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to keep sipping her spirits. Yes, Bat El had been shocked, genuinely so. True or false, Bat El believed it, believed that Lucifer himself had raped their mother.
    Laila looked up to the sky, pure black, ash hiding the moon and stars. She had always known her father must have been of great power—how else could she, Laila, have been born with such malice, such might, with claws and fangs that could tear most demons and angels apart? Yes, Laila had always known great demon blood flowed through her, twisting and burning against her angel blood, filling her veins with fire.
    Her demon blood, mixed with her angel blood, set her innards aflame, igniting terrible power within her, making her greater than most demons and angels would ever be. That this constant war within her blood tore at her soul and mind, few seemed to care. All they want is my power. Nobody knows the Laila who weeps at night, who runs, who wanders the world. They want Laila the spy. Laila the soldier. They want a Laila that I cannot, will not be.
    Shoving down the anguish into her belly, Laila straightened. It would not do to sink into despair in this alley, not as angels and demons lived behind shuttered windows and in sewers, not as the hosts of Heaven and Hell still hunted her. Are you growing weak, Laila? she asked herself, tightening her grip on her Uzi. Five years ago, you would never let down your guard. That is how you survive, Laila. Never let down your guard.
    "Let's go, Volkfair," she whispered. "We're almost there."
    As she continued walking down the alley, she lowered her head. For ten years had she been fleeing the brothers—Michael of Heaven, Beelzebub of Hell, opposites but each horrible to her. She had returned to Jerusalem only to find more booze, more forgetting, to find numbness in the shade of pubs, surrounded by other souls who drank to forget. She had returned because in the deserts and forests, she had found only anguish, only coldness and pain. I returned only to escape. And now she was seeking the Lord of Hell himself, seeking Beelzebub, the one who had stolen her heart all those years ago.
    But she had to know. She had to. And Beelzebub would have the answers.
    For a long time she walked between crumbling walls, toppled buildings, and structures that still stood, their windows boarded shut, survivors huddling inside. Past abandoned market squares and smashed statues, she climbed a hill overlooking the Ancient City. A church loomed above, its soaring walls blackened with brimstone. Its belfry glowed red, scratching the ashy night sky. Cold wind rustled Laila's frayed, dusty cloak. She would find Beelzebub here. She trudged up the hill, moving through twisting streets, heading toward this church of Hell.
    Demons scuttled in the shadows around her, hissing, eyes glinting. Laila could not see them, but she heard them sniff and scratch their claws against the cobblestones. Thousands filled the shadows, the windows, the rooftops, snorting and cackling. Laila bared her fangs and with a hiss, a halo of fire ignited around her brow, as ever when danger lurked.
    "Angel blood," rose the demon hisses, over and over like a mantra, high pitched, a thousand demons whispering. "We smell angel blood, yes comrades, the stench of angel blood enters these streets."
    Volkfair growled, bristled, and showed his fangs. Laila spun to see a shadow lunging her way.
    Volkfair leapt, grabbed the demon, and shook his head, sending scales flying to all sides. From the rooftops, three more demons came swooping down, shards of black in the night.
    Laila fired her Uzi. The demons swooped toward her on leathery wings. The shots rang out, lighting the night. Blood flew, and the demons crashed against the alley walls, riddled with bullets. Their shrieks shattered the buildings' cracked windows, scattering shards of glass. A thousand other demon eyes lit the darkness. Lightning rent the sky, lighting the scaly forms of countless demons upon the rooftops, hunched like