It was one thing to view Samiel as a nephilim’s child, quite another to think of him as a close and direct descendant of their highest lord.

I just hoped Lucifer didn’t decide to remind them that I had already killed two of his children. I glanced up at his face and he gave me a little half smile, like he knew what I was thinking, but he didn’t say anything.

“Let Samiel go,” I repeated. “I will be responsible for him.”

Beezle murmured in my ear, “I hope you understand what you’re getting into when you make that promise.”

“Yeah, a lifetime of the two of you eating me out of house and home,” I replied.

I knew what it meant when I said I would be responsible for Samiel. It meant that if he put even a fingernail over the line, it would be him and me standing bound before the Grigori next time—if they even bothered with the pretense of a trial before execution.

Nathaniel leaned over to Azazel and whispered in my father’s ear. All around me the Grigori were speaking behind their hands to one another.

I didn’t want it to come to this, but I would blast my way out of here with Samiel if I had to. I would not leave him with the Grigori. I think Jude was secretly hoping for an excuse to lunge at Lucifer.

After several moments in which the Grigori looked like a bunch of kids playing Telephone—“I say kill him; pass it on”—Azazel stood. It seemed he was the voice of the court.

Lucifer had played no role in the decision-making. It appeared that he had acted only as a witness to the proceedings. Still, I knew that something greater than Samiel’s guilt was at work here. Lucifer was waiting for something.

“It is the will of this court that Samiel ap Ramuell be remanded into the custody of Lady Madeline Black ap Azazel.”

I exhaled the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I guess the “Lucifer’s grandson” argument had carried some weight.

“As Samiel’s custodian you will henceforth be responsible for his actions. Should Samiel violate the laws of Lord Lucifer’s kingdom, he shall be condemned to immediate death at the hands of the Hound of the Hunt.”

I didn’t like the part where Samiel would have to live with the threat of execution for the rest of his life, but it was better than the alternative.

“I see one small flaw in this decision,” Lucifer said, and the room went unnaturally quiet, like nobody wanted to attract Lucifer’s attention to them. “We no longer have a Hound of the Hunt.”

Metatrion’s blank eyes accused me.

“I don’t know why I have to keep saying this, but he was trying to kill me at the time,” I said.

“And I am sure that it is a comfort to your father as it is a comfort to me that you are so very capable. Still, it does not change the fact that the court has never been without a Hound,” Lucifer said.

I shrugged, moving forward to Samiel, who was still bound. I wanted to free his hands and get him out of the court before any of the Grigori thought up an objection. I was sure some of them were already busily crafting one.

“I don’t see how this has anything to do with me or Samiel,” I said.

“Don’t you?” Lucifer said softly. “The Hound of the Hunt is dead at your hand.”

I stopped next to Samiel, looking up at Lucifer. Dread washed over me, and I knew that whatever Lucifer had been waiting for had finally arrived.

“As payment for the death of the Hound of the Hunt, you will take over his duties.”

The walls were closing around me. Lucifer looked triumphant.

“As you have taken responsibility for the life of Samiel ap Ramuell, so, too, shall you take responsibility for his death should he violate the laws of the kingdom.

“As I am the Morningstar, you shall be my dark star, the hand of my will, my bringer of justice.

“All rise and say hail to my Hound of the Hunt.”

The Grigori rose. Over the buzzing in my ears I thought I heard a voice speaking in my head—Lucifer’s voice.

“I thought you told me you knew how to play chess.”

I’d just been outplayed. Again.

9

“I TOLD YOU THERE WOULD BE A PRICE TO PAY,” BEEZLE said for the hundredth time since we’d left Azazel’s court.

“I know,” I groaned, slumping forward to hide my face in my arms. “How many times are you going to say, ‘I told you so’?”

“I’m not even close to being done yet,” Beezle said. “You think you’re so smart. You think you can outwit Lucifer. He’s had epochs of practice time.”

We sat at the kitchen table—Samiel, Gabriel, Beezle and me—and the mood was positively funereal. You wouldn’t think we managed to save Samiel from certain death.

J.B. had shaken his head at me and gone back to work without a word, while Jude had looked at me like I’d contracted some new and contagious disease that involved blisters and boils before returning to his pack.

Samiel rapped on the table so that I would look up at him. I’m so sorry. This is my fault.

“No, it isn’t,” I said heavily. “Lucifer has been looking for an excuse to move me closer to his inner circle, and he took it.”

“Yeah, but how could he know that you’d kill the Hound of the Hunt? Nobody has ever managed to before,” Beezle said.

I rubbed my eyes. “He didn’t know that I would do that. But he did know that I wouldn’t let Samiel go without a fight, and I’ll bet anything that Lucifer would have found some way to force me to trade myself for Samiel.”

“No bet,” Beezle said gloomily. “I wouldn’t gamble against Lucifer.”

We all stared at the table. After a few minutes, Beezle cleared his throat. “I’d just like to point out that it’s been several hours since any of us have eaten, and that a pepperoni pizza would not go amiss right now.”

I looked up at Gabriel, whose face spread in a rueful smile. Samiel grinned.

I laughed and picked up Beezle and pulled him into a hug. His tiny arms went around my neck as he squeezed me for a moment. Then he leaned back and gave me a serious look, his clawed hands on my cheeks.

“No matter what Lucifer tries to make of you, you are still Maddy Black. Remember that.”

“I’ll remember,” I promised. “And you’re right. A pepperoni pizza would not go amiss.”

“Yes!” Beezle said, pumping his little fist in the air. “With mozzarella sticks?”

“Don’t push your luck,” I said, and went to place the order.

I wondered if the Hound of the Hunt was a paying position in Lucifer’s court. Probably not. My checking account was dangerously low, as usual. I’d sold a couple of articles in the last month but it can take a long time to get paid for freelance work. Lately, my main source of income was Gabriel’s rent checks, and it seemed like a long time until the first of February.

After we’d all stuffed ourselves I said, “We’re just going to go on as we were before. If Lucifer thinks I’m going to live at court because of this Hound of the Hunt business, he is out of his tiny mind.”

“What of your duties?” Gabriel asked.

“What of them?” I replied. “I’m sure if Lucifer needs me for something, he’ll let me know. I still have my Agent commitments.”

“And you promised to help J.B. with ghost-hunting. And you still have to find Wade. I don’t know that there is enough time in the day for you to do all those things and go to the bakery,” Beezle said.

“I guess I’ll just have to prioritize,” I said dryly. “Speaking of duty and priority, I think I have another pickup tonight.” I patted my pockets like I was going to find my Agent list there.

“You do, at Addison and Sheffield,” Beezle said.

“Close to home; that’s nice,” I said. “Wait—how do you know?”

“J.B. hung your list on your bedroom mirror yesterday.”

“Well, I don’t know what he was thinking doing that. I never look in the mirror.”

“Yes, we all can tell,” Beezle said.

“I will accompany you,” Gabriel said.

Me, too, Samiel signed.

“What’s with the protectiveness? I think I can go eight blocks from home by myself.”

“You made several new enemies today, whether or not you realize it,” Gabriel said. “The Grigori do not like to be thwarted.”

“That’s swell,” I grumbled. “I can’t even tell most of them apart. How am I supposed to know which one hates me and which one doesn’t?”

I looked up at the clock. It was half past six. “What time is my pickup?”

“In fifteen minutes,” Beezle said calmly.

I stood abruptly and ran for my shoes. “I would have appreciated a little advance warning.”

“What’s the big deal? You’re only two minutes away by wing. Besides, it’s not my fault you never comb your hair.”

“I comb my hair…”

“Could have fooled me.”

“I just don’t stare in the mirror while I’m doing it.”

I hurriedly pulled on my boots and a blue peacoat that I usually reserved for early autumn. J.B. still had my winter coat, as he’d used it to carry the cameras to the Agency.

By the time I was ready Samiel and Gabriel were already standing at the door like two sentinels. Beezle fluttered to my shoulder.

“Up, up and away, Team Black,” I said dryly.

A couple of minutes later we stood at the corner of Addison and Sheffield in front of the statue of Billy Williams. Wrigley Field loomed silently behind us. We were invisible from human eyes.

A steady stream of commuters poured across the intersection as the Red Line stop was only half a block away. Storefronts housed ticket brokers and shops that hawked Cubs merchandise, most of them silent this time of year, when baseball season and the heat of summer seemed like hazy memories.

The bars that liberally dotted the area were quiet tonight, with very few Blackhawks fans willing to brave the freezing temperatures just to drink overpriced beer and watch a game they could just as easily see at home.