came to the Purging-place to try and cheat death anymore. But with so many bodies falling into the black pit, there was bound to be a distraught one eventually who would come to reclaim a loved one from the shades of death. The ill-conceived rescue would fail, it almost always did, but maybe the soul seeker would guide the imp to a Not-here place.

There was another way out, or so his sire had told them, but that way was too frightening. In their vague childlike way, the imps understood they were immortal, but all feared the lair at the bottom of the abyss. That was where Mother Death lived, the one
who sorted the dead and cut out their spirits. No sane imp went
there and risked an end to playtime. Then again, he was an imp
who no longer liked playtime. Maybe not-being was a game he would enjoy.

“So, are you going to give me some real loving? It’s been so long since I had a live woman that Rosy Palm is taking on a ersonality?”

“She is a girl you know?”

“Yeah, she’s my five-fingers girl,” Bushy-brows said with a laugh.

“Ah, self-stimulation. It is an orgasm that you desire?”

“You got it, babe, one where I don’t do all the work and my hand doesn’t play the girl.”

“I will ask my lady. Her touch can bring a man to the height of pleasure. The French call it le petit mort. My lady can give you le grand mort. Would you like that?”

“Shit, yeah. She can French me all she wants.”

Mei-Lin left the inebriated man sagging in his chair and went to report to Lilith. She contemplated taking a shower right after, but knew there was no way to wash off the man’s filth—even if it was just his eyes that had touched her.

Mike’s reality took a step to the left and left him hanging. The prophecy had never mentioned a gender for the beast. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but felt sure there was something significant about the revelation.

“Mike?” Bella asked noting his hesitation.

How could he explain the beast was his bane with the thing sitting less than six feet from him? Mike almost stepped back instead of forward when the beast stood up. Even hunched over, its head brushed the ceiling.

His feet stopped, but his heart raced when he heard the voice in his head.

< You hesitate because I am your death. >

The assurance of death assuages the rage in The Master’s voice, but doesn't dull the cutting edge of his anger.

"You are certain of this? Be so, because you stake your miserable existence on the outcome of your judgment!"

"I have touched his soul, Master. His fear makes him pliable and his anger makes him ours to control."

Disturbed by his master’s silence, The Servant implores, "You will see, Master. The living key will kill his race at our behest. Then we will wield him as our instrument to unseal the gates of annihilation."

“Hello, Jack, long time no see,” the bombshell in the business suit said.

“Jan? What are you doing here?”

“Same as you, Jack, just doing my job.”

Jury had a bad feeling in his gut that had nothing to do with the sauerkraut chili dog and soda he’d wolfed down for lunch.

“Are you telling me Spence and Parsons are the lawyers for this place? You’re a little far afield from your Fortune 500 turf.”

“I was thinking the same about you, Jack. What brings a boy from Elegant Heights to the Old Quarter? Quite a ways from your regular beat.”

Jack had run into Janna Proust before. He hadn’t enjoyed sparring with her then either. What should have been a straightforward session of well-investigated testimony turned into a grueling hour of courtroom chess. He knew he was outmatched after the first fifteen minutes. The beautiful young woman was all politeness as she made a mockery of his credibility and impugned his words with a look, a smile, a smirk, but never in a way the prosecution could challenge. In the end, she scuttled his testimony until nothing was solid beyond a doubt. When the trial was over, her client walked, she celebrated, and Jury sulked.

Powerless to light a candle, let alone incinerate a demon, Gabriel watched with impotent fury as Nebbish whispered to the scepter and Raphael screamed in response. Gabriel noticed a burn-scar on Nebbish’s right cheek. Raphael must have gotten off at least one shot past the protective crimson aura before Nebbish hung him high to die.

The bloody brilliance beat like a malignant heartbeat, each pulse draining life from the universe—and the archangels in its presence. Gabriel felt a sense of misplaced pride when Raphael
gritted his teeth and smiled a snarl at his tormentor.

Jury tried to shake the ache from his head. Why did every jackass who watched TV think a blow to back of the head would knock someone out? He touched the bloody spot tenderly, hoping the split skin didn’t also mean a cracked skull.

When he heard concussion grenades go off, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. “Shots fired. Officer on the scene. Get the SWAT unit down here on the double.”

He gave the dispatcher the address and moved cautiously toward the cedar hedge of the house beside Bella’s. He almost ran away when he saw the army of foul characters creeping down the street toward her house.

A legion of Devil Mike’s foul friends definitely was not in his script. Heaven help him, they looked like an advert for social diseases run amok.

A meeting of kindred souls is usually a happy occasion, but the one taking place between two conspirators in the deep shadows of a midtown alley was neither business nor pleasure. As is often the case among fanatics, the two shared a common cause, but served separate ambitions.

"WHO ARE YOU?" Nebbish yelled franticly.

"I am what you aspire to be," the voice answered with unnerving calm. "I am the retribution you fear. Look upon me and know your better."

With those words, the shape in the shadows radiated golden light with a brilliance only Michael could have matched--but that wasn't who stood there.

Nebbish was aghast. "LUCIFER! Damn your soul! How did you get into Heaven?"

The ironic twist of the damned looking down on the faithful and judging them unworthy was not lost on Gabriel. Most of the angels were shaken and many crossed themselves as if superstitious gestures could ward off supposed evil. Some stared longingly at the doors, but the unflinching guards kept that avenue of escape barred. A few smiled, however, and Gabriel knew there were still some who fondly remembered the Lucifer of old.

"Stand up, dear," Dee said and nudged the table away enough to give him room to stand.

Needless to say, Harra rose to the occasion. He didn't quite know what the game was, but with this many attentive women it didn't really matter. He glanced around the room and saw he was indeed the center of attention; a hundred hungry eyes stared at him.

His thoughts were salivating uncontrollably as endless sexual possibilities flashed through his mind. With a sweep, his eyes undressed the women in the room, many of whom were coming closer, their eyes glittering with glassy-eyed excitement.

Oh yeah, Harra's gonna rewrite the Kama fuckin Sutra tonight--and maybe add a few chapters.

“What a wonderful thing you turned out to be,” Raphael said as he gazed into the clear waters of the World Pool. “There is a way to see what transpires in Heaven after all—you just have to commit sacrilege to achieve it.”

He shook off the water from his clandestine dive into one of Heaven’s most sacred places. It wouldn’t do to be caught on this
one. It wouldn’t do at all. Still, the impious trespass had yielded
unexpected results. It was time to find Gabriel and share his
astounding discovery.

Before anyone else could answer, a serious-faced Dee gave her the rundown. “Well, first we sacrifice some goats and some chickens, then we cut the heart out of the first man we see...”

Mandy’s eyes got bigger and rounder as her mind envisioned Dee’s ever more imaginative list of blood rituals. What had she gotten herself into?

“Dee.” Janna admonished gently.

“What, no blood and butchery?”

“Ignore her,” Janna said. “She just hasn’t learned to grow up, but then that’s one of the things we love about her.”

“No blood?” Mandy asked with relief.

The long cavern could only be described as a cultivated hostile contradiction. It was all black obsidian, but where the floor was polished to a smooth shine, the ceiling was an uncountable array of serrated obsidian blades waiting to impale whoever walked below.

“Not good,” Gabriel said aloud and immediately regretted it.

Several of the blades sheared off from the vibration of his voice echoing through the grotto and they dropped like daggers.

The piece that pierced his hand implied a terrible truth. A futile attempt to manifest angelfire confirmed it.

I am mortal here.

Mike was the first to break away. He looked at Bella sternly. “Don’t you think it’s time you filled us in on what happened to you? Where have you been for the last thirty-eight hours?”

“I’m fine, thanks. How are you?” Bella said teasingly, but Mike wasn’t playing anymore.

“How would you like to be spanked?” he said, and promptly blushed when he realized Bella was contemplating the idea. Angie came to his rescue. “The man is right, babe. You look fine, a little wacky, but no apparent injures. So what happened?”

The question was trickier than Angie could imagine and Bella was stumped for a plausible answer. The truth? No, they’d definitely lock her up and throw away the key if she told them she had been with a gypsy and a monster reliving someone else’s memories of a few hundred years ago. What then? Only one choice, truth by omission.

Gabriel took two steps toward his injured friend when an insane cackle pulled him up short. Apparently unhurt, dustcovered malice sat on the floor grinning wickedly at him.

“I knew where there is one there is the other,” Nebbish said.

“Welcome to the party, Gabriel.”

With a flick of his wrist, Nebbish pointed the scepter and unleashed enough force to scorch half of Paradise. A firestorm ripped into Gabriel and shot scorching flames through his body.

Chaos swirls with glee as the bonds of reality crack and crumble.

Swish...

“Master, one of the caged ones has fled.”

“Was he alone?”

“Yes, Master, and by the erratic energy trail, he didn’t know how to use the single-direction portal properly.”

Swish...

“Where did he escape to?”

The Servant shuddered with remembered terror. “He went...to...the horror place.”

The Master’s laugh was tinged with his own painful memories of barely escaping. “Then we have nothing to worry about, the fool will be master of his own demise.”

Boom...

Gabriel repeated his earlier futile efforts, but fared no better in opening the unyielding book. In a frenzy induced by the tantalizing
glimpse of Michael’s message, he redoubled his efforts, but
couldn’t even chip off a corner of a page or scratch the binding. The more he failed, the more frantic his twists and tugs became.
Whatever force held the book closed also protected it from
damage—and right now, a very frustrated archangel was doing his best to test the limits of that protective power.

He slammed the book against the wall, the floor, and his fist. He kicked it, punched it and even contemplated chewing at the crystal straps. He brazed it with angel fire and flamed it with every spark of energy he could wring from his weakening body.
When there was nothing left, no ounce of power, no strength of
body or will, not even vitality enough to curse, he sank to the floor
and hung his head. Defeated, he let despair claim victory.

Jury had almost exhausted his vocabulary of swear words. First the fine leather shoes and now a tear in his favorite sports jacket. Hiking through this muddy crap hadn’t been part of his plan when he left home. He was mad enough that he intended to shoot the next tree that damaged his clothes.

He should just have knocked and popped in for a surprise visit. The white witch had invited him after all. Too late now. One look at his muddy attire and they would know he had been sneaking around outside their mansion.

“OUCH. SHIT!” Damn, that hurt.

He pulled out a finger-long spike from his leg. Damned viper vines should be illegal.

He was about to issue further instructions when a warning prickle ran a chill down his spine. Mike turned and scanned the crowd. Nothing suspicious, just a bunch of early risers picking up a wet topic for Monday water cooler conversation. He broadened his search and focused on the people standing further back in the adjacent park. At first he couldn't see what had triggered his danger reflex. Then alarm bells rang in his head with as much ferocity as the inveigling voice in his archangel dreams.

He barely finished saying, "Son of a bitch," before he was striding purposely toward the smirking figure standing insolently under the umbrella of a large pine tree.

Jury pulled the crust-cut-off, triangle-sliced sandwiches from the plastic stay-fresh container. He gulped a piece and poured himself a steaming cup of almond mocha coffee from the silver
thermos. Matron Jury’s cook knew how to make a stakeout a delicious experience. The strawberry cheesecake still in the picnic
basket would go well with the macchiato in the second thermos.
He was glad he’d spent the night at his mother’s estate.

The tight-ass lawyer had been easy to follow. Jury had tailed Janna from the moment she left her high-rise apartment at 8:35
a.m. She had a breakfast meeting with the mayor at 9:00. At 10:15 she met up with a bleached-blond pop star that Jury hadn’t even known was in town. She left the diva with the wicked hip-wiggle at 11:45 after taking her shopping. Janna had lunch with the senior partner of her firm from noon until 2:00. By 4:00 he was tired of tagging along and worried that the convoluted conspiracy he’d worked out in his head wasn’t going to get corroborating
evidence. At 4:15 he was grousing about the difficulty of following her discretely along a winding country road running between open fields to a fashionable estate district about thirty minutes out of town. At precisely 4:38:56 he hit pay dirt.

Mike was in Hell. There was no doubt about it this time. Above him was a blood-red sky. Surrounding him was an army of monsters with wicked weapons held in clawed hands. They growled and snarled as they waved their weapons at him. Never had he imagined such ferocious beasts—and so many of them. They were too big for him to see beyond the front ranks, but he knew they numbered in the tens of thousands.

The nightmare took a strange twist when he noticed his own arm was holding a jagged blade with barbs on the back. It was a beastly thing designed to slice in one direction and disembowel with the backswing. It was then that he realized the snarling rage
around him was planning an attack, but not on him. They were looking to Mike for leadership. He was their general.

A death yell in the darkness echoed into her head and she edged closer to her brothers. Tomas and Anton reached down and pulled burning brands from the fire. They held them high trying to pierce the gloom with flickering light. Long minutes passed before the stillness was broken by the tentative chirp of a nervous bird. It peeped twice then fell silent as branches snapped and bushes quivered. Something was crashing through the underbrush toward the campsite. Uncle Tadeush moved to intercept, but stepped back when a pale apparition stumbled into the clearing.

The woman might have been beautiful. It was hard to tell. Blood caked her face and chest like a devil mask that flickered with streaks of reflected fire light. The color of her sleeves suggested the crimson blouse had once been white. If there was blood below her waist, it wasn't obvious on the black skirt.

Raphael slowed his trot around the halo walkway when he encountered a group of guards at the Chapel dome. They ignored him, so he gave them no reason to change their minds, although he was sorely tempted to yank Zi’iel out of line and find out what the nonsensical enlistment was all about.

Why were so many angels willing to follow Nebbish’s edicts all of a sudden? The meeting must have been more successful than he’d imagined. Aside from bits of news gathered while looking for Gabe, the only thing he knew for sure was that Michael never made an appearance.

Approaching the bend leading to the Sanctum, Raphael came across a pair of idle angels new to Nebbish’s guard detachment. He started up a light-hearted conversation to learn why they joined and almost had a heart attack when he saw a familiar face
peek out of the Sanctum behind them.

Zi’iel guided Gabriel’s unsteady steps to the Tabernacle exit. He looked less than pleased when Gabriel spoke loud enough for others to hear.

“We have to attack Nebbish now, Zi. He’ll never be this weak again.”

“Silence, traitor,” Rabal snarled as he shoved the bound archangel tumbling down the two-dozen steps to the golden boulevard. Zi’iel gave Rabal a disgusted glance as he went to help Gabriel.

“Watch what you say,” he whispered when he bent down. “Few ears are friendly here.”

Desperate inspiration hit Nebbish and he rushed to the altar. He jerked the cassock from the crystal case and tossed the richly brocaded garment on the floor. There it was; the answer to his problems. Inside the case lay the Scepter of Ascendancy. With it he could wield the power of God and crush any opposition--even Lucifer.

The scepter didn't look like a kingly instrument, let alone a godly one. It wasn't adorned with gold and jewels. There was no heraldry or line of succession associated with it. In fact, the scepter Nebbish gazed at so lovingly was nothing more than a twisted stick burnished smooth and black with time. Its simple appearance disguised an enigmatic nature that was equally dark foreboding as it was divine glory. It predated the angels' arrival in Heaven and was supposedly a piece of root broken off the sacred Tree of Life. At the core of its sparkling surface lay the power to create--or destroy--universes with a word.

In the shadowed alleys below, the revelries of the rich played out in varying degrees of disgust in the eyes of the watchers. As is
always the case with those who assume the mantle of pious superiority, the Apostles saw depravity where others saw nothing
untoward. Brother Joshua was one of those gifted with holy sight.
He saw through people’s facade of virtuous behavior to the inner
corruption that was their true nature. Not for an instant did he give in to the Devil’s doubt and believe the sin was a demon of his own
mind. He knew the lechery in his heart was put there by others,
like the aggrieving wench with the low cut gown and sinful eyes.

He was sworn to celibacy, so any temptation to lead him astray had to be the fault of the wanton succubus within all women. One only had to look at the five sensuous creatures stepping out of the silver limousine to know they were evil, flaunting their iniquitous charms and enticing him to betray his commitment to purity. Even the Amazon driver holding the door raised lust in his loins.

It was obvious that such blatant perversion had to be stamped out before it infected the wills of weaker men. Brother Joshua had to save the fools from themselves. As if signalling God’s blessing,
opportunity presented itself when the white witch and her servants
went into the den of iniquity and the big woman crossed the street
to a café. Brother Joshua stepped out of hiding and took the saving of sinners into his own hands—or more accurately, he left
salvation to the sharpness of his knife.

A filthy fat man was ripping the clothes off a young girl barely in her teens while his skeletal sidekick egged him on. Without comprehending how, Mandy knew the language was ancient Chinese and knew she could speak it fluently. The same must have happened with the African warrior. Intuition led to insight and
Mandy was sure the shaman warrior was Malaika, Lilith’s chief
bodyguard. Somehow, she was reliving scenes from Lilith’s life.

As soon as the thought impregnated her consciousness, Mandy recognized the delicate features of Mei-Lin in the struggling peasant girl. Without thinking, and unsure if she was charging ahead of her own volition or just along for the ride, Mandy kicked the fat man’s legs out from under him. His scrawny helper snarled through diseased teeth and brandished a rusty knife half the length of his arm. He gasped his last foul breath a second later when it was sheathed to the hilt in his gullet by Mandy’s twisting Aikido spin.

Fat Man lay on his back like an overturned turtle waddling from side to side trying to get up. He never got the chance. Mandy
eviscerated the bastard with her bare clawed hand, then choked
him on his own tripe.

Mike stared at Emerson and tried to recall a previous instance where he felt a personal grudge toward a criminal. There was none. His detached objectivity was the root of his hunter skill--and the reason he had difficulty relating to colleagues. It was something he shared with Bella; they both saw themselves as standing outside society, observing, but not participating in the common reality.

"If anything has happened to her..."

"Yeah, yeah, you're going to hunt me down and inflict justice on me. You aren't even going to keep me until after lunch. Every minute you waste with me makes it less likely your doctorette is safe and sound. And the best part is you can't prove I took her, planned to take her or even thought of taking the bitch, so shove your vigilante threats..."

Mike had the satisfaction of hearing the breath explode out of Emerson when the edge of the metal table slammed into the priest's ribs.

Gabriel waited as long as he dared. Nebbish hadn’t come right back, so it seemed safe to assume he wasn’t just outside the room giving orders to his guards. He cast a disappointed glance at the smashed shrine as he passed. It looked like Michael’s book would keep its secrets blankly obscured.

A cautious peek out the door showed two guards at the far end of the atrium separating the Sanctum from the halo walkway. Their position let them keep an eye on both directions. There was no way to sneak out without being seen.

Mike stared at the woman he loved, wondering if she would turn into a horror again. She felt real, but then so had the Bella monster.

As in the dream, Bella was lying on top of him. And just like before, she wiggled higher for a kiss. Unlike the dream, it was Bella’s face that reflected horror as she pushed herself away when his kiss was cold and unfeeling.

The pain in Bella’s eyes was too real to be a dream, so Mike embraced her in a hug that spoke more than words could. He put one hand on the small of her back and pressed her close. He used the other to wipe away her tears.

Although the lady was buried beneath fur and blankets, she had a bone-deep chill Zarefina was unable to warm up. Her injuries should have her burning with fever, not cold and clammy like a corpse. The few drops of healing broth Zarefina managed to dribble between the lady's blue lips were not enough to spark a core warmth. There was only one choice left; the young woman would have to stoke the dying fire with her own body.

She stripped off her clothes and climbed into the narrow bed alongside the caravan wall, turned the lady on her side, and pressed her warm skin against the lady's icy back.

"Merciful Luna," Zarefina gasped. Holding the woman was like hugging snow. Glacial cold nipped at her naked skin as if she had stepped into a mountain stream in the middle of winter. The numbing freeze skipped goosebumps and went straight to frostbite. There was something horribly unnatural about the lady's cold condition.

Jury enjoyed the flash of Mandy’s leg as she gave Lilith a respectful curtsy before the superwomen left to inflict nervousness elsewhere.

“What was all that about?”

“Girl-talk,” Mandy said with a wink. “Do you feel better now that you’ve had a close-up look?”

With instinct honed by years of seducing honeys, Jury knew his evening’s pleasure was in jeopardy. He took Mandy’s hand in his and kissed it delicately. “You won’t believe this, but I wasn’t interested in her because she’s pretty.”

“Pretty, Jack?” Mandy gave him a withering look. “She’s a lot more than that.”

Poor choice of words to begin damage control. Good thing Bella had given him a lot of lessons in apologizing. He used the practice to smooth effect until he felt comfortable he’d made sufficient amends to ensure her naked participation in his pleasure later. To be on the safe side, he layered on a dose of chocolate-covered
contrition. Too bad his eyes strayed several times to follow the progress of the radiant white witch.

Gabriel pushed away Zi’iel’s hands. “Alright, I’m back, but you interrupted...”

“Tell me later. I came to let you know that I passed on your news and a group of hierarchs is going to confront Nebbish and demand he relinquish the scepter.”

“Good God, Zi, which fool is leading that doomed parade. Don’t they realize that Nebbish might decide to kill them for no other reason than disturbing him?”

Zi shrugged, but the concern etched around his eyes showed he was worried too. “I warned them, but Dedziel told me to mind my place and not tell hierarchs how to manage the affairs of Heaven.”

Gabriel groaned and shook his head. Of all the headstrong hierarchs, Dedziel was the most bull-minded. “Tell Jophiel to sit on Dedziel. Direct confrontation is...”

“Is on the way. They’re probably facing him right now.”

“God help us then, because every angel that dies cuts the fabric of reality further and puts all of creation at risk.”

He shifted around nervously, unable to find a comfortable position on the scattered heap of papers. "I didn't hear a voice, just the one word," he said as he pushed along the wall until he was lying on an uncluttered part of the ceiling. "After that it feels like I settled in for the show and didn't really think for myself until I was scrambling out with everyone else."

He looked down at Gabriel with an uncommon frown on his usually smiling face. "This isn't good, is it?"

Strange voices haunting an archangel toward madness; unprecedented power unleashed under suspicious circumstances; a life-wrenching force smashing Heaven to its knees; and a repressed angel pushing to attain preeminent power? No, things definitely didn't look good.

The trio of conspirators tensed as silence smothered the snarls and threats between hierarchs and guards. Zi’iel turned around to
see what Raphael and Gabriel were gaping at.

Nebbish had come out of the Chapel and was standing with the scepter cradled in his arms. “Why do you children disturb me with your prattle?” His voice was emotionless, almost soothing.

Everyone urgently rushed not to speak. The creature standing before them was not one whose attention anyone wanted to attract. It wasn’t that Nebbish had turned into some sort of slobbering beast or raving fiend, the opposite in fact. The sensation standing in celestial glory was a divine fantasy, not hellish nightmare. Hierarchs and guards all stepped back in awe as an intense nimbus of red light radiated outward from the transformed angel.

Here was a being Heaven had never imagined. It was hard to reconcile this creature of sunflame and starfire with Nebbish. He was a nova that could easily dispel the darkness in the Assembly Hall by standing alone at center stage.

The brilliance of Heaven’s new regent was even brighter than
Lucifer’s legendary light. Blazing flames adorned him in a scathing mantle of amber fire and liquid gold boiled in his eyes. He was beautiful. He was terrifying.

Bella liked being in love, it was new, it was special, it was something she only now realized was missing from her busy life. She recalled the firm and tender way Mike pulled her close, his lips on hers, his need as strong as her desire. She ran her fingertips
lightly over his lips and smiled when he kissed them in his sleep. That was the true mark of his love for her. Even while he slept he reacted to her presence. Bella wasn’t sure why her feeling for him felt so right, but she knew without a doubt that all the love she felt for Mike was returned with equal selflessness.

If only the moment would never stop. If only they could stay in bed together and never face the outside world. If only...

She shivered when the vision of Mike’s fiery death put an end to her fantasy. Warmth touched her heart when he reacted to her
involuntary shudder by tightening his embrace as if even asleep he was trying to protect her.

Despite his reservations, Jury’s heart started to pound faster. Could the priest really prove such a wild accusation? If he could, then...

“When he was kneeling over me, he whispered his devilish command in my ear. Fortunately, I had firm control of my faith, so I could overcome his insidious order.”

“Your word is your proof?” Jury said, disappointed.

“And this?” Emerson said as he raised his unshackled arms from under the table. “He unlocked my cuffs while he ordered me to attack you.”

Jury stood speechless, trying to decipher what he was hearing. Was he supposed to follow up on the implied invitation or was it
safer to get far away from the unstable woman?

“Tell you what, Jack. You’ve been a good sport about this—sort of, so let me leave you with something to remember the evening more fondly.”

For some reason, Jury knew that whatever Mandy had in mind
would be a troubling memory rather than a fond one.

With a deft move and a hip wiggle, Mandy dropped her coat and shucked out of her dress in one quick move. Standing stark naked out in the open, she looked at the baffled Lothario and let
out another throaty laugh at his confusion.

Jury knew he had to get away. The woman was insane. First she said no, then she stripped to the buff. Next she was going to cry rape. As fast as he could without actually running, he went to his car, got in, and peeled the tires as he rushed away from the lunatic situation.

Whoever Jury was praying to wasn’t listening or maybe they just didn’t think he was sincere. He almost coughed up his heart when the elevator dropped several feet and tossed him on his ass when it abruptly ground to a halt again.

He heard the twang of metal cables stretching past endurance and the ping of wires snapping. He jumped up on wobbly legs and tried to pry open the doors. He broke three red-painted fingernails as he dug in frantically and wedged the doors apart—enough to see a wall of concrete. He was midway between floors. The escape attempt became academic when the cables snapped and the elevator plummeted downward.

“What hospitality is this?” Tadeush cried. “She is a guest, not an enemy. For what reason do you order this butchery?”

Lilith put her hand on Tadeush’s shoulder. Zara saw her uncle shiver from the touch, but he didn’t turn. Anger flushed his face as relatives continued to encircle him.

“Let there be peace among men,” Lilith said, her voice drifting through the camp like the melody of an angel. “If I am not wanted, I will leave. Let no blood be shed on my account.”

“Deceiving witch,” Marko snarled. “Your soft words disguise your evil only to weak-minded fools. I see beyond your woman’s guise to your demon-spawned nature. Blood will be shed, but it will be yours.”

“Enough, Marko!” Tadeush shouted. “What madness addles your senses? Do you not see the fairness of her who would have only peace between us?”

“Fool. You are a man in years, but a child in wisdom. No more
chatter. Kill her quickly or we are all lost.”

Gabriel and Raphael watched in awe with the rest of the hierarchs, in turn marveling and flinching from the Fire Lord blazing before them. Nebbish was a walking sun; flames danced along his shoulders, a fire mantle cloaked him, and the firebrand in his hand glowed like hot coal. More than anything though, it was the liquid-gold eyes that grabbed their attention. Never had Heaven seen such a creature. Never had the Tree of Knowledge given instruction to create such a magnificent being. It exuded an aura of omnipotence that inspired awe in the Shepherds and dread in the hierarchs—most of them anyway.

Every group can count at least one fool in its midst; the hierarchs boasted above average numbers. More than a dozen stepped forward to prove the adage that no fool is more foolish than the one who perceives himself as wise.

Why they didn’t heed the warning of their senses, or at least believe their eyes, Gabriel would never know. But the results were
predictable, even if the fire lord wasn’t.

Bella flung away her keys and slammed the door as she sprinted for the bedroom. She wasn’t sure if her worst fears had been met. Mike was there, but he was lying in bed with his back arched in a rigid pose that hurt her just looking at him.

“Mike, wake up,” she said as she jumped onto the bed beside him. She tried to shake him, but he felt like he was made of stone.

“I’m here, darling. Wake up, please.”

Wherever Mike was, it wasn’t with his body.