Isabelle’s smile twitched. “Great movie, silly cult. Did you have anything to do with their display today? I really liked the goat mask.”

I shook my head. “Actually, I was wondering if you had anything to do with it.”

“Me?” She laughed. “I only wish I could think up things that good—but there we are again: humans and creation. Why do you ask?”

“Because they say they’re being directed by an angel.” I gave her an abridged version of what the group had told me.

“And you assume they literally meant an angel?”

“I’m trying not to assume anything. But I think someone or something is directing them, and your side has as good a reason as any to stir up trouble for Cedric and make the authorities on all sides come down on him.”

“And your side has just as good a reason. Demons try to oust each other all the time.”

I tapped my nails along my glass’s edge and eyed her warily. “And you haven’t actually answered my question,” I pointed out. “You haven’t directly denied being involved.” Angels couldn’t technically lie, but oh, they were masters at not always telling the truth.

Isabelle finished off her wine and smiled at me again. “Oh, you are delightful. This is just like being on a TV cop show. No wonder Carter likes you so much.”

I sighed in exasperation, realizing I was going to get nowhere. Fucking angels.

Her grin dimmed a little, but she was still clearly amused. “Look, Georgina,” she said. She knew my name; no real surprise. “I like you. You’re clever and endearing, but here’s how it is: I don’t want to see Cedric leave Vancouver. I like him. And anyway, that saying about keeping your enemies close is true. I know him, I understand him. And when you’re playing a game like ours, the better you know the pieces on the board, the better you’ll do. I don’t want to have to live with an archdemon I don’t know, one who’s a lot more unpleasant than he is.” A new glass of wine had been delivered, and she paused to take a sip. “And that’s the truth.”

I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to believe her but had no idea if I could. I simply sighed again.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I wish I could believe you when you say you aren’t involved. Even with the whole not-lying thing, I don’t know that I can. I don’t think that I can trust anyone.”

“That,” she said firmly, “is absolutely something I agree with: you can’t trust anyone. On any side. Everyone’s got their own agenda, and there’s something in the air right now—it’s like a building storm, to use a cliché. Be careful.” Her face looked momentarily troubled, and then she relaxed again as her attention returned to the stage. “Ah, the soloist is back.”

I slid my empty glass to the center of the table. I started to take out some cash too, but she waved it away. “Thanks for talking,” I told her, rising from my chair. Suddenly, I hesitated. “You mentioned Carter. I don’t suppose . . . I don’t suppose you know where he’s been lately?”