Demon Angel

Humor in the detective's gruff voice now. "Of course, he was so high on meth, a squirrel might have done the same."
    Hugh's breath caught as realization struck: she'd interfered with his free will. Oh, God no.
    "We've had a hell of a time keeping them out of the media," Taylor added. "I had one of our guys clean up these images from the traffic cams, but if they get out… er, Castleford, are you okay?"
    She wasn't coming back.
    He clenched his teeth, but still the harsh sob tore from him. No possibility that she was being forced to help the ritual out of fear of Punishment; she couldn't be, to then save a boy from suicide. Punishment, destruction, or transformation— Lucifer had to do one, and he'd never allowed a halfling to Fall. Had never reversed the transformation. Had she been so certain she would be Punished or destroyed that she'd forced Lucifer's hand? Had she so little faith that he'd find a way to save her?
    Or had it been because he'd only talked of saving her? He'd opened himself up to her, but he'd never spoken of love. Had kept that part of him back.
    His breath came raw, tears burned. And he could only be grateful that she'd never seen his doubt. That she hadn't seen how he had failed her again… had not believed in her until too late.
    Salt, stink, rot, fire.
    Running through it, sniffing, her trail bright and crimson above his heads and he had to keep one gaze on the sky, the other two gazes watching the sides. Wary of those like him but not-him. The distant howls of those like him, calling.
    Hunt.
    Chase.
    Kill.
    Ignore those urges, pass the hives. The frigid faces, screaming, hurting his paws. The musk of the father, growls but lets him pass when he widens his own jaws and roars. The strange, golden odor of the one who had healed him while the oil-paint vampire's den burned around him, and the yellow scaly one— distant, relief. And her, her. The voices speaking to her: Kill him, you or him, must save yourself, fulfill your bargain, halfling, nothing .
    Cries of the guards, those who talk in hisses and lies, their delicious fear. Hunt, chase, kill . Tear through them, then into the dark, where she crouches, cold.
    Different, but her arm curling around his shoulders, her voice, the same. Desperate, amused, tired.
    "I'll hold on. Just run." Her weight on his back.
    Run, run, run.
    "So, have you been laughing at Ganesh all this time?"
    He felt Savi's concerned gaze, and forced a smile for her sake. Difficult, when he seemed empty, hollow. "No."
    She shouldered his bag before he could reach for it. "Are you just saying that?"
    "No. There are other realms."
    "Have you seen them?"
    "No."
    "Then how—" She broke off and sighed. "Sorry. I'll save my questions for later. You've probably had enough of them. They're waiting out there to give us a ride home. I think you scared them. They didn't expect you to break down—oh, holy shit."
    She stumbled back, and Hugh turned to look behind him.
    "Michael." Hugh's voice was flat. "Should you feel inclined, I believe the two detectives outside could benefit from one of your displays."
    Savi's eyes widened, and she slid her hand into Hugh's.
    Michael's gaze flicked down to their linked hands. I need to take the girl to Caelum. She'll be safe there , he signed.
    "From whom?"
    The nosferatu . The Guardian's jaw clenched, muscles tightening beneath the bronze skin. Lilith. She's coming back .
    Hugh's eyes closed, not daring to believe. "How?"
    "I cannot speak of it."
    His heart thudded. "Auntie, too," he finally said.
    Michael nodded shortly, and Hugh turned to Savi. "You'll have to go with him of your free will; you have to choose to go, he can't simply take you."
    . Though there was fear in her gaze, excitement quickly began to replace it. "Where?"
    "Heaven." Hugh smiled, but he couldn't keep the sardonic edge from it.
    Savi placed her hand in Michael's without hesitation. Too trusting, too accepting , Hugh thought, but he could not fault her now for what had helped heal him sixteen years before.
    Michael's eyes narrowed on the bandage at his neck. A pulse of power flowed from him; Savi staggered, but the Guardian slipped his arm around her waist to steady her.
    "What was that?" No fear in her eyes now, only that wide curiosity.
    "A display," Michael said with rare humor, and they disappeared.
    Taylor and Preston burst through the door, their weapons drawn. They stared at Hugh, standing alone. He looked back at them without expression, taking a deep, pain-free