I flipped through the pages of notes for the hundredth time. They made no more sense than the ninety-ninth time had. My head pounded. I got up to down a few more Tylenol. With how much I'd been taking lately, I was a bit worried about an overdose.

It had been two days, thirteen hours and—looking at the time on the microwave—forty-two minutes since then angel had taken Lucas. Damian had stopped home only twice to tell me he was no closer to finding Lucas.

I don't think he'd slept any more than I had.

The front door opened then slammed shut. Dread pooled in my gut, sure that Damian was home to tell me they'd found him, but it'd been too late.

I held my breath, clinging for a few moments to the hope it was good news instead. Or no news. I could handle no news.

Wes strolled around the corner, whistling. Fucking whistling like he had just come home from working on the railroad.

"News?" I asked before he could get a word out.

He shrugged. "Haven't heard anything new."

I glared. "Then why do you look so damn happy?"

"Maybe I'm just glad to see you."

His playfulness during my anxiety galled. I didn't know if he thought pretending to be cheerful would help me or if he was an insensitive ass.

"Happy to see me? Do I look the least bit happy? Lucas is still missing. I won't be happy until he's home."

He laughed. "Calm down, sunshine. At least you still have me."

I'd never felt the urge to maim someone as much as I did at that moment.

"Go away, Wes. You might not give a shit about Lucas, but if you care about me, you'd be helping find him."

He frowned, putting his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm doing everything I can. I'm just trying to cheer you up."

"You suck at it."

"So I'm gathering. Don't worry. Damian is doing everything he can to find your boyfriend."

He said the word boyfriend the way one would say rapist.

"What is your deal, Wes?"

"You already know."

"What? Because he's a nephilim? Get over it."

He sighed. "It's not just that. I don't want to think about you all grown up."

"I was fifteen when we met. I haven't grown much since."

"Maybe I am jealous."

"Well buck up, buttercup. We need your help to find him before--" I felt sick.

I stood, pushing past him. "I need some air."

He didn't follow as I slipped my jacket on and went outside. I headed to the shed in the back that Damian kept locked up.

I looked over my shoulder. Wes was still inside and wouldn't be able to see me through any of the windows. I took out my lockpick and got to work.

If Damian hadn't wanted me to get into his secret stash, he shouldn't have taught me how to bypass locks.

With a click, I gained entry into a wonderland of weapons. Damian always said magic was the last resort, only used in desperation. He would have found Lucas' fireball of doom irresponsible.

He kept a stockpile of various weapons, everything from handguns and rifles to katanas and daggers. Something for every appetite.

I might have the stupidest idea ever, but I'm not suicidal.

I searched the shelves, looking for something akin to a Swiss army knife of death. I didn't know what I'd end up face to face with. Different things required different tactics. Sometimes sharp things worked, sometimes you needed a little gunpowder.

I avoided the guns though. Didn't need to blow off my foot accidentally.

My eyes caught a faint bluish glow coming from behind what I think was a bazooka. I reached behind blindly and flinched as the blade sliced my finger. The light intensified, satisfied with the taste of blood.

Creepy.

Exactly what I needed.

More careful this time, I reached to grab the hilt and brought it into view.

The double-edged sword was about twenty-eight inches of destructive glory. Runes were etched in ivory into the wooden hilt. The blade itself glowed blue, but I couldn't tell what rune had been activated to give it the awesome effect.

It called to my soul as if she had been made especially for me. This was my other half. Only together were we whole.

Not exactly a voice, more like the knowledge was just there, hidden deep and only now brought to the surface.

She, because this was way more than some inanimate killing device, pulsed twice and then dimmed until the glow vanished. Looking at her now, she seemed ordinary, below notice.

Looks are deceiving.

I grabbed a leather scabbard and baldric from another shelf. It took a few minutes to figure out how to wear it correctly. I felt like a Roman general from two millennia ago.

It was awkward at first but felt right at the same time.

Next time I'd invest in a belt to keep Gladys at my side. Because yes, her name was Gladys. What else would you call a Roman gladius sword?