Nanette gave her a ghost of a smile. “I was young when I married Daniel. He was a good man, for no reason other than goodness’ sake. I needed that.”
Sera frowned. “He doesn’t know what you are, but he’s taking credit for your work.”
Nanette bristled. “I bet we help more people with our after-school program and soup kitchen than you with all your demon slaying.”
Sera held up one hand. “I’m not criticizing what you have.” A job she loved. A man who loved her. To smooth the other woman’s ire, she added, “My father was a pastor. He’s why I came tonight when I saw your flyer.”
Nanette nodded, still a little stiff. “I don’t mean to be defensive. Honestly, the angel hosts are more judgmental than you. As if the war can only be fought with flaming swords.”
“Your swords flame?” Sera smiled. “I bet that’s tidier, not to mention way cool.”
Nanette smiled back. “Wouldn’t know. They apparently only issue weapons in the ‘Soldier of God’ swag bag, not the ‘church mouse’ parting gift.”
Sera hesitated, reluctant to offend again. “Do you really heal people?”
“The power comes and goes. Yesterday at the convenience store, I was counting out change when it hit. The cashier got excited because he could pick up all the coins I dropped. Said his copper bracelets were finally working on his arthritis.” Nanette held out her hands. “People seem happier, anyway, after they’ve been here.”
“That’s good.” Sera’s thoughts raced ahead to possibilities she was almost afraid to contemplate.
“I’m surprised to see a woman possessed,” Nanette said. “Demons seem to gravitate toward large, scary-looking males.”
Sera grimaced. “Yeah, those large, scary-looking males were pretty surprised too. I take it angels aren’t so sexist.”
“They choose all ages, physical types, mental capacities. Angel hosts can sicken, grow old, and die as other humans.”
“I suppose angels have nothing to prove.”
Nanette eyed her. “Did you? Is that how the demon tempted you?”
No wonder the talyan had squirmed when Zane talked of his possession. Archer was right. Sera didn’t want to reveal the weakness that made her an agreeable victim to the demon. That was probably why they said pride often went-eth before a fall.
She shrugged. That was all the answer she was going to give.
Nanette folded her hands on her lap. “So why did you wait for me?”
“If I need to understand this war you all say we’re fighting, maybe I just wanted to meet our only ally.”
“Angels don’t fight alongside the teshuva. In fact, beware of those who think the only good demon is a hell-bound demon. They’d kill you and leave your teshuva to repent on its own.”
Sera rolled her eyes. “How very pious of them.”
“Don’t scoff. The hosts to mighty angels would not be stopped by the doubts of a church mouse like me.”
“Maybe a demon-backed slap upside the head would make them less inclined to judge.”
“Your eyes are purple,” Nanette said.
Sera let her irritation over a hypothetical encounter fade. “You’d think they’d appreciate the help. Says something about the opposition that our two armies fighting on separate fronts still haven’t met in the middle.”
“It says that the battle will never be won.”
Sera sat back. How could an angel echo Archer’s pessimism?
Nanette lifted both hands, palms up, as if revealing something obvious. “How could you ever win?”
“Drain every malice. Butcher every feralis. Lock this realm against every invading djinni.”
“But you can’t go where the real battles are.”
“The demon realm?” Sera’s pulse sped, ramping toward demon double time. “I’ve been there, during my possession. And I had another glimpse when Archer and I—”
“Not the tenebraeternum.” A glint of gold brightened Nanette’s eyes. “Where the true war between good and evil is fought every day. In the human heart.”
Sera blinked. “Oh. That.”
The gold glint morphed into simple amusement. “Yes, that. Why do you think angels and demons don’t war outright? Their only battlefield is in us. As long as there is one of us tempted by evil, the war continues.”
Sera pursed her lips. “That does complicate things.”
“Salvation is a path, not a stake with a feralis impaled on it.”
“With a couple candles in their eyeless skulls, they’d make lovely tiki torches along the path.” Sera sighed. “I hear you.”
“You just don’t agree.”
“Your interpretation dooms me to an eternity of fighting without victory.” Sera pictured the hard edges of Archer’s face, etched by pain and weariness sharper than his blades. Her heart ached for him, but she felt a flare of wonder at his endurance. He would never falter.
Nanette shook her head. “Eternity itself is too short to make a difference.”
Sera was silent a moment. “Then why?”
“Because to do otherwise is unquestionably a defeat.”
“The angels teach you that?”
“My aunts. I thank God for them every day.” When her name was called across the room, Nanette stood. “Will you come back so we can talk more?”
Sera stood also, not answering. She glanced across the room to where the preacher was waving. “He’s lucky, to have an angel for a wife.”
“Oh, he prays every day too. Mostly for the strength to put up with my lousy housekeeping.” Nanette smiled, a dimple in her cheek. “He loves me. I love him.”
She said nothing more, as if that were enough.
When Sera held out her hand, Nanette ignored it and hugged her. “You will come again?”
“There’s so much I want to know. Like, since demons and angels should be matter and antimatter, why aren’t we exploding right now?”
Nanette drew back. “I’m glad you didn’t say that before I hugged you. We’ll add you to our prayers.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll never be a housekeeper.”
“I think we should aim for something a little more significant anyway.”
“A flaming sword?”
Nanette wrinkled her nose. “Peace.”
Daniel walked toward them, stage smile forming. Sera spun on her heel. She didn’t want to make small talk with a man so unaware of the dangers around him, however pure his intentions.
It would be too hard to decide whether she more pit ied him . . . or envied him.
CHAPTER 15
Corvus Valerius stared at the crow. So many shades of black, touched with prismatic color. For all the bird’s commonness, its insignificance and transience, the demon realm had nothing to compare to those delicate layers of light and shadow.
He closed his hand gently around it, savoring the warmth that suffused his palm despite the unrelenting chill of the ring around his finger.
He dashed it to the ground.
Shards of glass flew—which was more than he could say for the lamp-work bird.
In the filigree cage, the living crow flapped its wings.
“Flawed,” Corvus hissed. Under their black markings, his arms ached with the memory of old pain.
The glass bird would never fly, of course. But it should look as if it perched on his windowsill only because it had not yet taken the notion to flee.
His latest work, despite its glistening transparency, felt leaden, dead. He should slag it down as an ashtray.
The crow stuck its beak between the bars, angling toward one of the chunks of glass that had landed nearby. It purled to itself when it couldn’t quite reach.
Corvus turned his glare on the living bird, snatched a velvet cape from his desk, and draped it over the cage. “Sleep well,” he growled. “I have night work, but tomorrow . . .”
Darklings gathered around him in a greedy tide as he made his way through the city. He did not slow to indulge their begging whispers for a sundered soul. Not much longer and then they would feast to satiate them for all eternity.