“The talk shows don’t come on until later,” a voice suddenly said. “That’s when things get good.”

I sighed. “Carter. What a pleasant surprise.”

The angel strolled into my line of sight and sat down on the armchair opposite me. Aubrey immediately left me and hopped onto his lap.

“Traitor,” I said.

He grinned and scratched her head. “Word on the street is that you had a bad day yesterday.”

“I’ve had worse,” I said. “Marginally. You should have seen me before Mei healed me.”

“Bah, demons can’t heal. Not really. They lose the finesse it takes when they cross over.”

“Hey, I’ll take what help I can get.” I brightened. “And speaking of help, I think I’ve got a picture of the seal—”

“No.”

“No what?”

“I know what you’re going to ask, and the answer is no.”

“You have no idea what I’m going to ask!”

“You’re going to ask me to help identify the seal so you can figure out where Jerome is.”

I stayed silent. Damn.

He rolled his eyes. “And the answer is no.”

“But you could make this so much easier,” I argued. “Dante’s out trying to figure out what the seal means. You could tell me right now.”

“Georgina, I told you before. I can’t interfere.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To see how you’re feeling. Believe me, I wish I could interfere. I’d do a better healing job than Mei.”

I fell silent, mind spinning. “Were you here yesterday?”

“Doing what?”

“Look, I won’t consider it interfering, but just tell me if it was you.”

Carter didn’t look confused very often. If anything, he was usually the one messing with other people’s minds. I think under normal circumstances, when the immortal state of affairs in Seattle wasn’t in limbo, he would have faked it and hidden his confusion. Now, he just shook his head in exasperation.

“What are you talking about?”

“Someone was here after Nanette beat me up. A guy. He put me to bed and called Hugh.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Technically, it wouldn’t even be interfering.”

“Georgina,” he said sternly. “Listen. It wasn’t me.”

I held his gaze and shivered at the intensity in his eyes. His were gray, but whereas Dante’s were like leaden clouds on a winter day, Carter’s were like gleaming silver.

“It wasn’t you,” I said at last. He’d answered directly, with none of the half-truths and subterfuge angels normally employed. He’d answered directly, and angels couldn’t lie. “I suppose you didn’t blow up the stove either?”

“No.”

“Who did, then? You said in Vancouver you’d try to protect me. I figured this was you.”

“It’s possible the stove blew up because of a gas leak.”

“Maybe,” I grumbled.