It was too bad therapy had died out with the Collision, because Ash could really use someone to talk to.

He was back in his Belleville rooms, trying to come up with a new system of government to replace the ruling council. He’d hoped Marcus would have been full of suggestions, but things had drastically changed between him and his aide.

Everyone in the city had heard Ash’s true voice a few days ago. It had been necessary. The people couldn’t continue to disrespect him the way they had been. He’d allowed the council too much rope to hang him with.

But he hadn’t considered the consequences. The image of hundreds of people running in terror from him kept replaying in his head on a loop.

“Is gullibility a sin?” he wondered aloud.

Next to him, Marcus jumped, making the hole in Ash’s stomach yawn into a bottomless pit.

Ash was used to being a helpmate, a leader, and a guide. Now the fear in his aide’s eyes was painful to see. His only friend had been brutally reminded that his boss wasn’t a man, but a disciple of Heaven.

I needed the reminder, too, he thought, stifling the urge comfort Marcus.

“I need the daily reports from the southeast foundries. Have they arrived?”

Marcus scrambled to his feet. “I’ll go see, my lord.”

Hiding the reports under a stack of papers, Ash watched him go with a heavy heart.

It was temporary. Eventually, Marcus would grow comfortable with him again. He’d seen Ash in battle, cutting down demons and their acolytes with a burning sword, for pity’s sake.

That memory had faded. This one would too as long as they continued to work together.

As for the population at large, they didn’t have to like him. They just had to accept he was in charge. No politician was going to build an empire on their backs on his watch. This would be a communal effort. He just hadn’t expected it to be such a personally disheartening one.

Ash had given up his grace, becoming an exile to help people. It was a painful truth he was facing. Some of them weren’t worth it.

Corrupt politicians are men, too. Avarice, greed, selfishness. Those were an integral part of the people he sought to protect. His father had designed them that way. The gift of free will was both a blessing and a curse.

It didn’t help that deprivation made people desperate. Desperation was the seed of many a sin.

And I laid the groundwork for the situation I’m dealing with now, he admitted to himself. After living hidden among them for so long, Ash didn’t just think like a human, he acted like one, too.

From the start, he’d negotiated and compromised when he should have bellowed his declarations from the rooftops without a go-between. Instead, his abhorrence of dictatorships had led him to found the council.

Now that he’d disbanded them, he was forced to do the work of ten men. Over the past few days, he’d been all over the city. Ash had taken charge of the council’s chief task, food distribution. Food and clean water were their most precious resource.

At Marcus’ prompting, Ash examined the chain at every step, assessing it for graft. He was working on reorganizing it to ensure the resources went where they were needed most.

There was an ulterior motive to his actions. Ash wanted to stay visible in the aftermath of using his true voice. Keeping a distance from the people—even if they were frightened—wouldn’t help his cause now. He wasn’t about to give Mazarin and the others enough wiggle room to hammer at the wedge between him and the rest of the populace.

But Ash couldn’t keep running the whole distribution system indefinitely. His labor was needed in the reconstruction efforts. And sooner or later, the curse would reassert itself. He’d have to drop everything to go and attend to whatever emergency it caused.

Maybe there can be a regular rotation of supervisors in each district? They could be chosen at random for the task. But first, he would need to make the network foolproof.

Engrossed, Ash leaned forward at his desk, blowing a lock of hair out of his eyes. He took out a sheet of paper, beginning to lay out plans for a better distribution system.

Scratching out the few lines he’d jotted down, he crumpled the paper and tossed it across the room in the direction of his waste bin.

It hit Kara in the chin. She caught it neatly on the rebound.

Startled, Ash stared, his tongue trapped somewhere in the back of his mouth.

Kara’s dark hair was tied back in a ponytail. She was wearing a simple sleeveless top and dark pants with a lot of pockets.

“How did you get in here without my noticing?”

One fine eyebrow lifted in question. “Honestly, I have no idea. I wasn’t quiet coming up the steps. You might consider having a guard posted.”

He shrugged. “I don’t need one.” At least, he hadn’t before.

The knife Kara always carried slid out of her sleeve into the palm of her hand. “Are you sure about that?”

As threats went, it was effective. But Ash wasn’t scared. There was a glint in her eye he didn’t recognize. Could she be teasing him? Who teased an angel?

She does.

Two could play that game. “Does this mean I get another kiss to distract me? Because in that case, I might be tempted to let you try.”

Kara flushed, her lips twitching as she sheathed her blade in a narrow pocket at her hip. She cleared her throat and unfolded the ball of paper, her eyes moving from right to left a few times as she scanned the lines.

“You can read,” he realized.

Kara scowled. “As can you.”

“Sorry,” he said lamely. “Not everyone can.”

He’d done his best to keep the schools open, but not everyone was able to take advantage of them. Too many children gave it up to work and provide for their families.

Kara nodded, indicating the paper in her hand. “Apparently, you can write, too, in our language. I didn’t think an angel would bother.”

“An angel can read and write in any language, but it’s true. Most don’t bother. They find it beneath them. But I like human languages. They’re inventive.”

Curiosity seeming to get the better of her, Kara leaned on the wall a few yards away from his desk. She folded her arms. “How so?”

Ash leaned back. “My native tongue is simple and quite bare. You can describe so many more things with English or French, or any of the others. Each language has its own nuance and subtlety. Most of my brothers and sisters never take the time to appreciate that.”

Kara sniffed. “That doesn’t surprise me. Angels are known for their arrogance. Funny how God doesn’t come down so hard on you for the sin of pride,” she said, gesturing to the balcony behind him with a languid wave.

“This blight on the city isn’t an act of God,” he reminded her. “It was a very enterprising demon, with the help of a witch.”

Kara bristled. “The witch didn’t help him,” she spat. “Not willingly. She was possessed by the demon. Then he cast the curse. Or have you heard differently?”

“I haven’t,” he conceded with a nod, wondering why she was so passionate about a witch who died hundreds of years ago. “I take it you have business in Bastille? I didn’t think you ever left the wasteland or the catacombs.”

If she was the child of a Firehorse, walking openly in the city was risky. She might be recognized.

True, there were many comely girls in Bastille, but Kara’s features were distinctive. Strength and delicacy were blended seamlessly in her face and form. People would remember her. They wouldn’t be able to help themselves.

Kara stiffened. “I heard your proclamation— or rather, I felt it. We all did. You caused a cave-in shouting like that.”

Ash cursed.

She held up a hand. “Relax. No one was hurt. We’re prepared for minor tremors. But it was a good thing you kept it short or it might have been a lot worse.”

“My apologies,” he mumbled.

She shrugged. “Your shouting served its purpose. There’s no more council leaching off the fat of the land anymore, right?”

“Fat is a bit of a stretch. Bastille is more akin to a starved goat.”

Kara coughed suddenly, as if choking back unwilling laughter. “I’m here for the prisoners,” she said after recovering. “I’m here to take them off your hands.”

“The prisoners?” He leaned forward in his seat with a frown.

“Yes. We rescue those the curse has struck down,” she said as if stating the obvious.

“Because you’ve found a way to circumvent the spell…” he finished.

At first, it appeared she wouldn’t answer, but after a pause, she gave him a curt nod.

Ash released a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. Hope blazed in his breast. He had to actively restrain himself from rushing to her and sweeping her up in a jig.

Focus. This was just the beginning. He still had to convince her to tell him how she did it, but he needed to talk her out of this crazy plan.

“I understand taking a Firehorse. However, the prisoners are free of the curse’s taint. They aren’t immediate family to any of your people, are they?”

The only close blood ties they’d been aware of had been to deceased Firehorses of years long past.

“It doesn’t matter,” she countered. “If someone has pointed the finger at them, they should come with us. It isn’t safe for them here.”

“But it’s mere superstition that the curse runs in families,” he said, standing up.

Kara moved back instinctively. He checked his progress, moving to mirror her earlier easy pose by leaning against the front of his desk.

“Your resources in the wasteland are stretched thin.” He should know. Two of her men had attacked him for a bag of food. “There’s no need to add to your burden. I’ve put a stop to the problem.”

Kara put her hands on her hips. “I realize angels are supposed to be omniscient and all-powerful up in Heaven, but your magic fairy dust doesn’t work for jack shit down here. Despite your terrific shouting match with the mob, you can’t count on the people to do the right thing. Next time, they won’t imprison the suspects. They’ll just kill them. It’s the way people are.”

“No, it’s not,” he protested, feeling the irony bite deep. She’s stealing all my lines. “And angels are not God. They do not see or know all.”

He didn’t bother to add that Heaven’s view was obscured, or that the angel with answers—Raphael—had been steadfastly ignoring him for the last few decades.

“If another Firehorse rises, I’ll be there, knocking at your door, or tunnel entrance,” he promised when she continued to stonewall him. “But adding seven extra mouths to feed—none of whom show symptoms of falling prey to the curse—is crazy, even for your resourcefulness.”

She wasn’t swayed. “Why don’t we let the prisoners decide how they feel about staying in the city?”

Ash narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, what will Sij have to say about adding seven more people to the fold?”

Kara smirked. “She’ll grouse about extra foraging duties, but as long as you’re not one of them, she’ll accept them easily enough.”

He huffed. That was probably true. Sij was not his biggest fan. But Kara hadn’t been either. Yet, here she was, offering to help him when it should have been the other way around.

Ash opened his mouth. He was about to promise to ask the rescued prisoners what they wanted when she clapped her hands over her ears. The emergency klaxon on the roof was vibrating the entire apartment.

“Come with me,” he shouted to Kara over the din. He held out his hand and waited as she stared at him openmouthed, her hands still over her ears.

“Hurry,” he pressed.

Snapping out of it, Kara closed the distance between them at a run, taking his hand a split second before he took flight.