“The Grigori respect strength,” Lucifer said. “And I will remind you, Madeline, that in my kingdom I will do as I wish. If you desire something different, you may remember my offer to you when last we spoke.”
I remembered his offer—his offer to be his right hand, to be the heir to his kingdom. He’d dangled Gabriel’s freedom in front of me in exchange.
“And you may remember my answer,” I said.
“Things change,” Lucifer said. “And I have all the time in the world.”
His wings spread out, and he took flight. I watched him until he was gone.
When I turned to Gabriel, I found that he was gone, too.
I stood alone in the dark, and watched the stars winking above me, and thought I heard the echo of Lucifer’s laughter in my ears.
I hardly remembered climbing the stairs and making it to my bedroom. I fell asleep immediately and woke the next morning to blazing sunshine in my face and a crabby gargoyle pressing his beak to my nose.
“Are you going to get up and feed me or what?”
I pushed him away from my face and he fluttered into the air. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, feeling like I hadn’t slept at all.
“Are your hands broken? You’re more than capable of feeding yourself.”
“You promised me cinnamon rolls, and no cinnamon rolls have appeared.”
“I did not.”
He pressed one claw to his chin like he was thinking. “I seem to recall discussing cinnamon rolls in exchange for information.”
“And I seem to recall telling you that if you didn’t tell me what you knew, I would get rid of all your cheese puffs,” I said, swinging my feet to the ground. I glanced at the clock. It was eleven a.m., and I knew that I had a pickup sometime today, but I’d forgotten exactly when it was supposed to be in the insanity of yesterday.
Most of my life had been defined by my duties as an Agent, but lately it seemed like tending to the souls of the dead was at the bottom of my priority list. Now I spent most of my time trying not to become a dead soul myself.
“C’mon, you know you want a cinnamon roll,” Beezle whined.
I stood up, stretched and realized I’d slept in my clothes from the day before. There was probably rock dust all over my sheets.
“I don’t have time to make a junk-food run for you today, Beezle,” I said, going into the closet to change into my robe. I needed a shower.
“Why? What do you have to do that’s so important?”
I stuck my head out and glared at him. “Oh, gee, I don’t know. I have to find Wade. I have to figure out what’s causing the ghost problem. I’ve got some fences to mend with Gabriel and, oh, yeah, Lucifer showed up last night to tell me that Samiel’s trial is tomorrow.”
Beezle looked alarmed. “What? Why didn’t you tell me last night?”
“Why?” I asked. “What’s the problem?”
“You don’t think that the Grigori are just going to let you saunter into court with Samiel tomorrow, do you?”
Beezle sped out of the room. I hurriedly pulled my robe on and followed him. Beezle was right. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it. To the Grigori, Samiel was a criminal, and he would be treated as such.
Samiel sat on the couch in the front room doing a sudoku puzzle. He wore a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants. His golden hair was rumpled from sleep. He looked just like any college student relaxing on a Saturday morning—that was, except for the wings. He looked up in puzzlement as Beezle landed on his knee.
That was when the light shining through the picture window disappeared. My eyes widened. The biggest angel I had ever seen hung suspended in the air just beyond the glass, his enormous white wings blocking out the sun.
7
THE ANGEL WORE A FULL SUIT OF ARMOR FROM THE neck down, and his eyes blazed with a strange red light.
“Metatrion,” Beezle said.
The angel opened his mouth to speak, and his voice shook the walls of the building. Books tumbled from their shelves. Furniture scraped across the floor.
I grabbed the archway between the living room and the dining room for support as dust rained down from the ceiling. Samiel stumbled away from the window to join me. Beezle landed on my shoulder. We all stared at the apparition just beyond the glass.
“Samiel ap Ramuell,” Metatrion boomed. “You are called before the court of the Grigori to be charged for your crimes against the laws of Lucifer’s kingdom. You will present yourself before me to be brought to holding, or else face the consequences of your defiance.”
The building stopped shaking once Metatrion stopped speaking. Samiel looked at me in confusion.
I quickly explained what Lucifer had told me the night before. Metatrion still hung outside the window like a looming portent of doom.
I should go out to him, Samiel signed.
“No way,” I said fiercely. “I won’t have you brought before the Grigori in chains.”
But the trial is going to happen no matter what.
“Yeah, and I’ll be the one to bring you. I told you I’d keep you safe, and I will. I won’t let the Grigori punish you for your father’s crimes.”
What about mine? He picked up my left hand.
“Like I told Lucifer, if it doesn’t bother me, it shouldn’t bother them. Besides, it’s supposed to grow back.” I glared at the place where the missing digits had been like I could make them grow back with just my force of will. “Anyway, Skippy there can’t get in without my permission.”
“Ummm, about that…” Beezle began.
Metatrion narrowed his eyes like he’d heard me. Then he drew back his fist and punched it through the front picture window—a thing that he should not have been able to do. I could see his hand very clearly cross the border of the building.
I shouted in anger and blasted nightfire as Metatrion pulled the broken shards away from the point of impact. The nightfire bounced harmlessly off Metatrion’s armor as he climbed through the window. I took Samiel’s hand and tugged him backward as Metatrion stalked toward us.
I tried to blast the angel with the same spell that I’d used in the cave, but again the armor seemed to dissipate its effects. I could only conclude that it was impervious to any kind of magic.
“Cheater,” I muttered as we backed through the dining room.
Samiel picked up one of the dining chairs and heaved it at the giant angel. They are oak, and heavy, and have been in my mother’s family for generations. Metatrion caught the chair before it hit him and snapped the frame in half as easily as if he were breaking a tree branch.
Lucifer’s sword lay on the side table next to the front door with my keys and cell phone. I picked up the sword and pushed Samiel behind me. Metatrion paused, staring at the sword.
I didn’t want to think about how absurd I must look. I was about two feet shorter than Metatrion and wearing nothing but a ratty blue terry-cloth robe. But the pointed tip of the sword was just a few inches from Metatrion’s unarmored throat, and I bet he’d bleed the same as anyone else if I pressed forward.
“Leave,” I said. “You can’t have Samiel.”
“I am the Grigori’s Hound of the Hunt,” Metatrion rumbled, and I winced at the close proximity of his voice. It seemed to shake the very cells of my blood. A couple of wineglasses in the cabinet shattered.
“I am charged with returning Samiel ap Ramuell to the court of the Grigori for his trial. No walls can bind me, and no creature can stop me, not even you, Madeline ap Azazel. I will not cease until the hunt is complete.”