I had most of the stuff downstairs, he signed, pausing between bites.

His bowl was almost empty already, and I’d had only a small taste. Samiel eats like a teenage boy who’s not sure where his next meal is going to come from.

“But where did you get the money for the groceries?” I wondered aloud.

Lucifer gave it to me.

I raised my eyebrow at that.

He knows that I don’t work, and he was worried about you because he knows you depend on the rent from the apartment.

“Yeah, I’ll just bet he was worried,” I muttered into my chili so that Samiel couldn’t read my lips.

Everywhere I looked Lucifer was there, entangling me in his spider’s web. I knew Samiel was loyal to me, but I also knew that Lucifer was very good at making simple things look confusing.

If Samiel continued to accept an allowance from Lucifer, then one day in the future the Morningstar might come to Samiel asking for a favor. And Samiel might think that one little favor was small repayment to the angel who had given him so much. Then Lucifer would ask for one more thing, and another, and another, until Samiel was well and truly trapped.

“Aren’t you eating?” Beezle asked, breaking my reverie.

I glanced over at him and wished I hadn’t. He was covered in chili from horn to claw and was presently stuffing corn bread in his beak. The bread crumbs sprayed everywhere as he chewed. I covered my eyes.

“I don’t know why, but I seem to have lost my appetite,” I said loudly.

“More for me,” Beezle said gleefully.

Samiel pried my hands from my face so I could look at him.

You have to eat, he signed.

Do you know about the baby, too?

He nodded, looking rueful. Beezle told me.

Listen, Samiel, I signed. Do you want to work?

He looked uncertain. Yes, but Lucifer said I wouldn’t be able to get a regular job, because I can’t hide my wings like you can.

“It’s nice that he’s thought of everything,” I mumbled to myself, then looked at Samiel and spoke. “You could work at the Agency. There are a lot of supernatural creatures working for us that aren’t Agents.”

But I thought you didn’t get paid?

“I don’t. Agents don’t because collecting souls is a ‘sacred duty,’” I said, making air quotes with my fingers. “But the support staff and the management collect regular paychecks. Don’t ask me where the Agency gets its funding from, though. That’s apparently need-to-know only.”

Do you really think I could work there? Samiel looked doubtful.

“Sure. I’ll talk to J.B. about it.” As I said this, it occurred to me that I hadn’t picked up any souls for a couple of days, and I wondered if I had been neglecting my sacred duty while wandering around in a depressed fog.

“Before you start panicking,” Beezle said, reading my thoughts, “you should know that J.B. called a few days ago and said he was reassigning all of your pickups for the next week.”

“Do you think you could actually deliver my messages in a timely manner?” I said. “Or, better yet, don’t pick up the phone at all and let the answering machine fulfill the purpose for which it was created.”

“What?” Beezle said. “You’re getting the message now.”

“That’s not the point,” I began, and trailed off. The snake tattoo on my right palm tingled. I stood up. I’d learned not to ignore Lucifer’s mark.

What’s wrong? Samiel signed.

“Danger approaching. Stay in the house,” I said to Beezle.

I yanked on my boots, grabbed my sword and pounded downstairs in just my jeans and sweater. Samiel followed.

I threw open the door at the bottom of the stairs. Through the glass of the outer door I saw Nathaniel silhouetted in the light of the streetlamp. I stepped out on the porch beside him, Lucifer’s sword in my right hand.

He appeared alert and wary. Samiel stood on my other side, his hands fisted.

“There’s something wrong,” I said.

“I sense it as well,” Nathaniel replied.

There was no movement on the street. I wasn’t sure of the time since the winter dark came so early, but it seemed like most people were inside and buttoned up for the night. That was good. It diminished the possibility of collateral damage.

I smelled woodsmoke and the faint traces of car exhaust. The cold air bit into my skin. My hand grasped the sword tighter.

It suddenly seemed as if the night had gone blacker, like the stars were extinguished. I gasped for breath through air that felt thick and heavy as tar. The night was smothering me, suffocating me. All around us the lights in my neighbors’ houses winked out, as if the normal humans felt the presence of this creeping darkness and wanted to avoid drawing its attention.

I staggered, struggling for breath, and Nathaniel caught my shoulders, holding me upright.

“Gods above and below,” he whispered, and in his voice was a mixture of awe and fear. “It’s a Grimm.”

“A what?” I said, trying to find air in the omnipresent blackness. I shrugged out of his hold, standing as tall as I could with the air pressing down on me.

“A creature of Faerie. No one has seen a Grimm for hundreds of years. I thought they were legends.”

Faerie? I thought, and then the tentacle came flying out of the cloak of darkness. It wrapped around Samiel’s ankle. He grunted as he fell to the ground, clawing at the porch. The creature yanked hard at its prey as I cried, “Samiel!”