He was quiet on the way out, lost to the bad memories of what he’d done and who he’d killed while in XOps. And what do you know. In addition to his adrenal glands, it seemed like his personal demons had also survived his death. In fact, he had a feeling his regrets were eternal luggage: The not-so-hot part about being immortal was that there was no endgame to be had, no prospect for getting off the ride that you could hold on to when things got rough and overwhelming . . . and you despised yourself.

As he and his comrades reemerged onto the funeral home’s side lawn, it was back to the hunt for Isaac Rothe.

“I’ve got to find that man,” he said grimly. Although it wasn’t likely they’d forgotten what they were doing.

Closing his eyes, he summoned that which would carry him over the miles between Caldwell and where Isaac had been seen last. . . .

Jim’s massive wings unfurled on his back, the span of iridescent feathers stretching out and flexing like limbs that had been cramped. When his lids lifted, Eddie and Adrian were sporting theirs as well, the two fallen angels magnificent and otherworldly in the light of the streetlamps.

As a car drove by on the street, it didn’t screech to a halt or get derailed from its lane. The wings, like him and Eddie and Adrian, were neither there nor not there, real nor unreal, tangible nor intangible.

They just were.

“You ready,” Eddie asked.

Jim glanced back at where his earthly form was now not only frozen stiff but a beacon for a man he’d come to hate.

Even though he’d saved the fucker’s life.

“Yeah, let’s do this.”

Up, up, and away, and all that shit: In the blink of an eye, they were flying through the dark heavens and the sparkling stars on the strong, steady wings of Angel Airlines, as he called it.

Aloft and alive, he resumed his hunt for a hunted man . . . and headed off for Boston with all proverbial guns blazing.

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3

The demon Devina was as close to all-powerful as you could get without being the one who had created the Earth and the heavens: She could assume all manner of visages and bodies, becoming anyone at any time in any place. She could imprison souls for an eternity. She commanded an army of the undead.

And if you crossed her, she could make life a living hell for you. Literally.

But she had one little problem.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said as she rushed into the cozy red office. “I had a meeting that ran longer than I’d thought.”

Her therapist smiled from her arm chair. “Not to worry. Would you like a minute to collect yourself?”