Samiel and Beezle dodged out of the way of the other two.

“Sam, take Beezle inside,” I said.

“Why should I miss all the fun?” Beezle complained.

“You can watch from the window,” I said, keeping my eyes on Azazel.

My father looked cool and stone-faced and not at all scared of me. I, on the other hand, was terrified. Not of defying Azazel—that had been a long time coming—but of the consequences if I lost. Azazel might lose status among the Grigori. I would lose the love of my life. I had to win.

Maybe some of this was on my face. Maybe Azazel saw me waver for a moment. He struck before I had time to prepare.

A bolt of lightning shot across the space between us and hit me square in the chest. Electricity sizzled all over my body and my teeth rattled in my jaw. I kept a tight grip on the sword and slashed up with it as Azazel leapt to me, another lightning bolt ready at his fingertips. The bolt bounced off the sword and into a nearby tree, which gave an ominous crack.

We have some fairly large trees on the north side, and this was a three-story catalpa. I sincerely hoped it did not crash into the street and smash my neighbors’ cars.

I jumped to my feet and swung the sword at Azazel, who looked surprised that I was actually doing it.

“You dare…” he said.

“I swear to the gods, I can live the rest of my life without hearing that phrase,” I said.

Azazel blasted me again, this time with some spell made of small gold sparkles. Wherever they touched me, they burned like acid.

“Thanks for ruining another jacket,” I said. “I’m not made of money, you know.”

I slashed down with the sword. He danced out of the way but the blade managed to slice through the arm of his coat, which was much nicer and more expensive than mine.

“Now we’re even,” I said.

Azazel narrowed his eyes at me. “You have never truly given me the respect I deserve.”

“You have never earned it,” I replied.

We stared at each other for a moment, taking each other’s measure.

“I will not yield to you,” I said.

“I gathered as much,” my father said.

I slashed forward with the sword. I wasn’t about to engage in a magical tête-à-tête with a creature who had significantly more power than I did. Azazel blocked the blow with some kind of shield spell and began shooting various forms of fire, electricity and other things that hurt me.

I grimly settled in for the long haul. Some of his spells hit me. Some of them I managed to knock away with the sword. At every opportunity I pressed forward, looking for an opening.

Azazel’s remaining flunky cried out, and Azazel’s eyes slid to left, just for a moment. I had him.

I slashed him across the face with the blade, slicing open his cheek. He staggered backward, more in shock than in pain, I believe.

“I think that will leave a mark,” I said. “Something tells me Lucifer’s sword will defy any permanent healing.”

My heart was cold. There would never be space there for Azazel. I’d wanted a father all of my life, and when he finally showed up he was interested only in obedience, not love.

Azazel stood alone. His foot soldiers were down for the count. I held the sword before me, his blood still fresh upon the blade. Gabriel moved beside me, prepared to strike.

“This is not over,” Azazel said, taking in the situation and correctly interpreting that he would have his butt kicked if he stayed any longer.

“Yes, it is,” I replied. There was no anger in my voice, only steady determination. “I renounce you as my kin. You may be a father in name, but that is all that you will ever be. I refuse the inheritance of your court and the appellation of your name. From this day forward you will have no platform from which to demand obedience from me, and I will not give it. I renounce you and everything to do with you.”

The air between us shimmered with heat, and then there was a heavy crack, as if the cord that bound that two of us by blood had been severed.

Azazel appeared stunned. Blood dripped from his cheek, the slash that ran from the top of his ear to his chin.

“You…you…cannot…” he said, spluttering.

“I just did,” I replied.

Gabriel was by my side, taking my hand. “Let’s go inside.”

We walked away from Azazel, and my heart was a fist of ice.

16

THE DAY AFTER THE INCIDENT WITH AZAZEL I CALLED J.B. to check on the progress of the victims. The first man that they’d tested had woken up disoriented but cognizant of his surroundings. They were proceeding with cautious optimism through some more people before going full-scale. J.B. was convinced the prognosis was good, but he didn’t want to call Wade to bring in the cubs until they were sure. During the same conversation I convinced him that keeping track of Amarantha’s ghost was a good idea.

“But I don’t want you to do it,” J.B. said over the phone.

He sounded distracted. I imagined he had a lot on his plate. Upper management at the Agency wouldn’t give him a break on his regular duties just because he had to deal with this other massive issue of memory stealing.

“Why not?” I said. I was a little offended that my services were being refused for a second time. “You don’t think I’m competent enough?”

“You’re too competent—that’s the problem,” J.B. said. “Do you know how many phone calls we intercepted yesterday about an altercation on your front lawn between three angels and a crazy woman with a sword?”