I followed the coffee aroma to a small kitchen, bracing myself to confront Raziel, but the place was deserted. There was coffee in a white carafe, and I filled one of the mugs, looking around me with fresh curiosity. Things didn’t seem nearly so bizarre as they had yesterday—amazing what a good night’s sleep would do for you.

I moved to the row of windows in the living room, looking out over the sea. It was misty, cool, the rich salt scent thick in the air. Where had Raziel gone?

And did he really expect me to stay here like a good girl, awaiting my master’s return?

Fat chance.

I found some white shoes that looked sort of like a delicate pair of Crocs and slipped them on, then headed out the door. I paused, staring down the endless flights of stairs, and let out a heartfelt groan.

Going down would be easier than going up, but if I did descend those forty million treacherous flights of stairs, sooner or later I would have to go back up. Why didn’t they have elevators in the afterlife? Maybe most people just flew.

No, only the men could. “Sexist bastards,” I said with a sniff. Maybe I could hitch a ride with one of the friendlier ones.

The stairs were endless, deserted as I descended. It wasn’t until I reached the third floor that I began to run into . . . whatever they were. Fallen angels, vampires, blood-eaters, hell-transporters. Comic-book villains.

None of them looked particularly happy to see me. So it wasn’t just Raziel who resented my presence. I gave each of them my cheeriest smile and a friendly greeting, and for the most part was met with cool indifference. Great. No welcome wagon here.

No sight of the Stepford wives, either, who by now were seeming pretty damned normal and friendly. Were they stuck in some kind of seraglio while the men went about their so-important business? Would I end up there?

Of course not. Seraglios were for wives and concubines, not inconvenient females nobody wanted.

I finally reached the bottom of those endless stairs, ending up in a massive hallway. It was open at one end, leading out to the churning sea, which called to me and I started toward it, something akin to joy rising in my heart, when I was brought up short by the very last person I wanted to see.

Not Raziel, who had his own dubious charms. But Azazel the Grouch, the leader of this happy band. And he was looking at me as if I carried all ten plagues of Egypt.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Looking for Raziel,” I said, a complete lie. I didn’t want to see him any more than he wanted to come near me, but I could think of no other excuse. The sea was calling to me, and I tried to sidle past him. “I think he might be out by the water—”

He blocked me. “He’s not. Go back to your rooms and await him.”

I didn’t like Azazel. “I’m not one of the dutiful wives, and I’m certainly not going to hide away like someone in a harem. I’m going out to the water, and I suggest you don’t try to stop me.”

The moment the challenge was out of my mouth, I regretted it. I’d forgotten these weren’t New York metrosexuals I was dealing with. Azazel froze, and I wondered idly if these fallen angels were capable of smiting a bitch. If so, I was in deep shit.

“Allie!” Sarah suddenly came up from behind me, tucking her arm through mine. “So nice to see you this morning. Aren’t you happy to see Allie, my love?”

Azazel glowered. “No.”

“Pay no attention to him, my dear,” Sarah said smoothly, leading me away from him. “He’s got a lot on his mind, and he tends to be bad-tempered in the morning. In the afternoon as well,” she added ruefully.

“Is there ever a time when he isn’t grumpy?” I asked with my usual lack of tact.

“Not often,” Sarah said. “He has too many responsibilities. Now, let me find someone who will know where Raziel’s gone. He’s probably up in the caves —he spends most of his time there.”

“I admit, he does have batlike tendencies. The black clothes.”

“The wings,” Sarah added cheerfully, then saw my expression. “Oh, you haven’t seen his wings yet? They’re quite . . . astonishing. A deep, iridescent blue. You’ll love them.”

“I doubt it.”

Sarah smiled. “Let’s find some help. I’m not allowed up there or I’d take you. Besides, with me you’d have to walk and it would take days. Come with me.” She led me, blessedly, toward the open door and the sea.

I stopped for a moment, blinded by the sunlight, and let the cool salty breeze wash over me like a blessing—like a lover’s caress. I opened my eyes to see Sarah watching me with a faint smile.

“You fit well here,” she said.

“I hadn’t realized how much I love the sea.”

“It’s not just that.” But before I could ask her what she meant, she started walking toward two men who were standing in the bright sunlight, watching our approach.

“I still can’t get over why they don’t turn into piles of ashes,” I muttered. “I thought vampires couldn’t handle the sun.”

Sarah laughed. “Vampires are a myth.”

“And fallen angels who drink blood are part of reality television?”

“Reality television is a myth too, from what I hear. I would suggest you reserve judgment. Tamlel, Sammael,” she greeted them, and the two of them bowed.

Raziel was so ridiculously gorgeous he made my knees weak, and Azazel’s stern beauty was impressive. These two were damned pretty as well, and for a moment I wondered if you could be gay in the afterlife.

One of them was older, with dark brown hair tied back, warmth in his eyes. The younger one was blond and cherubic, and it was probably my imagination that he looked slightly sullen. They greeted Sarah with warmth, but it was clear they were unsure about me.

“This is Allegra,” Sarah said. “But you already know that. Allie, this is Tamlel, generally considered to be in charge of scribes. And the young one is Sammael.”

He was looking at me with a sulky expression, and I’d always had little patience for sullen teenagers. Though this particular teenager was probably thousands of years old. “And what are you in charge of?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Sarah spoke. “In fact, he’s one of the angels of death. But since the Fallen have eternal life, he hasn’t had much to do since he fell. Our only connection with humans is to take them to their final home.”

“One of the angels of death?” I echoed. “Like Raziel?”

“Raziel isn’t a death angel.”

“You could have fooled me,” I grumbled, thinking back to that bus. “What’s he doing now—killing someone new?”