“Shut this racket off!” he yells.

Yep. Wanker.

I flip the stereo off and he lets out an annoyed sigh.

“Good to see you, Father.” I nearly trip over the word Father. He’s got the large red badge, but he can’t be older than twenty or twenty-one. “Excellent choice on your new host body.”

“Yes, it was,” he says, running a hand through his thin, silky-looking hair. He’ll probably be balding by thirty. “You sign the estate paperwork tomorrow?”

Is that what this is about? “Yes, sir. In the morning.”

He pulls a folded paper from his back pocket. “Here’s my new account information. You’ll receive your own funds from the life insurance and inheritance. Everything else needs to be transferred to me. If a penny is missing, I will know it.”

“I understand.” Git. He just wants to make sure he gets his money so he can start his new life ASAP. Could’ve just rung me, but I suppose he wanted to show off his pretty new body.

The spirits circle us, restless. Father ignores them.

“Good.” He sniffs the air and glances at the king-sized bed with its black and gray silk bedding. I’m going to sell all of it. I don’t want anything that’s been in this house. “Smells like old lust in here. You were always a good worker.”

I blink. Wow. A compliment. “Thank you, Father.”

Then I remember Anna is listening. I hope he won’t go into any details.

“Things aren’t always what they appear, are they?” he asks. The whisperers hiss in anticipation as his voice takes on a silky edge.

I feel my eyes narrow. What’s he going on about? Is he talking about my working? Shite, has he had someone watching me in L.A. that I don’t know about?

I force myself to ask nonchalantly, “In what way?”

“Something’s not right.” He slowly walks the room, running a finger over my black dresser, which has gathered a light layer of dust since nobody’s been here. He wipes the finger on his jeans and holds his hands behind his back, much like he used to in his old body, but it looks strange. His muscles are bulkier.

“I haven’t been able to put my finger on it. . . .” As he talks, he looks at my framed posters of favorite bands, all autographed. He’s acting as if what he’s saying is no big deal, but it feels as if he’s about to drop a bomb. Dread trickles down my spine. “Ever since that summit when the damned angels showed up, we’ve been watching the daughter of Belial.”

Do not react.

Lie through your teeth.

I snort a derisive laugh. “Her? No offense, Father, but I don’t see why an unremarkable Neph like the daughter of Belial would warrant such attention. I’ve worked with her. She’s excellent at her job, but on a personal level she’s rather . . . boring.”

He turns to face me now, amused. “So you took no pleasure from your time with her?” Tricky bastard. Always with the games. His new grin is too wide. The whisperers turn their ugly, hazy heads to hear my response.

“Oh, I took my pleasure. I also got out of there as quickly as I could. She’s got zero personality unless she’s wasted.” The whisperers hiss and make raspy, choking sounds of laughter.

Father chuckles low. “I know being with her was a chore, but it was necessary. She’s somehow been able to fly under the radar. Now we know for sure that she’s a threat.”

“A threat?” I laugh, as if it’s a ridiculous notion. He takes three quick steps toward me and points in my face, hair slanting across his forehead as he tilts his head almost comically. The spirits bob up and down in agitation.

“You think this is funny? You think I have time to joke around?”

I keep a straight face and force a respectful tone. “Of course not, but having spent a good bit of time with her, it seems preposterous. She cares about nothing except where she’ll find her next drink.”

His eyes narrow and his voice lowers. “Then she’s fooled you as well. That boring Neph who you think’s so benign was caught being affectionate with her human mother-figure this morning.” He spits the words. “We sent five Legionnaires to get more information, and the girl took out four of the spirits! She’s a mercenary of heaven.”

He snarls the last sentence with venom and his whisperers move about the room faster, upset, making scratchy noises like dry, noiseless screams.

I school my face into concerned shock. “Wha—? How is that possible?”

He stands straighter and runs a hand through his hair again, as if trying to decide if he’ll trust me with the next bit. Thankfully, he does, but his eyes flash red as he talks. “She’s somehow able to wield a Sword of Righteousness. Only angels of light have been able to do that.”

I force my eyes wide and shake my head. “But . . . why would an angelic weapon allow her to use it? I’ve watched her lead souls astray, and I nailed her myself. She’s hardly angel material.”

Those words feel especially acidic on my lips.

“I . . .” He shakes his head, looking almost frightened. “We don’t know.”

We have stumped the Dukes, for what it’s worth. Now to attempt to lead them astray.

“Is it possible someone is trying to deceive all of you? Point you in the wrong direction? I mean, how do you know about the sword, and the spirits she supposedly killed?”

He ponders this, still appearing baffled. “One of them escaped.”