"Don't be angry with me, Molly. I thought we were friends."

I nearly spat on the ground. I was back to square one. After my fight with Rosanna had reached a fever pitch, I'd been asked in no uncertain terms to leave. I'd thrown all of my things in a bag, cleaned the kitchen after both Ken and Rosanna left for work, and then cleared out the remainder of my savings paying off Rosanna's bills. I'd put the requested amount in every envelope, signed, stamped, and addressed them, and put them in the mail. I knew it was illegal, but these days, I couldn't find it in myself to care. Rosanna would be grateful when she didn't have debt hanging over her head.

I turned my glare on the Fallen. It felt good to have someone to blame for my misfortune. This whole thing was her fault. I wouldn't have been living in the apartment in the first place if not for her. I wouldn't have a reputation as the village crazy. I wouldn't be running drugs for Torelli, and I sure as hell wouldn't be homeless. Again.

"We are not friends," I snarled. "You've done this to me."

Mercy-I still called her that in my head, for lack of a name to give her-raised an eyebrow at me. Thankfully, she'd stopped playing the abuse victim with a heart of gold. Her hair was still the same mess of coppery, flyaway curls, but she'd swapped a Splatter Con T-shirt and jeans for a more angelic look. The white toga ended at her knees, and a pair of Roman-style sandals reached her mid-calf. She stared at me impassively.

"I have not pushed you to take any action, my host. It is your own choices that have brought you to this point."

"Bullshit!" I rounded on her. At her suggestion, I'd been holding my phone to my ear. In all the commotion, the poor thing had shorted out. I was getting to be as bad as Harry. "And stop calling me that! It's creepy. Do you have to remind me at every turn that you're a parasitic spirit bent on my eternal damnation?"

She let out a pealing laugh. I reminded myself that she could alter my perception. She was probably manipulating my thoughts so it sounded charming. "You don't mince your words, do you? And for the record, I am symbiotic, not parasitic, my host."

"Symbiotes give something back," I pointed out, narrowing my eyes at her. "From where I'm sitting all you've done is take."

"On the contrary, my host, I have helped you a great deal."

"How?"

"You pleaded for help, and I bolstered your stuttering veil. I have been blocking the wizard's attempts to track you since the day at the library. Why do you think he has not come looking for you when you are home? It has been long enough that your hair may have lost efficacy, but he still has connections to you through your blood. Your mother and father would spill their own to see you back home, you know."

I stared. "You mean...you've been putting a jamming field around me?"

I flashed back to days in front of the TV when I was a kid. Mom had gone on a Star Trek bender and I'd gotten very familiar with the Original Series especially. I pictured a shimmering gold barrier around my head, keeping Harry from getting a lock on me.

She laughed again. "It's not that complicated, my host. You read those books. You should have a firm grasp on thaumaturgy by now."

"You've put a circle around me, somehow," I muttered. "He can't get a lock, because for all intents and purposes I'm not there."

"Precisely."

"How are you doing that?"

The Fallen gave me a vaguely condescending smirk. "She could explain it far better than I could. Why don't you ask her?"

"Not a chance," I snorted. "And you can do better than that, Mercy. That wasn't subtle at all."

I had been relieved to discover that at least I was not a captive yet. The thing that had been masquerading as a friend and helpless victim was just the shadow of the Fallen, not the actual being. As she'd explained it, even the Fallen were bound to certain rules. God had given humanity free will. They could tempt, cajole, and blackmail us, but they could not take our free will away. As long as I didn't consent, the shadow couldn't press gang me into the Knights of the Blackened Denarius.

That didn't mean it couldn't hurt me. I'd heard horror stories. Humans tormented into surrender. Though the torture took place only in the mind, the illusion was so real that it drove many insane. Only a few, like Nicodemus Archleone, were free agents, acting in tandem with their Fallen.

"I would not do that to you," Mercy murmured, staring at the house across the street. I'd been parked on the curb outside Mr. Huber's house for some time, waiting for the kindly man to come home. I hadn't been sure where else to go. The homeless shelters were out. No way in hell was I going to see Father Forthill at Saint Mary's. I was pretty sure I'd burst into flame the moment I got close to a priest.

The Fallen snorted. "Don't be so melodramatic. You can still visit holy sites."

"So you want to go to mass, huh?"

She made a face. "I'd rather not. But I cannot stop you if you choose to go."

I put my head in my hands and groaned. "I just want you to go away."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," she said serenely.

"Why the hell not?"

She sighed. "No matter what you call it, parasitism, or symbiosis, I still require a host to live. I am a thinking, sapient being just like you. Even if it were physically possible for me to leave, I wouldn't. Can you say that in my place, you would act differently?"

I squirmed. I didn't want to try to put myself in the Fallen's headspace. I was sure that was a bad idea. When she put it that way, though, it sounded logical. I shook my head. It was the shadow of a fallen freaking angel. I couldn't trust a word it said.

The Fallen continued on, as if she hadn't heard the reluctant thoughts creeping through my head. "You have no idea what it is like, my host, to be trapped the way we are. It is much like stasis. Locked, unable to move. Only we are aware of every second. It is slightly more bearable to be in the hands of our fellows. I would trade a decade of living in the pocket of one of my comrades than the same amount of time in a Tibetan Monastery. The recitations become quite dull, after a while."

"You can hear?" I repeated incredulously.

"Much like you can, my host. It's hardly ever anything useful."

I hugged my knees tighter to my chest and set my chin on them. It was stupid to feel pity for this thing. "So what if you're bored? At least you aren't out killing things. I've seen what your kind is capable of. I was in Naples when Polonius Lartessa and her cadre of Denarians tried to reignite Vesuvius."

It was one of the few times I'd been allowed to go along. It had been a snap decision. An urgent memo from the big guy upstairs, apparently. I'd been placed in the care of Father Antonio Russo, and had spent most of the visit in a hotel overlooking the gulf, or in the Duomo di San Gennaro, praying for my father. I'd gotten my first glimpse of the Fallen in the hotel room while mother and father were out fighting. The thing that I'd later learned to be Tessa, had scuttled forward on prehensile limbs. It's exoskeleton was so dark it seemed to absorb the light in the room. I'd been crouched in the bathtub, trying to to make a sound as it turned the room over in a frantic search. My father hadn't had the coins it had been looking for. After it was through, I'd called an ambulance for Father Russo, who'd lay gutted on the floor.

I'd had vivid nightmares about the greyish intestines poking out of his shirt. I don't know how he managed to survive. I'd been leaning most of my body weight on his wound. I'd only been eight, and there wasn't much strength in my upper body. With one hand I'd dialed the emergency number on the phone and burbled out my request in broken spanish. I was young enough that it had seemed a good idea at the time. Italian was not the same as Spanish, though there was an eighty-two percent overlap. The operator knew what I was trying to ask, and after I'd rattled off the hotel's address the operator had promised me help in thickly accented English.

I still got a card from Father Russo every once in awhile. He wasn't going to run any marathons, and he'd always have scar tissue, but he was alive.

"I am not Lartessa or Imariel," the Fallen said with a sniff of disapproval. "Nor have I ever followed her lead."

"Then who are you?"

"I am Lasciel," she said.

The word seemed to shiver in the air for a moment, after she'd spoken it aloud. Harry had once said that names have power. If you had something's name, its true name, you could control it. The tone and inflection of Lasciel's true name had an enormous amount of power behind it. Every hair on my body stood on end for a second and I had to rub my arms to erase the feeling of ants crawling over my flesh.

"Lasciel, huh?" I said, trying not to admit that my body's reaction to her pronouncement scared me. "I thought it would be something dramatic like Belphegor. Or Satan."

The shadow rolled its eyes. "You really are fond of theatrics, aren't you? Of course I am not Lucifer, child."

"Could have fooled me," I muttered. "What with all the lying you've been up to. Isn't he supposed to be the father of lies?"

"I am a woman," Lasciel said, eyes narrowed.

"You're a genderless being made of energy and spite," I retorted. "Forgive me if I don't take your word for it. You've been deceiving me this whole time. This could be a ploy to win me over. You can appear as anything."

She tapped her chin. "That is true. Do you truly think I took this form to torment you? I wanted to get to know you. Speaking with the others can tell me only so much. The core of who you are? That, I cannot touch without your permission."

"Others?" I asked. What, had I picked up another just like her? That was a scary thought. I thought there was only one per coin.

"It's fascinating really. Most of my hosts were not so sophisticated as you. They rarely personified even their Id or Superego. There are many of you here. I like to call them the council of Molly."

I glowered at her. "Your clever Lord of the Rings references do not sway me, Lasciel."

She laughed again, another peal of bells and gave me a sly smile. "You enjoy the company more than you are willing to admit."

She was a lying liar that lied out of her lying liar hole. But she was right about one thing. I was starved for friendly conversation. I felt more comfortable on the curb, talking to a fallen angel than I had for the last few weeks at Rosanna's apartment.

Mr. Huber pulled up at a quarter to six. He drove a VW Bug, a detail I hadn't noticed before in my moral panic. The sight of it made me smile. It looked like it might have been a cousin to Harry's once upon a time. It was in much better shape than the Blue Beetle, and wasn't composed of a patchwork of old parts and appeared to be all one color. The toffee-colored paint job was nice, and looked like it had been waxed recently. Mr. Huber stepped out, clutching a camera bag under one arm and a tripod in the other. He paused when he caught sight of me on his curb.

"Molly?" He asked, turning to face me. The lamplight caught his bald patch as he did so.

"Catherine," I corrected him with a sad smile. "And yeah, it's me."

"Right, right. Catherine." He took a few steps closer. "Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Lenhardt?"

My cheeks flamed with color and embarrassment swept through me. What was I doing? I wasn't a charity case. I had a freaking Fallen angel on my side. I could find myself a place to sleep tonight, surely.

Mr. Huber seemed to sense my reluctance and gave me a weary smile of his own. "Why don't you come inside? I can make you a cup of coffee. Or tea, if you prefer. It's been a scorcher, hasn't it?"

"Do you have Coke?" I asked hopefully. I hadn't gotten my caffeine fix today, and my body was making its displeasure known.

"Sure."

I followed him inside, and the lingering sense of shame accompanied me. He was humoring me because he thought of me as a kid. He pitied me. And I was going to let him.

Mr. Huber held the door open for me and then jogged past me, disappearing into the back room. I wandered through the house, studying his photography once more. Had that been what he'd been up to today?

When Mr. Huber returned he'd changed into a t-shirt and a pair of sweats. He fished a beer out of the fridge for himself, and a Coke for me. He slid it across the table and I cracked it open. Lasciel made a sound of distaste to my right, and I grinned a little as I chugged the rest of it. She probably wanted something more sophisticated, like fava beans and a nice Chianti.

Lasciel snorted in amusement but said nothing.

"What's happened, Catherine?" Mr. Huber said. "I assume you weren't camped out in front of my house for the hell of it."

"I got kicked out of my apartment," I admitted sheepishly. "I was living with friends and we had a falling out. You seem like the sort of man who'd know where I could go."

"I'm sorry to hear about that. You're welcome to stay here, until you're back on your feet."

"That's not necessary-" I began.

"It is," he insisted. "You don't strike me as the sort of person who likes taking charity, Catherine. You don't have the money to stay in a hotel, am I right?"

"Yes," I admitted glumly. "I used the last of what Torelli gave me to pay off bills."

"That was generous of you, considering the fact they were kicking you out."

"I don't like leaving debts unsettled," I muttered.

"Which is precisely why I trust you under my roof, for tonight, at least."

I frowned down at my empty Coke can. "I'll be out of your hair by morning."

"Let's say by the end of the week," Mr. Huber suggested. "By then you should be able to afford a hostel, at the very least. Why don't we go into my lab and see if we can find an apartment complex in your price range, eh?"

I couldn't argue with him. I'd thought about living out of my car, but it was a tricky thing to do. You never knew who owned what lot, and the owners could have you arrested for trespassing if you stayed on their property after hours. If I got dragged into custody, it wouldn't take long for the police to connect my face to the missing person report my parents had no doubt filed.

"Sure."

I followed him into the lab and, again, lingered in the doorway. This man was extending his hospitality to me. I didn't want to wreck his expensive equipment. Mr. Huber didn't seem to notice. He minimized a few photos quickly, but not before I got a chance to get a good look at them. The first appeared to be a pair of bullet casings, the second a bloodstain the size of a basketball, and the third was a gun.

"Is that an MP5?" I asked, leaning closer in spite of myself.

He swiveled slightly in his chair to look at me. "It is. How do you know that?"

I shrugged. "I know a lot about guns."

At least, I knew a lot about the illegal ones. Those were the sort of guns that were pointed at my dad and the other knights on a regular basis. And, of course, they owned guns too. I knew Sanya prefered an AK-47. He'd purchased that one legally, or so I'd been told. I wasn't sure about Sanya. I'd met him over the years, and liked him to a certain extent. But he hadn't ever spoken to me much, and with my very own fallen angel tailing me wherever I went, it was probably not a good idea to run into him any time soon.

"Where did you get these photos?" I asked, curious in spite of myself.

"This is my day job kiddo. I'm not just a forger. I'm a crime scene photographer. I work with the CPD and I'm in a prime position to make sure that some evidence never sees the light of day."

Ah, that would explain his importance to Marcone. It also explained why Torelli didn't push Mr. Huber around. Aside from having more balls than Torelli, Mr. Huber was in a prime position to turn him into Marcone or the cops. I suddenly envied him that power. I'd give just about anything to get Torelli off my back.

"If you allow me to, I can make sure he never resurfaces again, my host," Lasciel whispered into my ear, each word dripping with seductive charm. I shivered.

No. I thought back viciously. I'm not killing anyone. Not even Torelli.

If Mr. Huber noticed my preoccupation, he didn't comment on it. After about ten minutes of searching, he printed out a list of apartments and highlighted their prices and the crime statistics in their neighborhoods. Then he handed the stack of pages to me.

"I noticed you're not that comfortable around technology," he explained. "Which is a little odd, but to each their own. My sons almost never surface from social media, and panic if they don't have their phones."

It was as good an explanation as any, I supposed. I couldn't tell him that I was a budding witch with powers that were deadly to anything developed past the mid-twentieth century. "I'm old-fashioned, I guess."

I ended up in the guest bedroom. It wasn't too dissimilar from Daniel's room back home, though it was cleaner. I could tell it had once belonged to one of his sons. The bedspread was a dark brown, the shelves were full of books, and the top of the bookcase was lined with trophies. The walls had been plastered with posters of Sports Illustrated models. The lamp on the writing desk shone a weak, faltering light on the room.

After changing into my sleepshirt and a pair of shorts, I burrowed under the covers. Despite the fact that I'd chugged a coke only an hour before, I was incredibly tired. The alarm clock reported that it was only seven-thirty. I chuckled weakly. Did this mean I was getting older?

I looked over the apartments. Most of them were expensive, but they looked better than the one I'd shared with Ken and Rosanna. With the money I now made, i could afford the rent on one if I was careful. My ID identified me as a nineteen year old, and as such I could sign a lease.

I resolved to take a look at one tomorrow after I'd finished my route for Torelli. And after I was through with this week, I'd do something nice for Mr. Huber. He'd been very kind to me.

"No one is ever kind without expecting something in return, my host," Lasciel chimed in from beside me.

"He is getting something in return," I said. "The best camera accessory I can find. Now pipe down Lash, I'm trying to sleep."

She raised one brow at me. "Lash?"

I shrugged and snuggled into the down pillow. "Yeah, got a problem with that?"

"I suppose not. It's a bit unorthodox, is all."

"Goodnight, Lash," I said in a tone that brokered no argument. Lash stroked my cheek and then my hair in a move that was oddly reminiscent of my mother. Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them.

Lash pressed her phantom lips to forehead in a parody of a loving kiss. "Goodnight, Molly."

I liked this place.

The lobby of the building had contained a wall of P.O. Boxes, and an elevator that led up six floors. The vacancy I was interested in was on the third floor. I liked that too. If I had to make a break for it, the fall out the third story window would hurt, but wouldn't necessarily kill me. Immediately after having that thought, I'd grimaced. What had my life come to, that this was a serious consideration to be had about a rental property?

Lasciel's shadow had laughed at the observation, and applauded me for it. Which made me dislike that I'd thought it all the more.

The halls were painted a pleasant creme color, and the carpet was a plush brown that gave easily beneath our feet. I'd bet they were a bitch to vacuum. I'd done my share of cleaning, and the softer the carpet, the more easily footsteps could be seen in it. I'd hate to be a member of the custodial staff. The doors were spaced equidistantly from each other, and bore peeling gold stickers that bore their number. I was bound for apartment 45, at the very end of the hall, nearest the stairs. That was also a perk. In case of a fire, I could avoid the slow elevator like the plague.

I paused mid-step as we passed room 40. I sensed rather than saw the energy that clung to it. It was hard to define, and judging from her lack of reaction, the landlady didn't feel it.

"A ward," Lasciel muttered. "How interesting."

"A what?" I asked.

"A ward, my host. A magical construction built on a threshold. It is designed to keep unwanted visitors out, and protect the occupant of the home. I would wager it isn't strong enough to kill. This building is a sort of community, rather than an individual's home, so the threshold will lack vitality. And the caster does not appear to have your strength."

"I can only turn myself invisible," I muttered. "I certainly can't do this."

"Let me teach you, my host," she said. "I can show you magics you cannot imagine."

"I'll pass," I muttered. And so I did, leaving the net of delicate magic behind me. Half of me wanted to knock on the door, and see who was inside. I'd never met someone like myself outside of Harry Dresden. Maybe they could teach me a few tricks.

Apartment 45 was bare. I should have expected that, I supposed. I'd have to buy or steal myself a sleeping bag for the time being. I'd be able to afford a mattress next week if I actually signed the lease. The landlady talked at great length about how safe and clean the place was. She told me when to expect exterminators, if I moved in, and when rent was due every month. I nodded and responded where appropriate, my mind still on the occupant of apartment 40.

Who were they? How powerful were they really? And most of all, could they help me get this damn thing out of my head?

I ended up moving in, and over the course of a month, I made enough money to furnish the place. I threw myself on the bedspread, a grin stretching my lips. It wasn't much, but it was all mine. The bed was a twin, small by anyone's standards, but better than sleeping on the floor. I had two pillows, a comforter, and a lamp. I had an ugly discount couch in the living room, a bookshelf and a TV that had sputtered its last a week after I'd bought it.

I'd never bothered getting myself anything more than basic silverware. It had become apparent at Rosanna's that I was an abysmal cook. I didn't want to burn down the whole apartment in my attempts to feed myself. The freezer was full of Lean Cuisine, vegetable steamers, and other healthy foods. I'd decided to lay off of the fast food except on the route I ran for Torelli, and as a result had dropped a few pounds during the last few weeks. The apartment even had a gym downstairs. Rosanna and Kent's building hadn't been this nice.

I tried not to think about them, mostly. I wasn't sure how well my last action would be received. Had she forgiven me yet, or was my name still remembered with a scowl and a shake of the head? Should it matter so much to me, either way?

"No," Lasciel said, intruding on my thoughts. "She was a drug-addled simpleton and a poor excuse for a friend."

"She was my friend though," I said, grinding my teeth. "So don't go knocking her Lash. I'm not in the mood."

"Oh? You seemed quite happy only a moment ago."

"Because I finally feel like I'm getting somewhere," I said, wrapping my arms around myself. "For the first time in forever I feel like I'm actually doing something."

"Yes," she mused. "Running drugs for Torelli, exercising, and decorating this small domicile. It sounds very fulfilling."

The mocking tone cut through my defenses and I abruptly felt foolish. I had a job that I hated, my only hobby was running on a stupid treadmill, and purchasing things to put in my apartment. My mind conjured a picture of a little girl, decorating her dollhouse, arranging everything just so. I rolled away from her, biting my lip to contain an acidic retort.

She was right. I wasn't doing much good in the world, was I?

"Take up the coin," Lasciel coaxed. "I would not ask you to do anything against your conscience, I swear that to you."

I wiped the angry tears from my eyes. "Bullshit."

"We are not so different, you and I. We both want the same thing."

"And what is that? World domination? No thanks, I gave up on that ambition when I was four. I think I moved onto Archbishop of Canterbury next."

Lasciel blew out a frustrated breath. "No, my host. We want to make a change in the world. One for the better. There is often pain in change. It does not last."

"Save it for someone who cares, Lash," I muttered. "I'm going out for food."

"The noise curfew started at ten, Molly," Lasciel informed me. "I'd advise against it. You don't want Mrs. Peterson to call the front desk again, do you?"

"Oh bite me."

She was right of course, and I knew it. But it was her fault that I was in such a bad mood, so I didn't feel like being charitable.

The nearest Burger King was a mile away, which took no time at all in a car. But since I was trying to be sneaky about it, I'd gone out under a veil, snuck past the lone security guard who was dozing beneath a newspaper, and gone on foot. Summer was winding down. Was it July now, or August? I found it hard to keep track. The weeks seemed to blur together when you had to work day in, day out. It was still warm enough to wear only a jacket out.

An hour later I was walking back home, clutching a sack that contained a Whopper, a large fry, and an oreo shake. I peered at the receipt the bored looking cashier had handed me. The date was printed on the top, next to my order number. Well, damn. I'd missed my own birthday. How had that happened?

I was officially fifteen years old, as of two weeks ago. I suddenly felt justified in my purchase. Happy belated birthday to me.

Things were much the same as they had been when I'd left. The guard's newspaper had slipped a little, and the funnies were coated in a layer of drool. The stairs creaked as I made my way back up to the third floor. No building could be perfect, and it was the only flaw I'd seen in the otherwise immaculate place.

I let myself settle into the visible spectrum when I stopped in front of my door, reaching distractedly for my keys. I didn't notice the woman standing in the hall until it was too late.

She stared at me, and I stared at her. She was shorter than I was, and couldn't have been an inch over average height. What was that now, 5'4? She had dark hair, dark eyes, and a darker complexion than I did. She looked like she might have some Native American blood in her ancestry, at least a few generations back.

What did I say? The excuses popped into my mind at once. It was late, and she was tired. I'd come up the stairs and she just hadn't seen me. She was dreaming. I was an aspiring magician, pulling a disappearing act. The last one was a little too close to the truth.

Finally she opened her mouth and spoke. "That was impressive."

"What?" I asked, my voice a touch too innocent. Damn it, I'd need to learn to lie better.

"Your veil. I assume you held it all the way into the building and up the stairs. That's at least five minutes. It was very thorough too."

It was only then I noticed that the woman was in a bathrobe and standing directly outside of apartment 40. This was the mysterious magical occupant I'd been agonizing over for weeks.

After several false starts I managed to speak. "T-Thanks. I think."

"Have you been practicing long?"

I shook my head. "It started in April."

The woman's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "That's quite a talent, if you're holding a veil that long as a total novice."

I bristled at the term. "I'd like to go in and eat my burger, if you don't mind."

The woman gave me a smile, and her eyes crinkled a little. I reevaluated her age and put her somewhere in her early forties. It was a nice smile, though. It filled her eyes and made me want to trust her.

"You can eat in my kitchen, if you like." She took a step back from her door and gestured for me to follow her in. "I'm Anna Ash, by the way. Why don't you come in? We have a lot to discuss, you and I."