A frigid wind blew in as the door to the Great Lost Bear opened at just past noon, and Charlie Parker entered, coat slightly damp from the still-raging snow and clutching a folder of papers to his chest.

The detective hadn't set foot in this particular bar in many weeks, not since before the attack that had put him in the hospital. The place hadn't changed: it was still dimly lit and comforting. The kitchen wasn't busy, but Charlie knew it would begin to bustle soon in preparation for the evening rush-although, in weather like this, the term 'rush' would most likely be a relative one.

His presence drew instant attention, not only because of what preceded it, but because of what came with him a prickle a shiver a shift in the atmosphere even greater than caused by the storm.

The owner of the establishment, Dave Evans's focus, however, wasn't on him; at least, not at the beginning. He was standing at the host's station, examining a slip of paper over the top of his glasses in a manner that suggested it contained something insulting to his mother, and he didn't look up, not even when the detective's shadow descended upon him.

"I thought you were dead," he said.

"I was."

Dave flicked his gaze from the document to the other man, raking carefully over him, studying him in the bar's distinctive light.

"You look pretty good for it. We have teenagers who look worse than you; hell, I look worse than you."

He set the document in his hands down and reached out to shake Parker's. He'd been to visit him a few times before he'd been released from the hospital but hadn't seen him since then. He didn't know what he'd been doing; his attack had been in the papers, and that was all Dave had heard about him recently.

The detective was different than he'd been in the hospital. Oh sure, on the surface, he appeared the same-other than a few more lines on his face-but his bearing, his manner had completely altered. There was a haunting air about him now, an air of ice, of destruction. He was also quieter, more distant, more reserved.

And his gaze-his gaze was the most altered. If it was to be believed what they said about the eyes being the window to the soul, then Parker's soul burned with a new intensity. His eyes held a cold conviction that Dave had not seen in them before. This was a fundamentally changed man, one who had come back strengthened, not weakened by what he had endured, and who was also both less and more than he once was.

Looking into those eyes, for the first time that he could recall, Dave found himself actually frightened by Charlie Parker.

He did a manful job of not showing it, however; not even when the detective took a step closer.

"Is my office still free? I have something I need to work on and doing it at home isn't really happening," Parker queried. He had a favourite booth that he liked to occupy when he came to the Bear, both for work and not.

Dave arched an eyebrow.

"A case? Is that wise?" he said, taking care not to sound judgemental or accusing. He and Parker had always been on relatively good terms, but he didn't know if this post-shooting Parker had the same temperament as the pre-shooting one.

The corners of Charlie's mouth twitched.

"You know I've never been the kind to do the wise thing," he replied, taking the concern with good humour, and Dave had to conceal a sigh of relief. He hadn't known how Parker would react.

He nodded toward the booth.

"It'll always be free for you, then. So will a place behind the bar, if the mood strikes." He changed tacks to a safer subject; if Parker was taking cases so soon after the incident, that could mean he was in need of money and Dave wanted to help, without seeming like he was dispensing charity.

That said, he couldn't deny that he was a little happy when the detective declined.

"I think I'm okay, thanks. This case isn't about the money and I think I might be pretty busy with it for a while."

Dave nodded a second time.

"Well, if you change your mind, just say something."

"I will," Parker replied before starting to head over to his booth, drawing out the file he had cradled against his chest. "Think I should probably get some of this done. Could I get a cup of coffee?"

"It'll be on its way," Dave consented. "Need anything else?"

"Nothing that you can give me," Parker commented quietly, sounding like he was speaking more to himself. Dave didn't know what to say to that; luckily, he was spared having to say anything as the detective departed, taking a seat in the last booth at the left of the bar and opening the file on top of the table, all of his concentration turning to its contents.

I'd lied to Dave: the main reason I'd come here was because, at home, I couldn't seem to stop thinking about the news I'd gotten the previous night. Being told that the Collector and Eldritch had really been killed, and in as unnatural a manner as in my dream-for lack of a better word-of their deaths had sent my whole world spinning on its axis. I'd had some bizarre experiences before, but this wasn't like any of those.

However, I didn't want it to distract me-not right now. I had a case to solve, and it was convoluted and maddening enough.

Shaking myself, I switched my focus to the open folder I'd laid out on the table in front of me and began to peruse its contents.

Tedor hadn't managed to collect a whole lot of information on Debhos himself; in fact, there was only a marginal amount more than what I'd discovered myself.

I let out a frustrated breath. Solving a mystery had never been this slow before; even if I hadn't been able to immediately catch the perpetrator of a crime, I'd still been at least able to establish their identity by this point-their full name, at least. But this Debhos-it was like he had just sprung from nowhere, purely to inflict mystery on Kyle and his family.

My coffee arrived a moment later and I took an eager sip; I hadn't slept again last night, both because of the revelation about the Collector and because of the case. That was the other reason I'd come here to work: I thought the cold and the company might help keep me alert.

I turned another sheet of paper and found that Tedor did have one piece of information I didn't: the name of the men who had given Debhos his alibi for the time of Natalie Brandt's murder. Michael Weld and Abraham Stone had both gone on record saying that Debhos with them inside the Tar Pit the entire night, and Kyle's mother had been killed in the parking lot, which apparently had no security cameras to dispute their claims.

Tedor obviously thought they were lying, though; my question was, if they were, why would they be protecting Debhos? Did they genuinely think of him as their friend and been in on it, or were they afraid of what Debhos would do if they didn't give him an alibi?

Or had someone else compelled them to lie so you think you know how deep this goes you don't have a clue

From what I'd seen and heard about the man, the latter seemed the more likely.

That said, it would probably be beneficial to investigate them to establish what kind of people they were before I drew any conclusions; that would tell me which scenario was the reality.

I took another drink of my coffee and opened my Moleskine notebook to write down their names. Tedor had done a little background on them himself; one of them was part of Debhos' work crew and lived near the Brandts' just one street over. That was Weld.

Abraham Stone, on the other hand, seemed to be much shadier; he had money, but Tedor hadn't been able to establish what he actually did for a living.

But he knew Debhos somehow. They didn't work together on the construction or whatever sites, but they were drinking buddies apparently, and had been seen together in other places around town as well. Stone had even been at Kyle's place once.

That gave me pause: what reason could this man have had for being there? Or why had Debhos invited him there?

It looked like Stone was the guy I really needed to talk to; although, like with Debhos, there wasn't very much more on him. There was a place of birth-Caindar-but no age, no birthday or parents listed.

Fortunately, Tedor had been able to note his current address: 1748 Matheson Street.

I wrote that down as well; I probably should have brought my computer so I could map it or something, but I hadn't foreseen the need so I would have to go back home in order to uncover where it was.

I decided to finish my coffee first, though; I didn't want it to go to waste.

And also, I wanted to avoid home: the reminders of my shooting aside, now there were whispers-whispers of what I had done to my now deceased enemies.

But I couldn't stay away forever. I knew that. I had to face it sooner or later.

Angel was in my kitchen when I got home. I hadn't expected that; I'd thought he'd still be with Louis, looking into those contacts who might be able to tell me more about Debhos.

The fact that he wasn't gave me an immense sense of trepidation. A sense that what I was seeing was not what I was really getting

"What happened?"

There was a flash of something indistinct in my friend's eyes and then, he spoke.

"You were dead, Charlie."

The use of my first name threw me. Angel never called me Charlie; to him and his partner, I'd always been Parker-or, at one time 'Bird'.

This wasn't Angel. It wasn't just the unusual form of address that tipped me off; it was the inflection and the slight cultured hint of an accent through my friend's voice that made me certain it wasn't him I was speaking to. It was his face and his body, but it wasn't him.

"You died, and yet here you are," Not-Angel continued cryptically, striding closer. There was a brief pause during which he/it appeared to consider something before adding, "But you know you have been changed. The part of you that died was the part that contained whatever was left of you that was still human; it was a shell that was meant to be broken, and now that it has, there is no telling what will happen."

Another voice joined his, a haunting, sibilant voice that permeated my ears and my mind, impossible to ignore.

"Because you are not human, Charlie Parker. You never have been It is why these entities have been after you since before you were born and why nearly everyone who comes into contact with you has ended up dead or scarred in one way or another. They do not want your power on this Earth; they do not want their master challenged."

I frowned. The rabbi Epstein had said something similar to me a while ago: he had theorized that the reason for my real mother's death and that the supernatural were drawn to and frightened of me were one and the same. I was a beacon for wandering spirits; I was not what I appeared to be. And now this thing, whoever, whatever it was, was telling me that it knew what I was.

But I didn't know whether or not I should believe it.

"What are you talking about? Who are you?" I demanded sharply, trying to sound as if I wasn't deeply unsettled by this; but even a deaf person would have been able to hear the tremble in my voice.

I saw another flicker in Angel's eyes, a brief snapshot of the real entity that had taken up residence in his body, but it was gone an instant later, melting into the false visage like a cheap costume.

"It was no coincidence, the meeting of yourself, the thief Angel, and the killer Louis. The three of you have been bound since the beginning, destined to awaken each other's hidden natures. And now it is time for yours to be revealed, for the deeper you delve into the shadows of your friend's past, the darker your soul will become-until there is nothing left but him."

I must have shown fear at that statement because Not-Angel laid what was probably supposed to be a consoling hand on my shoulder; it was cold, but not as cold as the forbidding tone in which the man completed his declaration.

"Do not fear. You will not become less that what you once were. Quite the contrary; you will become much, much more."

Predictably, that did nothing to assuage my misgivings. It did, however, strike a very strange chord within my memory, and I was reminded once again of hearing a similar sentiment from the mouth of another: Brightwell, the repository of souls, the one who had first thought I was some lost angel who had fallen away when the dark ones were cast out of Heaven.

I'd never even considered the possibility of his belief being true. I had seen evil in many people-I had seen it in myself-but I'd never thought I was anything other than human. The things I was doing now, though, the things I was able to do, they were now making me question.

What am I

Once again, I tried not to dwell on the implications of everything right then. I had more immediate worries-like getting rid of whatever was using Angel's body to deliver its fateful message.

"Are you done?" I asked in a forcefully calm tone, watching the other man without blinking. "I don't know who or what you are, but you've delivered your message. Get out of Angel."

The entity chuckled and bowed its head in a gesture of mocking compliance. "I've said what I needed to. Oh, but with regards to this case of yours: talk to Abraham Stone. He knows what your latest villain is all about and he should be all too happy to tell you everything you want to know."

As he finished, smoke began to pour from Angel's mouth and, with an inhuman scream, his lanky form slumped to the ground, gasping for breath.

I rushed over to him instantly, my consternation turning to genuine worry-although tinged with a hint of wariness.

"Angel?" I exclaimed guardedly, crouching down next to him, but not getting too close in case he was still possessed.

Angel let out a groan, clutching at his head as he lifted it gingerly from the floor, looking around with an uncharacteristically bewildered expression.

"What the fuck? How did I get here?" he groused, struggling to sit up, his mouth twisted in a pained grimace. His syntax and accent were the same again, which hopefully meant he was himself-at least for the time being. "Did you hit me with a hammer and kidnap me or something?"

My mouth twitched involuntarily as I held out a hand to help him to his feet. It shouldn't have been funny, but in some sick, messed up way, it was.

Angel knocked my hand away, though, as if it was poisonous.

"Don't want you touching me after giving me a bruise the size of West Virginia. You might try to break my hand or something," he sniped, instead using the table to pull himself up, brushing off the front of his stained, torn jeans.

I shook my head at him, adopting what I hoped was an innocent expression as Angel prodded at the back of his head, presumably probing at the aforementioned bruise.

"What the fuck did you do to me, Parker?" he demanded acidly.

I raised my hands.

"You fell," I told him evasively. It was the truth-more or less. "I can't be blamed for your clumsiness."

I wasn't sure I should tell him what had really happened. I didn't know that Angel really believed some of the things I'd told him in the past, or even the things he had seen himself. I didn't know if he would believe me if I told him that another being had temporarily taken hold of his body.

Angel shot me a reproachful glare, then proceeded to start rooting through my freezer.

"Well, the least you could do is tell me you have an icepack or something in here. My head is killing me."

"No icepacks, but I think I have some frozen vegetables you could use," I offered, slowly starting to relax as Angel continued to act like his usual self.

He shook his head.

"Fucking barbaric," he commented disparagingly, but he settled for pulling out a bag of frozen peas, sitting down at my table and pressing it to the back of his head.

"Goddamn," he cursed again, eyes screwing up as he winced.

I had to roll my eyes. I was pretty sure he was exaggerating the severity of his injury; yes, he had fallen, but he hadn't hit his head that hard. If it hurt, it was most likely from there having been someone else in it; he probably wasn't used to the extra space being occupied.

"Seriously, what the hell happened? What am I doing here?"

I really didn't know how to explain this one, so, I admit, I chickened out.

"I don't know, but as long as you are, how about giving me a hand with something?" I deliberately avoided the question, asking one of my own.

Angel arched an incredulous eyebrow at me, like he couldn't believe I was asking him for a favour after what-he thought-I'd done.

"Really? I'm over here, dying because of you and you want me to do you a favour?"

"Just back me up tonight on a little field trip. I think I might have a lead on our mystery man, Debhos," I told him, knowing that he was just putting up a fuss. I'd never known him to say no when I really needed him.

I didn't wait for his response before heading into the other room to grab my laptop, so I could apprise myself of any geographical dangers or anything else that might make this trip difficult before plotting our course.

"So, where are we going?" Angel wondered in a feigned grudging manner as I returned, slapping the package of peas down next to my notebook on the table.

I sat down across from him and fire up my computer, opening a mapping application, where I typed in the address Tedor had for Abraham Stone.

The area was a pretty standard residential one, albeit a gated one; a street of almost-mansions, and Abraham's was one of the larger ones. It was in the center of the street, with what I perceived to be a whitestone roof and walls on all sides.

I pursed my lips as I reviewed the satellite pictures. The place was probably rife with security; but that had never stopped me-or my companion-before.

"We're going here," I answered Angel finally, turning the screen around so he could see. "That is, if you're not too incapacitated to figure out how to break in."