shoulder but it kept falling back. It had been months since I’d gotten it cut and it was well past the middle of my back now. Gabriel had loved my hair.
I straightened, the bandaging complete, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The humidity from the shower made my curls coil with wild energy around my head. The slash marks from the Hob’s claws stood out in bright relief against my white skin. The dark circles under my eyes added nothing positive to the overall impression.
I looked like a mad Medusa, the kind of woman people crossed the street to avoid.
The impulse was there, so I didn’t stop to think about it. I opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a pair of scissors. Then I started to cut.
Some time later I was surrounded by a pile of hair. What was left on top of my head was a shapeless mess, but it was short. I rubbed my hand over the nape of my neck, which felt bare and exposed. I looked down at the remains of my crowning glory, remembered Gabriel with his hands in my hair.
Tears welled up again, but I suppressed them ruthlessly. I had made this choice, and it was too late for regrets.
I dusted the hair off me with a towel, then swept up the rest of it and dumped it in the trash. I went into the bedroom without looking in the mirror again. I pulled on a tank top and pajama pants and fell into bed.
My dreams were filled with blood and ash and snow.
Someone was touching my hair, a featherlight hand brushing over my head.
“Gabriel?” I asked, my mind still muffled by sleep.
The hand stilled, drew away. I opened my eyes.
It was dark out, but in the winter it was dark by four thirty in the afternoon. There was a glint of streetlight on the metal frames of glasses.
“J.B.,” I said, sitting up. My head felt strangely light. I reached up unconsciously and felt the shorn ends.
“That’s a different look for you,” he said.
“How did you get in the house?” I asked, swinging my legs out and shivering when my bare feet touched the cold floor.
“Beezle let me in.”
“What time is it?”
“A little past seven.”
My stomach grumbled. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten.
“Can we move this discussion to the kitchen?” I asked, getting up and pulling a sweatshirt and heavy socks from my dresser.
I followed J.B. into the hall and down to the kitchen, flipping on lights as I went. The refrigerator revealed its usual sad lack of nourishment, but there were some eggs that appeared fresh and a couple of tomatoes. I couldn’t remember whether I’d bought them or Samiel had brought them upstairs, but it was fortuitous all the same.
“Want an omelet?” I asked, checking the bread box. There were two pieces of mold-free bread left in the bag. I popped them in the toaster.
“I ate,” he said shortly.
Something in his tone made me pause. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, watching me bustle around, his hands fisted at his sides.
His eyes flickered from my hacked-off hair to the claw marks on my right cheek.
“I know,” I said resignedly, putting the carton of eggs on the counter. “I’ve looked better.”
“When are you going to stop taking stupid risks?” he said, his voice low and angry. “When you’re dead?”
“I didn’t think I was taking a stupid risk,” I said, stung. “I need to find Azazel.”
“Why?” J.B. asked. “Why is it your job to find him? Let Lucifer do his own damn dirty work.”
“He killed Gabriel.”
“And when you hunt down Azazel and kill him, that will make everything better? Gabriel won’t be dead anymore?” His face was taut with emotion.
“No,” I said, my temper rising to match his. “But he has to pay for what he did.”
“A blood price? Retribution? That’s the reason the faeries are after you. Why are you right and they’re wrong?” J.B. said, his voice getting louder.
“Azazel killed the innocent. I killed Amarantha because she was helping him, because the two of them were willing to run over anyone who got in their way. Don’t you dare try to compare me to them, or to the faeries who want me dead because of some breach of etiquette,” I shouted.
“You never take politics seriously,” J.B. said, crossing the room to put his hands on my shoulders. He gave me a little shake. I slapped his hands away.
“I don’t have time for politics,” I said. “I don’t have time to play games with posing monsters of any variety.”
“You call it a game, but to everyone else it’s deadly serious. You make more enemies because you refuse to play by the rules. And every time you make another enemy, the sand in your hourglass runs a little faster.”
My blood went cold. “Do you know something? Has the Agency seen my end?”
“No!” J.B. shouted. “But how do you think I goddamn feel every time that list comes across my desk? Every time I read it I can feel my heart pounding, just praying to every god there ever was that I won’t see the name ‘Madeline Black.’
“And while I might feel a moment of relief, it’s immediately replaced by the anxiety of knowing that at that very moment you’re either out there fighting for your life or pissing off someone or something that’s going to try to kill you for the insult later.”
My temper faded. “J.B., I…”
“Don’t apologize,” he said furiously. “You won’t change, so don’t tell me you’re sorry.”
“Something else has happened,” I guessed. “That’s why you’re so angry.”
The fight seemed to go out of him in a rush. He ran his hands through his short black hair. “You killed the Hob.”
“Which was trying to kill me at the time,” I said, pointing to my cheek.
“Well, to the faeries that’s a lot like killing Lucifer’s Hound of the Hunt,” J.B. said.
“Oh, no,” I said. “I’m not taking over the Hob’s position in your court. I already have enough to do.”
“You misunderstand. The Hob was the creature of the highest lord and lady of all the faeries—Titania and Oberon.”
I blinked. “You mean they’re real?”
“Yes.” J.B. smiled briefly. “But they aren’t figures of comedy. They are creatures of the deepest cruelty, and they rule over all the minor courts of Faerie with fists of iron.”
“So, from a social-status point of view, they’re on the same level as Lucifer,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And they were the ones that sent the Hob after me?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Yes, because I ‘refused to address the problem,’” J.B. said.
“Meaning you refused to have me dragged before your court and massacred for the amusement of the nobles as retribution for killing Amarantha,” I said. “So you’ve earned the ire of Titania and Oberon as well.”
“I don’t care about that,” J.B. said. “I care about the fact that they are going to come after you with everything they have in response to the insult you have done them by destroying their assassin.”
“Why can’t these immortals play fair?” I complained. “I defeated their guy. That should be the end of it. Why do they get to keep throwing monsters at me until I’m crushed?”
“Because they’re immortals,” J.B. said. “Because they have all the time in the world to grind you under their heel.”
I felt small suddenly, disturbingly mortal despite all the power in my blood. I’d never wanted power or politics. I’d never wanted anything more than to be plain Madeline Black, and to spend the rest of my ordinary mortal life with Gabriel.
Now Gabriel was gone, and every step I took put me in further danger because of someone else’s game. I felt the little flutter of butterfly wings deep down, and covered my stomach with my hands.
