“Are we done arguing about this?” Terrelle grumbled.

They were all three in Nyalla’s room, sitting around the glass-topped dining table, the rosaries spread before them.

“No, we’re not done arguing about this.” Gabriel snapped. “They’re a symbol, and blessed or not, it would be sacrilegious, or at least disrespectful, to take them apart. They were created with holy purpose.”

“They were made in China,” Nyalla huffed. “And I doubt the people in the factory that cranked these out were Catholic, let alone imbuing their work with holy purpose.”

“You don’t know that,” he shot back. “According to your phone, there are Catholics in China.”

“And according to my phone, it’s sacrilegious to consider a rosary to be a talisman. These haven’t been blessed. They have no power on their own. They’re a framework for the prayer, to keep track of where someone is in the devotion sequence. The item itself is meaningless. To imbue the beads and the physical item with holy significance is to make it an idol, which would be a blasphemy.”

“You guys are killing me,” Terrelle wailed.

“Symbol.” Gabe argued, ignoring the demon. “There is a difference between something being a symbol and an idol. Disrespecting a symbol gives offense.”

“So does farting in public.” Terrelle rolled her eyes. “Can we do this, or are we going to sit here until midnight having this discussion?”

“But disrespecting a symbol is an act that needs to be done in public. It’s the act of desecration itself that’s the disrespect, not the destruction of the symbol. If you go out in the middle of nowhere, burn a flag, and nobody knows, it’s meaningless. It’s just burning a piece of cloth. It only matters when it’s done in front of an audience, because it’s an open act of disrespect. As long as we’re not standing out in the street, slandering the Catholic religion as we break these apart, then we’re not committing an offense. There’s no disrespect.”

“Oh fuck this.” Terrelle grabbed one of the rosaries and yanked it between her hands. Beads and silver wires flew everywhere. “TaDa. Done. And it doesn’t matter about sacrilege or disrespect, or blasphemy because I’m a demon. I’m supposed to do all that shit. It’s in my nature.”

“I forbid you to break any more of those,” Gabe growled.

Terrelle looked the angel straight in the eye, picked up a second rosary, and yanked it apart. Gabe dove across the table, grabbing for her throat, but the demon was quicker. She scooted to the side, snatching up the last rosary as the angel gripped her shoulder.

“Don’t,” he warned.

She held it with the one hand, looped it around the chair post and pulled. “Oops.”

Gabe reached out to grab the crucifix before it hit the floor, then balled up his fist.

“Stop.”

He did stop, mainly because Nyalla’s hand was wrapped around his fist and he wouldn’t hurt her, even though he was eager to punch Terrelle right in her nose.

“Well, it’s done now. Mea Culpa.” The demon shot him a smug smile. “Now, let’s pick up these beads and compare them to the photo. I’ve got some work to do if I’m going to attempt to pull off one convincing duplicate, let alone a dozen of them.”

“How is this going to work?” Nyalla picked up one of the fallen beads and eyed it. “I’m assuming the actual Job’s Tear gives off some sort of magical energy that demons and angels can detect. Making it look the same won’t be enough.”

“That’s where I come in,” Gabe said. “Well, where Snip comes in once he gets back. I can describe the energy to Terrelle, but it’s going to take Snip to verify that our fakes are close enough to pass.”

Gabe was convinced that the only reason the Gormand would need to bring an ancient demon skilled in illusion over from Hel was so that he could prepare to give them a fake Job’s Tear that would be virtually identical to the original, except it wouldn’t work. The Gormand could then keep the original himself, or sell it to someone else. No doubt there were plenty of ancients in Hel that would pay top dollar for it. No doubt Sirumel would pay top dollar for it, too.

But Tura wanted the Iblis to have this artifact. Gabe was sure that the rebel angel wanted her to accidently trigger it, and wipe out the most powerful of the angelic host. When that didn’t happen, Tura would probably just assume the plan failed, or that one of the archangels had managed to get it away from the Iblis in time. He’d never suspect the Gormand had double-crossed him until some ancient started to use the artifact. As long as that ancient stayed in Hel, Tura would probably never know.

And Nyalla’s insistence on the angel verifying the authenticity of the artifact was ruining the Gormand’s plans. Sirumel might be incredibly skilled at illusion, but Tura had held Job’s Tear in his hand recently. The rebel was no fool. He’d know the Gormand was trying to pass off a copy. So tonight at midnight, the Gormand was going to need to find another angel to verify the faked item was real, or come up with some other way of convincing Nyalla to take him at his word.

As much as Gabe wanted to flush out Tura, it was more important that Job’s Tear never be used. Ever. So he’d ensure Nyalla happily accepted the fake tonight, arrange to steal the real one from the Gormand, and pray for the patience to wait for another chance to catch Tura.

One fake to give the Iblis. One fake to swap out the real Job’s Tear from wherever the Gormand had it hidden. And a whole lot of other fakes if they needed a distraction. It wasn’t the best plan in the world, but at least it was a plan, and given that he had no angelic powers at all, this was the best he could do right now.

“Guys? I’m getting a bit worried.” Terrelle frowned down at her phone. “The last text I got from Snip was an hour ago, and he said he was coming right back. He’s not back. And he hasn’t responded to my last two texts.”

“Are you sure he didn’t find a human willing to have sex with him?” Nyalla looked up from the floor where she had been picking up beads. “You know how determined he is to cross that one off his bucket list, and I don’t think playing with the waitress last night fully counted as a sexual encounter.”

“An hour, though? I know Snip, and sex with him would take a maximum of five minutes, and that’s with him taking four minutes to get his pants off. I’m worried.”

Nyalla stood and picked up her own phone, typing something onto the screen. “Then it’s time for the good old Find My Friends app.” She frowned down at the screen. “Did Snip say where he was in his last text?”

“Somewhere outside of Baby Beach.”

Nyalla looked up from her phone. “Well he’s still near there. At least, his phone is still near there.”