Except for himself, of course.

He was a hundred kinds of fool for not simply assigning the task to Ecco. He should have known Jilly would leap at the chance to get into trouble, leaving him no choice but to jump behind her.

And he’d been damn quick about it when the jumping had been into bed.

When had he lost control of his league? How had he lost control over himself?

He wasn’t such a fool that he didn’t know the answer to both questions was riding in the far backseat of the passenger van. Jilly was talking to Sera in a voice so low that even though he tweaked his teshuva, he couldn’t eavesdrop over the sound of the engine. But even that faintest murmur of her voice distracted him from Ecco’s running commentary on the joys of thumb wrestling malice. Something about—“And if you get too much of one under your fingernails, when you try to stuff it in the bottle, the ether will snap back at you like a freakin’ rubber band smacking you in the balls.”

“Maybe if you kept your pants zipped while you hunt,” Archer suggested drily.

“Since you’re the only one with a girlfriend around here, I think you better keep your mouth zipped,” Ecco started. Then his gaze slid toward Liam, who stared pointedly forward.

Perrin’s voice from the middle seat across from Archer was even more to the point. “Anybody else picking up that eau de birnenston?”

Silence prickled in the car, and Liam’s temple throbbed once with the sensation of demons rousing around him.

“You’re the one with the touch for it, Perrin.” Liam rolled the windows down. “Guide us in.”

“Take a left here.” The talya leaned forward between the front seats. His head swiveled from the driver-side window to passenger and back again. “A right up at the stop sign.”

The lingering stench of rotting eggs caught Liam as he rounded the corner. At this time of night—well past even the most belated Valentine’s Day emergency shopper—Jewelers Row was empty. The security grilles over the windows glistened brighter than the low-value merchandise left in the windows after the shopkeepers had locked the rest away for the night. Even without the diamonds on display, the street, with its quaint lamp-posts and tidy flower bunkers of quailing early-spring flowers, spoke of satisfied wealth. The office suites on the floors above were closed and mostly dark.

Invisible to the human eye but a neon scream to the teshuva’s, the etheric smears of demon sign etched the sidewalks and a few parked cars.

Liam cast a wary eye upward at the L tracks that rose on steel girders above the van. The setting was very similar to where he and Jilly had desperately leapt to escape a certain locomotive misfortune. And he’d always hated flashbacks. “The marks on the cars are fresh. Keep an eye out.”

Abruptly, Perrin came halfway out of his seat and gripped Liam’s arm as he peered through the windshield. “Penthouse. Birnenston thread. Been there long enough for part to harden.”

Thick encrusted tendrils snaked out around the peaked copper arch surrounding a large window on the seventh floor. Streaks like slow flames crawled down the limestone facade, but winked out before they touched the ground.

Liam growled, “And we didn’t notice this earlier because . . .”

“Because the angelic folk patrol these streets.” Jonah tapped his fingers restlessly on the back of the seat. “At least I thought they did. I’ve been turned back from here before.”

“Me too,” Ecco said. “But we have plenty of other hunting grounds, so what did I care?”

Liam rubbed his forehead. “Nobody to turn us back tonight.”

Would he have been grateful to see the subtle shine of an angelic possessed striding to the assist? Or would he have had an interrealm incident on his hands when he right-hooked the slacker for allowing something hellish to take root so deeply?

As Archer called the backup team to explain their find, he parked the van in front of the possessed building. No point being sneaky. The demons that had inhabited the place certainly weren’t shy about their presence.

The six of them climbed out of the van. Ecco toted the blessed fishbowl, looking—with the exception of the bowl—like a medieval Mafia heavy with his slicked-back hair and exposed gauntlets.

“I do not have a good feeling about this,” Perrin muttered as he collected the two slender eight-foot spears that were his preferred weapons.

Liam didn’t doubt it. His own feel for birnenston was muted at best, though the poisonous aspects affected him as much as any talya. For the sensitive Perrin, the raw streams of birnenston must be nearly torture. Conveniently, they were all used to torture.

“We’re here for a salambe,” he said. “The third team is picking up a haint. If we don’t find what we want, we’re out.”

Archer paced him. “Remember when the league was just ‘pain plus drain equals slain’? Whatever happened to standard operating procedure and business as usual?”

“Business as unusual voted me down.” Liam couldn’t even summon righteous indignation. As the walk down slaughter memory lane with Jilly had reminded him, he’d always known he was a terrible leader. And not Genghis Khan terrible. Just terrible straight up with a side of suckage.

The chill inside him was there even before the night soaked through his coat.

“Let’s go in through the back,” Jilly said.

She did like her alleyways, he knew. Falling into a wary line, the talyan followed him around to the service entrance. The alley was clean and well lit, which only served to emphasize the streaks of birnenston leaking down from the upper floor.

“This is most definitely the place,” Perrin said.

The door was unlocked.

“Ooh, bad sign,” Sera murmured.

They crossed the threshold, and Liam felt his teshuva hunker down, driven deeper by the poison of the birnenston. Perrin blanched, as if his demon had taken most of his blood with it.

“Lots of demon sign.” Archer unleashed his axe, a vicious recurved weapon. Sera drew a much smaller but seriously serrated knife. “No sign of actual demons.”

For all the unreadable hieroglyphics of ether etched on the walls and the bone- cold stench of the tenebraeternum, they were alone. He would have preferred to be alone, rather than leading his team into unknown peril.

“There was plenty of known peril to go around,” he muttered.

“Up,” Perrin said.

Though the doors stood open to the vintage wrought iron lift in the lobby, they searched out the narrow, enclosed back stairs. Either way seemed ripe for a trap, and Liam flexed his fingers over the hammer’s grip.

Jilly stared uneasily up into the darkness.

“Don’t tense up,” he murmured. “With your teshuva repressed by the birnenston, you won’t be able to recover as quickly. You have to be able to let it flow.”

She rolled her head back along her shoulders once and flicked him a smile that faded after one step. He realized Archer was watching, so he gave the other talya a curt nod that sent him to the front of the line.

Liam put Jilly right behind him and gave the others the signal—hand up, fingers spread—to string themselves out single file, not close enough to be caught in one attack, but not too far to be separated when the attack came.

But none did. Even as the other- realm stench thickened, they gained the seventh-floor landing without incident.

“Don’t get tense,” Jilly whispered from behind him.

He shook out his arm, where the weight of hammer had tightened his muscles, and glanced back with a faint grin. “Feels better when you just attack.”

As soon as he said it, the words seemed to crystallize in his mouth, realization drying the smile on his lips. That’s why he kept egging on the conflict between them; he could fall into the familiar patterns of parry and thrust, keeping her at a distance and avoiding any pain. With the tenebrae, no one could fault his strategy, but with her . . .

And now was really not the time to turn his attention inward. Once more, his obligations to the league came to the rescue.

Her answering smile didn’t quite erase the strain around her eyes, but she flashed her crescent knives at him. “Ready to go.”

Of course she was, but was he?

Archer pushed open the door into the penthouse. Whatever—whoever—had occupied the space before was lost in the obliterating tangle of birnenston. The thick threads bristled with the embedded remains of feralis mutations, and the air itself trembled with the unheard echoes of malice cries.

“Did something attack them here?” Sera kept her voice low. “If it was angelic warriors, they do a crappy cleanup.”

“That’s what us garbage men are for,” Archer said.

“No angel has been through here.” Jonah sounded convinced.

Perrin said simply, “Up.”

They took the last flight of stairs to the roof.

The bare open stretch of asphalt roof blended into the night sky, except for the glowing glass cube at the other end.

“A greenhouse?” Sera took a step forward, but stopped with Archer’s hand on her shoulder.

“No hothouse flowers in there,” he said. “Unless you mean hot as hell.”

“Just what we’ve been looking for.” Liam led the way across the roof, the six talyan spread like wings on either side.

Rust bloomed on the metal frame of the shed-sized structure, but the glass was intact. Acid rain and pigeon shit smudged the surface. Behind the glass, smoky outlines spun like slow-motion dirty laundry.

“Hey, the salambes bottled themselves,” Ecco said. “Too bad we can’t take the whole thing home with us.”

“Why would they bottle themselves?” Perrin circled the hothouse, his expression puckered with professional curiosity. “Birnenston is toxic to all the tenebrae, same as it is to us. Ah, look, every pane is etched with it, and the vents are sealed. No wonder they can’t get out. It’s the demonic equivalent of the blessed fishbowl.”

The poisonous emanations leaked from the base of the hothouse and clogged the corroded blades of the big fan that had once regulated temperatures inside the shed. In the sickly yellowish glow, only the blue streaks of Jilly’s hair held color.

“Somebody else trapped them,” Jilly said, half to herself. “Corvus? Does he have haints and salambes cached like weapons all over the city?”

Breaking into the hothouse and snagging just one of the salambes was going to be like opening a can of worms. If worms were superfast, incorporeal, and demonic.

“No haints here, at least,” Liam said. “But the salambes may scatter, like they did when they exhausted the bodies at the apartment den.”

“We’ll get one.” Jilly twisted the bracelet around her wrist. When she caught him looking at her, she cocked one eyebrow and rattled the bracelet. The knot-work metal bent the repellent light of the hothouse into silver glints.

The chill in his gut deepened. “No.”

Ecco glanced over. “No what?”

“I’ll be the one doing the catching.” She had caught everyone’s attention at least. She faced them, leaving Liam to stare at the squared set of her shoulders.

Even when she was jacked up in her thick-soled boots, those shoulders barely reached his sternum. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, pull her back from the brink, where she threw herself with such unholy zest.

But the league was the only wall between the world and the brink.

“Some of the tenebrae are attracted to the bracelet.” As if she felt his measuring gaze, she drew herself up another few inches onto her toes. “To me. When we crack open the glass, I think I can keep one’s attention long enough for Ecco to get it in the bowl.”

Ecco stroked his chin. “Snagging a malice isn’t exactly fun. The jellyfish-sting/rat-bite combo is enough to make you just want to drain it and be done. This’ll be worse.”

She nodded once. “I’ve had a little experience. I got through it.”

“Got through it?” The words burst from Liam, as if she’d driven her shoulder into his chest. She was talking about when they’d come together to trap the demons. She meant she’d “gotten through” their kiss.

She cast a fleeting glance back at him that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Just open the glass.”

“The sheer amount of birnenston is going to make this messy.” Perrin rattled his spears with restless tension. “It’s collected to a potent dose, which is why the salambes haven’t been able to force the seal. My teshuva has a taste for it and gives me some immunity, but you won’t be able to stay in contact long without risking some serious damage.”

“I think this won’t take long at all.” Liam swung the hammer over his head and smashed through the glass.

Brittle with age, the thick panes shattered. Gelatinous ropes of birnenston held a few shards suspended, but the demonic seal was broken. The salambes boiled out, taking their looming, horned, insubstantial form as they hit the night air.

As quick as they were, the birnenston-enforced captivity had obviously weakened them, and the talyan were quicker.

With the ends of his spears, Perrin scooped up birnenston. He wound the sticky, frayed filaments around the leaf-shaped blades like some vile cotton candy. In the presence of so much unleashed etheric energy, the birnenston flared to torch brightness. Perrin drove a few salambes between the two spears with all the skill of a street performer wielding juggling sticks on fire. Half smoke they might be, but the salambes cringed away from the birnenston-coated spears. Perrin angled them toward Jilly and her bracelet trap. Ecco stood with the fishbowl at the ready, Jonah with the blessed seal in hand.

Sera stood with Archer behind her, his hands on her shoulders, as if they were watching the whole crazed carnival. But her eyes were closed and his sparked with violet power, and the bone-dust scent of the tenebraeternum was on the wind as they broke all the rules of the league with their mated bond.

Liam focused on Jilly. His muscles tightened again, with the urge to go to her, to stand at her back, her head tucked beneath his chin. But whatever nerves had plagued her before, her calm expression made clear she’d found a centered place. With his brute hammer, Liam had never felt more useless.

So to his disgust, his ravager heart actually lifted in delight when the squadron of winged ferales rose over the edge of the roofline, clearly intent on joining the fight.

Well, so was he.

With a shouted warning, he whirled to face the new-comers. The ferales had feasted well on the animal remains in the city. Most sported at least two pairs of wings, and they swept through the salambes, maneuvering like lice-infested Apache attack helicopters.

This, the hammer was good for.

Etched steel snarled through the air, and the Apaches became more like mosquitoes. Though the toxic slop of the birnenston sapped his teshuva, purely human fury energized his every swing. In the corner of his vision, Jilly centered herself under a salambe Perrin had cornered with his smoldering birnenston-tipped spears. Ecco and Jonah lurked nearby with the bowl and seal.

Next to the three powerful talyan, she looked small, and despite them, she looked alone. Vulnerable, with her knives pocketed as she reached up toward the salambe, the bracelet on her wrist a sullen silver glow.

Even as he methodically decommissioned the ferales, a part of Liam screamed to abandon the fight and go to her. He should be standing beside her, keeping watch while she worked her magic.

With a last vicious sweep, he cleared the roof of ferales. Bashed bodies were piled high, and the last few functioning demons circled the rooftop, screeching. Loose feathers drifted across the asphalt to snag in the ooze of birnenston.

He’d had his chance with her. And the urge to forget everything just to be with her reminded him why he’d refused to take that chance. Holding the world together meant he couldn’t hold her. Not the way he wanted to. She was his weapon, not his woman.

He waited, hammer held loosely at the ready. The salambes—except for the one Perrin had pinned in place—swirled around the rooftop. Ether trailed behind them in agitated contrails.

Jilly had almost lured Perrin’s salambe into her grasp. The upper part of it still had some definition, its single nonsymmetrical tooth horn thrashing in desperation. But its lower half dissolved into unformed ether that funneled toward Jilly’s outstretched hand.

Liam didn’t like the look of the straining demon. When he and Jilly had done . . . whatever they’d done, the tenebrae had seemed to come willingly to their doom. They’d spiraled down peacefully. This one struggled to escape, tearing off smoky bits of ether in its flailing.

The closer it fell to Jilly’s fingertips, the more frantic it became. In just another heartbeat, it would be within her grasp.

Liam’s breath stopped in his throat. This was wrong. He was too far away if anything happened.

He was already moving when it did.

The first trailing edge of ether touched Jilly’s hand. Before he could shout, the salambe engulfed her.

With the haints, the salambes had hovered half in, half out of the soul-emptied bodies. Jilly was already occupied—double occupancy really—so it only coated her like an ill-fitting skin. But Liam had no doubt the pain of demonic energies clashing was a thousand times worse than any malice sting.

Jilly, her face white with strain, punched through the enveloping skin of the salambe. She peeled it back. Her puffy coat began to shred around her as if the other-realm energy had rotted it past cohesion. The crescent knives clattered out of her disintegrating pocket. She stood in her T-shirt, skin exposed to the salambe and the elements. Beneath the hem and above the neckline, the dark lines of her reven blazed violet. The flesh around it shimmered translucent as her teshuva waged its half of the battle.

He was almost across the roof, still too far. But she didn’t need him. She mastered the salambe, gathered it between her hands. Whipped on other-realm winds, her blue-striped hair stood in a dark corona around her pale face. When she gestured Perrin back and turned to Ecco and Jonah, her eyes were pure amethyst.

In the conflicting energies, the fishbowl glowed the faint gold of angelic blessing. The gleam brightened as Jilly forced the salambe toward it. The piercing shriek from the demon—pain and rage and fear—thrust aural talons into Liam’s spine. But that didn’t stop his race to Jilly. He shouted her name.

The salambes that had clouded over the roof seemed drawn as to a lightning rod. Even as he leapt, they streamed down on their trapped kin. Their cyclone drew the remaining ferales into the demonic mix. The air on the roof crackled with sleeting demon ethers—the dark powers of teshuva, salambes and shrieking ferales, and birnenston in a maddening clash.

Jilly thrust the salambe into the bowl in Ecco’s hands. Jonah slapped the foil seal over the opening. The glass flared gold just as the downward arrow of salambes reached it.

Angel blessing and hellish fury touched.

And the rooftop exploded.