Angels of Darkness

seemed so alone .
    Assholes didn’t deserve friends. But still . . . She’d been shocked by the changes in him.
    He looked older. Not old , but not a youth anymore, either. Physically, he resembled a hardworking human in his midthirties, sunstreaked brown hair, broader through the shoulders than he’d once been, and just as lean through the hips—like the man he might have become if he hadn’t sacrificed his life first.
    But that wasn’t what had surprised her. Many Guardians changed their appearance over time, either to match the demands of their current mission or to blend in with a population. Even Radha had chosen a younger form than the fifty-year-old woman she’d been upon her human death, because after her transformation she’d felt younger. Guardians often took a form that reflected what they wanted to be, rather than what they’d once been.
    So what the hell had Marc been through that he appeared to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders? Radha didn’t know, and she hadn’t heard of any terrible loss that he’d suffered, or any soulbreaking trial that a demon might have put him through. And she would have heard of it. The Guardians’ gossip mill was as strong as any small town’s.
    Yet it hadn’t just been the loneliness or his apparent age. As he’d taken in Caelum’s destruction, he hadn’t seemed devastated as so many others were. He hadn’t seemed afraid. He’d seemed resigned.
    As if everything that had happened in the past years had left him little to hope for. As if it had left him little to live for. As if he were tired of fighting.
    As if he’d lost faith.
    She hadn’t believed it. Not Marc, not the man determined to be God’s chosen warrior at the cost of everything else. But the memory of his weary resignation had nagged at her, and even after the gathering ended, she’d worried for him.
    Like an idiot, she’d talked herself into coming here, to watch him in secret and determine whether there was truly anything to worry about. Not that she cared. But she was a Guardian, and Guardians took care of their own.
    Too bad that she’d forgotten how capable he was of sussing out the holes in her illusions.
    So she’d been found out, but Marc seemed all right, anyway. At least, he wasn’t flogging himself or crying in a bathroom somewhere. She could have gone.
    Except, maybe he wasn’t all right. He’d always been good at concealing his true feelings from her. After all, she’d spent thousands of hours with him over the course of a single year and never realized that he considered her the biblical equivalent of a diseased whore. So she’d wait a little longer and make certain.
    If she helped him track down a demon in the process, all the better. Slaying one was always fun—except for when it was difficult and horrifying. If that happened, it was best that she was here to back him up.
    He didn’t need the backup yet, though. The kid who came out of the school possessed a wide-open mind, and as soon as he spotted Marc, he trembled with uncertainty and excitement.
    So cute. Tall, a bit thin and awkward, with a mop of curly dark hair and determinedly nerdy glasses—but as soon as he grew into his body, Radha suspected the girls in the area would be in trouble.
    â€œSam Briffee?”
    Marc held up his identification, and Radha took a quick look at it. Special Investigations. A legitimate federal law enforcement division, and a legitimate identification, thanks to an arrangement the Guardians had made with the United States government. Radha rarely operated in this country, so she didn’t have one.
    But then, she didn’t really need one. When Marc introduced himself as Special Agent Revoire, she held up a piece of paper. Surrounded by her illusions, the blank paper would feel and look like a real wallet and identification, even if the boy examined it up close. To her disappointment, he didn’t—but she had to grin when Marc glanced back at her and paused before saying,
    â€œ. . . and this is Special Agent Bhattacharyya.”
    Impressive. He pronounced it correctly. It wasn’t really her surname—Radha didn’t bother with that ridiculousness—but she liked the rhythm of it.
    â€œI’m Sam.” Wary, the boy looked from Radha to Marc. “Why are you looking for me?”
    Marc kept his tone even, friendly. “Just to