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Father Rinaldo Lenciconsidered himself a formidable opponent. He had hunted every kind of monster in his days—vampires, werewolves, demons, supernatural circus freaks, hellspawn—it didn’t matter. He faced them alone. Head on. And he always won.

So a little, young, five-foot-and-three-inch tall woman? Whose file said she had never shown any violent tendencies? Rinaldo was pretty damn sure his over twenty years of field experience working for the Ordo ut Solis meant he wasn’t in any danger.

The moment the girl’s knee met his groin, he knew he had committed a cardinal sin.

Hubris. Pride.

It was the reason he was now on his knees, groaning and wheezing, holding that tender part of his anatomy, while a hundred-and-ten-pound petite creature holding a kitchen knife shouted at him.

“Get out!” Her big green eyes were wide in fear. But she held her stance, clutching the knife with both hands, ready to use it on him. Cornered animals were the most dangerous.

“Not here to”—he groaned as he sat back on his heels—“hurt you.”

“I don’t believe you.” Now she was glaring at him.

He lifted his hands in a show of harmlessness. He hoped his gray hair and his aging build might help convince her that he wasn’t a threat. But something told him that she wasn’t going to fall for the “polite but eccentric older priest” routine. Even if it was mostly true. “My name is Father Rinaldo Lenci. I’m sorry for breaking into your home, but—”

“Get out.”

“—I’m here to talk to you on a matter of some urgency, and—”

“Get out.”

“—I realize this might be frightening, but I promise that I—”

“I’m going to fucking stab you.” She stepped toward him with the knife, and that was enough inspiration for him to get to his feet, hands still held up like she had a gun, and this was a stickup.

The young girl barely reached his shoulder. She was such a small, pretty thing. Her long dark hair fell around her shoulders in lazy curls, the tips dyed an offensive neon orange. She was wearing a hoodie that was a few sizes too big for her with a cartoon skull and crossbones emblazoned on the front of it, but it did nothing to hide how attractive and well-endowed she was.

I can see why the necromancer’s interested in you. Rinaldo could appreciate female beauty—and male beauty, for that matter—but his was a world of “look, don’t touch.” Being a part of the Ordo ut Solis had benefits. But it also had drawbacks. C’est la vie.

She stepped closer to him with the knife.

He took one back. “I, ah—I apologize again for my method of introduction. I wanted to talk to you on the street, but he was with you. He’s incredibly dangerous.”

“He?” She furrowed her brow. “What’s this have to do with Gideon?”

Bracing himself for the inevitable, he smiled faintly. “He’s the most powerful necromancer this world has ever known.”

* * *

Maggie knew she was nuts.She knew she was insane.

That wasn’t up for debate. Sane people didn’t dissociate and hallucinate. But she hadn’t thought she was such a lost cause as to imagine a forty-something-year-old Catholic priest in her grungy studio apartment.

He was solidly built and had salt and pepper hair. He was tall, but to her, everybody was tall. Dressed in all black, the white collar at his throat gave his profession away. Or at least, it gave away the profession he was pretending to have in an attempt to make her feel safe, maybe.

She had kneed him in the nuts hard enough to send him to the ground, and that had given her a chance to pull the largest kitchen knife she had from the block.

Now she had a bit of a debate on her hands. She wanted him out of her home. But she also wanted to go nowhere near him. And she also wanted to make sure she had a clear path to escape. That meant if he went for the exit, she had to be nowhere near it. Which also meant she would be in danger.

It was that particular geometry problem that she had been working on when “Rinaldo” had brought up Dr. Raithe.

And that he was a—

“What?” She gripped the knife harder.