"So the-" I sucked in air, choking back my rage. "So the Nix betrays all her partners."
Simmons gave the girl one last lingering look, then straightened. "All of them. As I said, it's not personal. Look how she speaks so highly of me. She even betrayed Dachev, and he was her favorite."
"He?" I frowned. "The Nix told me she only takes women as partners."
A tiny, secret smile. "True, she can only inhabit women. But Dachev… he was special. They were truly a team. Kindred spirits, so to speak."
"Dachev was a ghost."
A momentary pause, as if surprised that I'd figured out her meaning so quickly. Then she fluttered her fingers, gaze traveling across the cemetery. "Ask her about him. If she wants to tell you, she will."
I tried the question from a few more angles, but only began to annoy her, so I switched gears and asked more about the Nix. She didn't tell me anything I didn't already know.
I signaled Jaime that it was time to send Simmons back, then steered Simmons in her direction. Two kids ran past, a boy on the cusp of puberty chasing a girl the same age. Simmons watched them, the tip of her tongue pressed between her teeth.
"One last question before I go," I said.
She kept watching the kids. "Hmmm?"
"If the Nix returns to her hell, you won't see any more visions, will you?"
She glanced back at me, gaze turning thoughtful. "No, I suppose not, but there's nothing to worry about. They've sent three after her already and she's still free."
"True, but you know what they say." I grinned at her, baring my teeth. "Fourth time's the charm."
She stared at me. Then comprehension dawned, and she sprang. I wheeled out of the way, and waved as she fell back into hell.
Chapter 33
AT THE JAIL, AMANDA SULLIVAN LAY ON HER COT, reading Redbook. She was alone.
"Trsiel?" I leaned into the hall and called louder, "Trsiel?"
A small face popped out from a cell farther down.
I smiled. "Hey, George. Have you seen Trsiel? The man who was here with me before? He's about this tall-"
George grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the cell, then dropped it and scampered off toward the end of the row. Again he led me down the old ladder into the basement, past the cells, and along the narrow hall leading to his treasure room. I began to suspect that was where we were heading, and was just about to ask about Trsiel again when George stopped. He looked each way, then ducked into some kind of ventilation shaft. There was no way I was fitting in there, but for his sake, I faked it, rather than walk straight through the wall.
We came out at the bottom of a set of stairs, in the basement room where Trsiel had "misteleported" us earlier. If the sight of the room wasn't familiar, the smell of bat shit certainly was. George feigned opening a door to the left. Then he turned to me and flourished his hand toward the room beyond, grinning broadly. There, with his back to us, was Trsiel.
Before I could thank George, he brushed past me and darted off again, returning to whatever adventure I'd disrupted.
I looked over at Trsiel. He was pacing the empty room, eyes downcast, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders hunched forward. When he turned to pace back, he saw me and stopped short. For a moment, he just stood there, looking at me. Then he took a slow step forward. Eve?
Granted, the lighting down there was next to nil, but I was standing less than a yard away.
"Uh, yeah," I said, waving my hand in front of his face. "Have I changed that much in the last day?"
"Uh, no. Sorry. I, uh…" He looked over my shoulder.
"Expecting someone else?"
"I, uh-" He blinked as if snapping out of a fog, then took me by the elbow. "You should check in with Lizzie."
"Uh-huh. Not very good at subterfuge, are you? Let me give you a tip. If you want to get rid of someone, the worst thing you can do is act like you're trying to get rid of them. Subtlety is the key. Lying helps, but you might be stuck there. Can angels lie?"
"Eve, really, you have to-"
"Leave? Uh-uh. We need to talk. Starting with 'Who is Dachev?'"
"Dach-" His brow furrowed as his brain switched back from whatever track it had been on, he blinked, and his gaze slid away from mine. "I know hundreds, if not thousands, of people by that name. It's a common surname in-"
"You know which one I mean. The one connected to the Nix. The one you'd rather not talk about. Now spill it or-"
"Trsiel," said a voice from the doorway.
I'll admit, I almost expected that voice to be female. Anytime a guy is that eager to get rid of you, it usually involves a woman. Well, it can involve a man, but the meaning is the same. With Trsiel, though, the chances of him interrupting a mission for a romantic liaison-with someone of either sex-were pretty much zero.
The voice was male, with an angel's rich timbre. I turned to see a man about my age, sandy blond hair, well built, wearing trousers, a short-sleeved dress shirt, and a tie. Clearly lacking Trsiel's sense of casual style, but a damn sight less unnerving than those iridescent outfits the other full-bloods had worn.
The man walked into the room and looked around. "The abandoned basement of a penitentiary." He looked down. "Dirt floor, rat turds and all. You do know how to make a fellow feel welcome."
He looked around, then stopped, as if seeing me for the first time. His eyes were a clear neon blue, even brighter than Kristof's. As he turned toward me, Trsiel tensed. Before he could react, the man was right there, less than six inches from my face, eyes boring into mine. Trsiel's eyes widened, genuine fear flickering behind them, and he jerked forward, but the other man lifted a hand to stop him, then stepped away from me.
"Eve Levine," he said, with the barest bow of his head. "A pleasure. Your father speaks very highly of you."
My father? Before I could ask, the man clasped my hand. His grip was firm… and as hot as the blade of Trsiel's sword. A few degrees hotter than Trsiel's own touch. None of the angels I'd met had eyes with that familiar inner glow.
"I am Aratron," he said. "Since Trsiel seems to have temporarily forgotten his good manners."
I realized who I was speaking to and straightened. The demon at Glamis might have expected my respect, but this one got it. Aratron was a eudemon-a nonchaotic demon, and a high-ranking one. I dipped my head in greeting.
Aratron smiled, then looked from Trsiel to me. "Now, what is Balam's daughter doing with an angel?"
Trsiel shrugged, hands still stuffed in his pockets. He reminded me of the Cabal kids who'd come to me for black-market spells, making their first foray into the underworld, furtive and nervous, like college kids meeting their first drug dealer.
When Aratron lifted his brows, Trsiel mumbled, "Working."
"So you're back in the field? Good. I don't know why they ever took you out of it in the first place. You were one of the best-far better than most of those ascendeds."
Trsiel lifted his gaze to search Aratron's, looking for the insult or insinuation behind the words, but Aratron's eyes were clear, his tone free of sarcasm.
"It's… temporary," Trsiel said.
Aratron looked from him to me again. "A full-blooded angel temporarily working with a supernatural ghost. That sounds an awful lot like training." He paused, then threw back his head and laughed. "Ah, those Fates are innovative gals, aren't they? This is one of their most original ideas yet. And deviously clever, if I might say so myself. If you want a good warrior against evil, you need one who understands what she's chasing. You'll make an excellent angel, Eve… though I can imagine your father won't be quite so pleased."
"I have something to ask of you," Trsiel said. "You said that you owed me-"