After returning to my cabin to clean up, Lucas blinks us to my aunt’s basement apartment.

Below her shop, the apartment is an open and airy area with lots of recessed lighting to make up for the lack of windows. Stained concrete floors span the entire space, all of the rooms open to each other except for the two bedrooms. A vibrant multi-colored kitchen connects to a simple dining room with a farm table covered in artwork. The dining room joins a living room with wildly painted walls and a sofa and a recliner, each of the furniture pieces sporting gauzy scarves and strange-looking dolls. Two doors to the back of the space lead into the bedrooms. Candles are displayed on every available surface.

Eloise is in the middle of pulling a small turkey out of her oven when we appear, and she shrieks, dropping it.

Lucas catches the pan bare-handed in mid-air, places it on the kitchen’s small counter, and smiles. Evidently, he’s also immune to heat.

“You couldn’t use the door?” Eloise asks, holding her chest.

“The angel doesn’t have any manners,” I tease.

Still shaken, Eloise glances from me to Lucas and then me again. “I wasn’t sure you would come, but—”

I rush to embrace her, cutting off her words.

She stiffens in my arms, unused to me hugging or seeking comfort from her. Her scent of gingerbread and honey invades my senses. She smells like home. It doesn’t matter that I was here only yesterday. Today, even though I am unsure about everything, I feel more confident than I have in years.

Relaxing, Eloise hugs me back, her hand stroking my hair. “Harper,” she whispers in my ear.

Today, I am thankful for her.

Lucas pulls me away, regret coloring his eyes. “It’s not safe,” he reminds me. “I don’t know how closely tied your psychic abilities are to hers.”

Eloise clears her throat, turning away so she can swipe at her eyes, and guilt swamps me. I wasted too many years letting my fears and grief distance us. I doubt I’ll ever feel natural around people, but my aunt is different.

Her, I should have tried harder with.

If all of this ends well, I will try harder.

Eloise faces us, all smiles again, although she casts a lot of ill-at-ease glances at Lucas. “I’m glad you came. I cooked enough for three meals. On purpose. Because who really wants to cook more than twice a year?”

She’s lying. She loves to cook.

“Can I help?” I ask.

She ushers us into the dining room. “No! You sit.” Her gaze slides to Lucas. “Both of you.”

For years, every time Aunt Eloise would get stressed out about something, she would grab a box of paints and brushes, sit at the table, and create art until she was spent. The table is now a collage of anxiety-ridden graffiti. Pictures as simple as stars and as difficult as human faces fan out across the wooden surface. When she ran out of room on the table, she started on the walls.

The pictures are my aunt. They are her emotions, her thoughts, and her fears. My face is among the chaos, and I think it’s a perfect place for it to be.

“How are things going?” Eloise asks.

Rushing back and forth, she fills plates before setting them down before us. My aunt may prefer making herbal concoctions, but she is an amazing cook. She says it’s a way to express herself. Like the painted table.

“Stop,” I demand. “Sit. If we need anything else, we’ll get it.”

She sits.

In a long, tiered peasant skirt, a strawberry-red top, and her auburn hair pulled up in a messy bun, Eloise looks young. Or would, if not for the circles under her eyes and the tight lines around her mouth.

“I made it through the night okay,” I assure her.

She sinks her fork into her food and then stops. “Why my niece?” she asks, her gaze finding Lucas.

Because I wrote my name, I think.

Eloise stares at him hard, as if she’s challenging him to a visual game of thumb war. It’s not about who blinks first; it’s about whose stare is stronger. “Angel?”

He leans back in his chair. He’s too big for the farm table. It’s like looking at an adult trying to sit at a kid’s table, and yet he makes it look not ridiculous.

“Which question do you want me to answer first? The one about Levi or the one about her virginity?” Lucas asks.

“What?” I glance between them, horrified. Guilt takes up residence in Eloise’s eyes. “You did a reading on me?” Realizing she hadn’t asked the questions aloud, I throw in, “You know he can read thoughts?”

“Last night, I went to see Saundra,” she replies, still staring at the angel. “It was educational to say the least. Afterward, I asked for a little guidance from the spirits.”

Lucas raises his brows, impressed. “I’m developing a new respect for psychics and your tenacity.”

“My niece?” Eloise persists.

“Levi is a tyrant. I don’t get confused often, and when I do, it pisses me off. I don’t know how he’s doing what he is. I’ve seen a lot of demonic possessions over the years. This isn’t a possession.” He shakes his head. “It’s like he’s using her as a sacrificial altar, bleeding victims on her skin. That shouldn’t be possible. He’s slashing his victims. Each time he does it, it slashes her. Then he bleeds them.”

My gaze falls to the table and to the food growing cold. Without looking at either of them, I eat. Stress wins out over the steal-my-appetite gruesome details. I already know I’m not bleeding my own blood. The other information is new to me, but I sense they’re theories he must be throwing back and forth in his head.

“As for her virginity,” he pauses, and I know he’s looking at me. I refuse to look up. “She’s a beautiful woman. Consenting adults. And—”

“You were protecting me,” I finish for him. I should have known, and honestly, I did suspect it after he told me the story of Levi and his penchant for sacrificing virgins.

“Harper—” my aunt begins.

“I’m not surprised.” I’m not. It doesn’t shock me that she knows about what happened the night before. It doesn’t surprise me that Lucas had sex with me as much to protect me as he did out of need and desire. Everything comes back to me—my curse and the things everyone around me has to do to fix it or protect me.

None of it surprises me.

I’ve been living under a microscope my entire life. What would surprise me is living out from under a microscope.

“You’ve got to know a good song for this one,” I tell Eloise. “Come on, hit me with it.”

When I look up, she’s staring at me. Maybe she wants me to be fazed by all of this. Maybe she expects me to be upset. Maybe I should be. Thing is, I may not be doing cartwheels over all of the bad shit happening, but I’m glad I slept with Lucas. It let me connect with someone, and doing that is teaching me to connect with others. Maybe my first wasn’t movie-of-the-week material, but it was an awakening. I can’t regret that.

Slowly, she smiles. “Stranded.”

The lyrics play in my head, and I smile back. “Now, that one feels like me.” I glance at Lucas. “You’re supposed to eat when there’s a holiday. Like, a lot.” He hasn’t touched his food, and I add, “Even if you don’t have to.”

His gaze searches my face, his expression unreadable, and I’m thrown by how deeply he studies me.

A thousand years pass in one stare.

The sound of my aunt’s chair scraping the floor drags me back into the present. “What the hell?” she exclaims. Abruptly, she stumbles away from the table, and then points to the end of it. “What the hell is that?”

There, resting in a seat, is Desi, the weird pet that turns into a badass baseball bat. Lucas did say it would find its way to me.

I sigh. “Just accept that my life is really weird right now.”

Eloise circles the table, giving Desi a wide berth while eyeing the bronze protrusions on the weapon. “There’s weird, and then there’s a club with thorns.”

“Weird,” I repeat.

“Club,” she points out.

“A mace actually,” Lucas inserts. “With spikes.”

Eloise pauses, leans forward, and then narrows her eyes. “A mace? Why does it feel alive?”

Her psychic abilities go much deeper than just spiritual reading. She’s also an empath and extremely sensitive to auras and energy. Trying to lie to her as a teenager was a bitch. Hence, why I never tried more than once.

“It’s sentient,” Lucas replies. “Think a guardian inside of a weapon.”

Stunned, Eloise glances at me.

I shrug. “Apparently, that’s what you get when you channel an archdemon, and then have a one-night stand with a fallen angel.”

Eloise shakes her head. “You are so my kid.”

A sharp laugh escapes me, mainly because I did not expect that response.

“Let’s eat,” I suggest.

We barely make it through the meal when my chair slides backward away from the table, completely on its own. Blood trickles out of my nose, and my hand flies to my face to staunch a gush that never comes.

Eloise cries out.

For once, Lucas doesn’t rush to help. He simply turns his chair, leans his elbows on his knees, and watches me.

I’m trying to breathe, not because I can’t, but because I feel swollen, my body full of something extremely dark and terrifying. Like a doll stuffed with super-charged cotton.

“He can’t do it,” Lucas says.

Breathing through the panic crippling me, I look at him. “Can’t do what?”

“Possess you.” He stares, amazed. “He keeps trying. I can feel it. He’s drawing on your energy, but he’s not entering you.”

“I’d say that sounds like a dirty joke, but,” nausea slams into me, “this really hurts.”

Lucas finally comes to me, kneels, and touches my chin. “You’re not going to throw up.”

Bile rises in my throat, metallic and hot, and I swallow past it. “Those are pretty words—”

“Fight it, Harper.” He drops his hand.

I clutch my stomach and double over. “Fight it,” I repeat. You’re not going to throw up.

Inside my head, I start to scream, loud and shrill. Over and over again. The sound chases back the nausea.

My hands start to shake. Even pressed against my stomach, I can feel the tremors.

I lift them.

Aunt Eloise gasps. “Paper.”

Rushing into her bedroom, she returns with pencils and a notepad. I shake my head, even as my chair slides back toward the table. Once again, all on its own.

“I can’t do this,” I insist.

Lucas joins me. “Yes, you can. Use your gifts. If a lesser demon tries to interfere, I’ve got you. There’s not a damn thing they can do if I’m here.”

Pushing the food aside, Eloise places the notebook and pencils in front of me, the cover flipped open.

“Aunt Eloise,” I beg.

My hands are shaking so violently now, they hurt.

“It’s okay,” she promises, even though I can tell by the waver in her voice, she’s not sure it is.

As soon as I lift my hand, it flies to the pencils. Gripping one of them, my fingers jerk to the notebook, and I feel my eyes rolling up inside of my head.

My world goes dark.

When I come to, Lucas is leaning over the table, furrows marring his forehead.

Beneath my fingers are the words, You can’t protect her, Luke. She’s mine. Power. Time to suffer.

Dropping the pencil, my hands fly to my throat, but there’s no choking sensation like there was in Jeanine Turner’s office. “Luke?” I rasp.

Lucas stares at the message. Small drops of blood are smeared over the ink. “Levi and I have known each other for a very, very long time.” It’s the only explanation he gives for the nickname.

“You can’t protect her? She’s mine?” Eloise massages her forehead. “I don’t understand. This isn’t about Harper, is it?”

Lucas touches the notebook. “We’re talking about an archdemon who has had a very long time to build a grudge and make plans. I’m sure he has multiple agendas.” Picking up one of the pencils, he taps it against the sheet. “Will you write for me again, Harper?”

My blood runs cold. “Lucas . . .”

Coming up behind me, he cages me in with his arms, the pencil in his fingers goading me. “Trust me. Write. Except this time, I want you to think about a name. Meri. She’s a demon of fate in the underworld and an old friend.”

“An ex-lover?” I ask, immediately kicking myself for the question and the terse way it comes out.

Lucas’s head lowers, his mouth near my ear. “Jealous?” He sounds amused.

“No.”

His breath whispers against my skin. “Not an ex-lover. I’ve dabbled with demons, but not this one. She’s too prickly.” He chuckles. “No one wants to tangle with a demon of fate.” Holding out the pencil, he offers it to me. “Meri. Think about her name and ask her about Lucas and Leviathan.”

When I don’t move, he cups my shoulder with his hand. “Open yourself up, Harper. Take back control of your power.”

My back stiffens.

Out of everything he could have said, this is what pushes me forward. Because there’s nothing I want more than control over something I’ve been robbed of.

“Are you sure about this?” Eloise asks. She sounds nervous, and that settles it.

She’s been robbed, too.

Meri’s name echoing through my head, I take the pencil. Leviathan, I think. Lucas.

The response is immediate.

My hand swerves onto the notebook, the lines that appear surprisingly flowery and feminine.

Well, if it isn’t the golden boy himself. Hello, honey.

As crazy as it sounds, joy races through me, the feeling replacing the horrible fatigue I felt when Levi forced my hand. This is what I’m supposed to do. This is what Eloise does for others, channeling spirits and the deceased for her customers. I may be channeling a demon, but I feel in control. Me. In control. I hope, anyway, and if I’m not, I don’t want to know, because this feels good.

Lucas snorts. “Give me the rundown, Meri,” he demands aloud.

My hand scribbles. No sweet nothings? No, “It’s been a long time and I miss you, Meri?”

“I want answers,” Lucas replies.

The pencil pauses, and then, You imprison an archdemon with little more than a symbol of water and you expect that to hold?

Lucas’s hand fists on the table. “That was before my fall. I’ve learned a lot about your world since then. Firsthand. Even so, the symbol was strong enough.”

I swear I hear Meri laugh in my head. You are so cute, angel. The symbol has crumbled. The only thing keeping him there now is weakness. It only takes two things for a demon like him to rise.

“Blood and energy,” Lucas murmurs.

If you know, why contact me?

“Don’t play games with me, Meri. He has secrets, and you’re in a position to know that. You owe me. Remember those souls you let escape into—”

My elbow shoots out, catching Lucas just under the ribs. He grins.

The pencil scratches. I’m disappointed in you. Why bring up old wounds?

“The information, Meri,” Lucas prompts.

Look to your psychic. Levi has been planning this since her birth. He has allies. Do you not feel the woman? Curses. Black magic. Blood. Power. Now, our debt is repaid. Leave me.

I lose my grip on the pencil, and it falls onto the table, bouncing off of the notebook before rolling onto the floor. My body sags in the chair.

Eloise slides a steaming cup of tea in front of me. “Green tea with ginseng.” She’d been busy while I was transcribing. “For energy. Sessions take a lot out of the messenger. I’m proud of you, Harper.”

Tears threaten to choke me.

Lucas tugs the notebook toward him. “Tell me about your parents again,” he says.

Eloise answers for me. “There isn’t much to know. A psychic and a mortal fell in love, fought for years to have a baby together, and then went to a black arts practitioner for help when the Court refused to do dark magic to save the child. Surely, you don’t need it said aloud when you can hear it in our thoughts.”

He glances at me. “I can’t hear it in hers. There is nothing except silence in Harper’s head.”

Eloise looks at me. I sip the tea.

“I think we need to try this again,” Lucas suggests.

Eloise recoils. “What? Do you know what channeling does to a person?”

“Unless I’m missing my guess, it just gave your niece a second wind.”

He’s right. Unlike the times I’d been controlled in the past and unlike the times Levi had used me, this felt different. Empowering. I sag in the chair not because I’m tired, but because I’m relieved.

Is it because I called on the demon rather than the demon calling on me?

“Harper?” Aunt Eloise asks.

“He’s right,” I admit. “I feel stronger.”

Confusion eats at Eloise’s face, leaving gnawed lines of concentration. “You should feel weaker.”

Lucas leans toward me, completely focused on my face. “I think you need to try channeling your mother.”

I don’t know if the whimper that echoes through the room is mine or Eloise’s.