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With every passing hour, more allies poured into my castle. Gods. Demons. Legion soldiers. Dark Force soldiers. The armies of heaven and hell. And the champions of Earth.

The banquet hall was busy and full, packed with tables. I’d placed Calli and Damiel in charge of feeding the troops. The kitchen smelled of fresh herbs, butter, and sweet sugar. It was also as hot as the forges of hell in here.

Calli and Damiel were working well together, cooking for the troops. Well, at least for the most part.

“What is this boring, bland pasta dish?” Damiel asked Calli. “You used absolutely no seasoning.”

“Not everyone likes their dishes prepared the same way,” Calli told him.

“No, but everyone likes taste…” He stopped himself. Then he looked from the pasta dish to Calli. “With one exception.” He sniffed the pasta. “This is for General Silverstar and his soldiers, isn’t it?”

“Don’t answer that,” I told Calli. “He’s only trying to goad General Silverstar.”

“He is not even here for me to goad, Leda,” Damiel pointed out.

“You know as well as I do that angels have excellent hearing,” I countered.

Damiel pretended to look sheepish. A wolf in sheep’s clothing would have been closer to the truth.

Damiel winked at me.

And that’s when I remembered the reason I’d come in here in the first place.

“How’s Sierra doing?” I asked.

“She’s been helping,” Calli said. “See for yourself.”

I followed my foster mother deeper into the kitchen. Sierra and Eira stood side-by-side on a tall wooden crate, working at one of the counters. They were mixing batter, scooping sugar—and, of course, licking the bowls and spoons. They each wore an apron and a cute little white chef’s hat. And they were covered in flour. Lots and lots of flour.

I joined them at the counter. “Well, you’ve certainly been productive.”

Sierra grinned at me. “Making cookies!”

I gently brushed the flour off the tip of her nose. Then I glanced down at the plates and plates full of finished cookies.

“Need more cookies,” Sierra decided, her voice serious.

Then she returned her attention to her work. She diligently formed a gooey ball of chocolate chip cookie dough with her hands.

“Angels like cookies,” she proclaimed.

Damiel snatched a hot cookie off one of the plates. “She isn’t wrong about that,” he told me.

Sierra gave him a chiding finger-wiggle. “No snacking, Grandpa,” she said sternly.

Damiel took a bite. “Just one cookie.”

Eira joined in with a finger-wiggle of her own. “You already had five, Daddy. No more!”

“No more!” Sierra agreed.

“You heard them, Damiel. No more.” I snatched the cookie out of his hand and ate it.

“Naughty Mommy!” And this time,Igot the finger-wiggle. “No dessert before dinner!”

“Where did you learn that silly rule?” I asked Sierra, licking my fingers.

“Daddy,” she said proudly.