A movement by the cage drew Alec’s gaze. Fred stood to the side, taking notes.

“It’s interesting,” Alec conceded, looking back at Hank. “And Valium for demons could come in handy, but considering the limited quantities of supplies, I don’t see it being viable.”

“It’s the first time anyone has subdued an Infernal’s base nature,” Hank huffed, clearly affronted.

Alec patted her on the shoulder. “Great job. Now… can you make me something I can use? An antidote to the mask? A mask for Marks that uses Infernal ash instead of Mark blood? Something along those lines?”

“Those are not the same lines. They are two very different things.”

“You know what I mean.” Irritation and impatience crawled through him, making him eager to get away. Whatever endorphins his recent orgasms had afforded him were rapidly diminishing. “You’ve had the masking ingredients for months. I expected more from you by this point.”

Fred whistled and sidestepped out of the light.

Hank’s beautiful features hardened. “Go away now, Cain,” she said with dangerous softness. “Before one of us says or does something that we both regret.”

Knowing that Hank was right, Alec shifted away.

“Hey.”

Sara smiled at the cocky young man who called out to her. As she passed the volleyball court in the open courtyard of Izzie’s apartment complex, he watched her with avid interest. Dressed in only board shorts and a pair of sunglasses, he was handsome enough and boasted a well-muscled physique. She briefly considered dallying with him just for the sport, but the notion quickly soured. His leer told her he lacked the experience to properly satisfy her.

Dismissing him, she climbed the steps to the second floor and knocked. She had to knock again before the door opened and Izzie was revealed. Fresh from a shower and makeup free, the blonde looked impossibly young. Fragile and wary as only a child could be.

Sara pushed her way inside when the door didn’t open fast enough for her. The apartment was expansive and bilevel, with vaulted ceilings and steps up to the open dining area and kitchen, as well as a guest bath and bedroom. The master suite was on the same level as the living room and steam from the shower brought humidity into the lower half of the space.

“What happened to you?” Sarakiel demanded, eyeing the Mark critically.

“Cain.”

“Really? You look worse for wear. Not that I am surprised. Cain is Cain, after all.”

“I am not so sure about that,” Izzie said wearily. Bundled inside a thick terry-cloth robe with wet hair hanging around her shoulders and wan face, she padded over to a red velvet sofa and sat.

Sara joined her. “Tell me.”

When the tale was finished, Sara settled into the crook of the sofa arm and considered the possibilities. “Did Cain give a name to the seraph?”

“No.”

“Can you get it out of him?”

“You don’t understand.” Izzie’s slender fingers played with the loops of cotton. “He was reluctant at first, and later, like a. . . machine. There was nothing in his face. . . in his eyes. Nothing. He spoke in a language I couldn’t understand.”

“Hmm. . . I will see for myself.”

Izzie’s head cocked to the side. “How?”

“There are video feeds all over the tower.”

“He is not the same man I met before. Something isn’t right with him.”

Sara pulled out her cell phone. She tried Abel again, knowing she would only reach his voice mail but needing to make the, attempt regardless. On a whim, she texted a message to Evangeline.

How would the Mark handle the news of Cain’s infidelity? And how far would Cain go to keep the knowledge from her?

A seraph. She hid an inner smile. That limited the scope of her search considerably. Whomever it was, he’d paid a visit to Cain recently enough to spark the ludicrous plan he’d presented to Izzie. Perhaps the meeting had taken place in the tower. While the divine radiance of the seraphim was undetectable to mortal technology such as the video cameras used in Gadara Tower, perhaps Cain had spoken the seraph’s name in the course of their discussion. It was a lead, however faint.

“What do you want me to do now?” Izzie asked.

“Mariel will not assign you once Cain speaks with her, so enjoy some time to yourself.”

“I’m here if you need me.”

Sara brushed the back of her fingers across Izzie’s pale cheek. “You will go far, Iselda.”

The Mark curled deeper into the couch with a weary sigh. “As long as I go to Heaven. Having seen the alternative, I will do whatever it takes to go the other way.”

“Anyone up for tacos?” Eve entered the living room and noted the setting sun just beyond her balcony window. The sky was multihued, telling her that she’d spent hours in bed with Reed. Long enough for Sydney to give up on the Wii and switch to her laptop. Montevista was nowhere to be seen.

“I am.” Sydney snapped her computer closed and stood, stretching. “Montevista went to check on the perimeter guards again.”

“Great. We can catch him downstairs and save him the trip back up.”

Sydney rounded the coffee table. Eve once again marveled at how different the Mark looked in street clothes versus her work attire. Dressed in a dark pink Juicy Couture jogging suit, she didn’t look anywhere near her centuries-old age.

“Are you okay?” Sydney looked her over. “You look sad.”

Eve was taken aback a moment, then realized that while she might not consciously acknowledge her feelings of loss over Alec, that didn’t mean they weren’t visible. “I’m fine.”

And she would be. Eventually. She didn’t regret her afternoon with Reed, even though she’d further complicated her already messy love life.

After grabbing some cash from her purse, Eve followed Sydney out the door and locked the many dead bolts she’d had installed for protection back when she was Unmarked. Then they set off, passing the door to Alec’s condo. He’d made it clear on more than one occasion that he would prefer to be living with Eve and not beside her, but the Hollises were Southern Baptists and shacking up before marriage was a serious no-no in her family. Even the next- door neighbor thing was a little too close for comfort .

The ride down to the lobby level was quick and they moved onto the marble-lined entryway with light steps.

“I’d kill for a place like this,” Sydney said.

“Don’t you?” Eve quipped, glancing at her. “You should check with someone about moving, if you’re not happy where you live.”

“I’m okay. But I could be happier in a place like this,” Sydney smiled. “Not worth it for me to hit up Ishamel about it, though. He freaks me out.”

Frowning, Eve asked, “Who’s Ishamel?” They crossed through the parking garage and exited out a self-locking iron gate. Eve glanced to her left, searching out the corner where Evil Santa missionary usually hung out. He was there and talking to Montevista. Luckily, the nut job was facing away from her, while the Mark looked directly at her.

“Heading to El Gordito,” she said, in her normal conversational tone, knowing his mark-enhanced ears would easily allow him to hear. He gave a surreptitious thumbs-up.

“Ishamel is Gadara’s factotum.”

“The secretary?” The man who kept Gadara’s office running like clockwork was white-haired and slightly stooped at the shoulders, with a penchant for sleeveless sweater vests and bow ties. Whenever Eve crossed his path, she wondered what he could have done to get marked. Since the mark arrested aging, he’d been old from the get-go.

“No, that’s Spencer. He handles everything inside Gadara Tower.” Pushing sunglasses onto her face, Sydney turned toward the beach. “Ishamel is the off- site guy. I’m sure you’ve seen him around. He dresses in gray from head to toe. Rides around in a limousine.

Eve’s stride faltered. Gray Man. She’d met him back when she was a brand-spanking-new Mark. He’d picked her up in a limo and driven her to Gadara Tower. “He’s creepy.”

They hit the sand and turned left. The restaurant was within sight, a casual Mexican cantina with a Plexiglas-framed patio.

Eve considered whether or not it had been a mistake to forget about Ishamel. If he was Gadara’s right-hand man, he would know how archangels functioned. Maybe he could help her figure out what was happening to Alec.

“I get the willies just thinking about his grin,” Sydney went on.

“It’s really more like a constipation-induced grimace.” Eve tried to recall other details about him, but without much luck. “What is he? I don’t remember him smelling like anything—Mark or Infernal—but I was really green at the time.”

“Ishamel is a mal’akh, but not a handler like the others. His sole purpose to make life easier for Gadara, handling all the pesky little details that are beneath an archangel but too important for Marks.”

“Arranging housing is too important for Marks?”

“Moving into more expensive digs would take authorization a mere Mark couldn’t give. Especially in this crappy economy. All the firms are taking a hit.”

“I didn’t think about that,” Eve’s nose wrinkled. “I hate to admit it, but I guess I’ve come to see the firms as solid, invincible. But you’re right. We’re based in California—the epicenter of the housing market collapse. And Gadara specializes in real estate.”

They reached the patio and took an empty table with an unimpeded view of the beach. Trays and trash littered the surface due to an inconsiderate patron, but they tossed the mess in a nearby trash can and waited for a busboy to wipe the table down with a rag.

Montevista walked up just as the waiter approached.

“Three taco plates, please,” Eve ordered. “Extra pico de gallo and sour cream.” She looked at her companions. “What are you having?”