“Let it go, Hypatia,” Celeste growled, and then her brain stuttered over Hypatia’s last words. “Wait, what do you mean Mariel’s marrying?”

The door between them banged open, and Celeste jumped, nervous as a jackrabbit.

“Celeste!” It was Zeke, and he was panting like he’d run a mile instead of thirty feet. “You’ve got to come quick!”

“More trouble?” Hypatia asked.

“It’s Mariel, isn’t it?” Celeste asked. This was the trouble that had been breathing down her neck, now come home to roost. She looked at Zeke, hoping to hell she was wrong, but his face said she’d told true.

“Sheriff’s here, and he’s got Virtues with him. They’re dragging her out right now.”

Virtues were the highest of the Elect. They might only be human, but they were sworn in service to the Orders of the Archangels.

“What the hell for?” asked Hypatia.

“I would’ve come as soon as they got here, but I was settling things after the tussle like you told me to, and I didn’t register them until it was too late.”

“Which Order is it?” Celeste asked.

None of the Orders were fond of the Fallen, but at least some of them were benevolent. The Order of Raphael were healers, and the Order of Chamuel were justice keepers and peacemakers. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it felt.

“The Order of Michael.” Zeke looked sorry when he said it.

Celeste flinched. The Order of Michael were soldiers, and their loathing for the Fallen was well documented. If they’d come for Mariel, then nothing good would follow.

“How many?” she asked.

“Word is a dozen, at least, and there’s an Azrael among ’em.”

“Aw, hell,” Hypatia muttered.

The Order of Azrael were murderers, no two ways to say it. They might claim their executions were God’s impartial justice, but their flaming swords fell on Fallen necks ten times out of ten.

Celeste reached for the door, but Zeke was already moving down the alley. “This way’s faster. Come on!”

They followed, Celeste’s heart racing as her mind tried to catch up. Mariel, in the hands of the Virtues. How? Why? She didn’t understand, but understanding didn’t matter. Doing did.

And what she needed to do was save her sister.

CHAPTER 3

Perdition Street was still shoulder to shoulder with all manner of masked merrymakers, but they pushed their way through. Around them people spilled from the saloons and brothels and opium dens into the street, drawn by the sight of the Virtues.

They were fearsome, dressed like the worst kind of avenging angels in a sensation story. They wore long white coats and small-brimmed felt hats, and they covered their faces with white porcelain masks that rendered them shrewd and inhuman even among the Aventum masqueraders. They sat astride silvered quarter horses and stared motionless at the crowd, all expression lost behind their pale facades.