They stood in the hall outside the sacristy of the old church. Through the open doorway, Gerlach could see the strange painting the angel had been working on for the past month. It was disgusting. Not in its shape—since it seemed to be random smears with no attempt at presenting a specific form—but because of the media used. Blood, sweat, tears, and hair. He’d been briefed about how certain kinds of individuals liked to collect trophies.
Sick stuff, he thought. Killing was one thing, and maybe having some fun during a kill provided a certain kind of entertainment. Gerlach didn’t indulge in that sort of thing, but he understood it. He’d killed people before in ways that provided different kinds of satisfaction. Not like this, though. This crossed a line. This was perverse.
If it was up to Gerlach, he’d put two in the back of the angel’s head and bury the body where it would never be found. Neat and tidy.
It was not, however, his call to make. The First Elder and the top guys in the Syndicate called the shots, and they wanted the angel to deliver. If that meant allowing the psychopath some latitude in how he got his jollies, then it wasn’t up to Gerlach to jerk his leash.
On the other hand, freedom of action was earned.
“Whoa, wait a minute, sport,” growled Gerlach. “I thought you said that they could only see your dream-face. Now you’re telling me you let her see your real face?”
Doubt, a rare thing, flickered across the angel’s face.
The agent took a step toward the killer. “A lot of things could come crashing down if we have to remove her from the equation. You understand what I’m saying?”
The angel said nothing.
Gerlach cupped a hand around his ear. “Sorry, didn’t quite hear that.”
“I understand everything about what is happening and about to happen,” said the angel. “I understand what will happen when the portal opens.”
Gerlach brushed past him and walked into the sacristy and stopped in front of the painting. He took a couple of pieces of gum from a pack and chewed them for a long, silent minute. The angel came and stood with him.
“You don’t believe it, do you?” he asked the agent.
Gerlach chewed.
“You don’t know what I am,” continued the angel. “Do you?”
Without turning, the agent said, “You’re a monster.”
The angel laughed out loud. “We’re all monsters. You’re every bit the fiend that I am. Maybe you’re worse. You’re the actual boogeyman.”
Agent Gerlach chewed his gum and studied the image of the grigori, or whatever this madman believed it to be, and did not reply.
CHAPTER 66
Craiger, Maryland
5:45 P.M.
Dana felt lost even though she was walking home.
Home did not feel like it was going to offer her anything but a room she could hide in and a door she could lock.
Angelo.
Angelo?
Could he be the monster?
The scars on Angelo’s hand matched what Corinda had said. Did that mean he was the angel?
Could he be a monster?
She had no idea how to answer that kind of question, so she tried to catalog what she knew about Angelo. He had a knife—that much was certain. A folding knife with a blade that locked into place that she’d seen him open with an expert flick, and then use to open boxes at Beyond Beyond. He knew cars, too, and worked part-time at an auto body shop repairing damage. Accident damage. He worked at both high schools, too, which meant that he could have known every single one of the victims.
And his name was Angelo.
Spanish for “angel.”
It all fit.
All the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Almost all. She did not understand why he was doing all this. She couldn’t understand why anyone would. She didn’t understand how he could visit her in dreams. Did he have psychic qualities, too? Sunlight thought so. He’d said that the angel was powerful.
Did that mean he had looked into Dana’s mind back there on the bleachers? Did he know that she knew?
“Oh God,” she murmured, and cut a terrified glance over her shoulder.
And saw him.
Him.
Angelo was a block behind her, dressed in his work clothes but with a hood-sweater on, the hood pulled up to try to hide his face. She knew it was him, though. His hands were in his pockets. Was he gripping the knife, ready to pull it out? Ready to …
“No!” she cried, and then she spun around and ran flat out.
“Wait,” yelled Angelo. “I want to talk to you.”
Dana bolted. Her house was still six long blocks away and around the corner. It seemed like it was ten miles. Too far. Forever far away. Her backpack thumped against her spine with every step, but she didn’t want to waste the two seconds it would take to shrug it off.
She did not know anyone on this block, and all the houses looked dark and quiet. Angelo quickened his pace from a walk to a trot.
Dana dug in and ran for all she was worth. Behind her she could hear the slap-slap-slap of Angel’s work shoes.
Run-run-run! she screamed inside her head.