So he used his power, allowing himself to unleash it entirely, to feel the true scope of all that he was for the first time in one hundred and fifty years. It channeled and flowed through him, all his energy, all his strength, all the goodness he had ever owned, and it rose up strong and right and sure and turned on Raphael. The impact was like a spontaneous combustion. The second Gabriel’s energy hit Raphael, the sky exploded with light, rippling out from the demon in glaring white rings, sending Gabriel’s own power rushing back over him, warm and intense.

With twin screams of shock and rage, Raphael and Marguerite fell to the ground, their bodies hitting hard, a cloud of air, dust, and light unfurling in all directions.

Gabriel dropped himself lower to get a closer look and he felt it then—the wave of sorrow, of human suffering, the release of the souls of Anne and Jessie and the other women Marguerite and Raphael had killed. It flowed over him like a humid rush of air, wrapping around him and immersing him in the pain, the grief, the tears, the magnitude of human agony.

Instead of trying to close himself off, or stagger under the weight the way he had always done, Gabriel stood straight as he hovered in the air, hands out, and accepted it, took the pain, took the pleas, and absorbed them into himself. Death was the beginning, not the end, and his responsibility, his guardian-ship, was to comfort, reassure, steer mortals in the direction of beauty and pleasure and contentment, to ease their human suffering.

He wanted to do that again.

Watch. Guide. Protect.

Sara was standing directly behind him, having abandoned her hiding place behind the tomb. She stared at him in wonder, eyes wide, cheeks pale, mouth open.

“What happened?” she asked.

“They’re dead,” he said, hoping that she could handle that reality. It had been necessary.

“Dead?” she whispered, her voice a little shaky, and she glanced down at the bodies. “How? And where’s the flashlight? I can’t really see anything.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Gabriel searched around on the ground and found the flashlight where he had dropped it, the beam pointing in the opposite direction of Sara. He went to her and put it in her hand, squeezing her gently. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“How do you know they’re dead?” she asked, pointing the light directly onto Raphael and Marguerite.

How could he ever explain what he was and what he could do? There were no answers, no explanations, no human words. Gabriel just knew. “Their mortal bodies are dead. But their souls still exist inside these bodies . . . it’s an imprisonment, which is exactly what they deserve.”

“So what do we do now?”