As Trsiel prodded me forward, I tried hard not to glance up. Judging by the damp chill and the flying rodents, we were either in a cave or a really lousy basement. The stacks of moldering boxes suggested option two.

“I thought we were going to the jail,” I said.

“We are.”

I scanned the room. “I think your teleport skills need a tune-up, Trsiel.”

“Close enough.”

He led me through a door and into a cleaner part of the basement. As we walked, he made good on his promise to explain about Shekinah and Balthial.

Earlier, Trsiel had mentioned a structural reorganization in the angels’ ranks, whereby only ascended angels went out into the world on missions. The full-bloods did other tasks, higher tasks. Most of the full-bloods were more than happy to leave the daily grind as “divine instruments of justice” to the ascendeds. A few, though, like Trsiel, chafed at this new world order like career beat cops assigned to desk duty. Can’t say I blamed him. Give me the down-and-dirty life of a warrior over a sanitized office job any day.

That, Trsiel explained, was part of his “philosophical difference” with Shekinah and Balthial. They were glad to be out of the trenches, away from the taint of humanity, while Trsiel embraced that “taint,” and all that went with it.

“It’s not that I want to be human,” he said as he led me through the basement. “It’s just that I don’t see anything inherently wrong with being human. Wait—oh, this way.” He swerved around a corner. “It comes down to one question. Who do angels serve? We serve the Creator, the Fates, and the other divine powers. That’s a given. But do we also serve humanity? I think we do.”

“And they disagree?”

“Vehemently.” He paused at the bottom of a rotted set of unused stairs, then took my elbow and guided me up them. “So that’s part of the problem. The other part, not unrelated, is that I’m younger than they are.”

“So you weren’t all created together?”

“For full-bloods, there were three waves. As the human race grew and expanded, the Creator saw the need for more angels. I’m from the third wave, the last one. Since then, the ranks have been increased by recruited ghosts. The ascended angels.”

“So how old are you?”

“Only about a thousand years.”

I sputtered a laugh. “A mere tot.”

He tossed me a smile. “Well, according to the old ones, that’s exactly what I am. A child—a willful, uncouth, inexperienced child—one who definitely shouldn’t have been assigned this job.”

“Seems to me you’re doing just fine.”

Another smile, broader. “Thanks.”

We found Amanda Sullivan sleeping fitfully in her cell, jerking and moaning with dreams…or visions of the Nix. I hoped they gave her nightmares, horrible nightmares, the kind that disturb sleep for months and scar the psyche forever.