Gunnar was a good man. And sooner or later, I was going to have to do right by him. I was going to have to tell him the truth.

•   •   •

It was well dark when I locked up the store, turned off the lights, headed up the stairs. I was too exhausted to do anything but fall into bed.

I reached the second-floor landing and made the turn . . . to see light streaming down the stairs. I’d turned off the light—I remembered doing it, always made sure that I did it in order to conserve what energy there was.

Someone had turned it back on again.

Was it Liam? Had he found out what had happened, come to comfort me? It didn’t make sense that he’d not have used the front door—he had such a fondness for it—but nothing else made sense, either.

And God, I would have liked to see him tonight. He’d become an axis—a stable, center point that all the crazy traveled around.

I put a hand on the railing, began to pull magic just in case it wasn’t him and I needed to use it against whoever was trespassing in the store. I took the stairs one at a time, each creak sounding like a gunshot in the quiet. I stepped onto the landing and looked inside.

He stood in the middle of the room, a lock of dark blond across his forehead, wings folding at his back, disappearing. The window was open, the curtains thrown back. Moonlight streamed across his body and sent shimmering light through the room.

Malachi.

There was an angel in the third floor of my French Quarter town house, looking as relaxed as any average and casual visitor from the street. Which he most definitely was not.

I walked into the room. “If someone saw you come up here, reported you, we’ll both be in trouble.”

“No one saw me,” Malachi said, with utter self-assurance.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, still a little wary.

“I introduced a pigeon to the flagpole, fed him. It’s part of their training process.”

The pigeons. Of course.

I walked to the window, moved the curtain aside. A gray pigeon blinked round eyes at me from the flagpole outside my window.

“Cool,” I said, then dropped the curtain again.

Malachi smiled. “He’ll fly back home again shortly. Next time you see him outside, give him a bit of grain. With time, he’ll learn to return here should we need to get a message to you.”

I nodded.

“I also came to see if you were all right.”

“You heard about the raid?”

He nodded. “In a manner of speaking. I wanted to see your store for myself, had planned to check on you when the sun went down. I waited nearby—there are ways that I can be very discreet. I saw them come in.” Guilt etched in his face. “I am sorry that I didn’t intervene.”

I wouldn’t fault him for that. “They’d have arrested you on sight.”

“Likely,” he said. “But that’s no excuse for standing by. You’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine. We’ve started putting the store back together.”

“We?”

“My friend Gunnar helped.”

He crossed his arms. “Why did Containment come?”

“They believe I’m holding secret meetings of Sensitives here.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Where did they get that idea?”

“I don’t know. Probably from someone who wants them focused on me, instead of on the Veil opening again.”

“That’s a reasonable strategy. And apparently a successful one.”

“Yeah.”

Malachi walked forward, cast his gaze on the ceiling. I’d hung an assortment of stars there—some crystal, some glittered, some old-fashioned mercury glass. They caught light through the window, swirled it across the across the floor. Some nights I’d lie on the daybed and watch them spin, watch the light turn and shift. It usually helped me calm down.