Outside, in the darkness in front of the building, he expected the Brotherhood again. Or the brunette. Or shadows.

Nothing.

For a split second, he looked around and wondered what the fuck had happened to all the characters in his play. The stage was really fucking empty. But like he was in a position to argue with shit finally breaking his way?

Feeling like a bank robber on the heist of a lifetime, he closed his eyes and took to the cool spring night.

As he left the downtown, he had a bizarre thought.

It was almost like Balthazar had let him go.

• • •

Up in the book room, Balz fell to the floor and put his head in his hands. “Fuck. Fuck . . . fuck.”

When he looked up again, he was not alone. Lassiter was right in front of him, and the fallen angel slowly lowered himself down so they were eye to eye.

“Hi.”

Balz swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I just did.”

“Yes, you do.”

“How do I know this is actually you? I don’t know what to trust anymore—and that includes myself.”

“Give me your hand.”

As the fallen angel extended his own palm, Balz had a thought that if he touched what was being offered to him, he might well be trapped forever in—

Fuck it.

Balz clasped what was in front of him and braced himself for . . .

With an abrupt surge of energy, he felt warmth, like sunshine. Acceptance, like from a mahmen who loved you. Peace, for a tortured soul.

You did the right thing, Lassiter said without moving his lips.

“It was my one and only chance, though.” Balz wasn’t sure how he knew this with such certainty. “I’m going to be eaten alive by her, from the inside out.”

No, there is another way.

All Balz could do was shake his head. But then Lassiter smiled.

True love is going to save you.

Balz almost laughed. “I don’t believe in true love.”

When was the last time you saw the sun?

“My transition.”

And yet it has continued to exist and warm the planet and sustain life, even without the benefit of your eyes. You’re less powerful than that, Balthazar. True love does not require your acknowledgment to be a force in this world.

Whatever. “They’re going to kill me, the Brothers and my bastards. I let Sahvage take the Book.”

No, that’s not what happened. There was a struggle, and you slipped and turned your ankle. As you released your hold on it, Sahvage made off with the Book—

“Ow, what the fuck?” Balz dropped hold of the angel’s hand and grabbed for the bottom of his right leg—which was suddenly killing him.

When he looked up again, Lassiter was gone, but the agony was so great, he couldn’t worry about the departure. Grimacing, he rolled over onto his back and wondered how in the hell the joint in question was screaming like he’d—

Well, like he’d slipped on something and twisted the shit out of it.

Fumbling for his phone, he triggered a call, and required no promise of an Oscar statue to grit out, “Motherfucker, he took the Book—I fell flat on my ass, I can’t fucking walk or dematerialize . . . you’re going to have to come evac me, and no, I don’t know where that asshole went.”

Immediately, whoever was on the other line started barking at him, and when he couldn’t stand the noise, he cut the connection and squeezed his eyes shut. The only good news, he supposed, was also the bad news: With the Book gone, it was less likely that brunette was going to show up and play halfsies again with anyone who mattered to Balz.

Or himself.

Sahvage, the lying sonofabitch, had a proverbial tiger by the tail. Chances were very, very good he wasn’t going to live to see another sunset, and not because of whatever the Brotherhood was going to do to him. But his destiny was his own damn fault.

And as Balz worried about his infected soul, he heard the angel’s voice in his head.

True love, Balz thought. What a fucking crock of—

From out of the white-hot agony claiming all of his attention, an image pierced through the veil, cutting the pain away.

It was of that human woman, the detective with the handgun and the cuffs, so orderly, so focused . . . so tired, like she’d been working a hard job for too many hours in a row. Too many years in a row.

But surely that was not his destiny.

Or hers.

Right?

Mae was sitting at her kitchen table, staring into space over her now soggy almost-Cheerios, when the phone started ringing. Thinking it was Tallah checking in, she took her cell out of her pocket—except no one was calling.

When the ringing continued, she got up and followed the sound to the top of the cellar stairs. Descending, she glanced around, and headed for the couch in the sitting area. Tucked behind it . . . was a black duffle. It was Sahvage’s, the one that was filled with guns—he must have gone back to the cottage and retrieved it so he was well-armed over day. As she looked at the closed zipper, things went silent—but almost immediately, the chiming started up again.

Cursing to herself, she knelt down and went into the bag, rifling through the—well, rifles, as it turned out. Down at the bottom of so many muzzles . . . was his cell phone.

The screen showed the number was restricted.

With a swipe, she answered the call—

Before she could say hello, a male voice growled, “You double-crossing motherfucker. You just signed your death warrant and we know where you are—”

“Who is this?”

There was a pause. “Who are you.”

“I’m a—” Friend? How the hell did she answer that. “I know Sahvage. What did he do?”

“Where is he?”

“He went out—” To get ice for my dead brother. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what’s going on here.”

And didn’t that cover so much.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to identify yourself. And you need to know that we have a tracer on the phone you’re speaking into, so we are aware of your location. Sahvage is now an enemy of the Black Dagger Brotherhood. If you safe-harbor him in any way, or you attempt any deception on his behalf, you’re going to be on the wrong side of the ledger, you feel me?”

Mae straightened. “What’s he done.”

“He has something that is ours.”

Stepping to the side, she stared down at her bedroom and remembered them arguing.

As cold dread hit her head, she said baldly, “He has the Book, doesn’t he.”

“What do you know about the Book?”

Sonofabitch.

Hanging up the phone and keeping it with her, Mae took the stairs two at a time and went directly out into the garage—where she dematerialized free of the house. If the Brotherhood had the phone’s location, she didn’t want them anywhere near her home. They’d find Rhoger.

About five miles away, she re-formed behind a strip mall and tossed the cell into the dumpster in back. Then she up-and-outed once again.

Traveling in a scatter of molecules, she followed the blood signal Sahvage emitted, the kind of tracer that only she had access to. And as she zeroed in on it, she was taken to an old part of Caldwell, one that was right on the edges of downtown’s urban blight. Here, the houses were three-story Victorians, of which many had been converted into apartments or were being used as dorms for SUNY Caldwell because they were close to campus.