“There are three ways for an undying one to enter the mortal world,” Miranda recited. “They can make their own shape, but they can also borrow the shadow of a human. Is that what you want from me? To steal my likeness?”

“No,” Patience said softly.

Miranda swallowed, breathed deeply, and continued, “The third way—the old woman who made the amulet wouldn’t speak of it. Is that what you want from me?”

“Something like that, but not as permanent,” Patience replied.

Miranda mulled over the words as if trying and failing to convince herself that they were reassuring. “Explain,” she said finally.

“An undying one may be willingly hosted by a human, but over time they will bleed into each other, and fuse their spirits together. Then, when the time comes for the human to die, the undying nature will take over.”

“What does that mean?”

Patience smiled as she tried to find words adequate for human understanding. “It is rarely attempted for good reason. The human may become undying. The undying may become human. Melded together, both may or may not become immortal. It is a gamble. I do not know if the two elements are meant to combine in that manner.”

“Uriel told us that our task was to detain a man on the path to immortality.”

Patience lifted up her palms in a gesture of helplessness. “The angels know more than I do, but a path is not the same thing as a destination.”

“This . . . hosting. Will it hurt?”

“The hosting, no. The leaving . . .” Patience trailed off, her eyes growing troubled. “It is not a trivial matter for an undying one to be hosted by a human. It is an operation of some depth and entanglement. A grave shock is required to sever the connection.”

“What kind of shock?”

“You would have to die.”

Miranda’s face drained of all emotion. “But . . . but you said at that point the undying nature would take over,” she mumbled.

“If the time of hosting is short, it should be possible for me to leave.”

Miranda pressed the heel of her hand over her brow. “So you’re asking me to die for you.”

“That may happen, but perhaps someone will manage to resuscitate you in time.”

Miranda dropped her hand and looked at her with tired eyes. “After all that, would death be preferable?”

“It might be, and yet . . . and yet surviving at any cost might be precisely what I need you to do.”

Miranda brought both hands up and pushed them firmly against her eyelids. “Nice choices you have for me. Death, or worse than death.”

“This is why I tell you: do not trust me.”

“You have a problem, then. If I can’t trust you, how will you get me to help you?”

“I will show you. Then you can choose.” Patience spoke with certainty; she had finally come to the desired point of the conversation.

“Show me what?”