The Last.

I expected many things to happen here. I dreamed of a respite, however brief, from the endless screams that echoed through Hell and the tang of iron that perpetually hung in the air. I pictured the persistent crowds of humanity encroaching on my consciousness with their sins and desires. I even envisioned enjoying it, throwing myself into this base, flesh-filled world.

I never imagined her.

She sits silently, absorbing the life-shattering revelation I have just given her. The tears have long since dried on her cheeks, and even the flare of hard anger I saw light up those grey eyes has gone out.

She looks hollow.

This won’t do.

I grasp her hand, and I feel her tense at the contact. Good. She’s still in there after all.

"You can't stay here." She blinks, and her eyes finally seem to focus on mine. "You cannot stay here," I repeat, emphasizing each word with a forcefulness that would have even the highest ranking demons in Hell scrambling to obey.

Instead, she pulls her hand back and gives me a withering look that would amuse me if not for our current situation.

I certainly know where that particular trait comes from.

"Where the hell am I supposed to go?" she snaps, "This is my home. Michael's apparently taken everything else from me, and now I have to run?"

“You have to survive.” I stand up, the chair scraping loudly on the floor, the noise sharp and grating in the silence of the room. “Divine blood or not, you’re human. You cannot even begin to comprehend the power an Archangel wields.” I lean forward and let the guise of the smirking, flirtatious Devil slip away. “Would you care for a taste?”

Let her get a glimpse of what is behind the mask, and see how eager she is to stay.

The temperature in the room plummets, and I hear thunder roaring in the distance as though nature is rebelling against my very presence.

Few mortals can look upon an angel's true form and survive, and even fewer escape altogether unscathed. If I’m wrong about her, my true face will be the last she sees as her eyes burn away in their sockets.

I’m not wrong.

But there is still room for surprises.

Pure, blinding light bathes the room as my real form overtakes the human guise I wear. Behind me, the shadows of my wings rise up the walls. I can feel my fingers clawing grooves into the wood of the small table separating us as I free just enough of myself to give her a sense of what she’s facing.

Grace stands up slowly, her wide-eyed gaze never leaving my own. Instead of backing away and trembling in fear she takes a step closer to me, her face bathed in light. Her small, human hand rises of its own accord and touches my cheek. Her hand is steady. “So bright,” she murmurs, wonderment coloring her tone. “You were called the Lightbringer, weren’t you?”

"I still am." Outside the house, I can hear every car alarm on the street sounding as glass cracks and splinters at the power of my true voice. Only inches away from me, Grace doesn’t flinch. "The Devil doesn't come dressed in a red cape and horns. He comes as everything you've ever wished for."

“You’re right about that,” she says, echoing my words from back at the bar. Her hand trails down my face, her fingertips with their chipped blue polish just brushing the skin of my jaw. “I should be afraid of you. Every sane part of me wants to jump in my car and just keep driving until I can forget about angels and devils and holy blood.” I hold my tongue and let her continue. “But some other part of me recognizes you. . . knows you.”

Her hand drops to her side. When the contact between us breaks Grace takes a slow breath, almost looking as though she’s waking from a dream. “So this is what I’m up against then?”

“No,” I say, sliding back behind my mask as easily as slipping on a coat. “That was the smallest fraction of what an angel is capable of. I didn’t think you’d appreciate me smashing every window on the block.”

She glances at the long crack bisecting the window above her kitchen sink and smiles wryly. “Thanks for that.” She pauses, her eyes circling the room as though trying to memorize it.

“Take whatever is important to you. I can’t guarantee you’ll be able to return here anytime soon.”

Grace nods. I watch as she grabs a large metal mixing bowl from one of the cabinets and fills it to the brim with dry cat food. She scoops the cat up and carries him through the door, depositing them both on the front porch.

She kneels down next to the cat, scratching the purring animal’s head. Her soft voice filters back to me. “I hope you’re still here when I come back- if I come back,” she whispers. A moment later she strides past me into her bedroom, her face carefully impassive.

I follow, leaning against the doorframe and watching as she frantically shoves as much of her life as she can into a worn leather bag. When the suitcase is filled almost to bursting, she yanks the zipper closed and pauses, steeling herself for the next step.

“I’m ready.”

Phenex is lounging on the couch when I open the door to the suite, looking far too comfortable for our current situation. His gaze slips past me and focuses on Grace as she enters the room, the familiar, lustful grin twisting his lips as he looks her up and down.

"What happened to business before amusement?" he drawls. "Not that I mind, but she hardly looks big enough to share."

Grace tenses, and unexpected anger surges through me. A few hours ago I would have chuckled at Phenex's comment. Instead, I find myself fighting the urge to backhand him.

Something about this girl is making me feel protective. It’s unnerving to say the least.

Always perceptive, Phenex’s smirk drains away at my demeanor. “Who is she?” he asks, all traces of humor gone.

"The Last."

Whatever Phenex might be expecting, it isn’t that.

He lets out a low whistle as he get to his feet. “I’d ask if you were joking, but. . . I can see it now.” Phenex stares at her with open wonder, seeing a relic of the Heaven he had forsaken instead of a living, breathing person. “She almost glows, doesn’t she?” he murmurs to himself. “But it’s subdued. Like hiding a candle under a box.”

Grace steps around me and extends her hand to Phenex. "I'm Grace. And I'm guessing you're not Michael."

Phenex huffs in indignation. “Certainly not,” he replies, taking Grace’s offered hand. “Michael is a stuck-up tightass with no appreciation of the finer things you humans have to offer. I’m Phenex.”

Releasing Grace’s hand, Phenex turns his attention back to me. “It can’t be a coincidence - Michael, the souls, her presence. I just can’t figure out if the souls were the bait or she was.”

"Michael's hunting her. He suspects she's the Last, but he never did like getting his hands dirty unless he was certain. We need to keep her hidden."

“Could I actually get included in this conversation?”

We both turn to Grace. Perched on the arm of the couch, she looks fragile.

Breakable.

Far too human.

But at a closer gaze, anyone with perception will see the power flowing through her, simmering just under the surface until something awakes it.

And she is making me feel things.

“Please, give us your insight on how to locate and destroy the Archangel who just happens to be God’s chosen warrior.” At my harsh words, Grace flinches as though I hit her, and I tamp down the desire to reassure. Coddling her will get her one thing – dead. The silence stretches between us as I dare her to speak.

“I thought so.” Effectively dismissing her, I turn back to Phenex. “What did you find?”

“Nothing of importance. Just your usual parade of sinners. Michael seems to be laying low for the moment.” His gaze keeps flickering to Grace, watching us silently as we decide her future. “I can think of one thing that might draw him out.”

“No,” I snap.

Phenex persists. “If she’s what he’s after it makes sense.”

"The answer is no. She is something far too valuable to risk as bait." Out of the corner of my eye, I see Grace bristling at our failure to consult her, but she stays silent. Good. Let her be angry at the situation, at Michael, at me. She’ll need to tap into a well of pure fury if she has any hopes of survival.

“I need to make myself visible,” I say. “Michael never could resist a challenge, especially not from me. If we go to ground, he’ll think we’re afraid. He’ll be too busy congratulating himself to notice that the world’s burning around him. But if we act like nothing’s amiss and we’re just here sampling the local flavor? He’ll be incensed that we aren’t cowering.” Disdain drips from my every word.

Phenex keeps stealing glances at Grace. He opens his mouth, argument on the tip of his tongue before closing it and nodding with reluctant acceptance.

Grace hasn’t moved. She stares at me, those grey eyes holding my gaze with an intensity that no mortal could muster.

Just what will it take to cut the last threads of humanity that tie her down? So much power flows just below the surface. She’ll rival an Archangel when it awakes.

She’ll be a fine weapon.

Until then though, I need to keep her safe.

“Stay put,” I order, not giving her an opening to argue.