Shaky, I fumbled with the satchel’s zipper to find the map and orient myself. It was cold, and I pulled my hat lower as the acidic wind pushed the hair from my face and I scanned the image of a dim wasteland glinting under the red-smeared sky. I half-expected to see the ruins of my church, but there was nothing there. Stunted trees and twisted bushes rose between hummocks of dried grass. A red haze glowed from the bottom of the clouds where Cincy would have stood, but here, on this side of the dry river, it was mostly sad-looking vegetation.

Trent wiped his mouth with a hankie he then hid under a rock. His eyes were black in the red light, and I could tell he didn’t like the wind pushing on him. He didn’t look cold, though. The man never got cold, which was starting to tick me off.

Squinting, I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and focused on the map. The air stank, and the scent of burnt amber caught deep in my throat. Trent coughed, quickly stifling it. David’s duster shifted about my heels, and I was glad I had it, wanting something between me and the greasy-feeling air. It was dark, but the clouds reflecting the glow from the broken, distant city gave everything a sick look, like the light in a photographer’s darkroom.

Arms wrapped around my stomach, I followed Trent’s gaze to the twisted vegetation, trying to decide if the red-sheened rocks hiding in the grass were tombstones. Amid the trees was a large, shattered slump of crumbling stone. With a lot of imagination, it could have been the kneeling angel.

Trent looked down at the faint tink of metal at his feet. Bending for a closer look, he thumbed a penlight on. It glowed a sickly red, and I cringed at the revealing light, then leaned so our heads almost touched for a better look. In the scuffed grass was a tiny bell, black with tarnish. It wasn’t solid, but made of decorative loops that brought to mind a Celtic knot. Trent’s hand reached, and in a wash of adrenaline, I gave him a shove.

“What in hell are you doing?” I all but hissed as he glared at me, and I wished I had hit him hard enough to knock him on his butt. “Don’t you ever watch TV? If there is a pretty sparkly thing on the ground, leave it alone! If you pick it up, you’re going to release the monster, or fall through a trapdoor, or something. And what is it with the light? You want to tell every demon this side of the ley lines where we are? God! I should have taken Ivy!”

A surprised look replaced Trent’s anger. “You can see the light?” he said, and I snatched it from him and clicked it off.

“Duh!” I exclaimed in a whisper.