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I look at Eryon standing behind the couch, and he looks down at Jareth. The other angel sits there with a seductive smile. He caresses a pair of bodies at his feet but looks bored. Beautiful. Dangerous. He whispers to Eryon, and Eryon laughs. It is a sound of pure, unburdened amusement.

The memory shifts.

I stand in the shadows of that club. Watching. Always watching. I felt disgusted then, and I feel it now. But I also feel recognition.

The picture dissolves. The Crimson Keep’s study rushes back into focus. The books, artifacts, and tall windows with its red light bleeding through. The table is cluttered with parchment and crystal bowls. The smell of sulfur.

Shock freezes my face.

I turn to Eryon. “I…know you.”

He blinks and steps back slightly. His eyebrows draw together. A soft rustle of his clothes breaks the silence. “Of course, you know me. We walked back from the tavern.”

“No.” I shake my head. The movement makes the room tilt, and the candles shift into bright streaks. “I know you. From before. From Holy Dagger.”

There is a pressing silence for a long moment. We look at one another, the air between us growing heavy. Charged. Vyxia watches us warily, her violet eyes darting between us. The faint hum of the runes under the floor grows louder.

Eryon’s voice is cautious. “Um, well, that was a long time ago. And how do you know me from Holy Dagger? You were Heaven’s golden boy. You wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like that.”

“I am not sure.” I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, but the pressure does not stop the spinning. “There are these spinning pictures in my head. It feels as if…” And then I realize. “As if my memories were wiped.”

The realization is cold and sharp.

Someone took this from me. Someone reached into my mind and carved out decades of my existence. They stole the pain.

They stole her.

The anger in me rises to a dangerous point. A physical heat. My blood boils. My angelic light flickers, turning bronze. Dark. Heavy. The shadows in the room shudder as if they fear the shape of me.

One moment, we are all staring at each other. The next, I grab Eryon by his collar. A sharp gust knocks loose papers off the desk. I force him to my face, and my wings threaten to burst from my back.

“What have you done?!” I roar. The sound echoes off the stone walls, and dust drifts from the ceiling.

“Whoa, man!” He throws his hands up. “I did nothing! Two weeks ago, I didn’t know you! I have been to Holy Dagger with Jareth, but that was over fifty years ago. He and Kael own the place. It is Holy Rollers now. Remember?”

He grabs my hands and tries to unclench my fingers. I do not budge my iron grip.

“Remiel, let me go. I have done nothing to you. I swear!”

“Liar!” I shove him back against the bookshelves. Books tumble to the floor. Dust rises, and a glass orb rolls across the stones. “You were there. You saw me! Who took them? Who took her from me?”

“I do not know what you are talking about!”

“Let him go, Remiel,” an authoritative and familiar voice says from behind me. Calm. Regal. Absolute.

Lucifer.

I freeze, and the rage pauses. I release Eryon, and he stumbles back, adjusting his collar. He looks at me with a mixture of fear and confusion.

I turn to face the king of Hell.

The king stands in the doorway, which is framed by an iron arch. Red light spills around him like a halo twisted out of fire. He looks immaculate. His suit is dark, the color of midnight, and his eyes burn with ancient fire.

But he is not alone. Calithra, the shrouded queen, stands slightly behind him. She is wrapped in her veils of mist, and her presence brings a cold draft that slides along the stones.

“I am glad whatever Cassia is doing is finally working.” He steps further into the room, but his steps make no sound. He does not look concerned in the slightest. If anything, he seems…satisfied.

I seethe, my chest heaving. A phantom pain throbs against my ribs. “What is going on?” My voice is hoarse. “What did you do to me?”