“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.”

“After a moment, Wrath turned to John. "This is Lassiter, the fallen angel. One of the last times he was here on earth, there was a plague in central Europe-""Okay, that was so not my fault-""-which 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.”

“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.”

“Fuck. Me, "Vishous Breathed."I will so pass on that, "Lassiter muttered.”

“Luce," he said at last, his voice soft. "what do you want me to do?" He paused, waiting for my response, but I wasn't sure what he was asking, so no response came. "Please, just tell me," he continued. "Tell me what you want me to say, and do, when it comes to Adriana or any other girl that looks my way, and I'll do it. You want me to fire a spit wad between their eyes? So be it. You want me to flip them off any time any one of them looks my way? You got it. You want me to poke my eyes out so I can't see another one of their suggestive smiles again?" he trailed on, half of his face squishing together. "Well, that would suck, but I'd do it. For you." Cradling my face in his hands again, he leaned forward so his eyes were staring into mine from half a foot away. "Just tell me, baby. What do you want me to do?”

“Come on, sweetheart. I’m letting you do this. Do it.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Listen, I know it’s easier when they’re not fucking looking at you.”Beckett turned and faced the wall.“I don’t know who hired you, but can I ask you for something?” He talked at the wall.Here comes the fast-talking, the mojo, the shout to his employees.“Could you make sure Cole doesn’t take credit for his handiwork last night? And can you follow up on that Chris guy?” Beckett turned his head a bit, listening for her answer.He still trusts me. He still trusts me with his brothers. I can’t do it.”