“He swiveled his head towards Eddie. "Tell me how to get over to the Four Lads. Do I have to die again?"If he did, he had a Beretta on him and he knew what kicking the bucket from a gunshot was like. Snore."Don't bother." Adrian cracked his knuckles. "They're not going to tell you anything. They can't."What the fuck? "I thought I worked for them.""You work for both sides, and they've given you all the help they can."Jim looked back and forth between the two angels. Each of them had the tight expression of a guy with a shoestring noosing up his balls."Help?" he said. "Where's my goddamned help?""They gave you us, asshole," Adrian snapped. "And that's all they can do--I've already gone over and asked them who's supposed to be next. I figured it would help you, you ungrateful bastard.”

“That's where you come in. I want into that guy's mind, and you need to tell me how to do it."Ad shrugged. "Personally, I'd just use a hacksaw, but—""There are potential consequences and side effects," Eddie said carefully."Like what?""Well, worst case... he could end up like Adrian.”

“How'm I doin'?" Jim asked in his own voice—hey, he could talk out of the bastard's mouth, too.Across the way, Adrian shrugged. "Pretty damn good—I can't sense you. But I gotta ask—the pair of you want a cigarette? Or are you going for a twofer?”

“Butch, let me help you."He cursed. "What if-""What ifs don't cut it." She took a deep breath. "I won't lie. I'm scared. But I don't want to turn my back on you and you're a fool to try and make me."He shook his head, respect in his eyes. "You always been this courageous?""No. But it appears that for you, I guess I am. So are you going to let me in?""I want to. I feel like I need to.”

“After a while Mary said, “Zsadist?”“Yeah?”“What are those markings?”His frowned and flicked his eyes over to her, thinking, as if she didn’t know? But then . . . well, she had been a human. Maybe she didn’t. “They’re slave bands. I was . . . a slave.”“Did it hurt when they were put on you?”“Yes.”“Did the same person who cut your face give them to you?”“No, my owner’s hellren did that. My owner . . . she put the bands on me. He was the one who cut my face.”“How long were you a slave?”“A hundred years.”“How did you get free?”“Phury. Phury got me out. That’s how he lost his leg.”“Were you hurt while you were a slave?”Z swallowed hard. “Yes.”“Do you still think about it?”“Yes.” He looked down at his hands, which suddenly were in pain for some reason. Oh, right. He’d made twofists and was squeezing them so tightly his fingers were about to snap off at the knuckles.“Does slavery still happen?”“No. Wrath outlawed it. As a mating gift to me and Bella.”“What kind of slave were you?”Zsadist shut his eyes. Ah, yes, the question he didn’t want to answer. For a while it was all he could do to force himself to stay in the chair. But then, in a falsely level voice, he said,“I was a blood slave. I was used by a female for blood.”The quiet after he spoke bore down on him, a tangible weight.“Zsadist? Can I put my hand on your back?”His head did something that was evidently a nod, because Mary’s gentle palm came down lightly on hisshoulder blade. She moved it in a slow, easy circle.“Those are the right answers,” she said. “All of them.”He had to blink fast as the fire in the furnace’s window became blurry. “You think?” he said hoarsely.“No. I know.”

“Lassiter skidded in from the billiards room, the fallen angel glowing from his black-and-blond hair and white eyes, all the way down to his shitkickers. Then again, maybe the illumination wasn’t his nature, but that gold he insisted on wearing. He looked like a living, breathing jewelry tree. “I’m here. Where’s my chauffeur hat?” “Here, use mine,” Butch said, outing a B Sox cap and throwing it over. “It’ll help that hair of yours.” The angel caught the thing on the fly and stared at the red S. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” “Do not tell me you’re a Yankees fan,” V drawled. “I’ll have to kill you, and frankly, tonight we need all the wingmen we’ve got.” Lassiter tossed the cap back. Whistled. Looked casual. “Are you serious?” Butch said. Like the guy had maybe volunteered for a lobotomy. Or a limb amputation. Or a pedicure. “No fucking way,” V echoed. “When and where did you become a friend of the enemy—” The angel held up his palms. “It’s not my fault you guys suck—” Tohr actually stepped in front of Lassiter, like he was worried that something a lot more than smack talk was going to start flying. And the sad thing was, he was right to be concerned. Apart from their shellans, V and Butch loved the Sox above almost everything else—including sanity.”

“Price,” Wrath said, still looking at his brother.“Well, here’s the thing.” As the king cursed, the man, Lassiter, laughed. “It’s not a price, though.”“What. Is. It.”“We’re a two-for-one-deal.”“Excuse me?”“I come with him.”“The fuck you do.”The man lost any levity in his voice. “It’s past of the arrangement, and believe me, I wouldn’t choose this either. Fact is, he’s my last change, so yeah, I’m sorry, but I go with him. And if you say no, by the way, I’m going to level us all like that.”The man snapped his fingers, a brilliant white spark flaring against the night sky.After a moment, Wrath turned to John. “This is Lassiter, the fallen angel. One of the last times he was on earth, there was a plague in central Europe –““Okay, that was so not my fault –”“ – that wiped out two-thirds of the human population.”“I’d like to remind you that you don’t like humans.”“They smell bad when they’re dead.”“All you mortal types do.”John could barely follow the conversation; he was too busy staring into Tohr’s face. Open your eyes…open your eyes…please God…“Come on, John.” Wrath turned back to the Brotherhood and started walking. When he came up to them, he said softly, “Our brother is returned.”“Oh, Christ, is he alive,” someone said.“Thank God,” someone else groaned.“Tell them,” Lassiter demanded from behind. “Tell them he comes with a roommate.”As one, the Brothers’ heads snapped up.“Fuck. Me, “Vishous breathed.“I will so pass on that,” Lassiter muttered.”