Treasure Island Casino
Las Vegas, Nevada
7:00 p.m., Dec. 23
Finn’s head was still ringing as he scraped himself into the empty conference room, where he’d been summoned to meet with his Asshole Excellency, the Archangel Michael. Beyond all the other things he was in this world, Michael had the power to dictate the ultimate fate of the Syx, which made him Finn’s boss. When the archangel called, Finn came—or went, as it happened, like he had the other night.
A night he was still paying for.
Still, at least so far, the archangel of God had allowed the Syx to live and fight and make the world a little bit more demon-free for the past six thousand years. So he wasn’t a total waste of feathers. And with the recent influx of demons, Michael had further made the Syx an offer they couldn’t refuse.
Do what the archangel said, undergo his Ultimate Demon Warrior test of redemption, and maybe—just maybe—the Syx would remain on permanent assignment on Earth. No more bolt-holes beyond the veil, no more wondering if their lives would be cut short merely out of spite. They’d still be Fallen, but they’d at least be that.
Which would be quite something, especially for Finn. Because unlike the other members of the Syx, he had not one freaking idea what he’d done to merit God’s fury—not one. Like all former angels, he couldn’t recall his time in God’s presence; that slate was wiped clean for demonkind. But Finn also couldn’t remember any of his time as a Fallen. It’d all been obliterated the moment he’d become a demon.
Which meant being a demon was all he’d ever known.
He’d told the leader of the Syx that once, when Warrick had asked him to join the demon enforcer team. After Warrick’s reaction—a mixture of horror and pity—Finn had never told another soul.
Now he drew in a ragged breath. Normally, he recovered from demon battles in two shakes of a succubus tail. Then again, normally he didn’t pull a doubleheader, going straight from the smoker fight into the ass edge of the polar ice cap to confront demons who’d crawled inside honest-to-God wolves.
Dire wolves, the Syx’s leader, Warrick, had explained to him after he’d thawed out. For the record, possessed dire wolves were a lot harder to kill than they should be.
“You okay?” Stefan was at his side again, probably because he’d been the one to punch through the layer of ice coating Finn when he’d blown back into the Missouri warehouse. Thank God there’d been nothing much left but one freaked-out kid and a lot of black demon goo by that time, because Finn had barely been able to walk. They’d hung around long enough to give Mack Two enough scratch to keep Mack One from ever fighting again, then they’d peeled out of there for points west. Finn had passed out again almost immediately.
“I’ve been better.”
“You know, if this’d happened to me, you’d have assembled a pack of wolf cub stuffed animals and piled them on my bed,” Stefan said wryly. “And you’d only be talking to me in howls.”
Finn smiled, then winced. “I don’t know why this hurts so much.”
“It’s a side effect of the Possessed you encountered. And who commanded them.”
They both turned as a new voice filled the room. Not the archangel, but close enough. The other celestial bigwig atop their organizational chart, Death, had entered the building.
Death, as it turned out, was one of the most formidable beings on Earth at the moment, a member of a council of sorcerers that the archangel also sat on. But though she was technically named after a card in the Major Arcana of Tarot, Death wasn’t merely her stage title. She was truly commissioned with ushering souls into the afterlife, and she also had some sort of overseer’s role with the Syx that only now was getting revealed, bit by bit.
A role that apparently included acting as welcoming committee.
“Dire wolves are an ancient creature, one harkening back to the dawn of history, but they can’t be possessed by demons unless someone more powerful commands it,” Death said. She stood with her back against the far bank of windows, her form lean and muscular in a black T-shirt and ripped jeans, the harsh fluorescent light of the room making her shock of white-blonde hair and piercing blue eyes appear starker than usual. “Someone also from the world’s earliest days.”
Finn kept his face carefully neutral. “A Fallen.” He knew that, in theory, there were Fallen angels who hadn’t become demons, who merely continued to walk the earth, relics of a bygone age. But he’d never encountered one before…not in all the millennia he’d been a Syx. “And the archangel chose me to go up against one who’d co-opted his very own kennel of sled dogs. Why?”
Death shrugged. “I suspect he wants something.”
“From me?”
“From you.” This second voice was different—louder, more resonant, and worst of all…closer. Finn flinched away, but he wasn’t fast enough. The being that suddenly stood beside him burned bright enough to melt through another layer of hoarfrost that seemed to have wrapped itself around Finn’s bones. As the ice fell away, the pain returned.
“Dammit,” Finn gritted out.
“It would seem you’ve done enough of that, demon,” Michael said, in what Finn suspected was an attempt at a joke. The dude was a walking pile of laughs.
Finn forced himself to look more or less into his boss’s face, though it cost him. The archangel was tall, slender, and dressed in a plain white suit, his skin so pale as to almost be translucent. His hair was the fairest blond, his eyes barely blue, and his lips were bloodless.
“But Death speaks true,” the archangel continued. “A Fallen has emerged at a most inopportune time. And, as it turns out, you don’t have any preconceived notions of what being a Fallen means.”
Finn stiffened, which didn’t improve his pain level any, and slid a glance to Stefan. The demon gave no indication that he’d picked up on the archangel’s inference, but Finn sure as hell had. The archangel knew that Finn couldn’t remember being a Fallen.
What else did he know?
Michael held his gaze steadily. “You’re wondering why I suspect a Fallen is walking the earth with grave intent.”
“Not even close.”
“The answer is simple. Only a Fallen or an angel can command a demon to possess a dire wolf. Or command a demon at all.”
“And, what, you didn’t see any new angels hanging out at the last Elks meeting?”
The archangel shifted, and another wave of pain lay down on Finn, making him wince. “Okay, okay, so it’s gotta be a Fallen, got it. A bad Fallen.” He paused. “Wouldn’t that just make him a demon?”
“Not if he hasn’t been caught,” the archangel said. “For him to take such a risk now…”
Finn forced himself to straighten again. “It’s because of the horde of demons that just made landfall. He wants to…do something with them. Not something good, I take it?”
The archangel smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile. “Not something good. I can tell at least that much by the Fallen’s decision to command demons to achieve his goals. It puts him at risk for discovery, so there must be a purpose for it. He wants something, something he can’t get at directly. He’s circling close, but he’s not quite there. Which gives you your opportunity.”
Finn heard what the archangel was saying, but the words simply wouldn’t come together in any way that made sense. “It does?”
At the far end of the conference room, a door slid open and two figures emerged. Finn glanced their way, then stiffened his spine. He hated looking weak in front of humans, even ones at the tippy top of the psychic pyramid.
Death and Stefan turned as well, both of them seeming far more satisfied with the new arrivals. “Sara, Nikki,” Death said. Stefan merely glinted at them. It was what he did.
“Yo.” Nikki Dawes, as usual, spoke first, though her best friend Sara Wilde was far more psychically gifted than she was. What she lacked in psychic ability, however, Nikki made up for in sheer attitude. Today, the six-foot-four bombshell had added three inches to her height, and she was dressed like…well, a superhero, Finn decided. He took in the skintight red bodysuit, black thigh high boots and elbow-length gloves, and the sweep of bouffant red hair. The costume’s bright red fabric was interrupted only by a brilliant yellow-and-black shield stretched over Nikki’s ample chest, highlighting the letter “i.” He blinked rapidly, forcing himself to look away, but not before she gave him a knowing grin.
Nikki turned to Death and the archangel. “You gave us the heads-up to shoot over, but as we speak, there’s a Christmas cosplay contest going on at the Mirage that Elastigirl here is totally going to rock, so make it snappy. Whaddya need?”
Beside her, Sara smiled, looking a little weary around the edges. She was deceptively slight, maybe only five foot seven, with her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and her body encased in a scuffed leather biker’s jacket, tank top, and dark jeans.
“Hey, Finn,” she said, her gaze lighting on him with concern. He felt the impact of that gaze immediately. Of all the psychic humans he’d ever encountered, or Connecteds, as they were called, Sara was the strongest. He suspected she didn’t even know how strong.
“Hey.” He thought about raising a hand, decided against it.
“What happened to you? You look like a demon popsicle.” She edged forward, and he let her come. Sara Wilde had a way of getting in your personal space without setting you off, and he was so damned cold…
The archangel folded his arms, watching Sara approach. “I didn’t invite you.”
“I did,” Death said. “She can help. She certainly knows artifacts better than Finn does.”
That stopped Sara. A brief, avaricious gleam lit her eyes. “Artifacts?”
The archangel flicked his gaze again to Finn. “Your mind picked up the thoughts of the woman. She held an artifact that shouldn’t have been where she was.” He gestured, and an image appeared between them, a chunk of stone carved to depict a line of men with wings, several of them carrying objects—a large ring, a wand, a feather.
“The Anunnaki,” Sara said, sounding surprised. “That’s a nice relic. How’d I miss it?”
Beside her, Nikki snorted. “You’ve been a little busy, dollface.”
“And this was—where you were?” Sara continued. “It couldn’t have been someplace that cold unless, what, were you in Tibet?”
“Canada,” Finn said. “Very northern Canada. Definitely not Tibet.”
“No way.” Sara shook her head emphatically, cocking her gaze at Death. “That kind of artwork has never been found intact anywhere outside Mesopotamia, at least not in that condition. I don’t care how much crazy the ice melt is revealing, there’s no way that intact rock would ever have made it that far north on its own.”
The archangel ignored them, focusing on Finn. “Who sent the woman to recover the artifact?”
Finn answered without hesitation—he’d picked up the human’s thoughts easily. It was what demons did. “Her uncle. Lester Morrow. He’s the one who sent her on the assignment. He’s her boss in some way. Or she thinks of him that way.” He paused, another detail coming to him, shimmering in his memory. “Her name is Dana Griffin.”
“The wolves, what were they there for? To claim the artifact, or to kill the woman? Is she psychic?” Michael gestured dismissively. “One of the Connected?”
Finn’s eyes widened. He hadn’t realized he’d captured the thoughts of the wolves he was dispatching as well…but once again, the answer was right in front of him. “No,” he said. “No, she’s not Connected, not psychic. And the wolves weren’t supposed to kill her. Merely incapacitate her until she could be taken. She was supposed to be bait. The artifact…that was a lure too. To get the woman out in the open, exposed. She…she’s the quickest route.”
“To what?” the archangel pressed. “What did the Fallen seek?”
“Wait, what?” Sara interjected. “We have Fallen running around too?” She swiveled her gaze to Nikki, then to Death. “Shouldn’t I know this?”
“Focus,” the archangel intoned, staring at Finn. “What was the desire behind the order? What was the—”
Pain burst through Finn’s mind, but incredibly, the word was there. How is that possible? How can I connect so closely with a Fallen? It didn’t matter. The archangel said something else, and the word was driven out of Finn on a spike of agony.
“The list!” he gasped. “A list her uncle has. Of something. I don’t know what. There was only that thought. Only that. The rest…” He swayed on his feet. “Merely jabbering. Take the human holding the stone, get the list from Lester Morrow. Then a lot of wolf-flavored screeching-wailing-gibbertyjack. That’s all.”
“The list…” the archangel said thoughtfully. “Why not go directly to this Lester Morrow for it?”
“No idea.” Finn waved vaguely at Sara as another wave of pain washed over him, the echoes of the dire wolves chanting in his head. “You want to find something, send your flunky out for it.”
“Watch it, Winter Warlock,” Sara retorted, though her tone was wry. Among her many skills, finding things was totally her jam. “You’re a little frosty to be calling anyone names.”
The archangel shook his head. “Not Sara. You. You’ll go after the woman, find her uncle. And get this list.”
Finn thought about arguing, decided against it. “The list, not the stone?”
The archangel snorted. “Not the stone. The stone is worthless.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sara interjected again. “I want the stone. That’s the best execution of an Anunnaki ceremonial ritual I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a truckload of them.”
Michael kept his gaze pinned on Finn. “I want the list. And you’re going to get it for me. Consider it your test. If you succeed, the next step in the Syx’s path to redemption will be secured.”
Finn swallowed. The Syx were being granted a chance for permanent residence on Earth…but each of them had to do their part to secure it. Even the one who had shit for memories. “And if I don’t?”
“You don’t want to know,” Michael said, though his face had taken on a faraway, distracted expression. “But to have even the chance at success, you need to be on an even playing field with the rogue Fallen. Anywhere he can go, you must be able to. Anything he can do, you must be able to do as well.”
That at least sounded interesting. Finn squinted at the archangel. “Meaning?”
“Meaning you will—temporarily—become a Fallen.” The archangel hesitated for only the barest of moments. “You should enjoy that, I think.”
“Become a Fallen,” Finn said flatly. He had no idea what that meant. “Uh, sure. But why me?”
Michael shrugged. “Apparently, God has a sense of humor.”
Ass. “And what’s this list about?”
“Also unimportant. Your task is to recover it, not understand it.”
“Uh-huh.” For a list that was so unimportant, both Michael and this mysterious Fallen guy were awfully interested. “So why do you want it so bad?”
Michael narrowed his pale blue eyes. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“It’s part of my charm.” Something else was nagging at Finn, though. “Why now? You said the Fallen—a guy who’s been lurking in the shadows since Atlantis deep-sixed—was only acting now, and in such a way that he could totally get caught. Why? There was a lot of urgency in those wolves, for all that I took them out. They fought back. Hard.”
That made the archangel pause. He turned away, stared down at the city. “It’s Christmas Eve,” he murmured.
“Well, not quite,” Nikki put in. “It’s technically still Christmas Eve Eve. Which means I have only a few more minutes to get to my costume contest, so choppity choppity.”
The angel refocused on Finn. “You want answers? I’ll give you this one: your assignment has a deadline. You have only twenty-four hours to be a Fallen and accomplish your mission. Then, at midnight on Christmas Eve, if you have done what I’ve asked, if you’ve earned your redemption, then perhaps you will be given an additional gift.” His lips twitched into another brittle smile. “A Christmas bonus, if you will.”
Finn’s brows shot up. “Wait, was that another joke? Did you seriously—”
But Michael was no longer there. Not so much as a feather floated in the empty space in front of Finn as he sagged forward a faltering step. “Um, what just happened?”
“Hang on there, buddy,” Suddenly, Sara was at his side, her hand on his shoulder. “I suspect Death wanted me here for reasons other than my crack archaeological instincts.” She squeezed. It took only a second for a river of healing warmth to pour through every inch of Finn, making his knees go weak.
“Whoa,” he managed, the word little more than a groan.
Sara grinned and gave his shoulder another pat. “You’re welcome. But, you know, if you happen to see it lying around anywhere, you could maybe get me that Anunnaki carving…”
Finn nodded, slightly dazed, feeling better than he had in longer than he could remember. “I—I’ll try.”
After a round of goodbyes—and a complicated hand lock with Stefan they’d been perfecting for the past three hundred years or so—Nikki, Sara, and Stefan left. Finn knew he might as well stay where he was. If the archangel was giving him only twenty-four hours to get this job done, Finn would be spinning through the sky soon enough, en route to wherever he’d find this Dana Griffin person. Hopefully, she was somewhere warm.
To his surprise, however, Death remained beside him. After a long moment, she spoke as well.
“So, to answer the question Michael conveniently ignored,” she began almost casually. “The timing of this is important. Midnight on Christmas Eve is a moment of remarkable power. Power for this Fallen, and, it should be said, power for you.”
Finn stared at her. “What kind of power?”
“For a Fallen? Only this: at midnight on Christmas Eve, whatever you ask for…you get.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You mean like from Santa?”
Death quirked her lips, but her eyes remained serious. “There’s a reason why certain superstitions have endured through the centuries. But no, not because of Santa, this time. All you need to know is, because of what you were—what you are—when the clock strikes midnight, you’ll have the chance to ask for anything.”
Finn glanced away, not wanting Death to guess at the thoughts running through his mind. What did he want? His memory, most definitely. But also, if he was honest, understanding…and restitution, maybe. A chance to be forgiven for a sin he couldn’t remember committing.
A chance to return.
Finn’s thoughts ground to a halt, and he realized his heart was racing, his hands sweating. Would it…could it be possible? He licked lips that suddenly had gone dry and met Death’s stare. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“I’m not.” Death’s expression was unreadable, but her eyes remained intent. She leaned in close, her gaze not leaving his. “So whatever you do, Finn of the Syx, if you do get that chance…be careful what you wish for.”