The gunshot was loud as a cannon in the still air. The bullet punched into Lilith with a force that lifted her from her feet. With a howl, she burst apart, scattering into a dozen black owls; they took to the air, circling and screeching.

The vise grip on Cordelia loosened; she crumpled to her knees, clutching Cortana. She gasped, breath sawing in and out of her lungs, black spots dancing in front of her eyes. Lucie. I almost killed Lucie.

The owls rose overhead, their awful screeches echoing in Cordelia’s mind, becoming words that hung, silently, behind her eyelids.

Do not forget, paladin. You are mine to command.

The screeching faded. The air smelled of cordite and blood, and someone was laughing. Cordelia raised her head slowly and saw that it was Belial. He was chortling as if immensely amused, the Blackthorn sword dancing in his hand. “James, James,” he said. “Do you see what we can accomplish if we work together? You have banished the Mother of Demons!”

“She’s not dead,” James said flatly.

“No, but gone and weakened,” said Belial cheerfully. “Are you ready to fight again, Carstairs? For I think you will find it quite a different experience to battle me without the power of Lilith to protect you.”

Shaking his head, James pointed the gun at Belial. “Let her alone,” he said, sounding exhausted. “Go from this place. I will not try to follow.”

Belial snorted. “You know you cannot harm me with that. I am not Lilith; I have no weakness where the Three Angels are concerned. Besides,” he added with a twisted grin, “your sister does not want me hurt.”

“My sister doesn’t understand what you are.” James gestured with the muzzle of the gun. “Lucie. Move out of the way.”

“No.” Lucie set her jaw stubbornly. “James. Jesse is still there, part of this body. He’s inside. James, he saved your life. In Highgate Cemetery. You were dying, and he gave me this locket”—she touched her throat—“because it had his last breath inside it. He gave it to me to save you.”

In Highgate Cemetery. Cordelia remembered that night. The darkness, the pain she had been in, the terror that James would die. The shimmer of gold in Lucie’s hand. She had asked Lucie many times what had happened in the graveyard that night, what had cured James, but Lucie had always shaken her head and said she didn’t know. That it had just been luck.

So many secrets between them. So many lies.

“His last breath.” James was still pointing the gun at Belial, his aim unwavering, but he spoke the words as if they had some puzzling, unknown meaning for him. “I saw him—”