“Azazel smells like cinnamon, and so did Nathaniel. Ramuell smells like burnt cinnamon and sulfur. Antares smells mostly like sulfur with an undertone of cinnamon. You haven’t noticed this?”

Gabriel looked intrigued. “And myself?”

I felt blood heating my cheeks. “Apple pie, more or less. Cinnamon and sugar and cloves.”

“I have never noticed a particular smell of angelic beings before,” Gabriel said. “Gargoyle?”

“Me neither. Are you sure it’s not in your head?” Beezle patted my forehead. I wasn’t sure if he was checking for a fever or for signs of the crazies.

I pushed his hand away, annoyed. “It’s not in my head.”

They both looked doubtful.

A thought occurred to me. “Gabriel, if there is another nephilim child, and that child’s essence is disguised, isn’t it likely that Greenwitch helped hide the child from Lucifer?” I asked. “Like I said, there can’t be that many creatures that could disguise their essence the way she could.”

“I suppose it is probably so. But what would be her motive for doing such a thing? She was Antares’s mother, and as such held a place of status in your father’s court.”

“I don’t know why she would do it. I just want to know if it’s likely.”

Gabriel nodded. “Very likely, I would think.”

“Then would we be able to trace the mark of Greenwitch’s magic? Couldn’t we find this disguised nephilim that way? Since my cinnamon-scent test appears to have gained no votes,” I said, sticking my tongue out at Beezle.

Gabriel smiled at me. “Yes. Yes, we could. It would take some doing, but if I had the sense of her magic, then I could use it to trace anyone she had hidden. Madeline, that is brilliant.”

I shrugged, all false modesty. “I know. Now I’ve got to go. Beezle, it’s going to be okay. Guard the domicile, and I will see you in a little while.”

Beezle said nothing, just flew down the hall and out the front window with a frown on his face. It wasn’t like Beezle to send me off without a word, and I stared after him.

“The gargoyle is taking the truth of Greenwitch very hard,” Gabriel observed. “This has cut him to the core of his existence. If he cannot see through the layers of magic, then his life is meaningless.”

“His life is not meaningless,” I said heatedly. “He’s my best friend, and he’ll always be that, even if he isn’t my guardian. Let’s go.”

I thought of the office downtown and felt my wings expand on my back. I flew from the kitchen without another word. I didn’t need to see him to know that Gabriel was right behind me.

The office was busier than usual when we arrived. It seemed that while I was at Azazel’s court, there had been a train accident that left several souls to take. Several souls equaled more paperwork, so it took J.B. a while before he could see us. When we finally managed to get into his office, I told J.B. what I thought he needed to know—that Ramuell was a nephilim, that nephilim were the children of the Grigori and human women, that my father was a Grigori, and that it was my job to track down Ramuell. He expressed a lot of disbelief, and more than a little annoyance, when I explained that I was going to need six days off each month, and that I couldn’t tell him exactly why but that it was a family matter. I was subjected to a little rant about the importance of my responsibilities as an Agent.

“Why is it your job to track down this monster?” J.B. asked. He leaned forward in his office chair and fiddled with some papers on his desk, making marks here and there with a pencil.

“You know, that’s a very good question. I started to track Ramuell myself because I wanted vengeance for Patrick and my mother. But Azazel could probably take care of this problem more efficiently than I could.” I looked questioningly at Gabriel.

“Ramuell’s freedom appears to be largely unknown in Lucifer’s kingdom. Lord Azazel is not certain why this is so, but he feels that Ramuell’s puppet master wants to maintain secrecy regarding the nephilim’s status, perhaps to use Ramuell as a surprise weapon during a gambit for power. Because of this, Lord Azazel is watching and waiting. He feels that Ramuell’s puppet master will be more easily discovered if the truth of the nephilim is not widely known. Additionally, hunting the nephilim presents a delicate problem for Lord Azazel.”

I thought of something that Azazel had told me in his receiving room. “Because if he harms Ramuell, it could be interpreted as a move against Lucifer.”

“Precisely. So Lord Azazel has entrusted you with this task, and I am to assist you, in hopes that we can quietly discover the traitor and return Ramuell to the Valley of Sorrows.”

“And what is it that you can do?” J.B. asked Gabriel, a sneer in his voice.

Gabriel got that steely look that told me there was going to be another stupid testosterone-fueled argument, so I quickly cut in.

“His powers are beyond your understanding. Listen, J.B., can you get us a pass into the Hall of Records? I want to see if I can trace Ramuell’s victims.”

J.B. and Gabriel shared a manly if-she-wasn’t-here-I’dkick-your-ass look. I rolled my eyes.

“J.B.?”

“Yes, yes,” he said. “But I’m coming with you. Until you catch this soul-sucking thing, I’m glue and you’re . . . something that needs to be glued.”

“A construction-paper turkey?” I said, thinking of a second-grade art project. “Look, J.B., I appreciate your offer to help, but you really don’t know what your dealing with here. Your powers as an Agent mean nothing to a creature like Ramuell.”