I pressed my lips together in thought. “I don’t understand.”

But I’d lost him. He developed a sudden myopic interest in my wrist. Of all things. He took hold of it, lifted it to his mouth, grazed his teeth along the underneath. My pulse quickened in response.

“They weren’t kidding when they said you’d be the most powerful prophet of them all.”

I fought to stay alert, but his full mouth pressed against the inside of my wrist was just so—“Wait, they said that? Who are they?”

“The prophets that came before you. Even Arabeth’s daughter, the one from your direct line, Lara Beth, prophesied that you, the last prophet, would be the most powerful of them all. And she was right. The more you learn, the more the past changes.”

“What past?” I straightened. “Our past?”

“Yes.” He trailed tiny kisses up the underside of my arm to the tender flesh inside my elbow, causing the most exquisite quakes to lace through my body and down my spine. “And because of that, we’ve known each other for a very, very long time.”

“But how? I still don’t understand.”

“You will. When the time comes, you’ll understand everything. There are things you have yet to discover about yourself. Powers you have yet to unleash.”

“Like the power to resist you?” I asked, finding pleasure in his explorations, his touch, and the sound of his voice.

He laughed softly from behind a kiss at the crook of my elbow. “I hope not.”

I laughed out loud, then quickly stopped myself, looking around at my slumbering guests.

He lifted his head, his eyes sparkling with appreciation, and gestured behind me. “Your grandfather’s back.”

I turned toward the door as Mac spoke rather loudly from the other side.

“Don’t think for a minute I don’t know you’re in there, Azrael.”

Cameron jerked awake as I marveled at the brusqueness in my grandfather’s tone, making a mental note never to make him angry. He’d said Jared’s celestial name accusingly. Threateningly.

I rolled my eyes. “Angel of Death, Mac. Remember, he can kill you with a single touch? And you used a double negative.”

“I’m going to use more than that if the only being in this house who is older than dirt doesn’t stop pawing at my sixteen-year-old granddaughter.”

Brooklyn stirred, felt blindly for Cameron’s hand, then held it to her as she fell back into oblivion.

“I guess I should go,” Jared said, laughing softly.

“I guess.” Disappointment so palpable I could taste it sucked the happiness right out of my marrow.

“I’m waiting,” Mac said.

I cringed. “I don’t know about this whole two-grandfathers thing.”

* * *

The next morning was like old times. Brooke and I got ready for school as Glitch ran home for a shower and fresh clothes and Cameron … did whatever it was Cameron did. We weren’t sure, exactly. But it was nice having some time with Brooke. Almost alone. We still had Kenya to deal with, but she was fun to ignore. Then she spoke. Darn it.

“So, what’s the deal with Glitch?” she asked through a wall of toothpaste.

“What do you mean?” I was towel-drying my hair, and Brooke was taking her turn in the shower.

“Is he seeing anyone?”

Brooke pulled the curtain aside to join me while I gawked at her. “Well, I’m not really sure. I know the twins are gone. Their family left when everyone else split, but—” I glanced askance at Brooke. “—is he seeing Ashlee? They seemed to be getting along really well when I left.”

After a solid minute of Brooke staring Kenya up and down, she said, “Yeah. He’s seeing someone. Or, well, okay.” She shut the curtain. “I’m not really sure. I mean, they seem to like each other, but it didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.”

“I was really hoping that would work out. What was the problem?” I asked.

“Um, I’ll give you a hint. His initials are Glitch Blue-Spider.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”

Kenya rinsed, then spit. “So, he may or may not be available.”

Again, Brooklyn pulled the curtain aside to gawk. “Seriously? You and Glitch?” She eyed her up and down. “I don’t see it. Sorry.”

Kenya smirked at her. Oh, yeah, this was going to be a great day.

“I still think I should get the day off of school,” I said, whining for the thousandth time. “I just got back. And the world is about to end. If ever I had a reason to ditch school.”

“No way,” Brooke said. “You have got to see what is going on. I mean the school is almost barren. Of the parents who didn’t hightail it at the first sign of the apocalypse—which, by the way, how does one outrun an apocalypse?—half of those are keeping their kids at home. Either that or they changed their minds and are running after all. It’s crazy.”

“All because of a couple of storms and a few demon possessions?”

“Yep. But you haven’t seen it. Remember Mr. Rivera? Juan’s dad?” Before I could answer, she said, “He now walks around like a zombie. Oh, and so does Mrs. Long—only she actually looks like one, too.”

“She always walked around like a zombie,” I argued.

“Not like this. People in town are getting possessed left and right, and Jared is having to … I’m not sure what he does. Dispossesses them?”