The back section had a small kitchen, three offices, and a restroom. Mencheres and Bones passed by all of them, entering the main sanctuary by a side door. The scent of candles, incense, and wood polish perfumed the air. Stained glass bordered the upper perimeter of the sanctuary, transforming the ordinary light from the street into beams of mauve, blue, amber, and emerald. The colors illuminated the empty pews, the choir area, and the cross that hung front and center above the altar.

Katie stood below it, flanked by Gorgon, Kira, and a human man who looked vaguely familiar. I didn’t spare any of them a second glance because I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my daughter. She was alive. Whole. Unhurt. As I stared, I was seized with the desire to hug her while spinning in deliriously happy circles—and the urge to drop to my knees while sobbing out my thanks to God.

Both actions would alarm her. She’d already made huge strides by standing there instead of running or trying to stab anyone, and seeing me break down in hysterics would hardly be reassuring.

Instead, I smiled as I approached with slow, measured steps.

“Hi, Katie. I see you’ve met my friends.”

Those colored hues danced over her face as she took a step toward me, her head cocked to the side.

“I stayed with them like you ordered,” she said in her high, musical voice.

Like I ordered? Before I could ask what she meant, Tate shouldered past me, stopping when he saw Katie. From his thunderstruck expression, he hadn’t believed what we told him about Denise until that moment.

“Katie,” he breathed in the same reverent whisper most people used when they were in church. Then he sank to his knees, his broad shoulders starting to tremble with sobs.

Her eyes widened, and she glanced behind her. Yep, alarmed, just as I’d figured. I nudged Tate, whispering, “Get it together, you’re freaking her out,” while keeping the smile on my face.

Bones provided ample distraction when he set the bulky coat on the nearest pew. As he peeled back the blood-sodden fabric, I wasn’t the only one who gasped at what was underneath.

An exact replica of Katie’s head rested against the tiny, slender body. Small, pale arms folded over it, almost making it look like the headless doppelganger was hugging it to her chest.

As disturbing as the sight was, I was more upset that there wasn’t a hint of regeneration in the exposed tissues. Denise wasn’t healing from the horrific injury.

Bones had the same concern.

“Nathanial,” he said tightly, “why hasn’t she grown a new head yet?”

Nathanial. Now I remembered; the gangly redhead was Denise’s much-older relative. He’d once been branded by demonic essence, too, which is why he hadn’t aged in the century since then.