"I was going to trick you, but now I know I can't trick you. I'll take you to it," I sobbed. "I left it in Knoxville, and I'll take you to it . . ."

All I wanted to do at that moment was to please him, to give him what he wanted.

Then, quicker than I could take my next breath, I was on the monster's back, behind the towering form of Paimon, and we were rocketing skyward.

The concentric rings of sixteen million fiery riders broke apart as we approached, and then I couldn't see anything because we were passing through the clouds. Wind roared in my ears and red flashed behind my eyelids as the lightning snapped and danced all around us. Then my eardrums started to pop and a stabbing pain shot through my chest as the air grew thinner.

After a few seconds, I forced myself to open my eyes and, looking down, saw we had passed through the clouds. Above us were a billion stars and a bright moon that illuminated the ridges and little valleys of the clouds below, an unbroken sheet of fluffy gray carpet that stretched for as far as the eye could see.

And still the demon climbed, until black spots swam before my eyes. Breathing became almost impossible and my clothes froze against my skin. I didn't know if we were high enough yet, but I willed myself to hold on for a few seconds more-it would have to level off soon or risk killing me before we could reach the Seal. Everything rested on that-the assumption that it cared if I lived or died.

We leveled off. I closed my eyes again and saw the little kids playing soccer on the frozen field. I could hear them laughing and calling to one another as the ball slid and skittered over the ice. I needed to let go. And they needed me to let go.

"Let go, Kropp," I whispered. "Let go. "

And that's exactly what I did.

29,035 FEET.

I slid off Paimon's back, and fell faceup, my back to the clouds below, so I saw the demon rider swoop around in a wide arc, receding as I dropped. I pulled the black sword from my belt, brought the blade against my chest, wrapped my left hand around the icy metal, squeezing tight, the tip of the sword just below my chin, and waited for the demon to descend upon me.

Saint Michael. Protect.

The screaming wind rocked me from side to side, threatening to flip me into a helpless, tumbling spin. It was like trying to stay afloat in the ocean during a hurricane. If I went into a spin, I wouldn't see the beast coming, and I had to see it coming. And it had to reach me before I hit the clouds. Once inside the thunderheads, I wouldn't be able to see well enough to pull my next move.

The monster's bulk was as black as the space between the stars, and it blotted them out as it rocketed toward me.

I waited until I could see Paimon's eyes shining with malevolent light as it stretched out its hand toward me, and then I yanked the blade downward. The sharp edge sliced into the palm of my left hand, as if my fist were a scabbard; and the howling wind tugged at the bloody sword when it came free of my hand.

I felt a blast of heat, and the demon was on me, leaning over the back of the flying worm, the light from its crown scorching my eyes. I jabbed my left arm into the air, like an offering. It grabbed me by the wrist and stopped my fall.

I could see it shining on its index finger about a foot above my uplifted face: the Great Seal of Solomon.

Our eyes met, mine and the demon king's, and everything I held inside poured out of me, like the light being sucked into the nothingness of the devil's door, and it knew my mind; it knew what I planned to do.

Saint Michael.

Protect.

I swung the sword over my head and smashed the bloody blade against its wrist.

There was an explosion of white light, the hand wearing the Seal broke free of the body, and I was falling again.

18,987 FEET.

I hit the clouds at five hundred miles per hour, curling my body around the demon's hand, clutching it against my stomach as the sharp nails clawed into my wrist, trying to tear open my veins because, like Op Nine had said, that which has never lived cannot be killed.

I let go of the sword. I needed both hands now to get the ring. Wind buffeted me from all sides, slowing my rate of descent, and every hair left on my body stood on end as lightning crackled and popped around me. The sound was deafening, wind and thunder and the blood roaring in my ears.

I lost my grip on Paimon, and it scrambled up my body like a huge spider. Fingers colder than ice wrapped themselves around my throat, squeezing until black stars bloomed and multiplied before my eyes. My gut heaved and my shoulders jerked as I fought to breathe.

I hooked two fingers in the juncture between the thumb and forefinger and yanked with every bit of strength I had left. The hand tore free, and I felt the nails rake long gashes in my neck.

My right arm was shaking uncontrollably with fatigue as I grabbed the ring, pushing the twisting hand against my stomach with my left forearm, holding it still for the split second I needed-and a split second was all I needed-to rip the Great Seal off the finger.

I flung my left arm away from my body and the demon's hand shot straight up, disappearing into the churning mass of the thunderhead.

9,456 FEET.

I had reached the heart of the storm. Updrafts flipped and spun me, slowing my descent slightly, as rain and quarter-sized hail pelted me from every direction.

I pushed the ring onto my left index finger.

Then I howled, competing against the howling wind, wondering if it mattered if the demon king could hear me, "I do conjure thee, O thou Spirit Paimon, by all the most glorious and-" And then I went blank, like I knew the whole time I would. I yanked the page containing the Words of Constraint from my pocket, because any rational person will tell you how easy it is to read as you plummet through a thunderstorm, your body pummeled by hurricane-force winds, the utter darkness punctuated by blinding flashes of lightning. It didn't matter anyway because the wind and hail shredded the paper in seconds, before I could even unfold it completely and bring it close enough to my face to read.

I was screwed. I would hit the ground at five hundred miles per hour and my body would disintegrate on impact, like a watermelon dropped from a skyscraper, and they would be finding pieces of me from Maine to Idaho. Paimon would get the ring and the war would be over. Everything would be consumed, all because I let my hatred of Mike Arnold get the best of me.

I crossed my arms over my chest and rolled so now I was falling facedown. I spread my arms and legs, knees slightly bent, the way I'd seen skydivers do, figuring this might slow me down. I had no idea if it did because I had no idea why skydivers fell this way; it might have nothing to do with their rate of descent. Maybe they just enjoyed the thrill of seeing the ground rushing up to meet them at 250 feet per second.

Saint Michael. Saint Michael, protect.

Wide shafts of light stabbed through the swirling rain and hail. I could hear demons above, screaming toward me at speeds faster than thought, and when they caught me, they would tear me to pieces.

5,134 FEET.

I closed my eyes. I wasn't afraid anymore. That's the surprising thing. I wasn't afraid at all. And I wasn't cold either. Maybe I had passed out of the clouds too, because I didn't feel the sting of the rain or the bite of the hail. All I felt was warm and empty. It wouldn't hurt. You hit the earth at the speed I was falling and you don't feel a thing.

I could feel the heat of the demons against the back of my neck. I whispered, "I do conjure thee . . ." before trailing off because I couldn't even remember the demon's name at that point, and nothing seemed to matter much anyway.

Op Nine had said it was over the moment Paimon got the ring, but for me it was over years ago. And they knew that. It was over the day my mother died. That's why Paimon had called me carcass. Something died in me when she died.

They have seen your secret face, the face you hide from everyone, even from yourself. That was my secret face, twelve years old, scared of out my mind at the thought of losing my mom, of being alone. Scared of death. The demons saw that and gave back to me what I feared the most. My secret face was the face of a rotting corpse.

Saint Michael.

Protect.

3,789 FEET.

A gentle glow appeared in the darkness behind my eyelids, and I felt a familiar comforting presence, something I had felt before in a dream, and I heard a voice calling me "beloved." Suddenly, all the fear and panic whooshed out of me, and into the hollowness left behind poured a light so pure and bright, no shadow could exist in it, and there was someone with me, though I couldn't see a face, but I could feel arms around me as it spun and fell with me.

Speak, my beloved, and I will give thee words.

My mouth came open and there was no sound-no crashing of thunder, no rush of wind, nothing but my own voice roaring like a freight train.

"I do conjure thee, O thou Spirit Paimon, by all the most glorious and efficacious names of the Most Great and Incomprehensible Lord God of Hosts, that thou comest quickly and without delay . . ."

The words poured out of me as if I'd spoken them every day of my life.

"I conjure and constrain thee, O thou Spirit Paimon . . . by these seven great names wherewith Solomon the Wise bound thee and thy companions in a Vessel of Brass."

The arms released me, the white light faded. I was through the clouds and the earth burned below me while the fire roared above me. The demons were closing in, but I was as calm as an old man on a park bench, feeding pigeons on a warm summer afternoon.

"I will bind thee in the Eternal Fire, and into the Lake of Flame and of Brimstone, unless thou comest quickly and appearest here to do my will."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the ring on my hand begin to glow.

1,023 FEET.

I could see the ground now-though there was no ground to be seen. Only a roaring fire, flames shooting hundreds of feet into the air toward me. It was like looking at the surface of the sun.

I pulled my arms and legs back toward my body and flipped onto my back. Countless orange balls of fiery light filled my entire field of vision, like burning meteors screaming toward the earth, and in the lead Paimon came, holding a flaming sword in its right hand, and the thing it rode came at me openmouthed, teeth shining in the light, flying faster than I could fall. I held my left fist straight up, pointing the ring at them as I finished the spell and hell's flames came rushing up to meet me: "Come thou Paimon! For it is not I but God that commandest thee!"

476 FEET.

The beast's mouth flung open and its foul breath washed over me as I whispered, because my howling was finished, "Save me."

And it caught me in its mouth with maybe four feet to spare above the roaring flames, carrying me in its teeth as gently as a dog carries her puppies. It deposited me on the scorched and smoking ground before swooping back into the sky.

I lay there for a very long time, blinking stupidly at the spinning shapes beneath the clouds, forming the wheels of fire, thousands of them one within the other. Then I didn't feel so warm and empty anymore, and I rolled onto my stomach, coughing and heaving, the ring on my left hand pulsing pure white light.

I raised my head a little and saw King Paimon standing there, and it was just like the Sahara, except this time the ring burned on my hand, and this time Paimon kneeled to me, Alfred Kropp, beloved of the archangel who cast it down.

And it held in its right hand the sword that I had lost in my fall, the same sword the Last Knight had lost in another hopeless battle against the forces of darkness and despair. And the mighty Paimon, King of the Outcasts of Heaven, lowered its head, offering me the sword.

Command me.

PART FIVE.

Homecoming.

56.

A little man with an egg-shaped head glared at me through the half-open front door while his wife and kids crowded behind him, trying to get a peek at me. "Yes, what do you want?"

"Horace," I said. "Don't you know who I am?"

I slipped off my Oakleys. His eyes grew wide and his mouth came open a little.

"Alfred?" he squeaked. "We heard you were dead!"

He flung the door open and I put a hand on his chest to abort his bear hug.

"Not anymore," I said. "Where's Kenny?"

There was a commotion behind him and I heard a voice call out, "Alfred! Alfred Kropp! Alfred Kropp! Alfred Kropp is back!"

Kenny pushed past Horace and buried his face in my chest.

"They came and took your sword, Alfred! I tried to stop them. I tried and tried and tried . . ."

"It's okay, Kenny," I said. "I got it back."

"You came back," he whispered.

"Told you I would. Didn't I promise I'd save you?"

I motioned to the man standing behind me. He stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"Good morning, Mr. Tuttle, how are you? I'm Larry Fredericks with the Department of Child Welfare. I have here a court order authorizing the removal of these foster children."

"You have what?" Horace barked.

"I said I have a court order authorizing . . ."

"Oh, dear!" I heard Betty gasp.

"This is outrageous!" Horace yelled. "I demand an explanation! I demand a hearing! I demand to know who is responsible for this!"

"That would be me," I said.

"You?" Horace's bottom lip bobbed up and down. "You, Alfred?"

"Me."

I wrapped my arm around Kenny's shoulders and led him to the silver Lexus parked by the curb. Horace kept yelling as the cruiser pulled into the drive with the sheriff's deputies.

I opened the door for Kenny and he asked, "Where are you taking me, Alfred Kropp?"

"You're going to stay with Mr. Needlemier for a while," I said, nodding toward his smiling, baby-faced bald head behind the steering wheel. "Until we can figure something out."

I looked back at the little house on Broadway. Horace had thrown a couple of strands of those old-fashioned Christmas lights with the fat multicolored bulbs on the bare branches of some azalea bushes the cold had killed, and had put out the same old faded light-up Santa (only it didn't light up anymore because the bulb was missing and he was too cheap to replace it).

It was two days before Christmas, and cold, but the sun was bright and the shade of the stunted dogwood by the front walk was sharp and hard-looking. I slipped the Oakley Razrwires back on. My eyes had become sensitive to light.

"I'll see you back at the house," I told Mr. Needlemier.

"You're not coming with me?" Kenny asked, panic setting in.