If I were an evil group of demon summoners, a church would be the last place I would make my home. I suppose this was the point.

Admittedly, I'd been surprised when the Silhouette had told us that the old theater near Caprice's club, the Destiny, was vacant once more. Ever since the demon gate had been opened and the Order had taken Nick prisoner, the remaining Silhouettes and fallen angels had decided they needed a new location. Somewhere no one would look for them.

Yet here Alan and I were. We had found them.

The church was at the edge of the city, far from the sloping hills that brimmed with colorful building after colorful building. Where San Francisco was a technicolor mirage in the distance, this place was a dismal, distant cousin. Gray and black. Overgrown with vines and shrubs. Cracked tile and dirty stained glass windows, a cross tilted towards the ground.

Alan kicked the dust at our feet. "I don't understand. How can you guys—"

"It is no longer consecrated," replied the Silhouette promptly. "It's far too old and far too secluded."

I scoffed. "I couldn't tell."

The Silhouette glowered at me, jamming his hands in his pockets. "I don't know why you're here. They're not going to be happy to see you."

"I'm not happy to see them either," I countered, "but I will figure out why my brother's name is so important to everyone, even if it means risking my life."

"You angels are too virtuous."

"And you aren't virtuous enough."

A moment passed where the Silhouette and I just glared at each other, until Alan cleared his throat, shoving the two of us apart. "Vinny, we're here for a reason," he reminded me, his hand lingering on my shoulder. "The sooner it's done, the better."

"Hang on," interrupted the Silhouette, curling his lip under. "What do I get for this? I brought you here, so I should—"

"Your life, idiot," I said. "If you hadn't agreed, I might have killed you where you stood. That's not good enough for you?"

The Silhouette swallowed, then shook his head and strode forward, scaling the church's cracked steps at a painfully slow speed. Alan and I shared a glance, as if we weren't sure if we wanted to go through with this. Either way, we were already here, and were going to face the consequences.

I took the first step forward, and Alan followed me.

The Silhouette hesitated at the church's heavy oak doors before flinging them open. The air filled with the thick scents of incense and candle wax, the chapel unpromisingly quiet. Shadows lurked in the corners, slithered against the walls. Every beat of my heart was a warning I couldn't afford to listen to.

There were whispers, human, yet not. Intruders. Intruders. Intruders. When I looked around, I noticed the Silhouette that had brought us here had vanished into the dark. The doors slammed shut behind us, and I jumped.

Then there were Alan's fingers, squeezing mine. "It's okay," he whispered. "It's okay."

The fact that he was human and was less afraid than me bothered me for a moment, until I looked into his eyes and realized he was just as fearful as I was. He nodded at me, his thumb rubbing over my knuckles. I let the rhythm of his touch rock me back to steadiness.

Intruders. Intruders. Intruders.

A figure appeared on the altar.

It was a woman, a knee-length black dress hugging her every curve, her eyes dark and reticent. She folded her arms and squinted at me. "An angel, walking into the hands of the fallen?" she let out a chuckle. "I never thought I'd see the day."

She turned to take a glass of wine from a Silhouette who offered it to her. Upon her back were two scars, arcing down her shoulder blades. Remnants of wings, of an entire past life. "If you have some sort of foolish plea," said the fallen angel, facing Alan and me again, "let's just get it over with, shall we?"

"Cian Horne," I said. Alan's hand slid away until only our pinkies held. I stepped closer to him, afraid that if I strayed too far, I'd lose myself. It was so easy to get lost in a place like this, that thrived on ambition and instinct and not much else. The room so brimmed with sin that there was no room for even a breath of morality. "I need to know why everyone's looking for him, and I'm not leaving here without answers."

Sweat pricked at my temples. I mopped it off.

I'd expected to see the fallen angel's composure dip, but to my dismay, it didn't. It couldn't be that she didn't know either, could it? "And a foolish plea it is," she said with a sigh. "You understand—knowledge comes with a price, no?"

I gritted my teeth. I'd had it with the games, with the sadistic grins, with the dangling of critical information. I couldn't do this, couldn't decode all of this any longer. I stepped forward, letting my wings free, cementing my bow and arrow in my hands. There was a gasp around the room; the shadows writhed and moaned. Intruders. Intruders. Intruders.

"I won't pay your price," I asserted, lifting my weapon. "You tell me or I kill you here. You're as indispensable as the next. I'll find out what's going on, even if I have to stain this whole church red."

"Vinny," came a hoarse whisper behind me, no doubt Alan's voice. I ignored him.

I wanted fear. The fallen angel only gave me mirth. "I have to say," she harrumphed. "You've made my day. This is quite the performance."

"I'll give you another chance," I said. "Tell me who's really looking for Cian Horne."

"Names are powerful things, little angel," said the woman, twirling her drink in her hand. "I can't just give those away."

I considered not killing her for a moment, but I couldn't ignore it: that fire, snaking within my veins, begging to expand to an inferno. My fingers itched for blood, tongue thirsty for violence. It wasn't a part of me I'd always listened to, but it was a part of me I could no longer subdue.

I said, very slowly, "Wrong answer."

Then I let the arrow fly.

It sailed through the air at a whiplike speed, striking her right in the heart. She let out a cry, her face twisting in pain. Rivulets of silver webbed from her chest, draining the color from her skin. She slumped against the altar, an extinguished flame, her wine glass shattered beside her .

That was the thing about hallowed weapons, I thought, pulling another arrow from the quiver. There was almost nothing they couldn't kill.

There was a brief pause that I mistook for calm.

Then Alan's hand was on my shoulder, his voice a scream in my ear: "Vinny, move!"

Because the shadows weren't really shadows anymore. They were people, and they were all lunging for us.

I saw clawed hands and white teeth and dripping mouths. Heard howls and shrieks, smelled blood and smoke and everything unpleasant. I couldn't tell who was demon and who was Silhouette; everything was so dark, so dark.

I was shooting wildly at this point, trying to keep my visuals. Alan guided me through the mire of black, his skin on mine the only thing anchoring me.

I could see the door in sight, but just as Alan reached it, a Silhouette loomed in front of it. Her teeth were gritted, a gleaming knife in her hand, and from the look on her face, she wasn't letting us by easy.

"Alan!" I yelped. "I'll handle it, just get outside—"

"Nope."

He whirled away, powering towards the door. Out of breath, I lifted the bow and arrow, fired a shot. The Silhouette groaned and slid away, but not before she stretched out the knife, catching the blade in my shoulder as a final, desperate strike. I took in a breath as I felt my skin split, blood pooling into the fibers of my shirt. Alan dragged me out the doors, fresh wind whipping at our skin, but even then we didn't stop running.

He'd parked his old Buick down the road. In a frenzy, he threw open the driver's side, slamming himself inside. I reached for the passenger side, only to find the handle jammed. I wriggled it a few times, this way then that way, but it wouldn't give.

"Damn this car!" Alan yelped, then: "Backseat, backseat!"

The back door opened fine.

Alan's foot was on the gas before I could shut the door entirely, and we rode on in silence until we were near the city again, the pain in my shoulder just barely ebbing.

Alan jerked the Buick violently into the parking lot of a drug store, and then he sat there as the engine stilled. He was craned over the steering wheel, his hands thrust in his hair, neon hoodie a green star in the dusk.

I listened to him breathe, watched his chest heave. Up, down. Up, down.

He threw open the car door, and for a moment I thought he'd gone into the store, but a moment later he reappeared, tossing the back door open and sliding into the seat beside me. He said without any preamble, "Your shoulder. Is it alright?"

I nodded. "It's fine."

Within Alan's eyes was a fervor I'd never seen before. It was wild, the kind of wild that was made more so by the fact it was constantly being tamed. "God, how stupid can you be?" he grunted after a moment. "Killing her like that—she had info, probably, and you just—"

"I wasn't joking," I justified. "I'd said I'd kill her if she didn't talk. She didn't talk. I killed her."

"Were you even thinking?"
I waited a moment. Then: "No."

"God," Alan exhaled. A streetlight flickered on outside the car; it caught on the lenses of his glasses, cast a blinding sheen over his eyes. "God, if you weren't so damn—so damn beautiful, I'd kill you right now."

I was positive I'd heard him wrong. Positive. No one had ever told me that before, that I was beautiful, that I made them rethink their decisions. It couldn't be real; he couldn't have said it. My heart sped up anyway. I couldn't tell if I wanted to kiss him or if I wanted to throw up.

He brought his forehead to mine.

I didn't want to throw up.

His thumb brushed my chin, stroking back and forth and then back again. "I don't think you get it," he murmured. His lips were close enough that I tasted the words more than I heard them. "I was totally sane before you burst in with those eyes and those wings and...just, everything. You've ruined me, Vinny. Ruined me."

His eyes were closed, but mine weren't. I wanted to keep them open, wanted to keep this memory for the rest of my days. I counted his freckles, made constellations out of them. I brought my hands to his face, nudged my thumbs underneath his glasses and brushed the eyelashes I'd wanted to touch for so long, ink strokes on the flawless canvas that was his face. I held his chin in my hands and let him lean into me. We'd almost died. We hadn't died. And now I felt like I was dying again.

I asked, "What are you waiting for?"

Alan flinched. "What do you mean what am I waiting for?"

It was just two words, but it was also everything.

"Kiss me," I said.

Alan's eyes flew open. The wildness within them was tamed again, but I still saw it. Hidden within this quiet boy was a roaring beast, and what an accomplishment it was that I'd been the one to release it. "I mean—I want to. I do want to. But only if—is this okay?"

I wanted to curse. Every time I was with Alan I wanted to curse. "I told you, Alan, don't think so much. Just kiss me."

He nodded, once. "Okay, I will. If it's okay."

Oh my God, he was a wimp. He was a wimp and yet he had somehow managed to turn every part of me inside out.

I brushed his freckles, beckoned his eyes to mine, poured everything of me into everything of him. And I told him, "It's okay, Alan."

Maybe I'd wanted it to happen ever since I'd first seen him, or maybe when I'd thrown him out of the way of the Silhouette the night of the party, or maybe when he'd taken my hand in his and taped a blister that was already healing. Maybe it didn't matter, because it was happening now, his lips on mine, his hands on my face and then, no, in my hair, and then curving against the skin under my shirt, gently pushing me back against the car window.

It wasn't like it had been with Lucie, not even close. That night had been hesitance and discomfort. This felt like breathing for the first time in years. Our lips, our bodies, fit together like two parts of the same entity that had been separated for far too long. I couldn't get enough of him. He was never close enough. I knotted my hands in my shirt, twined his curls around my fingers, nudged his glasses off his nose.

His mouth slipped from mine with a shaky breath, pressed against my neck instead. Finally he collapsed against my chest, his ear resting over my rampant heart.

Yes, I thought, ruined was the perfect word—and at this point, I was tired of being whole.

I rested my cheek on the top of his head, breathing him in, wondering how I would ever get over this night. If I would ever get over this night. "I don't know what just happened," I confessed.

Alan slumped further into me. "Me either."

"But I kinda liked it."

A laugh. "Me too."

I took his face in my hands again, willing him to look at me. His glasses were crooked on his nose, his hair a mass of wild frizz. He was a mess, but he was my mess.

I said, "Again?"

He grinned so wide that a dimple I'd never seen before appeared in his cheek. "Again."