Cookie’s scream slowly died down and ended with a little squeak as Reyes and I looked at the sleeping beauty on my floor.

“He didn’t summon the Twelve, Reyes.”

“Dutch,” he began, but I held up a hand to stop him.

“I know what you’re going to say. He was the only one who could have. But there are others on this plane we don’t know about. For all we know, your father could be on this plane. He could have allowed them to escape, then followed them through the gate.”

He stiffened. “It would be just like him to send the Twelve after us. He used them for his dirty work. They were created for his dirty work. And his entertainment.”

“See? Osh didn’t do it. I can feel his desire to help us just as easily as you can. His desire for us to win. He’s not exactly a fan of your father’s. Why would you attack him like that?”

Still shirtless, Reyes lowered himself to a sitting position, his wide shoulders resting against Sophie, and braced an arm on one knee. I knelt beside Osh, touched his face. He looked like an angel. He looked like a child.

“I don’t know,” Reyes said. “I’m getting desperate. If we don’t find out who summoned them, who controls them, we may never win this.”

“We have to,” I said, matter-of-fact. “For Beep, Reyes, we have to.”

“I know.” He nodded toward Osh. “What is it about him that you trust so much?”

“I’m not really sure. I feel like he’s… important. That’s all.”

“If you’d seen him in hell —”

“The same can be said about you, Rey’aziel,” I reminded him.

“Point taken. By the way,” he said, looking at the mass destruction he’d caused, “how the f**k did you completely incapacitate two of the strongest demons ever to walk through the fires of hell?”

I shrugged. “Latin. Works every time. Though so does English and Ancient Aramaic and Farsi and pretty much any of the thousands of languages we know. Not sure why Latin. It just feels right. You know, when I wake him up, he’s going to be pissed.”

The wickedest Cheshire grin I’d ever seen spread across Reyes’s lovely face. “I’m counting on it.”

Cookie squeaked. I had to agree with her.

Turns out, angry demons actually do wake up swinging. I was sure I’d heard that somewhere. Maybe growing up in church or at a séance in middle school where a girl named Rachel Dunn said she’d been in league with the devil since she was seven. Because she’d been so young, I always assumed she’d been talking about little league. Probably coach pitch, but one never knows. It could have been juniors. She could have been an aficionado.

After I soothed an extremely angry OshKosh – at the same time learning that calling him OshKosh did not help his mood – he stormed out of the apartment, his temperament blisteringly hot. And a small part of him had been hurt by Reyes’s accusation. Not the attack itself, though. He seemed to thrive on violence, but I’d felt the same reaction from Reyes. They were like boys wrestling in a backyard called Charley’s apartment.

“It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye,” I reminded them when they literally growled at each other. “Or a testicle.” I stepped between them when they came within reach of each other. “Do not make me angry again.”

Instead of challenging me, or possibly out of respect, Osh left.

“Eggs?” a very nervous Cookie asked from the kitchen.

Amber had come running with the sound of World War III echoing out of my apartment. I was surprised, once again, that no one had sicced 5-0 on us. Gawd, I loved calling the cops 5-0. It’s the little things.

Fortunately, Amber had missed the best, most violent parts of the morning, but she saw Osh storm out and took it upon herself to glare at me all through breakfast. Me! Her favorite albeit only and not particularly blood-related aunt! To say the tension could have been cut with a knife would have been an understatement. A regular knife wouldn’t have scored it. Maybe a machete. A really sharp one. Like Kill Bill–katana sharp.

As worried as he was, Garrett left soon after. He had a date with a skip and a cool five grand if he brought him in. Reyes took his leave to visit George, his deliciously sexy shower, as I opted for another cup of devil’s blood and a quick check to see what was on the agenda for the day. According to my online scheduler, which I never actually used, I was scot-free. I could whittle away the day if I wanted to. Sadly, that was not the case. Despite the raging state of my headache, I had things to see and people to do. I was just about to head to my own shower, the less spectacular but just as useful Roman, when Cookie barged in.

“Turn to Channel 7,” she said, taking up my remote and turning to channel 7, leaving me to wonder why she told me to do it at all.

The TV blared to life, causing my ears to bleed before she turned down the volume.

“Though Reyes Farrow had no comment,” the newswoman said into the camera, the same one who’d assaulted Reyes in the bar, “he did assure me that his lawyers are looking into the matter. Back to you, Tom.”

“What is she talking about?” I asked Cookie.

“Robert. She said that Reyes and his lawyers are looking into suing not only the city, but Robert as well, since he was the lead detective on Reyes’s case ten years ago.”

“Reyes is going to sue Uncle Bob?” I asked, confounded.