“There has to be an aid station here,” I said. “We just need to find a map and get there so we can tape you up.”

“And then return outside as quickly as possible. I do not like the idea of being closed in this building with vampires.”

After some searching we found a map of the building and located the aid station. McCormick Place is a sprawling complex that comprises several buildings. We were in the South building. The first aid center was on level 2.5, next to a FedEx office.

“Level 2.5?” I said as we hurried up the long flight of stairs to the upper floor. It was slower going than our usual hurry. Nathaniel really struggled. Even though we’d healed some of his wounds, the blood loss and exertion were taking their toll on him.

He paused on the stairs, panting. “You ask the question in a way that expects an answer from me. I have no possible explanation for any of the strange things that humans do.”

“If Beezle were here, he would have something snappy to say,” I said, putting my arm around him to help him to the top of the stairs.

“If Beezle were here, he would have stopped at the nearest pastry shop for a snack during the attack by the Agents,” Nathaniel said.

“That was pretty good,” I said. “A little more practice and you’ll be up to sparring with my gargoyle in no time.”

“I cannot wait.”

His face was so serious as he said this that I burst out laughing. He smiled at me, a little half smile of satisfaction, and it almost stopped my breath. Nathaniel never smiled. He scowled; he frowned; he contemplated life in great seriousness. But he didn’t smile, and I don’t think I’d ever heard him laugh. Seeing him smile was like looking on the face of a different person.

We limped along until we found the mid-level concourse that housed the aid station. A large orange first aid sign hung above a glass door. I yanked on the handle and found it locked.

“Wait here for a second,” I said, letting Nathaniel go.

He leaned against the wall, his pale eyes rimmed by circles of black, his blond hair sweaty and hanging in his face.

I put my hand on the door and spoke the words. “I am the Hound of the Hunt, and no walls shall hide my quarry.”

The wall became fluid beneath my touch, and I slipped through it. I had a moment to wonder when Lucifer was going to make me pay for this ability. So far it had been pretty useful to me but he hadn’t called upon me to use it.

I unlocked the door and Nathaniel stumbled inside. I indicated that he should sit on the handy cot while I rummaged around for the necessary supplies. I returned to him with an armload of tape, gauze, disinfectant and painkiller.

“Take off your shirt and coat,” I said.

“I have always wished you would say that, but I was hoping it would be under different circumstances,” he muttered.

“Wow, two jokes in one day,” I said. “Someone call Guinness.”

“Why would you call a beer company to tell them that I had said something humorous?” He looked genuinely puzzled.

I laughed. “I guess angels don’t worry too much about world records.”

“The only records that matter for the fallen are Lord Lucifer’s,” Nathaniel said.

I touched the lapel of his coat. “I’ve got to see how bad the damage is.”

He nodded, and we carefully pulled the coat down his arm on the uninjured side. Nathaniel paused, his face contorted in pain.

“Perhaps you should cut it off,” he said.

“But we have nothing else to cover you. And it’s January out there,” I said. “We’re not going to be able to take the El home, you know?”

“I only need to wear clothing as a concession to humans. The cold does not bother me,” he said.

“If you say so,” I said doubtfully.

“I would prefer to endure the cold than the excruciating pain of attempting to carefully remove the coat.”

“Okay,” I said, sitting on the cot beside him. “Turn toward the wall.”

Nathaniel turned so his back faced me. The torn right wing was gruesome. I delicately cut from the hem of his coat up the middle of his back, through the space between his wings, and then pulled the two flaps of cloth away.

His white dress shirt was stuck to the middle of his back. He’d bled profusely, and then the blood had dried. In some places there were scabs that would be torn open as soon as I removed the shirt.

“Nathaniel,” I said.

“I know. Do it quickly.”

I made the cut with the scissors from the tail of the shirt through the collar. I grabbed the two pieces of the shirt at the top, bit my lip, and pulled.

Nathaniel only grunted as his skin was torn away. He drew the sleeves over his arms and off his wrists, dropping the remains of his shirt on the floor.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, took a deep breath and opened the bottle of disinfectant. “This isn’t going to get any better.”

“Do not weep for me,” he said quietly, then hissed as I poured the solution into his wounds. “After all the pain I have caused, I deserve whatever harm may befall me.”

I paused. “What happened to, ‘I was under orders, I didn’t have a choice, and I didn’t mean any of it anyway’?”

“I kissed you,” he said simply. “When our magic entwined, I saw your heart. And I finally understood how you saw me, and why you held me in such contempt.”

I applied gauze to the worst of the open wounds. There were several bullet holes in addition to the broken wing. “That’s probably the first time a kiss from me has ever had such a transformative effect,” I muttered. “And I never held you in contempt.”