“The Omega is gone.”

Sahvage looked up from his cell. Surely he’d heard that wrong. “What.”

“The Omega no longer exists. The Lessening Society is no more.”

As he properly focused on the Brother, he had a thought that those two statements were pretty much the only thing that could have diverted him, even for a split second, from worrying about Mae. Even though it had been so long since he had reflected on the war, to hear that it was over and the species was safe was a shock—and he found himself searching out the faces that he recognized in the Brotherhood.

There was no running to greet them, however. And none of them were making any moves to embrace him, either. But it had been a long, long time.

“We won?” he said because he still couldn’t believe it. Then he shook his head. “I mean, you won? You did it?”

“We did. But there’s a new evil.”

Sahvage glanced down at his phone. Looked back up at the Brotherhood. “Like I said, you need to deal with—”

“We need you—”

“I’m no different than—”

“It’s a demon.”

Sahvage’s body stilled of its own volition. “A demon? What kind of . . . demon.”

“We’re trying to figure that out. And we know you have special skills—”

Putting his hand into the Brother’s face, he stopped the talk. “It’s a female, right? A brunette. And she comes with shadows—”

One of the Brothers he didn’t recognize, who had dark hair and was shorter and wider than the others, stepped forward. “That’s right. She can be a brunette. But she can also be a lot of other things.”

The accent was strong, but not in an Old Country kind of way—in an American one, though Sahvage didn’t have enough knowledge about New World dialectics to pinpoint any orgin in particular.

“You’ve seen her?” Sahvage asked the male.

“Yes.”

“Where. Do you know where to find her?”

Tohrment leaned in and put his face in the way. “You know her?”

As Sahvage contemplated his answer to that, the Brotherhood closed in on him, but not in an aggressive manner, in spite of all their weapons.

“I don’t have time to explain.” He put his phone away. “Listen, I just need to know where she is. I think she has someone . . . she’s taken someone. Tonight. And if I don’t find that demon, I think somebody I care about is going to be killed.”

“I know of one place she’s gone before,” the stocky fighter with the accent said. “I can take you there.”

“Let’s go!”

Tohrment put his whole body in the way. “Not until we have your word.”

“Fine! Take it! You have it.” Sahvage threw up his arms. “Whatever you need, I don’t give a fuck—”

“You’re going to help us after we help you. You’re going to do what only you can do when we need you to.”

Sahvage stared into his brother’s—former Brother’s—eyes. “You don’t actually buy that bullshit, do you. About the warnings on my coffin? I can assure you, I got no special powers.”

“You’re lying.”

“Look, that bitch took the female I lo—a female I care about. If I were so fucking powerful, you think I wouldn’t be strangling her right now?”

“But back in the Old Country—”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

Tohrment glanced at the Brotherhood. “So you didn’t slaughter Zxysis. Or his guards? You didn’t do all that. You’re not a warlock.”

Protecting Rahvyn was a reflex, but there was no reason to keep up the lie anymore. He hadn’t seen her or heard anything about her in two hundred years.

“No, I’m not a warlock. And that wasn’t me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Sahvage shrugged. “I don’t give a fuck whether you believe me or not. Look, I gotta go, I have to find—”

“I’ll take you to where I found the evil,” the Brother with the accent said. “No strings.”

Sahvage crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know you. So why would you do that.”

“Damsel in distress aside?” The Brother narrowed hazel eyes. “I’m a good goddamn Irish Catholic. So demons gotta go.”

“Are you sure Catholics can talk like that?”

“If you’re from Southie, fuck yeah.”

“In return,” Tohr cut in, “you’re going to help us find what we’re looking for. You’re going to owe us, and you’ve always been a male of your word.”

“Keep telling yourself that—”

“We find the Book, and you’re off the hook.”

Sahvage leaned in sharply. “I’m sorry, what did you say you’re looking for?”

Vernon Reilly wasn’t having it. As he looked at the other security guard on duty, he was so sick of this shit.

“You gotta stop, okay? I’m over it.”

Buddy Halles seemed surprised that someone, anyone, would take exception to his bitching. “I don’t see why you’re taking her side of this.”

The security office was a box with a single door, two swivel chairs, and a bank of monitors and equipment—and they were lucky to have the space they did. The building they were responsible for was an oldie but goodie, with what had been a big stack of floors for when it had been built a century ago. Now, of course, it was an antiquated stone stub compared to the graceful, mirrored sky-spears that marked the rest of downtown.

In this respect, it was kind of like Vernon. Old school, but still useful.

At least for another two months, three weeks, and four days, in his case.

Buddy sat forward in his swivel chair and pointed to his shiny shield. “I’m busy. I got a job, I got responsibilities. She have to understand where I am. This affects me, man.”

Buddy was a twenty-seven-year-old Caldie born-and-bred who was growing out his hair anywhere there was a follicle, and who seemed to think, in the ways of the younger generation, that absolutely everything revolved around how he was feeling.

Vernon had had to listen to the trials of the kid’s internal sense of self for every eight-hour shift since Buddy had been hired back in October.

“And my mother knows how I feel.”

Who doesn’t. “Mm-hm.”

“I have a right to feel safe in my own home—”

“It’s your mama’s house. And you’re not paying rent.”

“I’m allergic to cats, though. She knows I’m allergic—”

Like a gift from God, one of the sensors started blinking on the console. As Vernon sat up to enter the diagnostic coding request into his computer, he hoped—for the only time in his professional career as a security guard—that there was an actual fire.

“Maybe your mama sending you a message,” Vernon remarked while he waited for the IT response.

“You mean . . . you think she’s doing it on purpose? To get me out of the house—”

As the assessment reading came back, Vernon got out of his chair. “It’s another malfunction. There’s no heat registering. I’ve canceled the alarm, but I’m going to go check anyway.”