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toward the basement stairs. Two feet from the door, Ari shoved me to the ground as a flock of cherubs spun down. One of them seized Ari’s hair in a chubby fist, earning it first bullet rights.
    I lunged forward, dragging Ari. Her hair stuck out at angles as the flock tore hanks of it loose. They shoved her hair into gaping mouths with angelic coos. I threw my weight backwards, and Ari screamed as her hair tore.
    As Ari bounced down the steps, I pulled the door shut, cutting a cherub hand off. The hand still held strands of strawberry blond hair.
    “Grimm, do they have teeth?” My compact remained on the floor outside. Probably halfway down the gullet of a cherub.
    “They don’t need teeth,” said Grimm. “Their spittle can dissolve metal. They are designed to clean up after Paradisia’s feasts.”
    “I hate every last one of those fat little bastards.” Ari sat up in the dusty basement, holding her hand to her head. “Open the door.”
    I shook my head. “Bad plan. Try again.”
    “Open the door, Marissa.” Ari rose, little wisps of lightning arcing off of her. “Or I swear to God I’ll blow it to smithereens.” Tears coursed down her face, but I’d seen that look before. It wasn’t sadness. It was can of whoop-ass with a pop-top lid.
    I didn’t know how God would feel about Ari taking her anger out on some of his creations, but wasn’t I a creation too? “You sure?”
    What remained of Ari’s hair stuck out at angles, and even her eyes had taken on an electric glow. “Open. The. Door.”
    I didn’t dare argue with Ari about doing the dishes. No way was I getting between her and a little vengeance. I threw it open and shot the first two cherubs before they could react. I turned to the next two, but before I could shoot, lightning arced over my shoulder, bouncing from one to the other. Above us, the flock of cherubs ceased attacking, instead fleeing to the corners, where Air continued to zap them.
    Gone were the moments of “Oh, how cute”—for the cherubs or Ari, who usually had the term “cute” applied to her. It turned out both of them could be deadly. With each passing blast of lightning, Ari slowed, taking deeper breaths.
    “How many left?” She stumbled, putting a hand down on what remained of a pew.
    I did some mental math. “Way too many. Got a better idea. Blessing? Curse? I could use some help.” See, a while back, I might have made some bad wardrobe decisions—I dressed up like a genocidal maniac known as Red Riding Hood and shot up, well, who’s really keeping count? A lot of wolves. But the positive side was I rescued a fae child, and in return I received what I considered the worst pets in existence.
    Harathakin, spell creatures meant to bring me good fortune, had very little appreciation of my personal safety. What they did have was a destructive streak half a mile wide.
    “Not a good idea,” said Ari. “Those thing—”
    One of the stained glass windows imploded, then another. Lacking Spirit Sight, I couldn’t actually tell if it was my blessings arriving or just some neighborhood kid giving the place a much needed facelift. When the cherubs started screaming, that settled it. Definitely my blessings.
    “What are they doing?” I glanced to Ari, who could see them, if she tried.
    Ari covered her ears as another cherub shrieked. “I can’t use my Spirit Sight. You heard Grimm.”
    Without warning, a cherub went flying face first, backwards, which was good. Downwards. Also good. Straight at me, which I had a problem with.
    I snatched blackened bone from the altar table. The moment my hands touched it, the illusion faded, and I held a silver candlestick. Once used for ornate services, the silver plating had faded to black, but it had exactly what I needed: weight.
    With a swing that would have earned me a home run, I smashed my cherub speed-ball into a line drive straight into the wall. A burst of pain heralded my tattoo helping out, which was unfortunate, but not