Thirty minutes later, Amaya emerged from the sewers on Eighth Street, five miles from where she entered. She’d never pushed herself that hard. Having an UnHallowed on her trail was more than enough incentive. She was a sprinter, blinding bursts of speed was her advantage, not long-distance marathons. Amazing what one could do when they had no choice.

Doubled over and gasping hard, she leaned against the dumpster. Another minute and she closed the manhole and stripped out of her avenger attire. She retrieved her jeans and sweatshirt from the duffle bag she’d hidden in the dumpster.

She was hoofing down the sidewalk, the cool air drying the sheen of perspiration on her forehead, her ponytail slapping the back of her neck when the first rays of the sun turned the sky purple and pink. The garbage truck lurched into the alley. Her watch confirmed they were late. Either the donut shop at the beginning of their route was crowded or they got caught on the wrong side of the track by the 6 a.m. freight train. Whatever the reason, it worked in her favor.

Food and sleep, in that order, was what she needed, especially after the unexpected run-in. Too bad the only money she had jangled. She pulled a granola bar out of the duffle bag and wolfed it down dry. It felt like her throat had been sandpapered, but her stomach didn’t mind. She had to run for the bus and, once aboard, stand as it chugged along, spewing smog.

Not a single seat was available, so she leaned against a pole. Her muscles trembled as adrenaline bled out of her system. I’m safe. The sun is up. And I’m safe. He can’t follow me here.

Twenty-two years, that’s how long she’d been preparing for that moment. And what did she do? She tucked tail and ran. All that training and she ran. The backs of her eyes burned. Not from tears! There wasn’t a single tear left in her body to shed. They burned from frustration and fatigue.

She should have stood her ground and killed the UnHallowed. But…but…she didn’t expect him to be there. Stupid excuse, yet it was the truth. There she was, enjoying the tension in her muscles, the blood zinging through her arteries and veins, the exhilaration of the kill—nothing was better than watching Darklings explode and have their ash dust her skin—and then he was there.

When he arrived, she had no clue. How long he watched, she had no clue. Why didn’t he strike, she had no damn clue. He was coming after her. Of that, she had no doubt. She wouldn’t be caught flatfooted again. Next time he would die.

All this time she’d never seen an UnHallowed. Had been warned about them, extensively; warned to stay away. Run if she ever came across one. That was when she was young, and had more brawn than brains, before her training was complete. Before she was a thing to be feared. A Darkling killer.

Soon to be a killer of the UnHallowed.

A smile tweaked her lips. She had everything she needed. It wouldn’t be easy, but it wouldn’t be hard either. He may have seen her fight, studied her in their brief encounter. Killing Darklings had been easy since she hit puberty. Ten years later, she was leagues better than her twelve-year-old self. When that slicked back, black-haired demon with the aquamarine-crimson-rimmed eyes crossed her path again, it would be his last.

She exited the bus. The sky had lightened, though not by much. A heavy overcast of clouds blocked most of the sun. Everything had a gray tinge on the still deserted streets. She looked at the clouds and pretended she could will them away. She wanted the sun, needed it to chase away the evil stubbornly clinging to her. Evil wasn’t supposed to be cloaked in such a seductive package that made her run hot and cold at the same time. Evil wasn’t supposed to be so damn alluring, enough to make her libido try to roll out the welcome mat.

Her phone beeped. Pilar had sent her a text. Her best and only friend since they met at a Tai Kwon Do class wanted to meet for lunch at Amaya’s favorite Thai restaurant. Her mouth watered. She sent a thumbs up emoji and walked the rest of the way home. Exhausted, she climbed the five flights to her apartment, shoved her key into the lock, and entered. The Archangel Michael stood in the center of her studio apartment.

The shock knocked her back a step. Her knees bent, her head bowed, prepared to fall in supplication, but then both stiffened, and she stood, erect and angry. Six years, that’s how long it had been since the last time she’d seen him. Ten years since the last time she saw Braile. Both had abandoned her. So, they could both go to hell.

“Michael.” She closed the door behind her and tossed her duffle bag into the only chair in the room.

“Amaya.”

He was next to the fold-down dining table, holding one of her homemade bombs. A small mason jar filled with gasoline, inside of a larger mason jar filled with holy water and iron shavings. Small holes in each lid through which passed a candle wick. She kept the lighter in her pocket and more at the bottom of her duffel.

He placed the bomb back on the table. “Ingenious. Humans are so creative.”

Amaya had been a child the last time she’d seen him, with a child’s perspective about herself and everything in her little world, even with the immense knowledge Braile had bestowed. The adoration and awe she once held withered each year of her mentor’s absence. Now, she assessed the archangel with a cool, practical eye.

Not surprising he dominated the small space as only a six-foot-six, winged messenger of God could. From his white, tri-level gold threaded wings to his gold irises and hair the color of polished onyx, Michael stunned the senses. If he ever chose to walk amongst the humans, woe to the female population. Their hearts would never survive the encounter.

She noted all of this in the abstract, as much like a child noting with dismay that their parent was prettier than them.

She stepped forward. His gaze, those beautiful gold orbs she once admired and looked to for approval were emotionless. A few years hadn’t changed that stare or the hollowness it caused. Braile was different. He smiled at her. His gaze held warmth and praise, love. The love an orphan craved. “Six years and that’s what you came to say?”

Was it her imagination or did the corners of Michael’s lips curl a fraction? Once, she once wasn’t worthy to look into his gold eyes. Today, she stared boldly.

“Why are you here?” She bit her tongue. One didn’t question a seraph, or rather an archangel as he was called when not guarding the Throne. “Sorry about my manners. They’ve lapsed since our last meeting.” Years without guidance, testing her limits, challenging herself to be more, and never losing focus of the goal took precedence of good manners.

“There is a farm in Danville.” He touched her forehead and she knew the address. “Be there at noon.”

“No.” She rubbed at the spot on her forehead.

“Amaya.” His tone turned glacial. She doubted he heard the word often, or at all. “I placed you here to perform a job. Are you no longer capable of carrying out that job?” Yet patience is what he exuded.

Perform a job, huh. She kept her snort to herself. How dare he question her capabilities. He should’ve seen her handle the Darklings and that UnHallowed fucker. Amaya squared her shoulders and nodded, slightly ashamed at how eager she was to please.

Michael leaned closer until he filled her vision. He peered into her eyes and rooted around inside of her soul. She couldn’t move, couldn’t lock him out. She didn’t want him to see her doubts and all her failings. He didn’t need to know her fears, because none of those things mattered. She was here, not running away, prepared to do whatever was necessary. But she couldn’t stop his thorough examination of her, though she did try to erect mental shields, as if she had a chance against him.

Suddenly, her mind was her own again. “You have my confidence, Amaya. Never doubt me or the confidence I have in you.”

“Does that apply to Braile also?” she blurted and hated herself for it. A decade had passed without her asking about him, pretending she didn’t care what he or Michael thought about her, all ruined because she had to know he was proud of her. Did he watch her from Heaven? Know she was the badass he trained her to be?

The gold in Michael’s black eyes widened. “Yes, Amaya.”

The knot grinding in her stomach that she hadn’t even been aware of loosened, and she seemed to breathe for the first time since she entered her apartment.

“Although, if the need arises, I will replace you, as would Braile.”

With who? Was her first thought. The next, Were there others like me, an assembly line of trainees waiting for their chance in the spotlight? She thought she was special, unique. Now, she may be one of many. So much for being indispensable.

“At noon, you will be at the farm.” Then he was gone. Didn’t even wait for her answer.

Amaya sighed and took out her phone, and sent a thumbs down emoji and a sad face. She really did want Thai.

Pilar: You better not blow off the art show next week!

Amaya: I promise to try.

Amaya googled the address. The place was past the suburbs and into the no man’s lands of Michigan. She hoped her 2001 Camry could make it.