I’ve never been paid for arson, but the satisfying crackle and look of rapturous glee on the face of the lace-covered nun beside me mark this as one of my top jobs.

Gray leads us through a mist-filled alley, the scent of burning spices bringing tears to my eyes. “There, by the ferry,” she says over her shoulder. “Seeking passage to the Underrealm, no doubt.”

Lady Gray’s decorating style is something I would call post-detonation. There’s messy, and then there’s the aftermath of whatever violent act scattered her belongings

The horizon glares gold as we ride deeper into the mountains. I scrape my sweat-damp hair off my forehead and shade my eyes.

A massive eagle swoops past, its ear-piercing cry blocking out Aries’ question as it snatches a ribeye.

Twenty minutes later, I’m watching Aries grill steak on an outcropping of stone that juts out over the valley.

“They’re thieves,” Rach growls.

“And weasels!” That’s about Felicia’s crudest insult to date, and I pat her shoulder, grinning.

In the end, it’s Rach’s boot that persuades the demons to leave us alone. Nothing like a kick in the ass from a sword-wielding banshee.