“Why not? To me he’s just another deadbeat dad,” I snapped back. It infuriated me that this stranger should know more of my father than I did.

“Not unlike your own father,” Beezle murmured maliciously to Gabriel.

“What about his father?” I asked. Underneath my curiosity about my father was an interest in Gabriel, who had demonstrated some powerful magic but carefully avoided all questions about his origins.

“My lineage is not at issue here,” Gabriel said firmly, and something passed between him and Beezle.

“What do you know, Beezle?” I said, frustrated beyond belief. I stood and paced across the room, away from Gabriel. He stood up and leaned against the countertop, his expression relaxed but his eyes tense. “Why won’t you tell me? I am sick of being in the dark.”

The gargoyle’s expression closed suddenly, as if he realized that his dislike of Gabriel had led him to say too much. Gabriel glared at Beezle, his lips white and furious. I looked between them, both of them closed-mouthed and tight-faced, and pretending that I wasn’t there and hadn’t heard a thing.

The fury that roared up inside me was so sudden I gasped. Just as had happened before, I felt magic crackle inside me, and when I spoke, there was a power in my voice that made them both turn and look at me with wary eyes.

“I . . . am . . . tired,” I said carefully, so they would understand. I could feel the magic jumping inside me, wanting to break free, to burn. “I am tired of being afraid and unsure, of having my mind and will taken from me.”

Gabriel had the grace to look slightly abashed, although he said nothing and still watched me with caution in his eyes.

“I am tired of having my ass kicked by all the freaky monsters coming out of the woodwork. But most of all, I am tired of being treated like a child. You both have information that I need, information that I need to survive. You both know more about the magic inside me than I do. You both insist on keeping things from me as if I have no right to know. I do have a right to know. You will not keep me ignorant anymore,” I said, and the command in my voice was apparent even to me. Electricity crackled in my fingertips. “You will tell me what I want to know. Everything.”

Gabriel still said nothing. He stood preternaturally still, as if he feared one small movement would set me off. Beezle fluttered near me, his grindstone voice trying to soothe. “Maddy, you don’t know what you’re asking ...”

“Do not treat me like a child,” I thundered, and the house actually shook. Glasses in the cabinet knocked together and I heard a few of them shatter. The magic inside me felt like a living thing, harsh and wild, and it wanted to come out. It wanted to burn, and it didn’t care who was in the way. A tiny part of me was frightened, frightened of the power inside me, and I wondered if I could control it. My skin felt stretched, barely able to contain what was inside me.

“Maddy,” Gabriel said, and his voice was so soft, so gentle. The voice of an angel. “Don’t.”

He hadn’t moved a centimeter. His hands were open at his sides, no threat to me.

“Don’t,” he said again, and the magic inside me stuttered and pulled back for a moment, confused. “You will hurt yourself. You will hurt Beezle. You would never be able to live with yourself if that happened.”

Beezle. The small part of me that was afraid remembered Beezle, not as an obstacle to information but as my friend. My only friend. My family. I didn’t want to hurt him, and the magic keened a little at that. It wanted to hurt. It wanted to burn.

“Beezle,” I said, breathing unevenly. The magic was held at bay, for the moment, but I could feel it straining and snapping like a dog on a leash. “Tell me who he is.”

7

GABRIEL LOOKED AT BEEZLE. I LOOKED FROM FACE TO face, and something passed between them. Gabriel still looked angry, and also vulnerable, and Beezle looked disappointed and tired. But there was resignation there, too, in both their faces. I had won. The magic dwindled inside me, down to a candle flicker, and waited.

“I have to go back a little,” Beezle said, apologetically.

“I don’t care how far you have to go back,” I said. “As long as when you’re done I know everything.”

“Be careful what you ask for,” Gabriel said, and his voice was silky and dangerous again. “It may not be knowledge that you want.”

“I may not want it,” I shot back, “but I have to have it. Like I said, I’m tired of getting beat up by things I don’t know and don’t understand.”

A gamut of emotions ran through his eyes, too fast for me to read, and ended with something that looked like regret. I didn’t know if he regretted not protecting me better, not telling me sooner, or that I was about to discover things he’d rather keep hidden. Probably it was a little of all three. But I did know that I couldn’t afford to feel badly about it. Whatever Beezle was about to tell me could save my life the next time that creature came hunting for me.

“Long ago,” Beezle intoned, and he sounded so stiff that I giggled. He glared at me and I pressed my lips into an appropriate imitation of solemnity.

“Long ago,” Beezle repeated, “before the Fall, a group of angels were sent to Earth to watch over humanity, and they were known as the Grigori.”

“Grigori,” I muttered, trying to remember. I looked at Gabriel. “Didn’t you say something about my father and the Grigori?”

He nodded his head, keeping his eyes on me the whole time. “Lord Azazel is chief of the Grigori, and Lord Lucifer’s right hand.”

“Ahem,” Beezle said. “Do you want to hear this or not?”

I mimed zipping my lips together and indicated that he should continue.

“Azazel is a Grigori, and so is Lucifer, and Focalor,” Beezle said. “Soon after they came to Earth, the Grigori became enchanted by the beauty of human women and began to lust after them. They lured the women to them by teaching humans forbidden things, such as the making of weapons of war, and the signs of the sun and the moon, and the resolving of enchantments. The Grigori took these women as their wives, and soon the women bore children, a race of giants called nephilim.

“The nephilim were true monsters. Each one killed its mother as it was born by clawing through her womb. Not one of them had the angels’ beauty. Each grew to more than eight feet tall, with clawed feet and fingers and great razor teeth. Each had some magic passed to it from its father, but the magic was always tainted and twisted inside it.”

“Tainted and twisted, how?” I asked.

“Well,” Beezle said, and he looked at me very steadily now, gauging my reaction. “Lucifer, for example. He was one of the angels of death, who retrieved souls from Earth for entry to Heaven.”

Something was nagging at me, but I was distracted by Beezle’s last statement. I felt a little like a magpie, chasing after the next shiny object. “Hold on a second. Heaven? Like the pearly gates and Saint Peter and all that jazz? Are you telling me there really is a Heaven? It’s not a just a story that we tell the dead to get them to come with us?”

“Well,” Beezle said. “There is something like what you would consider Heaven. There are also other choices. Isn’t that what you do when you retrieve souls? You bring them to the Door so that they can make a choice?”

“Yeah, but I never thought there was an honest-to-goodness biblical-type paradise behind the Door.”

“I don’t think this is the time to debate theology,” Gabriel said. “I believe you were about to tell Madeline of Ramuell?”

“I thought you didn’t want me to know anything of this at all,” I snapped, annoyed at his insistence that Beezle stay on track. “Who died and made you the hall monitor?”

I felt like I was on to something that no other Agent had known before. The moment of blindness when the Door opened was a deep-rooted source of frustration for many Agents, especially at the beginning of their careers. To have so much power over a soul at death and then to be unable to see where they go . . . The thought of solving the mystery was tantalizing.

“The de—Gabriel is right,” Beezle said hastily. “This is not the time for this discussion.”

“And when is the time, Beezle?” I said, angry again. The magic inside me surged up, as if it had only been waiting for my call. “What will it take for you to tell me everything I need to know? Does that monster need to kill me first?”

“The mysteries of the Door are not for humans to know,” Gabriel said, and I could see the stars flaming in the darkness of his eyes.

“Well, I’m not entirely human, am I?” I shot back.

“You are part human, and that is enough,” Gabriel said, with a ringing note of finality in his voice. “This information will not protect you from the creature, nor will it help you defeat him.”

The magic inside me sang out, and I wanted to fight. But I reluctantly conceded that Gabriel was probably right. He and Beezle certainly knew more about the monster than I did, and I would have to settle for getting the information that I needed right now. My magic slunk down again, disappointed.

These surges of power made me nervous. They frightened me, and I wasn’t certain I could control them. Something else to discuss with Gabriel and Beezle—after I had the answers I needed.

Beezle read concession in my face and went on. “Well, anyway, Lucifer. He was one of the angels of death who retrieved souls. But his magic, when rooted in the monstrous form of his nephilim child, was twisted. Lucifer’s son, Ramuell, does not retrieve the soul after death. He sucks it from the living body of a human being, and the soul never moves on, but lives forever, imprisoned in Ramuell’s body.”

As Beezle spoke, the gears in my head turned and everything clicked into place. “Ramuell is the creature that killed my mother and Patrick.”

“Yes,” Beezle said, watching me steadily.

“My mother’s soul is trapped inside that thing for all eternity.”