Again, not so much her. Seline was very tempted to flee then.

“He’ll come at your throat. You will fear,” Mateo promised. “You will . . .”

Sam shoved the witch away from him. “This he . . . does he have a name?”

“Too many names.”

“Great,” Seline muttered, dragging her hand through her hair. “We needed the all-seeing Oz, and we got the freaking Riddler.” Why couldn’t the guy just answer a simple question? “Hey, buddy, over here.” She snapped her fingers and pulled Mateo’s attention her way. She was not going to look at his torn flesh. “Who did you see coming for Sam? His brother? Rogziel?” Some other supernatural that she needed to start worrying about?

“They all come,” Mateo said, and the strength vanished from his voice. Now he just looked and sounded beaten. “Time for a reckoning.”

Crap. An attack from all sides. We are so screwed. Mateo bent and picked up his mirror. “Are we finished?” Sam’s hands fisted, but he nodded.

Mateo’s fingers tightened around the mirror. “Then the debt is paid.”

Whoa, wait, the guy had peeked into the future because he owed Sam? Seline rocked back on her heels, and, helplessly, her gaze darted to Mateo’s wounds. She could smell his blood and see the pain on his face. She asked, because she had to, “What happened to you? How’d you get those marks?”

“When you look into the world of the spirits . . .” The mirror disappeared into a faded black bag hooked near Mateo’s hip. “Those spirits see you, too.”

Creepy. “And they—what? Touch you?” More like claw and bite.

“Yes,” he said flatly.

So he’d willingly let his body be savaged because he owed Sam. Her stare drifted to her silent Fallen. “What kind of debt was that?” Had to be something big. You didn’t agree to use your body as a ghost punching/clawing bag over some piddly deal.

Sam didn’t answer.

Mateo did. “He took the heads of four shifters who wanted to rip all the flesh from my body.” He inclined his head toward Sam. “A few scratches seemed like equal pay to me.” Then he opened the door and walked into the night.

Seline followed and shut the door. Because she didn’t want any more surprises, she pushed the lock into place. It clicked softly.

Seline was silent for a moment. Then two moments, because she really wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. Finally, when the silence got too thick, she cleared her throat and asked, “Um, you got any more guests coming tonight that I need to know about?” Was anyone else coming by to spread doom and gloom?

His eyes slowly slid to her. “Not tonight.”

She expelled a hard rush of air. “That’s something.” Okay, first order of business . . . shower. Then sleep. Then hopefully no dreams that involved nightmares about fire and blood.

Right, good luck with that one. Considering the week she was having, Seline was pretty sure that her real life would definitely chase her in her dreams.

She moved to brush by Sam. He blocked her path. “Are you afraid?”

Let’s recap. She had a psycho Fallen on her trail, one who apparently wasn’t gonna stop chasing her until she was dead. She’d turned her back on Rogziel, and the guy wasn’t exactly the forgiving sort. And, bonus, now it looked like Sam was in danger of serious dismemberment. “Damn straight I am.”

Because she wasn’t sure she’d be surviving the coming week. “It’s not like your witch said he saw us living happily ever after behind some picket fence, Sam.”

A faint furrow appeared between his brows. “You . . . want to live with me?”

Her lips parted. Her words had come out way wrong. “Look, we need to be afraid. Both of us. That guy didn’t say that you managed to come away unscathed.”

“But he didn’t say we died, either.”

Um, no. “He also didn’t say we lived.” Had he missed that point?

Sam shrugged.

She snarled and marched around him. “I am too tired for this crap. I’m showering, I’m hitting the bed, and then,” she threw over her shoulder, “when morning comes, we are going to figure how to kick ass . . . and not get our asses kicked.”

She grabbed the bathroom doorknob.

“You don’t have to worry, I won’t let Az hurt you.”

Sure. Easy to say. Right then, she could still taste ash. She slammed the bathroom door shut behind her without replying. The room was a matchbox, but it was better than nothing. She took one step forward and yanked on the shower. The water thundered out—at least that worked well enough. She stripped, climbed into the shower, and as the water fell onto her in hot, rough bursts, she wondered what the hell would happen next.