I drew in a breath, staggered by my own wrath. And, yes, I knew it was fueled in part by the demons within me surfacing, their inherent rage egging me on. I could feel the beasts within crying to get out. To take their rage out on Deacon, and damn the truth to hell.

But it wasn't his fault. He hadn't killed Alice-I was certain of that now.

"I wouldn't have hurt her," I said. "I don't care whether you believe me or not. But I wouldn't have hurt that girl."

"I do believe you," he said, and I could hear the relief in his voice. "I thought I was wrong. That they were tricking me again. That somehow I'd lost my grip and sunk back into-" He cut himself off with a shake of his head. His eyes had hardened with the memory, but when they looked at me again, they were soft. "My Lily."

He took my hand, pulling me close, bringing my insides alive with need. I clung to him, the sharp edge of my earlier rage replaced by a knife-edge of lust. I needed him. Craved him.

"What is this?" I whispered. "What is this between us?"

"I don't know," he murmured, stroking my hair, my face. As if he couldn't get enough of me. As if breaking the connection between us would break him, too. "I only know that I saw you, Lily. I saw you, and I knew that you were the key to my redemption."

I eased back, searching his face, not certain that was a responsibility I wanted to shoulder. "Saw?"

"A vision," he said. "Months ago. I thought it was Alice I saw, but I understand now that it was you. We were fighting, side by side, and I knew that we would win, because we had to. I had to. If we failed, we would both be damned, and the world as well."

"I don't understand."

He turned away, not looking at me. "There are things I've done. Things I'm not proud of. Unforgivable things." The pain in his voice raked over me like sandpaper, and I wanted to cry. He drew in a breath and turned back. "But this-if I can do this-then I will have my redemption."

"But do what?"

"Seal shut the Ninth Gate to Hell."

I gasped, and as I did, he searched my face.

"That's why you're here, too, isn't it? Why you're in her body. You're here to seal that gate."

I nodded. "I don't know why it's her body I got thrown into. I swear I don't. But, yeah. That's what I'm trying to do."

"Let me help you, Lily. It's what I'm supposed to do."

I took his hand, the idea of fighting with someone at my side exciting me, especially after being told I was destined to fight alone. And yet how could he help? Clarence would never trust him. And like it or not, there was that whole prophecy thing. I was a solo act.

Even so, I couldn't deny that it was nice to have someone who knew my secret. Nice to have a bit of the loneliness lift.

I licked my lips, trying to get my head around this new development. Finally, I cupped my palm against his cheek and met his eyes. "Let me see," I said. "Let me see what you saw."

But before I could slide into the vision, he jerked free. "No."

"Deacon."

"No." Rage colored his voice, cold and dark. "I told you I seek redemption," he growled. "I have done things-horrible things. Things I won't share." He stepped back so that there was no contact between us and met my eyes. "You've seen part, but you've hardly seen the worst. I won't take you there now. And I sure as hell won't go there with you."

I wanted to cry for the pain I saw in his eyes. I understood the desire to escape your past, and I knew more than I wanted about doing things you regretted. But I still needed to know. "I have to know you're telling me the truth."

"You're going to have to take me on faith, Lily," he said. He moved toward me again and pressed his hand over my heart. "You're mine," he said. "And you know it."

"Deacon." He befuddled me, and that was not a good place to be. But underneath the confusion and the questions, I knew that he was right. We were linked, he and I. And right then, with him standing so close, I wanted that link to be more than metaphorical.

"I can feel the quickening of your pulse," he said. "And I can see the flush on your skin." He moved closer, his lips grazing my hair as he spoke. "You want me," he said. "And if that's the first step toward trust, then so be it. I'll take what I can now, but in the end I will have all of you."

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry and my mind searching for a response. The sharp ring of my cell phone saved me from replying. Thinking of Rose, I grabbed for it, disappointed when I heard Clarence's voice. "Zane's. Now." And then he was gone.

I frowned at the phone, then frowned at Deacon beside me. I wanted to take him with me-wanted him to fight at my side-and the fact that that was forbidden frustrated me.

"I don't like to see you frown," Deacon said, then kissed me so hard and so unexpectedly that my phone tumbled from my fingers in surprise. When he broke the kiss, his dark eyes smoldering, he gave me a small, knowing smile. Then he bent down to retrieve my phone, his dark hair shifting as it grazed the back of his neck.

I blinked, certain I couldn't have seen what I'd thought. I dropped down onto my knees and pressed my hands over his, stopping him from standing again. He looked at my face, and the soft expression faded to hard lines and angles. "What?"

"Your neck," I said. "What do you have on the back of your neck?"

I saw the truth in his eyes, even before I leaned sideways to look.

"No," he said.

But fear and fury were on my side, as well as my newly acquired preternatural strength. I flipped him over and straddled him just long enough to push his hair aside. Then I leaped up, certain the fear and loathing would consume me.

"A Tri-Jal? You're a fucking Tri-Jal?"

"Lily, calm down."

But there was no calming down. Not from that. He had the mark. The serpent tattoo. Zane had warned me that I'd meet one again one day. The feral demons. The worst of the worst. Attack dogs for their master, only some of which managed to assimilate in our world.

Deacon, I'd say, had done a damn fine job assimilating.

"Let me explain," he said as I lunged back down on him, the tip of my knife pressed to his heart.

"Just tell me the truth. Am I right. Are you a Tri-Jal?"

"Yes."

My hand tightened on the blade, and I told myself I needed to thrust it home. I couldn't, though. I hesitated, my mind filled with doubts and questions.

He saw it and used it, tossing me over and pulling his own blade, pressing it hard against my neck. "I've told you only the truth, Lily. I haven't betrayed you."

The next thing I knew I was flying across the yard, tossed aside like he'd tossed Leon the first day I'd seen him.

I landed hard on my ass and scrambled to my feet, prepared to take off after him.

I didn't, though, because my arm began to scream in agony. I doubled over, clutching it, and watched as Deacon disappeared in the red haze of my pain.

THIRTY-SIX.

The portal dumped me out at a little church a ew miles from downtown Boston. The place was ancient, battered, and abandoned, with plywood across the stained glass and scaffolding barring the door. I drew in a breath, then looked up, catching a final glimpse of the portal closing above me, the way back to Clarence and Zane now blocked.

This time, at least, I was allowed to bring toys. A crossbow. A sword. And a shitload of knives. Color me a happy warrior.

I stood, then looked around to get my bearings. Yellow caution tape encircled the building, and I had to wonder if the place had been condemned, or if the demons were trying to discourage unwanted visitors.

I'm certain I qualified as the latter, but the plan hadn't worked. I wasn't discouraged at all. If anything, my toes were itching to kick demon butt.

As stealthily as possible, I eased toward the church. I found my first guard at the front doors. A bored-looking doughboy dressed in black. I lifted the crossbow, aimed, and fired, taking him out before he even knew what had happened.

The ease of it gave me a buzz, and I began to think that maybe this was possible after all.

I considered entering through those doors, but I decided to walk the perimeter and take out any other guards. I found four more, and dispatched them easily as well. So much for security. I had to presume that they believed the attack on me had succeeded. That the poison had killed me, and that heaven had no warrior who would fight to keep the gate closed.

I was feeling better and better about the mission as I edged along the side of the building next to one of the guards I'd dropped. The plywood barrier over one of the windows had come loose, and I raised myself up on my toes and peered in. A demon in the form of an ancient, weathered man stood in the center of a golden circle that had been drawn with chalk on the floor. He was dressed as a priest, and his blatant nose-thumbing of heaven and tradition hit me like a slap in the face.

Around him knelt five demons, each in black robes with hoods covering their faces.

I ran my fingers through my hair, considering my options. Six to one did not spectacular odds make. Even with me sporting some damn cool weapons and a shitload of attitude.

Fuck.

I took two deep breaths, reminding myself of why it was me standing there out outside that window. Because according to the heavenly forces watching over us, I was the anointed super soldier who could take these bastards out. Whose blood could destroy the Box that would otherwise open the gate to hell. Clearly, I had a little holy sumpin' sumpin' going on. A fact that should have bolstered my confidence to an insane degree, but instead had me waiting for the other shoe to drop. The shoe that would squash me like a tiny little bug.

How's that for confidence?

Not great, I'll admit, and I forced myself to shake off the fear and the hesitation and to own up to the fact that I could do this. I'd proven it over and over again already, and with each assignment, my strength grew. I might not be the most elegant fighter in town, but I'd already earned my street-fighting chops, I'd taken out their security team, and I'd been busting serious demon ass in Zane's ring.

One on one, I wasn't doubting myself.

Six to one, though . . .

That was going to take more than strength and cool weapons. If I was going to survive, I was going to have to get creative. I turned a circle in the courtyard, searching for things I could use to increase my arsenal.

An iron fence surrounded the property, and though I couldn't pry the arrowlike fence toppers off, I did manage to loosen one entire post-an iron bar with a deadly pointed end that fit perfectly in my hand, its weight remarkably well-balanced for throwing.

With my makeshift javelin in my hand, I scoured the area, gathering stones from a small garden and shoving them in the pocket of my jeans. That would have to do. I dropped my coat at the foot of an angel statue, hefted the crossbow in one hand and the javelin in the other, and edged around the building toward the back entrance.

The doors were unlocked, and I pulled them open and eased inside, armed and very, very dangerous.

I found myself in an unoccupied reception hall filled with tables and chairs. At the far end of the room, I could see the doorway, through which the gate-opening ceremony was in full swing.

No time for planning-I needed to get moving.

Keeping to the walls, I circumnavigated the room until I was right by the doorway. I lifted my knife, using its polished surface as a mirror to see into the room without revealing myself.

The demon in priest garb moved within a circle, touching each of the five kneeling demons on the head with a silver stick as he mumbled some sort of incantation. I waited, knowing I needed to destroy the Box. I didn't see it yet, and I held my breath, waiting for that key piece of the ceremony to be revealed.

I didn't have long to wait.

The high priest held his hand over the middle of the circle and a finger of blue flame shot up from the ground, the golden Box suspended in the middle of it. And as the flame disappeared, the Box sank slowly to the ground.

Showtime. I sliced my palm to ready my blood, then rounded the corner. I let the iron post fly and then took my stance with the crossbow even as my makeshift javelin hit its mark, sliding through the back of one of the kneeling demons. He splayed forward as his brothers rose, and I took aim and fired, the crossbow shooting true and nailing a second son of a bitch right in the eye. He staggered, screamed, and fell to the ground as the three remaining vassals moved to cover the high priest, who now held the Box in his hand.

I could still hear him chanting behind them, and knew that not only was this not over, but I had to move faster. I reloaded the crossbow, only to have it snatched out of my hands and tossed aside by the quick snap of a leather whip.

I gasped, my hand stinging, and looked out to face the hardened face of one of the vassals. "You will not succeed," he said. "Our quest is righteous."

"The hell it is," I countered, reaching into my pocket for a handful of rocks. I let them fly, scattering the vassals, and drew my sword from the scabbard. With it in my right hand and my blade in my bloody left, I rushed forward. I caught one across the middle, slicing him hard across the chest, my body immediately thrumming as the scent of his blood washed over me. It spurred me on, and I stabbed another through the heart with my blade. I owned that kill, and the strength of the act flooded through me like strong wine.

The one still standing remained in front of his master, a ceremonial knife held out as a weapon. But I was ready for him, willing to cut him across at the torso if that was what it took to get to the master. To destroy him and the Box.

I drew the sword back and put all my power into it. I lunged-and then my body spasmed with pain. The sword and blade tumbled from my hand, and I looked down to see the neat hole in the front of my shirt, the blood almost invisible against the black fabric.

I looked up to see the priest I'd sliced through the chest drop his arm as if weighted. And I had time for only one coherent thought before I dropped to the ground: Gun.

THIRTY-SEVEN.

Blackness.

Silence.

And then something.

Pinpricks of light.

Hints of speech.

A babble. Voices. Nonsense.

An incantation.

Reality rushed back at me-everything. The demons. The ceremony. The gun.

And, of course, the gates of hell.

I kept my eyes closed and took stock of my situation. I was lying on something cold and hard. The floor, I presumed, as I could hear the shuffle of what sounded like feet near my head. I felt something heavy on my belly, and though I desperately wanted to open my eyes and look, I didn't. I needed to think before I acted because I was certain-damn certain-that I had only one shot at winning this for the home team.

My biggest advantage, obviously, was that they thought I was dead. Soon enough, though, someone would notice that my wound had healed and my heart was beating.

I listened, certain I still heard only three. The injured vassal was at my feet, his breathing shallow. The strong one stood near my right hand, the priest near my left, muttering in a language I didn't understand.