I blinked my eyes a few times, but the illusion did not fade. Because it wasn’t an illusion. This was all very real. Stash was controlling the infected supernaturals. He was behind this.

Of all the possibilities, that was one I would never have guessed. Stash was such a great guy. He wasn’t a criminal mastermind or a war leader. The shifters had only sent him to the meeting because the pack leaders couldn’t put aside their differences long enough to pick which of them would go. They’d sent the black sheep, the lone wolf, the one with no connection to any of them—so that no pack was slighted.

They sure as hell hadn’t sent him because Stash held any position of power in their ranks. Nor did he want to. He tended bar, arm-wrestled for dollar bills, and did all other sorts of odd jobs. He seemed perfectly content doing that. And, most of all, he was my friend. I knew he was a good person.

“You’ll often find that you don’t know people at all,” Nero told me. “Especially your friends.” His gaze slid over to Harker.

“For the millionth time, Nero, I would never hurt Leda.”

Nero glared at him in silence. Harker glared back. So much for camaraderie.

I stepped between them. “Stop. There’s no time for this. “Are we sure Stash is the one controlling all those supernaturals? I just can’t believe it.”

“He is standing up there, overlooking them all like a war general,” Harker pointed out.

It was hard to argue with what was right in front of my face. Stash stood up on that platform, tall and proud, with a confidence that showed he knew he was in charge. All that was missing was the battle helmet with a big crimson plume.

I looked across the army. The way they looked at Stash made everything all too clear. They saw him as their leader. Spelled, compelled, powered up—they wouldn’t hesitate to die for him.

There were hundreds of supernaturals around us. They had all changed. They bore little resemblance to the people they’d once been. I could no longer tell the difference between vampires or witches, elementals or shifters. They were all one now, all the same. They weren’t individuals; they were a horde. And with their uncommon magical might, they were a force to be reckoned with. I had a sinking suspicion that the naysayers in my group might be right. There was a pretty good chance we wouldn’t walk away from this.

Stash’s supernatural soldiers lifted their voices and sang. It was a low sound that started in one corner then spread to the whole army, growing louder with every verse. They were all singing in unison, like they were linked. Like they were one.

It was a beautiful, terrible song that resonated deep inside of me. It was a war song, I realized. I didn’t understand the words, but something about it felt familiar, like I’d heard it before. It sounded old, ancient even. It was a song as old as time itself.

The melody sang to me, humming through my body, uplifting me. I felt my blood pumping faster through my veins, my magic soaring, my adrenaline raging. I felt so powerful, like I could take on a god. I bottled the euphoria. I might be immune to Angel Fever, but this song was speaking to my soul. I couldn’t allow myself to get caught up in it. I had to stay focused.

“Appearances can be deceiving,” I told the others. “Yes, Stash is standing up there. But how can he control all those supernaturals anyway? He is a shifter, not a siren. And not a telepath. He doesn’t have this kind of magic. He couldn’t have created Angel Fever.”

Nero stared across the field where Stash stood on the platform, directing his army. “Look at his eyes.”

Stash’s eyes were shimmering oddly, like they weren’t reflecting the sun’s natural light. There was some other light—some other magic—inside of him.

“He’s infected too,” Nero said. “I can see it in his eyes. Someone or something is speaking through him.”

“Possession?” I wondered. “His powers come from light magic. Can a god possess someone?”

“Yes, in the same way a demon can, a god can speak through someone.” Nero was watching Harker. “But it’s not a god speaking through him. Whatever this is, it’s something else entirely. The infection changed him differently than the others.”

“Why?”

“Perhaps it was by chance,” said Nero. “Or perhaps it was intentional. What does every army need?”

“Someone to command it.”

Nero nodded.

“Stash is that war commander,” I said.

Constantine Wildman’s body shook. His face crinkled up, like he was trying to fight the infection. Basanti pointed her gun at him.

“My mind is not gone yet, Captain Somerset.” Constantine Wildman dug his fingers inside his pocket, pulling out the vial Nerissa had given him.

He drank down the potion to slow the effects of Angel Fever. Nerissa had dubbed it Demon Juice. Harker hadn’t found that name any more amusing than Angel Fever.

The witch’s body stopped shaking. He sucked in a few deep breaths, then tucked the empty vial into his coat pocket.

He pulled out a gun. “I’m not going to lose my mind.”

Almost as soon as he said it, the tremors returned. The fever wasn’t giving up. His hands shook so hard that he nearly dropped his gun. Sweat poured down his face. He was fighting the change. And it was fighting back. Hard.

“The effects are stronger here, at the core of the army, surrounded by the infected on all sides,” Nero observed. “Nerissa’s juice doesn’t work as well here.”

“It worked well enough.” Constantine Wildman steadied his hands and pointed the gun at Stash.

“That won’t work,” Basanti told him. “All the infected have been too resilient.”

“The bullets are spelled. It will work if I shoot him in the head.”

“Maybe we should shoot you in the head,” the Vermillion vampire said. “You don’t look like you have long before you lose your mind and go all primitive on us.”

“I am fine. But soon none of us will be fine, this whole world won’t be fine, not if we don’t stop that shifter.” The witch moved his gun to follow Stash’s movements. “I have a clear shot. A bullet to the head, and this will all be over.”

Harker exchanged glances with Nero. “It didn’t work last time, but we could give it a shot.”

“No. We are most certainly not giving it a shot,” I growled. “I can’t believe we are even discussing this. That’s my friend!”

“He is controlling the whole army,” the witch said. “If we kill him, we end this.”

“No, he is infected too, just like the rest of them. He isn’t behind this.”

“He is the source of this. He is the reason they are infected.”

“How do you figure that?” Harker asked him.

“Because he can control them. That is not insignificant. The infection must have started with him.”

He said it like it made perfect sense. Except it didn’t. Not at all.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I told him.

He gave his hand a dismissive wave. “Of course it does.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you not telling us?”

“I told you what I know: that he is the source of this plague, and he must die to end it. You just stubbornly refuse to believe it.”

“No.” I bit out the word. “You aren’t using your messed-up logic to justify killing an innocent man. This isn’t a witch hunt. What if you kill him, and the others aren’t cured? Are you just going to keep shooting people until there’s no one left?”

“Do you have a better idea of how to end this?” he asked me. “This is how the Legion works. Your hammer hits hard and far, and you pick up the pieces later.”

“He has a point,” Basanti told Nero.

Nero seemed thoughtful, like he was considering the idea of shooting Stash. No, there was nothing to consider!

“This is madness,” I told them all. “You can’t actually be thinking about shooting Stash. This isn’t his fault. He’s a victim, just like the rest of them. We don’t murder victims. We protect them.”

“Honey, you have a very idealistic view of what the Legion does and does not do,” the Vermillion vampire said. “I hate to say this, but I’m with the witch on this one. The shifter is the key to this. It’s us or him, and I have no intention of losing my mind. It’s an easy choice.”

“And this is where you don’t understand the Legion. It’s not a democracy, and you don’t get a vote,” I snapped at him.

“Perhaps I don’t.” The Vermillion vampire looked at Nero. “But he does. What say you, General Windstriker? Listen to your sweetheart and the infection spreads across the Earth like wildfire, consuming humanity? Or listen to reason, and it all ends here?”

Nero’s expression was as hard as marble.

“Nero?” I asked.

But before he could speak, Stash let out a roar, a sonic punch of agony and relief. The magical release rippled through the crowd like a shockwave, hard and heavy. It felt like an enormous building had just dropped on top of us, crushing us into the ground.

The crowd fell to its knees. Basanti, Nero, Harker, and I stayed up. Constantine Wildman’s hands hit the blackened ground. The Vermillion vampire fell down next to him.

Then Stash’s army rose and turned as one, facing us down.

Stash had risen from the platform. He was now several feet off the ground, his wings spread wide. White and silver tipped with orange, they beat in a slow, powerful rhythm. Stash had become an angel.