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I blink to make sure I’m not seeing things.

“Alice?”

She rolls her eyes.

“No. It’s Veronica Lake. Now clean yourself up so I can hug you. We have a lot to talk about.”

The Magistrate’s motor home is big, but it’s not this big. He’s at his table with Daja next to him, and Traven and Cherry next to her. Most of the dog pack—including Billy, who’s finally back on his feet—are crammed together at the far end of the motor home like rush hour on a Tokyo subway. I’m at the other end with Alice and Vehuel, the redheaded angel. The other four angels she brought with her are standing guard outside, like anyone is going to bother us after what just happened.

“That was quite the performance you put on out there, Mr. Pitts,” says the Magistrate. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

I take out Simiel’s blade.

“Yeah. Anybody want to check out my cool new knife?”

“I do!” says Doris.

I give it to Traven to pass back to her.

Alice says, “I think what your friends want is to understand how you were able to take an angel’s knife in the first place.”

“And why an army of rebel angels was after you,” the Magistrate says.

“That too,” Alice says.

I look around. Not a lot of friendly faces right now.

“That wasn’t an army. It was more like a street gang come to shake us down for being in their territory.”

“I doubt that,” says the Magistrate. “I was under the impression they were looking for you in particular.”

“Yeah. It kind of looked that way, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” the Magistrate says dryly. “Especially when you said, ‘Here I am.’”

“Right.”

“And why did that one call you an Abomination?” says Wanuri.

I look at Alice. She squeezes my hand and for the first time in a long time I don’t feel quite so alone.

“The Abomination is what he said. If you’re going to call me that name, get it right.”

The Magistrate says, “And what sort of Abomination are you precisely, Mr. Pitts?”

Doris passes the golden blade back to me.

I catch Traven’s eye, and he gives a little “I’ll back your play” shrug. I shake my head. “Hell. I’m tired of this. My real name is James Stark. My father was an angel, which makes me a nephilim. That’s why he called me Abomination.”

“You told me your father tried to shoot you,” says Doris.

“Different father.”

“I see.”

The Magistrate says, “It’s my understanding that ‘nephilim’ is plural. I believe that ‘niphal’ is the singular.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rogers.”