I’d gotten back from a tense meeting with Remiel and promptly messaged Gregory with my new intel. He was strengthening the forces guarding the Sierra Nevada Mountains, but doing it in a stealthy sort of way so that Samael might think we were a bit short on wings in that spot. Not so obvious that he’d be suspicious, but just lax enough for him to make his move right where we wanted him. All we needed to do now was wait, so I settled in for some much-needed R&R while Lux and Nyalla were visiting Harper and Austin in West Virginia.

And what better rest and relaxation than crunchy snack food eaten in bed with a cold beer in hand?

I was in my bedroom, eating Cheetos and drinking beer when Snip arrived, Gimlet in tow. The pair of Lows waltzed right on in without even knocking, climbing up on the end of the bed and eyeing the Cheetos.

I pulled the bag away from their covetous gaze. “Knock, guys. I could have been in here fucking or something. I’m the Iblis. I at least deserve some privacy in my own damned bedroom.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you fucking.” Snip craned his neck to better see the bag of snacks. “Last time I checked, you didn’t mind anyone seeing you fucking either. Are those Cheetos?”

“Yes. And no, you can’t have any.”

He was right about me and the fucking, but Gregory tended to be a bit of a prude when it came to doing it in front of an audience. Well, except for baby angels. Evidently it was okay to angel-fuck in front of them, just not demons, and especially not Lows.

“Did you talk to everyone? Are they onboard and ready to go?” I asked Snip.

“Yes, I did, and yes they are.” Snip gestured toward Gimlet with a flourish that would have done Vanna White proud. “And I brought Gimlet, just as you requested.

“Where’s my cookies?” the other Low demanded. “And my milk?”

“Downstairs next to the naughty and nice list, and my giant bag of toys for the stockings.” I rolled my eyes. “I even bought those nasty fucking oatmeal raisin things, just for you. I’ll get them later, when we’re done talking here. There’s more important things than cookies and milk to think about right now.”

Gimlet leveled me with a stern gaze. “There’s nothing more important than cookies and milk. Nothing.”

Actually, I kind of agreed with him, just not oatmeal raisin.

“Later.” I turned back to Snip. “Based on what Doriel tells me, we’re probably going to move in the next day. Two at the max. This guy has no patience, and I’m pretty sure he’s not going to settle in for a siege and try to either wait us out or force our hand by killing off humans. He wants a fight, and he’s embarrassed about the thing in LA.”

Gimlet eyed the Cheetos again. “Watch the gates during the attack. I’d make a big deal of marching an army across the pass with a huge show of power, and in the meantime hit those other five gates. Bogota was a disaster, but if he can get a few dozen decent warmongers and their households through the other gates, the angels will be toast. They’ll never be able to defend seven different locations.”

I totally agreed. “And I’d use the big look-at-me, look-at-me battle to get small groups of demons out into the rest of the US. They’re all bunched up from San Francisco to Seattle, hemmed in by the ocean on one side and the mountains on the other. Get as many demons as he can out of there and spread out, then have them begin small-cell terrorist hits scattershot across the globe.”

Gimlet nodded, his bulbous eyes still on the snack food bag. “Angels can’t defend against that sort of attack. Never could and never will. They want everything all in battle formation. Idiots.”

Snip’s eyes grew wide. “Don’t they understand how demons fight?”

I snorted. “No, they don’t. They seriously think there’s going to be some organized battle with everyone all in nice neat lines by household with matching outfits and syncopated marching rhythms. Idiots.”

Gimlet leaned back against the bedpost and crossed his arms. “Angels. You would have thought after two-and-a-half-million years they would have gotten with the program a bit. They never learn, do they?”

No, they most certainly did not. And that’s probably one of the things I loved about them.

“Can’t we just sit this one out and let the angels take care of it?” Snip pleaded. “I don’t know how to fight this way. Just send us in to stab them in their sleep or something, but don’t make us line up and march and fight that way.”

“Just hide behind the angel with the biggest wingspan,” I advised. “Make sure you don’t whack him with a staff or anything, though. Shoot between his legs or something.”

“An angel shield.” Gimlet laughed. “I like that. You know, this sounds like fun. I might just be interested enough to get off my ass and watch.”

“I expect you to fight.”

A shadow flickered across his face, there one second and gone the next. “I don’t fight. Did it once and didn’t like it at all. I’ll watch instead. Maybe I’ll be the water boy. Or the cleanup crew.”

It was time to end this nonsense. “Can you give us a minute?” I asked Snip. The Low left with a hurt backward glance at me. I didn’t blame him. It was like a slumber party here, Gimlet and me sitting on my bed with a bag of Cheetos and a six pack of beer—none of which I wanted to share.

The other Low watched him leave, then again relaxed against the bedpost, fixing me with a look that was far too intelligent, far too knowing for a Low.

“Time to cut the crap,” I told him.

He regarded me, deadpan. “Gross, but okay. Horse? Human? Or are you expecting me to defecate on your bedspread? Is there a ritual weapon you plan to use for this shit-slicing, or should I run down and get a butter knife from the kitchen drawer?”

I raised my eyebrows. “You know exactly what I mean. When do you plan on telling them?” I asked Gimlet, not sure whether by them I meant the other Lows, the demons of Hel in general, or the archangels.

“I’m not very good at telling. I’m more of a ‘showing’ kind of demon. And I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. Can you pass those Cheetos over here?”

I handed him the bag, knowing that I was going to have orange finger-smears all over my comforter. “Samael.”

I let the word hang there between us while Gimlet filled the silence with loud crunching noises. Sure enough, he wiped his fingers along my formerly snow-white comforter.

“Yep. That Samael is a bad dude. He’s going to kill a few million humans and thousands of angels. Then he’ll work his way across the globe like a fucking plague until nothing living is left here. Bad dude.”

“And he’ll do it all without proper immigration documentation either,” I drawled. “No laws, human or angelic are gonna stop a denizen of Hel bent on revenge. We’re gonna have to kill him, that’s all there is to it.” I leaned forward, putting my face on level with the Low’s bulging eyes. “But I’m talking about you, not whoever the fuck that is leading the army.”

Gimlet swallowed then dug his hand back into the bag of Cheetos, his eyes oddly intelligent as they met mine. “Me? I’s just a Low.”

“A two-billion-year-old Low. Show me your true form. Show me what you looked like when you were an archangel in Aaru.”

He grinned, his teeth orange. “Can’t do that, silly imp. Demons gots to have corporeal form here or they die. Angels too.”

I leaned back, growing bored with his dancing around the truth. “You’re old. You avoid the other Ancients and the angels. You’re far more powerful that you let on, and your acting sucks. That ‘I’m just a stupid Low’ shit doesn’t fly. Knock it off and show me your original corporeal form. And tell me who the fuck that pretty boy is mowing down the West Coast with an army of demons.”

Gimlet sighed and morphed before my eyes into an angel—an angel with white-blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and golden-tanned skin. The wings held tight to his back had tattered feathers of silver and black. His energy was cold and clear, a sharp contrast to his oldest brother’s heat. It was complex, the spirit-self that carried it scarred and damaged almost beyond recognition. But in spite of all that, I recognized him. It was there, that unmistakable something that clearly made him an archangel, that made it obvious he was related to the others. He was a little bit of Rafi, a little bit of Uri, a smidgen of Gabe, and a whole lot of my beloved Michael only in reverse. He made that guy in LA look like a cheap knock-off. He was eye-wateringly beautiful—so beautiful that it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room as I looked at him.

Oh, and he was buck naked.

“So… Better looking than my imitator?” He ate another handful of Cheetos, the orange coating marring his gorgeous mouth. No, I lied. Nothing could mar that gorgeous mouth, not even orange Cheeto dust.

“Yes, you are.” I really couldn’t say more. It was difficult to do anything but stare at him and try to keep from drooling all over the mattress.

“The angels loved me like this, you know. They all turn up their noses at sensory intercourse, but get one of them alone and it’s game on.” He grinned as my gaze took in every inch of him. “Pretty sweet corporeal form, huh?”

I needed to get a grip on myself here. “Must be hard to get anything done with all the staring in the mirror.”

“It’s not all looks, you know. I’ve got the moves to back it all up.” He arched an eyebrow then reached down and gave himself a long stroke. “I’m much better in bed than my brother.”

I tore my eyes away from his lap and snatched the bag of Cheetos out of his hand. “I doubt that. What the fuck have you been doing for the last two-and-a-half-million years? Running around Hel as a Low? Seems hard to believe for the angel who fell because of the sin of pride.”

He shrugged. “Pride is overrated. I ditched that shit a long time ago. Two-and-a-half-million years ago to be precise.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep.” He snatched the Cheetos again, and pulled a bottle of beer from the six-pack with the other hand. “After we fell, I went through those five stages of grief, then I decided I was done. I tossed the sword and walked my ass right out of Hel. I haven’t been Samael, the Iblis, an archangel, since then. I’ve been Apollyon, Beelzebub, Lucifer, Old Scratch, Old Nick, but not Samael.”

“And you’ve never wanted the sword back?” I pressed. “You’ve never wanted to be the Iblis again, to lead the demons in Hel, to serve on the Ruling Council?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He laughed. “Call it retirement. That shit got me nowhere except banished with rotted wings and so many scars my own family probably wouldn’t recognize me. I’m done. And I’m never touching that fucking sword again.”

I didn’t push him anymore because I sensed a really deep wound under his flippant words.

“So without ever touching the sword again, give me a bit of information here. Who is the dickhead running around claiming to be Samael, and why haven’t you smited his ass for daring to impersonate you? Or who you used to be before you retired and decided to be Gimlet the Low.”

“I haven’t smited him because this whole thing is funny.” He grabbed the bag back. “I’ve got no idea who it is, and I don’t really care. Michael will kill him soon enough. He’ll go flying out there all pissed off with his sword and chop the guy into little bitty pieces before he ever realizes it’s not me.”

I winced at the bitterness that burned around the edges of his casual tone. “Michael would hold back if he thought it was you.” Actually his brother would probably refuse to fight him at all, would bare his neck to the stroke of Samael’s sword as some sort of apology for what he’d done. But I didn’t tell him that because the asshole in LA wasn’t Samael, and the real one didn’t have a sword or apparently any interest in any sort of revenge on his brother. “Now, stop being a dick. And don’t eat all the fucking Cheetos.”

“I am a dick. It’s how I roll.”

He held the bag out of my reach, cramming a huge handful into his mouth and spilling crumbs onto my bed as he spoke. In anyone else it would have been disgusting, but this angel was so damned gorgeous I was pretty sure he could do anything and it wouldn’t be disgusting.

I gave up on the Cheetos and just drank my beer instead. “Yeah, I get that, Gimlet. What about the note? You’re the one who left it on my table. Are you working with this fake-Samael? Did you somehow instigate this whole thing?”

He laughed. “The note? That was pure inspiration. That fake-Samael asshole assigned some poor greed demon to deliver it. The guy was pissing himself, because he knew the moment he showed up at your door with that note, he was as good as dead. So I offered to deliver it for a price. And of course I embellished on it a bit. I had to make it sound less ranty and more like it actually came from me. Got you off your ass though, didn’t it?”

It had. “And the fire demon in Seattle? Was that blast meant for you or for me?”

“You. But I know Coapt, and was worried he’d put a few puzzle pieces together. Well, that and I didn’t want him to give you too much information. What’s the fun in that?”

I’d gone into this hoping I could talk him into helping us, and maybe into reconciling with his brothers. But I was getting the impression that Samael wasn’t going to go along with either of those two ideas.

“So what’s your game plan? Run around disguised as a Low for the rest of your life, hope none of your siblings recognize you, let some asshole Ancient impersonate you and destroy all life on this planet?”

“Yeah. Pretty much that.”

I stared at him, hoping to intimidate him into elaborating. I should have known better.

He took a swig of beer and dug around in the Cheetos bag. “I’ll admit I wasn’t too impressed with you until I found out you were actually banging my brother. I mean banging. How in all of Aaru did you get him to put aside nearly six billion years of ridged assholery and actually fuck you? An imp. He fucked an imp. I thought it was a lie until I got close enough to sense his energy all over you. More than all over you. Somehow you got the bastard to give you a chunk of his personal energy.” He shot me a significant glance. “You do realize other demons can be angels too if they do the same, right?”

All the rebuttals fell away and I stared at him agape. “No. You’re lying. I got that portion of his spirit-self when he tried to bind me. I’m an angel because I’m a devouring spirit and he got too close to me. It’s not… It’s a one in a million thing. That’s not true.”

“Of course, it’s true.” He looked me up and down. “Idiot. You really are stupid, you know. I’ve got no idea how you’ve survived this long.”

Yeah, me either. “That aside, you can’t seriously be willing to stand by and watch while this faker tries to kill every last angel?”

“Don’t care.” But there was a flicker of something in his eyes that told me he did.

“How about the humans? You’ve spent the last several million years roaming among them. Do you really want to see this place turn into a lifeless rock while you do nothing?”

He smirked. “You do realize there are seven billion humans here, right? They outnumber the angels and the demons combined by a huge percentage. The demons might take out the angels but when it comes to the humans, they’ll get frustrated with how difficult killing them all is and wander away from the fake Samael, like they always do. They’re not like Angels of Chaos. They can’t be led for long. They’re too independent. It’s like trying to herd cats. You can make them run in one direction by shaking a treat can or shining a laser pointer, but five seconds later they’re all over the place. And the angels would be wise to remember this as well. The humans are more like demons than they are angels, and they’re far from helpless. Piss them off enough and the angels will find out what a pain in the ass these humans can be.”

“In the past angels have threatened to destroy all the humans and start over,” I told him.

He laughed. “Gabe has threatened that. He and a few of his whack-job purists occasionally make that threat. Seven billion people. Yeah, it’s easy to flood the planet and destroy all but a handful of chosen back when it was only a few thousand of them, but there’s no way the angels can wipe out seven billion people. Not without destroying the rest of life on the planet, and none of my siblings would go that far.”

Interesting how he had a note of pride in his voice at that statement.

“Help me,” I urged him. “Help us get rid of this fake Samael and create a stable world here for the humans, the angels, and the demons. You’ve got the leadership skills and the charisma that I lack. You could make this happen.”

He quirked an eyebrow at me. “Are you trying to give me that sword back? Because the answer is no.”

Damn it.

“Then at least see your brothers. And Uri, who’s now decided to be female for some reason.”

He blinked and a surprised laugh escaped him. “Uri is female now? Good for her! I’d always hoped she’d find the strength to buck the trend. She’s stronger than she thinks. She just needs to get out from under Micha’s shadow.”

“See them. They’ll want to see you, to make amends. They’ve missed you all these years. They’ve regretted what happened, especially Micha.”

“No.” The word was sharp and final.

“Wounds that are not healed fester and grow,” I told him.

The angel shook his head. “Where the fuck did you get that wise old chestnut? Sometimes wounds grow layers around them, like nacre around a pearl. The irritant is always there, but softened and smoothed with time until it’s barely noticeable and easily tolerated.”

But still there. It wasn’t my place to force a reconciliation if Samael wasn’t ready, and I couldn’t exactly compel him to help either.

“At least act as my mentor? Give me pointers and tips?”

“Yeah. Don’t get killed.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” I shot back.

“I don’t.” He munched thoughtfully on a Cheeto. “You definitely liven things up, though. I haven’t been so entertained in a long time.”

I shook my head, but before I could say anything more, that connected feeling flickered on briefly before fading away. Demons. Ten thousand demons, and they were on the move. I yanked out my phone and sent Gregory a text, then hopped off my bed.

Gimlet-Samael pulled the bag of Cheetos over on his lap and reached for another beer. “Oh, one thing before you go.”

“Yeah?” I hesitated, hoping for some word of advice that would make this all go right.

“Where’d you put those oatmeal raisin cookies?”