Called By the Dark

“Fallen angel!” someone bellows. “Tear it to shreds!”

“Oh dear,” I murmur.

Zeph leaps to his feet. “They’re going to kill him!”

I stand too, moving much slower. “No, they’re not,” I say in a bored tone, and raise my hand, palm facing out.

The demons immediately drop to the floor, motionless.

Zeph looks at me with huge eyes. “Did—did you just kill them?”

“Just knocked them out,” I say casually, then incline my head toward the angel hunched on the floor. “Come on. Let’s get him out of here.”

We head over, stepping over unconscious demon bodies. As soon as Zeph has the angels by the arms, I transport us outside into a secluded alley with a blink.

The former Watcher groans.

“Do your thing, Zeph,” I say.

Frowning, Zephaniel uses his celestial power to heal the Watcher. The fallen angel sucks in air, eyes flying open.

“Who…who are you?” he mumbles, glancing back and forth between us.

With a wave of my hand, I dispel the veils around our faces.

The former Watcher stares at me warily before glancing at Zeph. He seems to recognize his former kind, if not Zephaniel in particular.

“You’re an angel,” he whispers, then glances at me again. “And you’re…Agrat bat Mahlat.”

I drop a little curtsy. “Mind telling us who you are?”

He grunts and pulls out of Zephaniel’s grasp, then staggers to his feet. “Mind telling me what you, an angel of Heaven, are doing with a demon?”

“We’re here to help you,” Zeph replies in a low voice. “Why do you think we pulled you out of there?”

“Why did you go in there in the first place?” I ask, folding my arms. “You should know better than that.”

“I wanted a drink,” the fallen angel says with a slight sneer.

“Tell us your name,” Zeph says. “Please. We know you were one of the Grigori.”

The former Watcher shifts his gaze back and forth between us, then shrugs. “What the hell. Yes, I was one of the Grigori. Operative word being was. The name’s Bezaliel.”

“You’re not quite one of us,” I remark. “Are you, Bezaliel?”

His top lip curls ever so slightly. “Not yet. But if I spend one more iota of time in Hell, then I very well may become one of you.”

“That is interesting.” I step toward him. He’s quite attractive, if a bit disheveled. Square jaw, light dusting of a beard. Piercing eyes—eyes that begin to glow white the closer I draw near. “I have a question for you, Bezaliel.”

He looks at me suspiciously. “What?”

I smile. “What would you be willing to do if it meant a chance to return to Heaven?”

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