It was exquisite. While he had a few self-standing novels, this series—Cady and O’Neill—was his flagship one. At its basic level, this was just a mystery book, yet there was a wonderful, lyrical quality to Seth’s writing that elevated him above the genre ghetto. Sure, there was action and a trail of clues, but his characters were also evolving, always growing in ways both wonderful and heartbreaking. Seth had a way of describing their feelings and their reactions in a style that was so real, it resonated with my own life and left an ache in my chest. Whether that was for his art or for the man himself, I couldn’t say.

It was only when Dante rolled over that I’d realized I’d been sniffling.

“Are you crying, succubus?”

“It’s this book,” I said.

I had just read a section where Cady and O’Neill were having a profound talk about life, and O’Neill had commented that all people were seeking both damnation and forgiveness, needing each to make sense of their existence. I was crying because it was true and because Seth had known it was true.

“There are a lot of things to cry about in this world,” Dante said through a yawn. “Not sure a book should be one of them.”

The clock read 4 a.m. by that point, and my eyes were bleary from tears and a need to sleep. I put down Seth’s book—which I was now more than half-way through—and turned off the light. Dante shifted and threw an arm around me, resting his chin on my shoulder. His breathing grew heavy and regular, and before long, I joined him in sleep.

The phone woke me up at an ungodly hour later in the morning. Dante was gone already. I found that surprising, but seeing as he hadn’t gotten three hours of sleep, it might not have been that much of a leap.

“Hello?” Finding the phone had been feat enough, let alone checking the caller ID. A frantic voice answered me.

“Georgina? This is Blake.”

“Blake?” I didn’t think I knew any Blake.

“Don’t tell me you forgot about us?”

He pronounced “about” as “aboot,” and it came back to me through my sleep-addled brain. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. Blake. From the Army.” Him calling me couldn’t be a good sign. I sat up straighter in bed. “What’s going on?”

“They’re doing something today . . . I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but I’m worried. I don’t know much, except that it’s big.”

I was up and moving now, clothes and hair shape-shifting as I walked. “Do you have anything else? A time or place?”

“Not yet. Evan’s being really secretive about what he’s telling us. He says the Angel wants it to be a need-to-know-thing and that we won’t find out the details until the absolute last minute.”

“Fuck.” I suspected the Angel was also trying to limit my knowledge as well. Flattering, but frustrating. “Okay, well, listen, I’m in Seattle, but I’m getting on the road right now. I should be there in two hours.”