“Ah,” he said, nodding in understanding.

“And it’s such a cool word. Who can resist a good sporking?”

He laughed and was just about to kiss me when someone pounded on the door. Someone insane, apparently. Who would dare interrupt the son of Satan?

Well, besides me.

I tossed on Reyes’s robe and rushed to his door. Once there, I found a harried Garrett Swopes, but he was knocking on my door.

The minute he saw me, he barreled forward, pushing past me to get inside. “I was wrong,” he said, handing me a stack of papers. “Sorry about the hour, but I was wrong about everything.”

Cleary, he needed consoling. And I was just the woman for the job. “Swopes. We’re all wrong at some point in our lives. Can you say tie-dyed leg warmers? I used to live for those things. It was a dark time for me.”

His pounding had awakened Cookie. I gestured her inside as well, trying not to giggle at her hair. Or the fact that she had on a green mineral mud mask. I was pretty sure she’d forgotten that fact.

She shuffled inside sleepily, her bright pink bottoms gathered between her butt cheeks. I’d skip that enlightenment as well.

When Garrett turned around, he took in her appearance and decided not to react. I knew I liked him for a reason. But only that one. No need to get crazy.

Reyes came out then, but didn’t react as he took in his guests before heading to the kitchen. He put on a pot of coffee, knowing the late hour wouldn’t matter to Cookie and me, and took out two beers as I glanced over the papers Garrett had handed me. Reyes had caught on to the routine and took it like a man. God, I loved him.

“You were wrong?” he asked Garrett.

Garrett nodded, his expression grave as he glanced between the two of us.

I looked up from the papers. “You’ve already told us all this,” I said. “It’s the prophecies from the von Holstein guy.”

“No, A. von Holstein is the translator. He had a lot to wade through with the prophecies being written in a dead language and in code. I don’t blame him for getting anything wrong. I just misinterpreted his interpretation. Your new friend, the Dealer, has come in very handy.”

“That’s good.” I sank onto Reyes’s sofa beside Cookie. She yawned, and I realized she must’ve had a late night with Uncle Bob. I was so not going there. I could only hope she’d put the mask on after the nightcap.

Garrett paced the floor, deep in thought, taking periodic sips of the beer Reyes gave him.

Reyes sat on the armrest beside me. “Coffee in two. Now, what did you get wrong this time?” he asked Garrett, badgering him just a little.

I jabbed my fiancé with an elbow, then said, “Swopes, sit down.”

“It’s about you, the daughter,” he said, his agitation growing. “At first Dr. von Holstein and I thought you were the daughter throughout the prophecies. All the prophecies. That you had to face Lucifer.”

“Okay,” I said, trying not to drool as the scent of coffee brewing washed over my senses like baptismal water. I could face Reyes’s dad. I had to die soon anyway.

“But there are two,” he continued. “Two distinct references. Two distinct time periods.”

“I’m getting dizzy,” Cookie said as she watched him pace. She rubbed her forehead and I watched from my periphery as realization dawned. She brought her hand down slowly, her expression changing from one of exhausted but interested to one of utter horror. She sat in shock a few seconds, then slowly rose to her feet, glancing toward Reyes’s bathroom.

It took every molecule of self-control I possessed not to giggle. Not in a mean way. Well, kind of mean. I wasn’t so much laughing at her but with her. Only on the inside, because I didn’t want to be backhanded.

Before she took two steps that way, another pounding sounded at the door. Our eyes met and our thoughts merged. Amber was alone. Did she wake up and get scared?

We both bounded for the door, but Reyes still beat us. Freaking supernatural beings.

But when he opened the door, a group of nuns stood before him. Which was unusual, especially considering the hour.

“Is the church collecting door-to-door now?” I asked as I hobbled forward to stand beside my man. My abstinent friends were dressed fairly normally, the veils on their heads the only giveaway that they were nuns. They parted to let a couple of them through, revealing the fact that they were practically carrying one of my besties, Sister Mary Elizabeth. She was almost limp in their arms, her forehead shimmering with a fine sheen of sweat, her eyes heavy-lidded, her gaze distant.

I rushed forward to help. Garrett did the same and we dragged the sister into Reyes’s apartment. Once everyone was inside, Reyes shut the door behind us. Sister Mary Elizabeth dropped to her knees, clutched her head, and whimpered, insisting there were too many. Far too many.

“She’s been like this for a couple of hours,” the mother superior said, her demeanor far less intimidating than usual in the simple dress and short veil. She knelt beside us.

Another spoke up then. A Sister Theresa, if I wasn’t mistaken. “She was screaming at first.”

“Yes,” the mother superior agreed, petting Mary Elizabeth’s hair. It was the first time I’d seen it uncovered, and it was shorter than I thought it would be. Cut into a simple bob, it had clearly seen better days. It hung in matted clumps as though she just woke up and had been pulling at it in her sleep. The thick clumps entangled in her fingers confirmed that suspicion.