"I'll worry about Hell later. Besides, I think I have a plan."

He grimaced. "You aren't concerned about your soul, but you have a plan."

"I don't intend to get killed just yet. We've got to take the offensive, Michael. If we just sit back and wait, it's going to be able to take us apart."

"Take you apart, you mean," he said. His expression grew more troubled. "Harry, without Amoracchius … I'm not sure how much help I'll be to you."

"You know what you're doing, Michael. And I don't think the Almighty is going to quit the team just because we fumbled the ball, right?"

"Of course not, Harry. He is ever faithful."

I leaned toward him, put a hand on his shoulder, and looked him right in the eyes. I don't do that to people very often. There aren't many I can. "Michael. This thing is big, and it's bad, and it scares the hell out of me. But I might be the only one who can stop it, now. I need you. I need your help. Hell, man. I need to know that you're at my back, that you believe in what I'm doing here. Are you with me or not?"

He studied my face. "You've lost much of your power, you say. And I don't have the sword anymore. Our enemies know it. We could both be killed. Or worse."

"If we stay here doing nothing, we're going to get killed anyway. And maybe Murphy and Charity and your kids with us."

He bowed his head, and nodded. "You're right. There's not really any choice." His hand covered mine for a moment, big and calloused and strong, and then he stood up again, his back straight and his shoulders squared. "We just have to have faith. The good Lord wouldn't give us more than we could bear."

"I hope you're right," I said.

"So what's the plan, Harry? What are we going to do?"

I got up and went to the mantel over the fire, but what I needed wasn't there. I frowned, looking around the room, and spied it on the coffee table. I bent down and plucked up the white envelope, taking the gold-lettered invitation Kyle and Kelly Hamilton had delivered.

"We're going to a party."

Chapter Twenty-four

Michael parked his truck on the street outside Bianca's mansion. He put the keys in his leather belt pouch, and buttoned it with the silver cross button. Then he straightened the collar of his doublet, which showed through the neck of the mail, and reached behind the seat for the steel helmet that slipped on over his head. "Tell me again, Harry, why this is a good idea. Why are we going to a masquerade ball with a bunch of monsters?"

"Everything points us this way," I said.

"How?"