“Because she saw Michael take Evangeline and the children. She witnessed the whole thing from a mountain-top. That means that she alone besides the involved parties knew the fate of Evangeline and the children. I’m telling you,” I said, “that I think that my visions are related to our problem with Ramuell.”

“And you believe this angel bided her time for thousands of years, waiting for an opportunity to kill Evangeline’s descendants? Why not kill the children when they began acting in their father’s stead as soul collectors?” Gabriel asked, his tone doubtful.

I threw my hands up in frustration. “I can’t fill in all the blanks here. I just know what Evangeline has showed me, and what I feel in my gut. Evangeline could have sent these visions to me anytime in the last thirty-two years. I have to believe that she is sending them to me now to help me capture Ramuell and whoever is controlling him. Evangeline loved Lucifer. She sacrificed her life with him to protect him and his children.

“And besides, I don’t care how much money he’s given me—I am not at Azazel’s beck and call. If I want to trace the angel instead of following Ramuell’s path directly, then that’s my business.”

Beezle threw his hands up in the air. “Here we go again.”

“No, I’m serious,” I said. “After what I did to Ramuell today, I don’t think that Azazel could make me do anything I didn’t want to do.”

“What makes you think you will be able to summon that ability—or any ability—again at will?” Gabriel said reasonably.

“Oh, sure, now I get a lecture about my magical deficiencies,” I said, crossing my arms and glaring at him.

“You do not know how to control your power or your abilities. You admitted as much yourself. And in any case, it is not simply your own life that you risk when you defy Azazel.”

The reminder that Gabriel’s fate was tied to my own was sobering. And he was right. I shouldn’t put myself or him in a position where we could be punished by Azazel simply because I made a threat and was unable to follow through when my magic went haywire at the wrong moment.

“So we’re back to the same issue I brought up earlier. I need to understand how to control my powers. Before the next big, bad whatever tries to kill me.”

“You’re not going to be able to learn control in three and a half seconds,” Beezle said. “You’ve got to keep your emotions in check, for one thing.”

“Well,” I said, holding my arms out. “There’s no time like the present, is there?”

Beezle and Gabriel looked at each other and shrugged.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’”I said. “Let’s finish eating so we can get started.”

Four hours later I flopped onto the couch with a blazing headache. I had changed out of my semi-fancy clothes and into a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants. We had practiced in the basement so as not to destroy any furniture that I actually liked. My pants were covered in dust—it had been a long while since I’d thought to vacuum the basement. The shirt was drenched in sweat and my hairline was soaked.

Gabriel and Beezle had run me through the wringer. First, Beezle had instructed me to find the source of my power (the little thing in my belly that I thought of as a match flame), then helped me focus my concentration so that I could metaphorically increase or decrease the flame at will. It required me to link my brain and the source of my magic together. I imagined the match flame connected to a knob that I could flick on or off with a thought. It seemed the best way to help me focus.

It took me several tries and a lot of cursing—on my part and Beezle’s—before I could focus on the power without falling into a meditative state. As Beezle pointed out, it was not a good idea to need that much concentration in order to tap my powers. Ramuell would have devoured me by the time I got into the proper frame of mind.

Once I could tap the source of power pretty quickly, Gabriel started testing me. He blasted me with different spells, occasionally taunting me. It was up to me to stay focused and controlled and not let the magic flame up too quickly. I also had to produce the correct abilities at the correct time—offensive blasts, defensive shields and so on.

Gabriel was a patient teacher, but I was not a patient student. About half the time I got so irritated that I blasted a massive, and completely unnecessary, amount of magic back at him and ended up exhausted and tapped out, magically speaking. I’d needed time to recharge in each instance—time enough to get my goose cooked in a real battle, as Beezle so helpfully pointed out.

I never realized just how little self-control I had. My loner lifestyle had left me at a disadvantage. I’d never had to control my temper for the sake of another person, or keep my cool under pressure in a job. For all intents and purposes I had the emotional control of a three-year-old.

And while I learned how to find the magic inside of me, and turn it up or down as needed—if I stayed in control—I didn’t know how to call specific abilities. Twice I used the electromagnetic pulse to defend myself without knowing how I’d called it to me. And since neither Gabriel nor Beezle had ever seen abilities like mine, they didn’t know how to tell me to do it. Both of them just counseled control, control, control until I was ready to blast them with nightfire just so that they would shut up.

And that, I thought to myself, is exactly the reason why they told you to stay in control in the first place.

By the end of the training session I’d broken an old futon that I had been meaning to sell or give away and blasted apart several boxes of accrued junk. All in all I felt lucky not to have nuked Gabriel by accident or had a massive starburst explosion that collapsed the entire building. Beezle went in the kitchen to make popcorn—again—and Gabriel went downstairs to his apartment to change. I closed my eyes and let myself doze.