The words were still whooshing from my lips as that sword cleaved through the table legs like they were sticks of warm butter. As my perch crumbled, I managed to scamper onto a chair. When I dove over the back of it, the sword sheered toward my knees. I hit the floor. The tip of the blade jabbed through the upholstery, within an inch of my shoulder.
Janah leapt onto the chair and plunged the sword down at me. Ghost or no ghost, I got the hell out of the way. Doesn’t matter how invulnerable you think you are, facing off against a psychotic angel with a four-foot samurai sword is not the time to test that theory.
I scampered across the room, casting spells as I ran. None of them worked.
“Demon-spawn!” Janah shouted.
Couldn’t argue with that.
“Infidel!”
Debatable, but sure, I’ll give you that one, too.
“Satan’s whore!”
Okay, now that was uncalled for. I spun and kicked. This time, my conscience stood down and let my foot fly. I caught Janah in the wrist. She gasped. The sword flew from her hand and clattered to the floor. We both dove after it. As Janah’s fingers touched the handle, I smacked it out of her reach, then twisted and grabbed the blade.
White-hot pain ripped through my arm. I screamed, as much in shock as pain. In three years I hadn’t suffered so much as the pang of a stubbed toe, and never expected to again, so when the blade lit my arm afire, I let out a scream to rock the rafters. But I didn’t let go. I lifted the sword by the blade, pain still throbbing down my arm.
Then all went dark.
“I think you were supposed to wait for me.”
The voice was male and so rich it sent chills down my spine. I looked around. I was sitting on the floor in Janah’s front hall, outside the white door.
In front of me stood a pair of legs, clad in tan trousers with an edge sharper than Janah’s blade. I followed the legs up to a green shirt, then up higher, to a pair of eyes the same emerald shade as the shirt. Those eyes were set in an olive-skinned face with a strong nose and full lips quivering with barely concealed mirth. Tousled black hair fell over his forehead.
The man reached down to pull me up. His grip was firm and warm, almost hot.
“Thanks for the rescue,” I said, “but I think I had things under control.”
The grin broke through. “So I saw.” He jerked his chin at the door. “Not what you expected, I suppose.”
“No kidding.” I glanced down at my hand. It looked fine, and the pain had stopped the moment I’d let go of the blade. “So that’s an angel?”
“By occupation, not by blood. She’s a ghost, like you. A witch as well…which is probably why she went easy on you.” He extended his hand. “Trsiel.”
I assumed that was an introduction, but it didn’t sound like any name—or word—I’d ever heard. Though I refrained from a rude “Huh?” my face must have said it for me.
“Tris-eye-el,” he said.
His phonetic pronunciation didn’t quite sound like what he’d said the first time, but it was as near to it as my tongue was getting.
“Bet you got asked to spell that one a lot,” I said.
He laughed. “I’m sure I would have…if I’d ever needed to. I’m not a ghost.”
“Oh?” I looked him over, trying to be discreet about it.
“Angel,” he said. “A full-blood.”
“Angel? No wings, huh?”
Another rich laugh. “Sorry to disappoint. But putting wings on an angel would be like hitching a horse to a motor car. Teleportation works much faster than fluttering.”
“True.” I glanced toward Janah’s door. “But teleportation doesn’t work for her, does it? Or is that because of the anti-magic barrier?”
“A bit of both. It doesn’t always work for full-bloods, either. There are places—” His faced darkened, but he shrugged it off. “Even full-bloods can be trapped. Like Zadkiel.”
I nodded. “The last one who went after the Nix.”
“Normally, he’d be here, helping you. That’s his job, to assist on the inaugural quests. But obviously he can’t, so I’ve been asked to step in. I’ll be helping you with anything that might be difficult for a non-angel, like talking to Janah.”
“So that’s her problem. Now that she’s an angel, she doesn’t like talking to us mere ghosts?”
“It’s not that. She picked up the demon blood in you. Her brain, it misfires, gets its connections crossed, especially