“Something angelic was here,” I said.
“How do you know?” J.B. asked.
“Whenever something of an angelic bloodline uses its powers, I always smell cinnamon.”
I started to move cautiously in Gabriel’s direction. It seemed the smell was coming from just beyond him. J.B. followed.
“And there was something else, when the pulse happened. Did you feel it?” I looked questioningly at Gabriel, who was still giving J.B. the hairy eyeball. I saw him take a deep breath and refocus his attention on me.
“Yes. A sense of evil. It felt like . . .”
“. . . Ramuell,” we said at the same time.
I felt J.B. start next to me. “Ramuell? That nephilim that you killed?”
Gabriel nodded. “I do not know how it could be. Another nephilim could not have broken free from the Forbidden Lands. Lucifer persuaded all of the fallen to give some of their power to redouble the creatures’ bindings. It would take more than the power of a single angel or demon to free one of them. Even I could not do it now, despite my bloodline.”
“And it can’t be Ramuell. He’s dead.”
“Are you sure?” J.B. asked.
I thought of Ramuell burning, molecule by molecule, dissolving before my eyes until the last of his essence was gone and the souls that were bound within him were released.
“I’m sure,” I replied grimly.
We crept carefully through the alley. I wasn’t sure where we were—Chicago looks pretty much the same when all you see are Dumpsters and the back sides of brick buildings. We had been flying over the north side but the fall had disoriented me.
“Where were you coming from, J.B.?” I whispered as we crept closer to the source of the smell. The odor had to be amazingly powerful to cut through the cold air.
“Drop-off, same as you,” he replied.
“I thought that a regional supervisor would get to delegate the scut work,” I teased.
J.B. shrugged. “The new midwestern supervisor wants us to do fieldwork. He wants us to stay in touch with our roots or something. Anyway, I saw you flying back and was trying to catch up when that . . . thing happened. How come you fell out of the sky? What happened to your wings?”
“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “It was like that pulse kind of short-circuited my magic, and when that happened my wings disappeared.”
“That is dangerous,” said Gabriel. “If your enemies were to learn that such a thing could disable your abilities, even temporarily . . .”
He trailed off. I didn’t need him to elaborate. My enemies, which are many and mostly inherited from conflicts that Lucifer and my father, Azazel, created, would turn me into Korean barbecue in the blink of an eye if they thought I had a weakness. I’d recently discovered I was descended from Lucifer through my mother’s line, and I was not enjoying having another potentially fatal familial relationship.
“Let’s not worry about that right now,” I said brightly, trying not to think of my half brother, Antares, and his personal vendetta against me. Antares would be more than delighted to short-circuit my powers.
The alley came to a T-junction just as we passed out of the light of a streetlamp. It was pitch-black in both directions, the only light coming from the streets beyond. I wondered what happened to the rest of the streetlights.
The smell was nearly overwhelming now. It was something rotted and metallic, and there was a distinct scent of burned fur. Underneath it all was a trace of scorched cinnamon and sulfur—the smell that I associated with Ramuell.
I opened my palm and tried to create the same blue ball of flame that had scared away the vampire earlier. All that came out were a few blue sparks.
“I guess I’m still broken,” I said, and tried not to panic. I had no idea if the effects of the pulse were permanent. “Gabriel, can you?”
A moment later the alley was illuminated by nightfire. Gabriel is a more skilled practitioner than I, and so was able to send the ball of flame ahead of him instead of holding it in his hand. The light danced along down the right turn of the T-junction until I gasped. Gabriel raised the light up higher and turned up the illumination with a murmured word. J.B. covered his mouth beside me and made a retching noise.
It was difficult to make sense of what my eyes were seeing. There was blood—lots of blood, more blood than I thought could possibly be inside one human. And there were parts that were recognizable as human—a tibia, an ulna, a femur—all skinned but with small bits of flesh clinging to the bone. There was a torso that looked as though it had been through a shredder, and some scraps of cloth that might have been a flannel shirt.
But there was no head. And there was a hand that looked almost completely human save the fact that it was covered in fur.
“It’s a werewolf,” I said, trying not to gag.
“What could have done that to a werewolf?” Beezle asked.
“Another wolf?” J.B. said, speaking through his hand.
I shook my head. “There’s not usually that much disparity in wolf strength. Sure, the alpha and his lieutenants will be stronger than the other wolves, but not so much that one wolf could tear apart another like this. And where is the head?”
“More importantly, where is the Agent? This death wasn’t in my paperwork for the week,” J.B. said.
The implications were clear. If the death was not on file, then it was not meant to be. It was a death outside the natural order. And the last time there had been a death outside the natural order was when Ramuell had cut a swath through the innocent of this city.
“It can’t be,” I said as Gabriel stared at me. “It
can’t
. I killed him. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that I killed Ramuell. Lucifer’s been dangling it over my head ever since.”
“Then it must be another nephilim,” Gabriel said slowly.
“You just said that couldn’t happen,” J.B. said.
“Do you have another explanation, Agent?”
“No, but I’m not the one calling Maddy a liar.”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “I did not call Madeline a liar.”
“You implied it,” J.B. fired back.
“You’d better do something before this turns into a scene from a high school romcom,” Beezle muttered.
I stepped forward, intending to get between them and push them apart—they were practically nose to nose—when I heard somebody groaning. I froze, trying to determine the location of the noise, but I couldn’t pick it out over the sound of bickering.
“Shut up,” I snapped, and both of them turned to stare at me. “Somebody else is here.”
I heard the groaning again, very faint, farther along the alley and closer to the street. I started forward and Gabriel gripped my arm.
“Wait. It may be a trap,” Gabriel said. “Stay behind me.”
“Because I’m small and helpless?” I asked, annoyed.
“Because your powers do not seem to be functioning normally right now,” he answered reasonably.
I supposed I couldn’t argue with that even if it did make me feel useless.
J.B. took up a position behind me and we proceeded slowly toward the sound, picking our way carefully through the remains of the werewolf. I felt things squishing beneath my boots and tried not to think about what I was doing. My body thrummed with tension. What was waiting for us? Another of this creature’s victims, or the creature itself?
Gabriel directed the ball of nightfire toward the sound. There were white feathers splashed with red scattered around just past the gore from the werewolf. A bloodied hand came into view, then an arm, then a gigantic pair of white wings covering a body lying prone on the ground. A golden-haired head was just visible.
“It’s an angel,” I said.
“Or something that looks like one,” Gabriel agreed. “Gargoyle?”
Beezle squinted, his clawed hands gripping the lapel of my coat, and I knew that he was looking through the layers of reality to find the creature’s essence.
“It’s an angel.” Beezle nudged me with a sharp little elbow. “See, I’m handy to have around.”
“Sometimes,” I agreed.
Gabriel signaled to me to stay behind and J.B. put his hand on my shoulder to make sure that I understood. I shrugged off his touch, resenting their high-handedness. I wasn’t stupid. I knew that I wasn’t up to tangling with anything supernatural at the moment.
My bodyguard approached the body carefully, knelt beside the angel and rolled the creature to its back. The angel’s face was splattered with blood and there was a large and ugly gash across his bare chest.
Gabriel beckoned the ball of nightfire closer to him. “It’s Baraqiel.”
“What’s he doing here?” asked Beezle, surprise evident in his voice.
“Who’s Baraqiel?” J.B. and I asked together.
“Lucifer’s personal messenger,” Beezle said.
I wondered what Lucifer was up to now. Why was his personal messenger lying wounded in an alley only a few feet away from the mangled corpse of a werewolf? Had Baraqiel just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, or was he the werewolf’s killer?
Gabriel laid his hands on the wound and the alley grew brighter as the light of the sun came from his palms. The air filled with the scent of apple pie baking—a smell that was unique to Gabriel.
Baraqiel gasped for air and his eyes flew open as Gabriel lifted his hands away from the angel’s chest. The wound was healed.
“Gabriel?” he asked, his gaze confused and frantic. “Where am I? Where is he?”
“Where is who?” I asked.
Baraqiel shook his head and sat up, staring at me. His eyes were a startling silver blue that looked almost clear. I shivered. The effect of pale eyes against his blood-covered face was ghastly. He pushed up from the ground and wobbled as he attempted to stand.
Gabriel rose beside him and placed a steadying hand on Baraqiel’s shoulder. “Be at peace. You need to rest. You are still weak.”
Baraqiel shook his head, still staring at me. “There is no time. You are Azazel’s daughter?”
“Yes,” I said.
“You must go. Samiel is coming for you.”
A cave in an ash-burned land. A flash of green eyes, alight with hatred and madness.
“Samiel,” I breathed.
“Who’s he, now?” J.B. asked, obviously bewildered.
The child of an angel and a nephilim. A being who would have every reason to seek vengeance against me. My voice was barely more than a whisper. “Ramuell’s son.”
2
“OH,” J.B. SAID.
“Yeah, oh,” I replied. “You think he’s pissed at me for melting his daddy?”
“Did Samiel do this to the werewolf?” Gabriel asked.
Baraqiel shook his head, surveying the carnage. “I do not know what caused this.”
“What are you doing here, then?” I asked.
“I was to deliver a message to you from Lord Lucifer. I heard the cries of the wolf and came to investigate. Before I reached this place, I was attacked by Samiel.”
“Wait a second,” I said. “I’m confused. How did you recognize Samiel? Nobody even knew of his existence until a month ago. I was under the impression that nobody had seen him but me, and then only for a moment.”
Was it my imagination, or did something crafty flicker across Baraqiel’s face?
“Samiel named himself when he attacked. I also have been informed of his existence by Lord Lucifer, who has been anticipating an attempt on your life.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Really. You’d think he could have informed me of that little piece of news.”
Baraqiel bowed his head. “It is not for me to know the ways of Lord Lucifer.”
“Nor me, apparently,” I said dryly.
To say that Lucifer kept things close to the chest was an understatement. I’d deliberately concealed the knowledge of Samiel’s existence from Lucifer in order to protect Gabriel. Gabriel’s life was pretty much always in jeopardy because of his parentage. Ramuell was Gabriel’s father also, a fact that should have been his death sentence at birth. I hadn’t wanted to draw any attention to Samiel lest the eyes of the Grigori fell on Gabriel, too. How had Lucifer found out?
“I hate to interrupt,” said Beezle loudly, “but I don’t think that this is a place we should be hanging around. It would probably look suspicious to the human authorities.”
“You’re right,” I said reluctantly.
I didn’t like the idea of leaving the wolf’s remains like this. I knew that the police would have no idea what could have been done to the wolf, or even what they were looking at. The average human didn’t know anything about vampires, or werewolves, or angels and demons. And if, in the course of investigating this murder, the police did stumble upon something supernatural, it was highly unlikely that said supernatural thing would just quietly answer questions and then send the nice officers on their way.
At the same time, it wasn’t as though I had any clue as to the perpetrator’s identity. Baraqiel claimed that Samiel had not killed the wolf, but he hadn’t actually seen the wolf’s attacker. And something about the power signature from the pulse had reminded me of Ramuell, which meant only Samiel could be the source. Could the pulse have been created when he attacked Baraqiel?