“If New Nazareth wants you so badly,” he says, “that they’re willing to come all the way out here and risk an entire squad to force you back to them, then we’re going to give them everything they asked for.” He jabs his pen against the paper. “And we are going to make them regret it.”

Erin looks over his shoulder at the notepad. Her eyes flash. “You brilliant bastard.”

In the middle of the night, bathed only in the moon and stars, we go through the plan.

I am going to walk into the Angels’ arms. I am going to repent, twist them around my finger, and then turn the Graces against them like the tide. I will rip salvation from their hands because that is what it means for them to suffer. The good the world needs right now is teeth and claws and a taste for blood.

I am going to shatter them, and I will be the vengeance of God, I will.

And the Watch is going to get me out of it alive. They are the only people I could ever trust to do this.

Acheson, Pennsylvania, will be free. We won’t need the Vanguard. There will be nothing to run from. The city will be ours, and we will survive the summer when we don’t have to hide like mice under the floorboards.

“They’ll hold absolution down by the river,” I say, pointing at the western edge of Nick’s crude map of New Nazareth, right at the edge of their territory. “It’ll probably be the second day because there’s no way they’re risking not locking me down as quickly as they can.” I know how Mom works. I know what she’ll do to me—but I have to suffer it for this to work. “Is there anything you can do with that?”

Nick squints. “I think so. That’s close enough to the road. We’ll position there and get you out as soon as possible.”

I’m going to make this right. I’m going to fix it. The ALC will be safe, and the Angels will never hurt us again.

All I have to do is walk right into the mouth of Hell.

Chapter 25

Do not be afraid. Have faith. What is right will be done.

—The Truth by High Reverend Father Ian Clevenger

“You wasted backpack space for a bottle of…” Faith squints. “What is that?”

“It’s Brunello,” Cormac says, as if offended that Faith can’t recognize it on sight. “Classic vintage, 2019.”

“Just say old-ass wine, nerd,” Aisha says. “Let me see it.”

“Absolutely not. This cost four hundred dollars.”

Salvador puts up a hand from where xe’s sprawled on the carpet. “I think we’re in a situation where eating the rich is not only allowed but acceptable, encouraged, and part of a well-rounded diet. Essential vitamins and minerals, you know.”