“Yeah, but how could he know that you’d kill the Hound of the Hunt? Nobody has ever managed to before,” Beezle said.

I rubbed my eyes. “He didn’t know that I would do that. But he did know that I wouldn’t let Samiel go without a fight, and I’ll bet anything that Lucifer would have found some way to force me to trade myself for Samiel.”

“No bet,” Beezle said gloomily. “I wouldn’t gamble against Lucifer.”

We all stared at the table. After a few minutes, Beezle cleared his throat. “I’d just like to point out that it’s been several hours since any of us have eaten, and that a pepperoni pizza would not go amiss right now.”

I looked up at Gabriel, whose face spread in a rueful smile. Samiel grinned.

I laughed and picked up Beezle and pulled him into a hug. His tiny arms went around my neck as he squeezed me for a moment. Then he leaned back and gave me a serious look, his clawed hands on my cheeks.

“No matter what Lucifer tries to make of you, you are still Maddy Black. Remember that.”

“I’ll remember,” I promised. “And you’re right. A pepperoni pizza would not go amiss.”

“Yes!” Beezle said, pumping his little fist in the air. “With mozzarella sticks?”

“Don’t push your luck,” I said, and went to place the order.

I wondered if the Hound of the Hunt was a paying position in Lucifer’s court. Probably not. My checking account was dangerously low, as usual. I’d sold a couple of articles in the last month but it can take a long time to get paid for freelance work. Lately, my main source of income was Gabriel’s rent checks, and it seemed like a long time until the first of February.

After we’d all stuffed ourselves I said, “We’re just going to go on as we were before. If Lucifer thinks I’m going to live at court because of this Hound of the Hunt business, he is out of his tiny mind.”

“What of your duties?” Gabriel asked.

“What of them?” I replied. “I’m sure if Lucifer needs me for something, he’ll let me know. I still have my Agent commitments.”

“And you promised to help J.B. with ghost-hunting. And you still have to find Wade. I don’t know that there is enough time in the day for you to do all those things and go to the bakery,” Beezle said.

“I guess I’ll just have to prioritize,” I said dryly. “Speaking of duty and priority, I think I have another pickup tonight.” I patted my pockets like I was going to find my Agent list there.

“You do, at Addison and Sheffield,” Beezle said.

“Close to home; that’s nice,” I said. “Wait—how do you know?”

“J.B. hung your list on your bedroom mirror yesterday.”

“Well, I don’t know what he was thinking doing that. I never look in the mirror.”

“Yes, we all can tell,” Beezle said.

“I will accompany you,” Gabriel said.

Me, too, Samiel signed.

“What’s with the protectiveness? I think I can go eight blocks from home by myself.”

“You made several new enemies today, whether or not you realize it,” Gabriel said. “The Grigori do not like to be thwarted.”

“That’s swell,” I grumbled. “I can’t even tell most of them apart. How am I supposed to know which one hates me and which one doesn’t?”

I looked up at the clock. It was half past six. “What time is my pickup?”

“In fifteen minutes,” Beezle said calmly.

I stood abruptly and ran for my shoes. “I would have appreciated a little advance warning.”

“What’s the big deal? You’re only two minutes away by wing. Besides, it’s not my fault you never comb your hair.”

“I comb my hair…”

“Could have fooled me.”

“I just don’t stare in the mirror while I’m doing it.”

I hurriedly pulled on my boots and a blue peacoat that I usually reserved for early autumn. J.B. still had my winter coat, as he’d used it to carry the cameras to the Agency.

By the time I was ready Samiel and Gabriel were already standing at the door like two sentinels. Beezle fluttered to my shoulder.

“Up, up and away, Team Black,” I said dryly.

A couple of minutes later we stood at the corner of Addison and Sheffield in front of the statue of Billy Williams. Wrigley Field loomed silently behind us. We were invisible from human eyes.

A steady stream of commuters poured across the intersection as the Red Line stop was only half a block away. Storefronts housed ticket brokers and shops that hawked Cubs merchandise, most of them silent this time of year, when baseball season and the heat of summer seemed like hazy memories.

The bars that liberally dotted the area were quiet tonight, with very few Blackhawks fans willing to brave the freezing temperatures just to drink overpriced beer and watch a game they could just as easily see at home.

I straightened up when I saw him—Cole Stuart Janowik. There’s no glowing light, pointing arrow, chorus of hallelujahs or anything like that when I see a marked soul. I just know, like all of my power locks onto that person with a laser sight.

Cole was young, mid-twenties maybe, and he moved with the stream of people that had gotten off the El and walked west on Addison. He talked on an expensive-looking smartphone as he walked, a wireless headset on his head, the phone in his hand.

This was not a dangerous neighborhood, but the guy was totally unaware of his surroundings. A blond kid who had the look of a strung-out junkie pushed Cole just as he reached the curb, then tore the phone from his hand. The thief sprinted across the street toward Wrigley just as the light changed to red.