All I can think of is that I have Anna with me, and how fantastically horrible his timing is. “I’ll see you at nine o’clock, sir,” I say, like a good boy.

“Don’t be late.” He hangs up and my jaw locks with annoyance at his insolence. It’s a good thing we’ve got a seven-hour drive ahead of us, because it’s going to take at least that long to mentally prepare for this. I won’t just be swallowing my pride; I’ll be choking on it.

At eight thirty I’m back in my old room, and I feel no warm and fuzzy memories. In fact, I’m entirely creeped out to be back here, surrounded by the ghosts of my past.

I focus on the fact that Anna is parked up the street, and I’ve got knives in my pockets and boots—the blades have even been dipped in holy water. If demon legend is correct, holy water does more than repel demons—it’s like a poison to them, like prayer in liquid form.

I push my hearing down to where I know Anna’s parked, but I hear nothing. She is silent and unmoving. Good girl. Now I just hope she stays there. I hope she has no reason to come charging at the house, sword blazing.

Although, that would be a brilliant sight.

I pace the room. Perhaps I should go upstairs to wait, but this room feels like my territory. I’d prefer to meet here if he’ll allow it. I flick on my old stereo system and smile as the high volume vibrates the floor under my feet.

Screaming lyrics. The whine of electric guitar chords. An unrelenting drum beat. Lovely.

A strand of my hearing remains on the front door, so I know when Father comes in. I’m on my third Nine Inch Nails song. My hands clench and stretch open. Clench and stretch. I stare at the door. When it swings wide, a tall blond bloke stands there with his face scrunched in disgust. We are matched in body thickness, but he might have an inch of height on me. He carries himself like a wanker.

Three grungy spirits fly next to him and over him, filling the room with half their wingspans spilling through the walls. I hope they don’t venture around the premises during this visit.

“Shut this racket off!” he yells.

Yep. Wanker.

I flip the stereo off and he lets out an annoyed sigh.

“Good to see you, Father.” I nearly trip over the word Father. He’s got the large red badge, but he can’t be older than twenty or twenty-one. “Excellent choice on your new host body.”

“Yes, it was,” he says, running a hand through his thin, silky-looking hair. He’ll probably be balding by thirty. “You sign the estate paperwork tomorrow?”

Is that what this is about? “Yes, sir. In the morning.”

He pulls a folded paper from his back pocket. “Here’s my new account information. You’ll receive your own funds from the life insurance and inheritance. Everything else needs to be transferred to me. If a penny is missing, I will know it.”

“I understand.” Git. He just wants to make sure he gets his money so he can start his new life ASAP. Could’ve just rung me, but I suppose he wanted to show off his pretty new body.

The spirits circle us, restless. Father ignores them.

“Good.” He sniffs the air and glances at the king-sized bed with its black and gray silk bedding. I’m going to sell all of it. I don’t want anything that’s been in this house. “Smells like old lust in here. You were always a good worker.”

I blink. Wow. A compliment. “Thank you, Father.”

Then I remember Anna is listening. I hope he won’t go into any details.

“Things aren’t always what they appear, are they?” he asks. The whisperers hiss in anticipation as his voice takes on a silky edge.

I feel my eyes narrow. What’s he going on about? Is he talking about my working? Shite, has he had someone watching me in L.A. that I don’t know about?

I force myself to ask nonchalantly, “In what way?”

“Something’s not right.” He slowly walks the room, running a finger over my black dresser, which has gathered a light layer of dust since nobody’s been here. He wipes the finger on his jeans and holds his hands behind his back, much like he used to in his old body, but it looks strange. His muscles are bulkier.

“I haven’t been able to put my finger on it. . . .” As he talks, he looks at my framed posters of favorite bands, all autographed. He’s acting as if what he’s saying is no big deal, but it feels as if he’s about to drop a bomb. Dread trickles down my spine. “Ever since that summit when the damned angels showed up, we’ve been watching the daughter of Belial.”

Do not react.

Lie through your teeth.

I snort a derisive laugh. “Her? No offense, Father, but I don’t see why an unremarkable Neph like the daughter of Belial would warrant such attention. I’ve worked with her. She’s excellent at her job, but on a personal level she’s rather . . . boring.”

He turns to face me now, amused. “So you took no pleasure from your time with her?” Tricky bastard. Always with the games. His new grin is too wide. The whisperers turn their ugly, hazy heads to hear my response.

“Oh, I took my pleasure. I also got out of there as quickly as I could. She’s got zero personality unless she’s wasted.” The whisperers hiss and make raspy, choking sounds of laughter.

Father chuckles low. “I know being with her was a chore, but it was necessary. She’s somehow been able to fly under the radar. Now we know for sure that she’s a threat.”

“A threat?” I laugh, as if it’s a ridiculous notion. He takes three quick steps toward me and points in my face, hair slanting across his forehead as he tilts his head almost comically. The spirits bob up and down in agitation.

“You think this is funny? You think I have time to joke around?”

I keep a straight face and force a respectful tone. “Of course not, but having spent a good bit of time with her, it seems preposterous. She cares about nothing except where she’ll find her next drink.”

His eyes narrow and his voice lowers. “Then she’s fooled you as well. That boring Neph who you think’s so benign was caught being affectionate with her human mother-figure this morning.” He spits the words. “We sent five Legionnaires to get more information, and the girl took out four of the spirits! She’s a mercenary of heaven.”

He snarls the last sentence with venom and his whisperers move about the room faster, upset, making scratchy noises like dry, noiseless screams.

I school my face into concerned shock. “Wha—? How is that possible?”

He stands straighter and runs a hand through his hair again, as if trying to decide if he’ll trust me with the next bit. Thankfully, he does, but his eyes flash red as he talks. “She’s somehow able to wield a Sword of Righteousness. Only angels of light have been able to do that.”

I force my eyes wide and shake my head. “But . . . why would an angelic weapon allow her to use it? I’ve watched her lead souls astray, and I nailed her myself. She’s hardly angel material.”

Those words feel especially acidic on my lips.

“I . . .” He shakes his head, looking almost frightened. “We don’t know.”

We have stumped the Dukes, for what it’s worth. Now to attempt to lead them astray.

“Is it possible someone is trying to deceive all of you? Point you in the wrong direction? I mean, how do you know about the sword, and the spirits she supposedly killed?”

He ponders this, still appearing baffled. “One of them escaped.”

“I hope that spirit isn’t misleading you,” I say. The trio of whisperers advance on me with claws and teeth bared. I wave a hand to ward them off.

“They’re too stupid to come up with something like that.” The whisperers reel back and glare at Father as if deciding whether or not to be offended. He gives a flick of his wrist and points to the door. They swoosh out and Father goes on. “Unless they’re being led by someone. But I haven’t seen a spirit that terrified since the Fall. We sent it down to Lord Lucifer for further questioning. He’ll get the truth out of it.”