I'd been to Bock Ordered Books twice in my life, both times with Mercy. The first time we'd barely set foot in the door before our nerves got the best of us. For a pair of sheltered Catholic girls, even the tame stuff meant for tourists and dabblers had been too much. We'd taken one look at the crystals, oils, and wands on the antique shelves and run in the opposite direction. I'd stripped off, showered, and done my own laundry as if the whiff of frankincense and white sage would tip my mother off to our illicit field trip. I'd honestly have been more comfortable smelling like pot. At least then I'd have only gotten a stern talking to. My rigidly religious mother would have lost her mind if she'd learned I was making forays into what she saw as the occult.

The second time we'd made our way into the stacks. Bock's store had been a speakeasy during Prohibition, the front half posing as a family-owned grocery store. The purpose hadn't really changed all these years later. The harmless stuff was up front, keeping those with neither the skill nor inclination to do more exactly where they belonged. Beyond the mediation mats and crystals lay the largest collection of books on the occult in the Midwest. Most of them were religious texts of some stripe, skewing heavily toward Wicca and other New-Age religions, but there was enough real, concrete magical instruction to make some of the texts dangerous. We knew firsthand. I'd learned enough about mind magic in these quiet backrooms to experiment on my friends.

Mercy was sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning her elbow on a stack of books. It was getting ludicrously high at this point. Harry was right. The definition of demon was broad, even for those who claimed to make their home in some sort of hell-like dimension. Possession was a favorite pastime for most of them, so it was practically impossible to narrow our search. I slipped a dusty, leather-bound tome off the shelf and examined the cover. The title was in German. Ein Kompendium dunkler Geister by Samuel Peabody. The name was familiar, but I couldn't quite place where I'd heard it before. I offered it to Mercy.

"You took German as an elective, right? What does this one say?"

Mercy squinted at the title. She looked a little bleary-eyed from all the small print. "A Compendium of Dark Spirits."

"Relevant or no?"

She sighed and shook her head. "I'll write it down in my journal, but I doubt it. I remember this guy's other work. Die Lied der Erlking. He seems to mostly cover ghosts and the Fae. Even if it does have a section on demons, it'll be too broad. Put it back."

I slotted the book back into place with a frustrated huff. This was beginning to feel like an exercise in futility. We'd been at this for two hours, and there was no end in sight. We were already straining Mom's bullshit detector to its absolute limit. If she hadn't been busy with Hope, Amanda, and Little Harry, she probably wouldn't have let us out of her sight. But she had her hands full with half the family developing colds. Sending us off to the magical equivalent of a library for research must have seemed like the lesser evil. As long as we made it home before sundown, we were golden. The question was, would we actually learn something useful before we had to head back?

The book next to Peabody's Compendium slid out of place and tumbled toward the ground. I shot out a hand, catching it before it could hit the floor. The spine creaked ominously as I righted it. The publication date was faded, but it looked somewhere around the late 16th century.

"Transcripts from the journals of John Dee and Edward Kelly, with annotations by Arthur Langtry," I said, reading aloud for Mercy's benefit. "That's the Merlin, right? Why do those other names sound familiar?"

Mercy's face screwed up in thought. "I think...I think they were occultists during the Renaissance. Those guys who were into alchemy and finding the philosopher's stone."

"Oh yeah. The ones who thought they could talk to angels and read their language?"

"Enochian," she said, nodding vaguely. She looked ready to throw in the towel. We'd have to take a break soon. "Celestial language. The Merlin thinks there's actually something to it. Sometimes vanilla human beings stumble onto truth, even if they don't know how to interpret it. The annotations are probably correcting whatever mistakes they made."

I opened the book carefully, examining the pages within. Not all of the descriptions were in English, but I looked anyway. The flowing script was beautifully rendered. Looping shapes that looked almost like letters and numbers, with a few corrections printed in the margins. Then there were more obscure designs. One wound in on itself like a knot, another looked like an odd oak tree, and another vaguely resembled an hourglass. The cursive beneath the text was so tightly packed that I could barely make it out. I finally gave up and handed it to Mercy.

"Can you make heads or tails of it?"

She pulled a face and went a little cross-eyed as she read. In the end, she had to bring her nose inches from the page before she could read the book aloud.

"They're names, I think. Starting with seraphim and going down the hierarchy from there. The ones toward the back are malakh, the angels you usually see in the Bible. Messenger angels. Intermediaries between God and man. They serve different functions, but they're the most likely to come when called." She tapped the hourglass. "The Merlin says this one's name translates to 'The Judgement of God.' It's referring to an avenging angel."

"Huh. What's a book about angels doing in this section?"

She shrugged. "The authors were occultists, and angels weren't the only things they claimed to see. There's probably a sequel about demons around here somewhere."

Mercy stood and stretched. "I think that's enough for one day. There's only so much Latin I can read before my brain starts dribbling out my ears. I've jotted down whatever I think is useful. We'll buy a few and look over them tonight after bed check."

She stooped and picked out four of the thickest, including the transcripts. I gave them a significant look. "The other three I get, but why those?"

Mercy rolled one shoulder, trying to appear casual, but the effect was ruined by the flush creeping up her neck. "I'm curious. Sue me."

I folded my arms over my chest. "Don't."

"Don't what?" she asked innocently. I didn't buy a word.

"You're thinking about those malk things. The ones that can be summoned."

"Malakh," she said. "It's Hebrew. Malk is just the hick way of saying 'milk.'"

"Whatever. You know we can't do that."

"Why not?" she said, crossing her arms stubbornly, mirroring me. "If this is a demon, there should be something angelic to counter it. That's how this stuff works, right?"

"Maybe, but that's not what I'm talking about. Leaving aside the complete and total arrogance of trying to summon an Angel of the Lord to deal with our problems, we just don't have the power or resources to attempt something that big. Even Harry has to be careful, and he's more powerful than you or I combined. Even if we do summon something, how can we be sure it won't smite us after it's dealt with the demon?"

"I don't think it works that way."

"But are you sure?"

She averted her eyes and muttered a resentful, "No."

"Good. Put it back."

"No," she repeated. "It's got notes from the Merlin in it. Even if we don't use it, I think we could learn something useful. I'm going to buy it. It'll wipe out my savings, but I think it'll be worth it."

"It better be. And if you get smited, don't blame me." I paused, frowning. "Or would that be smitten? Smote?"

"Ah the joys of conjugation," she said with a grin. "I'll let you know what the Big Guy says if I meet him."

"You're making an assumption there," I pointed out, shelving the leftover books. I laughed when she punched me in the arm.

"If I'm going to hell, you're going there with me."

"Oh, I accepted that a long time ago. I love you too much to let you go alone."

Mercy blinked once in shock, her entire body locking down for a fraction of a second. It was bizarre. I'd told her that I loved her a thousand times before, right?

"This is the part where you say I love you back," I teased.

"Of course," she said automatically. Her hand slid into mine a moment later, squeezing tight. "How is that even a question?"

It didn't occur to me until we'd checked out and were halfway home. I'd said I love you. I'd told her that I'd go to hell and back for her.

She'd never said she was willing to do the same for me.