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“Maybe,” I replied, though Sterling rarely showed up unannounced. Too paranoid for that.

Cassiel didn't seem concerned. He simply opened his door and stepped out, studying the warehouse with mild curiosity. “There is no danger here,” he announced, as if that settled the matter.

I exchanged a glance with Cade. We'd survived this long by not taking anyone's word on what was or wasn't dangerous.

We approached cautiously, flanking the entrance. Old habits die hard. I took point, Cade covering my back as we entered, guns drawn despite Cassiel's assurance.

The moment we stepped inside, a familiar voice greeted us from the main living area. “Took you long enough.”

Sterling stood in the center of the room, arms crossed over his chest, a battered trucker cap pulled low over his eyes. His beard was a bit more gray than I remembered, and the lines around his eyes a bit deeper, but his stance was as solid as ever. Unmovable. Dependable.

But it wasn't Cade or me he was looking at. His gaze immediately locked onto Cassiel, who had followed us in with that same eerie calm, taking in the surroundings like an alien visitor cataloging a new planet.

“So,” Sterling exhaled, adjusting his glasses with one finger. “You're the angel.”

Cassiel stared at the older hunter for a long moment, his face utterly serious. Then, very solemnly, he replied: “This is a cat.”

I followed Cassiel's gaze to the floor, where Roxie had apparently decided to investigate our visitor. She sat at Cassiel's feet, her wide blue eyes staring up at him with that imperiousexpression only cats can manage. Cassiel was staring back with equal intensity, as if they were engaged in some sort of interspecies telepathic communication.

Sterling blinked. “What.”

The single word hung in the air, utterly inadequate to the absurdity of the situation.

Cade's face broke into a grin, the tension of the day finally finding release. “He means the actual cat, not you. Though, fitting.”

Sterling shot him a look that could have curdled milk. “Watch it, boy.”

Cassiel knelt down, inspecting Roxie as though she were some rare and fascinating specimen. He reached out one hesitant finger, touching her head with the careful precision of someone defusing a bomb.

“She is small, but I sense great power,” he declared with complete seriousness.

Roxie, for her part, seemed equally fascinated by the angel. She leaned into his touch, a loud purr rumbling from her tiny body.

I groaned, running a hand down my face. “I swear to god?—”

“He has nothing to do with this creature,” Cassiel interrupted, still focused entirely on the cat. “Though perhaps He should. This is a remarkable design. Perfectly balanced. Elegant. Far superior to many of His other creations.”

“It's just a cat,” I muttered, though I had to admit, it was somewhat amusing to see an eons-old celestial being utterly captivated by eight pounds of fur and attitude.

“There is no 'just' about her,” Cassiel replied, his tone gently reproving. “She exists in perfect harmony with her nature. Few beings achieve such alignment.”

Sterling cleared his throat loudly. “If you're done communing with the feline, we've got more pressing matters to discuss.”

Cassiel reluctantly rose to his feet, though Roxie followed him, weaving between his legs in a figure-eight pattern. The angel watched her movements with open fascination.

“Yeah,” I agreed, collapsing onto the worn sofa. “Like why you're here, and what the hell we're supposed to do now.”

Sterling shook his head, reaching into his battered messenger bag and pulling out an ancient-looking book bound in what appeared to be leather but had an odd, iridescent quality to it. He set it on the coffee table with a heavy thud.

“Right. Back to the important part. I found something about your new friend's kind,” he said, flipping through pages filled with faded text and intricate sigils. The paper looked impossibly old, yellow and brittle at the edges but somehow intact.

He stopped at an illustration of a winged figure surrounded by what looked like flames or perhaps rays of light. The figure was androgynous, beautiful in a terrible way, with multiple eyes scattered across what should have been a human face.

“Turns out, angels didn't exist until humans needed them to,” Sterling continued, tapping the page with one gnarled finger.

Cade leaned over, squinting at the text. “So what, they just... manifested?”

“More like willed into existence,” Sterling corrected, adjusting his glasses. “Humanity wanted something to watch over them, to intervene on their behalf, and the universe answered. Or maybe something beyond the universe. The texts aren't clear on that point.”