"You know, I think I'd almost prefer hell," I drawled, resisting the urge to flick a finger between those big puppyish eyes to see if the big dope would blink. It would be immensely satisfying.

Suicidal, but satisfying.

The Archangel Uriel stared back at me, his somber expression never wavering.

"That is, of course, your choice."

This time I really couldn't contain myself and my eyes rolled so hard that I feared they'd bounce right onto the ground. Angels. So maddeningly literal. No wonder the Fallen had never sought heaven again. At least as demons they had a sense of humor.

The emptiness ate at the inside of my skull. I missed Sathariel. It was unbearable to be so alone.

The Between was entirely colored by human perception. And as that was l was now, I was no exception. The world outside of the offices of the Between looked like a day in a rainy, fog-draped Chicago autumn. It had been summer when I died. Or was I remembering that incorrectly? Time ceased to have meaning in Tartarus, even in the reaches of far-flung memory. It had become a Sisyphean task to hold onto my sense of self while in my cell.

I sat on the opposite end of the stone steps as the Archangel fed birdseed to the pigeons hopping around his feet. I didn't know what they were, exactly. Nothing in this place was as it appeared. Maybe it was an illusion put on for my benefit, though I wasn't sure what he was hoping to accomplish with it. Kindness was an affectation, a nicety that the weaker of the species donned to avoid being trampled by the strong. The Archangel didn't need it, and thus the ostentation was all the more vexing. I didn't appreciate being toyed with.

"Why am I here, Watchman?"

"You know the purpose of this office, Deirdre. Why don't you tell me?"

My eyes narrowed and I tried to bore a hole into the side of his face with my accusatory stare. He projected an illusion of a young man with burnished gold hair that flopped messily over eyes as blue and unfathomable as the Aegean. He was dressed in a loose white cotton shirt, dark trousers, a slate gray trench coat, and boots, and leaned lightly against one of the concrete walls that enclosed the stairs. A far cry from the uniformed Amitiel who stood guard behind us.

As if I was any sort of threat to either of them anymore. Maybe I ought to have found it flattering. I didn't.

It was the coat, more than anything else, that irked me. My father owned one identical in every respect. Angels were not so different from their Fallen counterparts as they'd like to believe. The article was like a well-placed jab in the place where I was weakest, and it was no accident. Such naked manipulation tactics could only bode ill.

"Deflection, angel?" I bit out, tone more scathing than I'd intended it. "Tread lightly. I hear that's a stone's throw away from mistruth. Sathariel tells me that daddy dearest disapproves of such things."

The angel turned his head only slightly, just enough to give me direct eye contact, but it was enough.

The archangel turned that stare on me, and I cringed away from his gaze on instinct. A familiar feeling of dread unfurled like a poisonous flower in my stomach. Before, when I'd faced the swords and the many knights who wielded them, I'd always assumed that it was Sathariel's fear that motivated the reaction. Great and terrible, the power of God was perhaps the only thing that could fell a Fallen and end their righteous quest.

Now? I'm wasn't so sure. There was something hideously absolute about Uriel's gaze. It was like sandpaper, working down the lacquered layer of lies I'd told myself to allow for sleep when the nights were their worst.

"You assume that because you have hosted one of my former brethren that you can grasp my purpose. You are wrong."

In truth, I knew only a fraction of what Uriel did. Sathariel was always more concerned with Gabriel or Michael, heaven's fiercest and most outspoken warriors. Uriel tended to be quieter. We never forgot he was there, of course, but even with the Fallen, it was easy to ignore some of Heaven's more unobtrusive projects until they became relevant.

I shrugged, trying to pretend that the ice in his stare didn't chill me down to my marrow. "That doesn't change the fact that you're deflecting, Archangel. Why am I here?"

A bit of frustration rode out on his next exhale. Not a sigh. Angels rarely did anything so undignified as sigh. But I was clearly trying his patience.

A thin smile curled my lips. Good. I was glad I was still capable of stymieing heaven's interests for even a moment. No longer a dagger in the side of angels, perhaps. I was a mere grain of sand in their shoe without Sathariel. But still, it was gratifying. I was still here. Still me, after all the time in Tartarus.

"I am here to make you an offer, Deirdre."

"I believe bargains are more our shtick," I say with a light laugh. "And I know all this already. Your yes-man said as much when he came to retrieve me. Why should I want anything from you, Archangel?"

"Because," he said with infinite patience. "I can offer you freedom."

That successfully diverted my attention. Freedom? An escape from Tartarus? I'd tried many, many times during my sojourn there. There was no way out. Not while I was a shade, at any rate. Even this small respite had been an unexpected boon.

I still held out silent hope that my father would find a way to rescue me from Hades vault. I thirsted for news about his condition. Had he killed the damned wizard for me? It had been my only request before I'd agreed to take on the mission. My dying wish.

No one in the Beyond would talk to me, aside from the two angels at my back and side.

Suspicion instantly doused the spark of hope that burned in my chest. It was a bitter truth of the universe that nothing in the world was free. Not even a miracle.

"Terms and conditions apply, I assume?"

My voice came out dry and clipped. I was gratified that I betrayed no outward sign of my interest to the angel. To be like one of those sycophants that tripped over themselves to please one of heaven's dupes? No. Never. I would never stoop to that. Still, every moment that I kept him talking was another I didn't have to spend in Tartarus.

"There would be terms, yes. It was difficult to convince Mab and Hades to part with your soul."

I bared my teeth just a little. It was incredibly frustrating to be trapped in this human form with its blunt teeth and nails, limited fighting capability, and solitary mind space. With a simple effort of will Sathariel could give me ripping claws and scything hair. Lucifer below, but I missed the easy strength of my Fallen. How gratifying it would be to stab a strut of steel right through Mab's orbital socket and stir for a little bit.

Though I didn't know outcome of the final battle, I knew now that she'd set us up. Outplayed my father on a board he'd been fielding for centuries. Had this journey truly necessitated my death? The question had only occurred to me after the fact, when it had been far too late.

"And you convinced them how?"

"I told them the truth. Your soul falls under my domain for the time being. Whatever happens in the After...well that is your business."

I couldn't help it. A hysterical laugh bubbled up my throat and spilled into the chill night air.

"Me? You're trying to tell me that you're going to save me?"

Uriel's face glowed slightly and thunder rolled overhead.

"I save no one. That is not my place."

"Yes, yes victory in Jesus and all that fucking shit."

The angel somehow seemed taller in the next instant, though nothing had changed. More light bled from his skin and it threatened to sear my eyes. Much like the Swords, Uriel's power was terrifying to behold. I managed to summon up an ounce of courage from somewhere though.

"Send me back, if I'm pissing you off, Uri."

For a second, I thought he would. The entire Between seemed to tremble with the force of his anger and then...it stopped. The immense presence of Uriel settled and he was just a man again.

"Your choice was impeded."

"I made my choices. Gleefully. I don't regret a thing."

Untrue. There were moments. But all humans faltered in their resolve at least once. Sathariel knew, had assured me that a stumble only became defeat if I stayed down.

"You had less choice than you think, Deirdre."

Now his voice was soft, barely audible. Cloying pity dripped from every syllable and I once again wished for my claws. This...lackey, condescending to me?

"I don't want your compassion, angel. I mean it. I regret nothing."

He continued on as if I hadn't spoken, ignoring the blatant untruth.

"You were made a tool by the Fallen from the very start. Groomed and gaslighted by your father and mother to be a lieutenant and presented with a coin to guide your actions from the first sign of independence. Aged eight. You had perhaps...six months in which to explore your own mind. Six months out of a millennium and a half. And once Sathariel molded you to his tastes...well, there was little that could be done. Knights tried, of course. But both Fallen and father were at your ear, feeding you lies."

"My father loved me!"

Uriel nodded absently. "Yes. In so far as he is capable of such a thing. It was that love that almost compelled him to drop Anduriel in Hades' vault. Michael Carpenter almost succeeded. But Anduriel has had him tethered for too long, and his own pride cost him the redemption he so desperately needed."

I dismissed the notion with a soft sound of disgust. My father, turn away from his path? Never. He'd blazed it through time and the ever-shifting tide of humanity. There was no way that he'd stumble. It was one of the many things I'd idolized him for. My father was steadfast, no matter what the cost.

Even if the cost was my life. The angel had been sent to deceive me. But still...the offer was tempting. Freedom.

"What are the terms, then?"

Uriel nodded, seeming unsurprised by either my anger or my question.

"I'm conducting something of an...experiment. Four beings with a great deal to atone for. Humans who will have a role to play in the coming confrontation. You would be returned to Earth much as you were. Excluding Sathariel's coin, of course. Mortal and capable of choice. After that...well, what happens then is within your control, to an extent."

"An extent?" I drawled. "I thought you were not allowed to impede mortal choice. What if I decide to seek out my father and resume the Coin?"

"You will not. One of the conditions of your return, as requested by Mab. You will not attempt to contact any Denarian. If they come across you, it cannot be helped."

Mortal life without Sathariel? Remain alone in the echoing chambers of my own skull, weak and human and vulnerable to all the indignities that came with it? It was almost worse than the thought of returning to my cell.

Almost.

There was at least a hope of resuming my former position. Anduriel would surely find my shadow sometime and relay my continued existence to my father. If he came to me and offered me the coin back...Yes. Yes, it would be worth putting up with whatever nonsense the Archangel had cooked up. I could play along.

"Anything else?"

"I cannot command you to take action, Deirdre. But I do hope you'll use the opportunity to find and nurture some sense of self. Perhaps when you realize your own value, you can finally appreciate the value of others."

"Yes, yes. Redemption, rainbows and kumbaya. When can I go back to earth?"

The Archangel's smile was strained. He gestured toward the building before us. "Simply walk through those doors. Amitiel will see you to the other side."

I pushed up from the granite stairs, dusting the grit off my palms. I raised an imperious brow at the guard, offering him a smirk.

"You heard him. Take me back."

So I can find a way back to my father, you simp.

Amitiel cast a glance at Uriel that clearly cast aspersions on his sanity. He didn't question the Archangel, though. He held his elbow out to me in a gallant gesture my father had performed for many centuries. After a moment of hesitation, I gripped his forearm. Awareness of his power blazed across my skin for a moment, lighting up every nerve ending. For an instant, it felt like having Sathariel back, though the power had a slightly different tenor.

Then he extended a hand, pushed open what appeared to be the door to a police precinct and we stepped through. Except...I was not met by the bustle of a busy station the way I had once before, on the way in. Instead, the door opened into what appeared to be a stone room, not unlike a prison. The mortar between was caked in grime, the only window I could see even more so.

For a second, I was sure I'd just been deposited into a new prison cell, this one more filthy than the last. Tartarus had been a sterile, white void. This was...worse, in some respects. Betrayal spasmed through me, even as I took my first shaky step forward. I tried to turn and demand an explanation from the angel, but he was already gone.

Worse, something turned beneath my foot, knocking me off balance. I fell, hands slapping the stone just in time to save my face from a collision. With a snarl, I turned to see what I'd tripped over and found a shockingly pink heel just behind me, of the sort that strippers normally wore. Five or six inches in length, with glitter accents. Someone was here with me. Someone with incredibly tacky taste in footwear.

The shoe was on a welcome mat. So this...stone hovel was meant to be someone's home?

Footsteps padded toward me and I craned my neck, offering the newcomer a scowl. She smirked down at me, unperturbed.

There was no denying she was beautiful. Shapely, if not long, legs , lush hips, dramatically cut waist, large, likely surgically-augmented breasts, skin as pale and unblemished as a young girl's, though this woman was probably approaching her thirties. Dyed red hair that was beginning to show ashy blonde roots. She had deep blue eyes, smudged with dark circles just beneath and a generously proportioned mouth.

"Ah, look what the angel dragged in," she said, smirk only growing wider. Then she spoke louder, for someone else's benefit, I assumed. "We've got another one Mags!"

"Bring her in, Trixie. Dinner's ready and there's a lot to discuss," a gentle female voice said from just beyond my line of sight.

"C'mon then," Trixie said, throwing the sheet of red hair behind one shoulder in an arrogant gesture. She extended her hand to me, scowling like this was some sort of huge chore. "Time for fancy ramen. Again. You treat Mags with respect, okay? She's house mother while we're here. Featherbutt put her in charge."

I snorted a short laugh, as I took her hand, deciding that I liked this Trixie person just a little more for having the courage, or perhaps the stupidity, to call the Archangel Uriel "featherbutt."

Trixie led me through the wide stone room and seconds later we rounded a paneled room divider that separated the bare entryway from the makeshift kitchen. There was little waiting on the other side. There wasn't even a kitchenette. Just a stove, a pair of cabinets situated above and beside it, and that was it. A small closet served as the pantry, I assumed. A card table and a pair metal folding chairs were set up at the center. A woman was just setting it, ladling a helping of the ramen into plastic bowls for herself and Trixie.

She had dark hair and dark eyes. She wasn't beautiful in the traditional sense, especially not next to Trixie, who looked like the vapid children's toy come to life. But her features were sharp and intriguing enough to catch the eye upon a second glance. A quiet sense of power clung to the air around her. It always had, for so long as I'd known her.

"Margaret LeFay," I breathed.

She glanced up and caught sight of me hovering, gobsmacked at the edge of their ramshackle kitchen and smiled. It sent smile lines fanning across her face.

"Ah, Deirdre Archleone. I did wonder. Welcome to Redemption Boot Camp. Sit. I'll fill you in on the finer points while we have dinner."