"Bitch! Whore!"

I slammed the knife down. Saw blood splatter. Heard screams. A woman's scream, hoarse and ragged with animal panic, as confused and terrified as the screams of that cat in the alley. She pleaded for mercy, but her words only fed the hate.

I slammed the knife down again and again, watching flesh become meat, waiting for release, and, when it didn't come, growing all the more frenzied, stabbing and tearing, then biting, ripping mouthfuls of flesh—

Arms closed around me. I threw them off, seeing only the knife and the blood, feeling the hate, wanting it out of my brain, kicking and punching against whatever held me there—

I ricocheted back to reality so fast my knees gave way.

Trsiel's arms tightened around me. "Eve, I am so—"

"Goddamn you!" I wrenched free. "How dare—you could have said—goddamn you!"

I staggered across the room, legs unsteady, as if still unsure they were mine. The visions were gone, but I could feel them there, burying into the crevices of my brain. I shuddered and tried to concentrate on something else, something good. But the moment Savannah's image popped into my head, I felt him there, as if he was watching her through me. I shoved Savannah aside, someplace safe. When I looked up, I expected to see the killer in his cell. But we were back in the white waiting room.

"I'm sorry," Trsiel whispered behind me. "I didn't—it's not normally like that. I thought I could filter it, guide you, but you tapped in directly."

He laid a hand between my shoulder blades. I shrugged it off and stepped away. The images and emotions were fading, but my brain kept plucking them back, like picking at a scab to see whether it still hurt. I pressed my palms to my eyelids and let out a shuddering sigh.

"So that's it, then," I said. "Your 'gift.' You see evil. See it, feel it…"

"We learn to control it," Trsiel said. "Focus, so we see only what we need. When you—" He stopped, audibly swallowing his words. "I'm—this isn't—Zadkiel does this—handles the inaugural quests and the new recruits, guides them, teaches them how to use the gift. It's not…"

He sighed and I heard him sink into a chair. When I turned, he was slouched in the white armchair, head resting on the top, gaze fixed on the ceiling.

Surely, if you're as old as Trsiel had to be, you'd have enough experience and enough confidence in yourself to act, if not with perfect results, then at least with perfect resolve. Yet he looked as frustrated as any human thrust into a job he's not qualified for.

I walked to the other chair, and perched on the armrest. "What do you normally do, then? Angels, I mean. This—that 'gift'—somehow, I doubt you guys use it to flit about spreading messages of peace and hope."

A slow shake of his head. "That's for the living. Angels aren't evangelists. We're warriors. Instruments of justice."

"Hence the really big swords."

His lips twitched and he rolled his head to the side, his eyes meeting mine. "Yes. Hence the really big swords."

"You see evil because that's what you fight."

"Some of us—only the ascended ones these days. The full-bloods—" He bit the last words off and gave a sharp shake of his head. "Things have changed, and—"

Another sharp shake. He looked away for a moment. Before I could say anything, he continued, "The traditional job of angels, full-blood or ascended, is to enforce certain codes on an individual level.

Clearly, as you just said, we don't—can't—stamp out evil in every form. We are given quests, not unlike the one you're on, to bring certain souls to justice."

"Celestial bounty-hunters."

His gaze met mine, eyes sparking in a tiny smile. "Exactly."

Again, an image of Savannah sprang to mind, but this time I left it there. "So… you can affect the living world? Protect people in it?"

"Within limits."

"What limits?"

He shrugged and pushed to his feet. "It's complicated, but you'll get to that when it's time. For now, since we know you can access the gift through me, let's get back to Janah."

Chapter 11

TRSIEL DID ALL THE TALKING AGAIN. HE TRIED CARRYING on the conversation in English, but it was obvious Janah was more coherent, and comfortable, in her native tongue, so with a quiet apology to me, he switched languages. When they'd finished, he took me back to the white room. He grabbed the second chair and swung it around to face the one he'd been using earlier, then sat on the edge of his and motioned me into the other one.

"You need to find the Nix's last partner," he said.

"Okay. So we talk to the Fates and find out who—"

"While the partner is alive, the Fates don't know who she is."

I sighed. "Of course not. That would be too easy. So somehow I find this latest partner, hope the Nix is still in her—"

"Our chances of finding the Nix while she's still cohabiting are next to nil—by the time the police solve the crime, the Nix is long gone. Yet when she leaves a partner, part of her stays behind, a thread of consciousness. Completely one-way, and completely passive. Her partners can't communicate with her nor she with them. Instead they catch glimpses through her eyes, in sporadic visions."

"So that's why we need this angel gift. Hook up with her last partner and we'll see what the Nix is up to now. This is where my necromancer will come in handy. With her help, I can dig through recent cases of female murderers…" I looked over at Trsiel. "The Fates showed me two past partners. Both serial killers. Both with male partners. Is that the Nix's MO?"

Trsiel frowned.

"Her usual method," I said.

He shook his head and stretched his legs. "Coincidence. But you're on the right track. Two partners, two sets of sensational murders—"

"Headline-grabbers. Nixen, like most demons, get off on chaos. The more chaos, the more payoff. The crimes will be front-page news. So I should look for women accused—" I stopped. "But if they've been accused, they've probably been caught, and this Nix must have learned a thing or two about hiding her crimes by now."

"She may, but she doesn't bother. For her—"