I headed down to the garage, my footsteps echoing off concrete walls. The Mercedes sat there as if it was trying to hide, as if the machine knew this wasn’t a trip it wanted to partake in.

  Well, tough luck, because I had the keys. I got in the car, mentally preparing for what was undoubtedly going to be the most awkward family reunion since Cain dropped by Abel's place with a rock.

  Kallisto walked into the car through the door and sat in the passenger seat, looking perfectly comfortable despite being immaterial. "I see you look forward to reuniting with your mother."

  "Don't you have somewhere else to haunt?"

  "No. And even if I did, I couldn’t miss the show, could I? Watching you squirm under maternal disapproval is bound to be more entertaining than anything else I could be doing."

  I started the engine and pulled out of the garage. The morning sun hit like a slap of reality, bright, harsh, and utterly indifferent to my problems. New York was a two-hour drive on a good day, which meant four hours with traffic, construction, and the general cosmic conspiracy that was the East Coast highway system.

  "You know," Kallisto said as we merged onto the interstate, "most people would be happy to see their mother."

  "Most people's mother isn't a former paladin who think their employer is Devil’s concubine."

  "Is she wrong?"

  "Isabella's many things, but not a concubine."

  “Not for the lack of effort.”

  I rolled my eyes. Well, yes, as far as I understood, Isabella’s relationship with my father was more than that of an apprentice. From her side, and only hers. “What did you mean by telling me to make a move back in the kitchen?"

  “Get closer to her, touch her a bit, to start making it physical. She literally posed for it.”

  I caught a shade of red. “She is my mentor.”

  “And she is also a perfectly breedable woman. Realistically speaking, she has all the advantages. She’s fit, flexible, and single. With how short she is, you could get really creative with the positions, and you could also be really rough about it, because she will be too busy imagining your father in your place, so she will love every bit of it no matter what you do.”

  My mind, the asshole, immediately served me some of the imagery. I had to slow down to not crash into something. “That’s beyond twisted.”

  “She hasn’t even had anything with your father, so it’s not like she’s his seconds. It’s almost criminal that you don’t act on it, actually. Especially given how much of a tent you’ve already pitched since we’ve started this topic.”

  Focus on the road. I had to focus on the road and ignore her.

  “I mean, what else is your plan? You don’t have any other women around you, and she’s keeping you busy and on a leash, so it’s not like you have an opportunity to hunt elsewhere. Not that you would easily find any better prey, anyway.”

  Prey. Right. That’s not how this worked. Yet. arguing with a figment of my consciousness would have been pointless, at best.

  “Oh, so you plan to ignore me?” Kallisto chuckled. “Let me get comfortable, then.” She twisted in the seat and lay herself over the seat, so that the back of her head ended up in my lap. She was still immaterial, but seeing was believing.

  Even more inappropriate thoughts flooded my mind.

  “Funny how it works, isn’t it? People get off over drawn images all the time. I can talk to you, I am visible, and I move on my own. You will not be able to ignore me, Junior.”

  I drew a sharp breath. That hit a sensitive nerve. “Don’t call me that.”

  “How should I call you then?”

  “Peter. Just, Peter.”

  “That’s not how monikers work. And sure, I could get creative with them, but given the latest context of your actions, you don’t want a moniker based on them. Trust me.”

  Road. Just the road. That was all I had to focus on.

  Thankfully, she mostly shut up, so I could drive. Though she did keep her head in my lap, which slowly drove my subconsciousness crazy.

  The highway stretched ahead, a ribbon of asphalt threading through the industrial wasteland that connected our city to New York. I took this road from time to time, though never for the same reason twice.

  The last time I saw my mother, she was trying to rescue me from Isabella. Mom came in with a team of about fifteen ex-soldiers and Church agents. Isabella executed half of them before Raphael and Lillith turned up to rescue Mom and the survivors.

  Before that, Mom came to argue with Isabella to let me go. Isabella won the argument, crushingly, and I pretty much rejected my mother's pleas to leave my current job and position ever since.

  And today wasn’t going to be any different… most likely.

  The monastery appeared like a medieval fever dream dropped into suburban New York. Stone walls, iron gates, and an honest-to-God bell tower that probably violated seventeen different zoning ordinances. Corpus Christi Monastery, one of the relics of the state’s religious past, and apparently a home to agents of the Vatican Inquisition even to this day… and to one, likely very angry, Irish ex-paladin.

  I parked outside the gates and approached the guard booth. Two men in overdesigned tactical gear, made of a weird blend of a suit, combat armor, and religious zeal, stood watch, assault rifles slung across their backs. They looked at me like I was something they'd scrape off their boots.

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  "State your business," the taller one said.

  "I'm here to see Katherine O'Connor."

  They exchanged glances. "And you are?"

  "Peter O'Connor. Her son."

  The shorter guard actually laughed. "Right. And I'm the Pope's nephew. Try again."

  Oh, really? I drew my wallet, and from within its entrails, my company ID card. “Peter O’Connor, Lucielle Legal Interventions department.”

  They paused for a split second. The taller one bent a bit to look closer at the card. “That position holds no power within the walls of this monastery,” he said, voice a notch less confident.

  “But neither you nor your families live within these walls, do you?”

  They froze. Yes, I outwardly threatened them. That was, unfortunately, the only way Isabella taught me to handle situations like this. We were the interventions department. We either got what we wanted straight or we killed the people in the way, and then got what we wanted.

  And the entire world of Secret Societies knew that, even these two grunts.

  “I’ll ring her,” the shorter one said and vanished into the guard post.

  I returned the ID card to my wallet and slipped it back into my pocket. Funny, how I didn’t even feel bad about it. I’ve spent too much time around Isabella.

  Kallisto wheezed next to me, reminding me of her presence.

  Actually, this was an interesting test to see if she, supposedly my own delusion, could move through the Vatican Inquisition’s monastery.

  A delusion shouldn’t have a problem. A spell or a curse would get banished to nothing though.

  The shorter guard returned. "She's coming," he said, and they both stepped back like I might explode.

  Mom appeared two minutes later, moving with the controlled grace of someone who'd spent decades learning to kill things bigger than her. Her red hair had more gray in it now, silver threads catching the morning light. The freckles were the same, scattered across pale skin. She wore simple clothes, black jeans, a green shirt, and a long, heavy trench coat.

  I remembered seeing those coats in the wardrobe, but I she never wore them back then.

  She stopped three feet from me, green eyes scanning my face like she was reading a battle plan. "Peter?"

  "Hi, Mom."

  She crossed the distance in one stride and wrapped her arms around me so tight I felt my ribs creak. She smelled of heavy incense, like a memory of childhood rolled into one overwhelming sensory assault. "My boy," she whispered into my shoulder. "My sweet boy, you came back."

  I stood there, arms at my sides, unsure whether to hug back or run. Kallisto watched from behind the guards, smirking at my discomfort.

  I should have hugged her back. I knew that. But I didn’t feel like I had the right to.

  Katherine pulled back, hands on my shoulders, examining me like I was a suspicious package. "You look great…” Her expression darkened. "But you smell like her."

  "Sorry,” I squeezed out of myself, and then fully straightened. “I need to talk to you in private."

  “Oh, don’t be so serious.” She grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward the monastery. "Come. The sisters will examine you to make sure you aren’t under any spells. Then we can get you settled in your room, which I've kept ready for this moment, and then we can talk all we want, though possibly after the cleansing rituals."

  I planted my feet. "I’m not here to stay."

  She turned, and the joy on her face curdled into something between hurt and fury. "What?"

  "I came to talk. Just talk. Professionally."

  "Talk." She said it like the word tasted rotten. "You abandoned me to work for that monster, and now you want to talk professionally?”

  Ouch. That stung. "Yes."

  "About what? How she corrupted you? How she turned you into her pet? I know what she does, Peter. I know what she makes you do."

  “We really need to talk in private, because anyone unauthorized for this tier of information will get killed by Isabella if they overhear it.”

  That wasn’t even a complete lie. I wasn’t sure what level of secrecy the topic fell under, but it sure as hell wasn’t guard booth level.

  “Right,” Mom said mechanically. “Come.” She vanished inside.

  I followed the stomping of her boots. We passed through a short hallway, up the stairs, through an empty antechamber, and into what looked like a meeting room. The room had a projector, a large table, a dozen chains, and shelves lined up with Christian symbols on all walls.

  “So?” She snapped after I closed the door.

  “So…” My jaw clenched. "I need you to help me talk to a senior-tier angel. Someone high-ranking in the Inquisition."

  Katherine laughed, bitter and sharp. "Oh, now you want the Church's help? After everything? And I’m supposed to be just your messenger?"

  "It’s important."

  "Important to her, you mean. What does she want? Information? Blackmail material?"

  "It's not about Isabella."

  "Everything's about Isabella whenever she’s involved." She stepped closer, and I could see tears building in her eyes. "She owns you. Body and soul. And you're so far gone you can't even see it."

  "Mom, please. Can’t you just trust me and help me?"

  “Trust you with what? You aren’t even telling me what it’s about.”

  “Because it’s dangerous,” I shouted so loudly the windows shook. “So, I don’t want to directly involve you as it’s not necessary.”

  “Not necessary? You mean not useful. And since when do you decide what’s dangerous for me and what isn’t? I’m the parent here, and I’m still at a much higher level than you. I decide what’s dangerous for you, not the other way around.”

  “Yes, not useful,” I shouted. “As always, when I want something, it’s not up to me to decide. Well, guess what, Mom? I’m already involved, irreversibly, so I know that this is completely above your level. Can’t you, just once, help me just because I ask?”

  "No." She turned away. "You made your choice. You chose her over family, over God, over everything decent in this world. I'd rather die than help her."

  Desperation clawed at my throat, tears swelling up into my eyes. “Fine. Lillith is planning to summon Kallisto to Tokyo."

  Katherine froze. Then she turned, slowly, and the look on her face was pure pity. "Oh, Peter." She reached out like she wanted to touch my face, then pulled back. "She's really done a number on you, hasn't she?"

  "What?"

  "Kallisto? The demon princess? Lillith summoning her to Tokyo?" She shook her head. "Isabella's filled your head with fantasies. Lillith is a servant of God. She would never do anything like that."

  I shrugged. “Which is why I need to talk to a senior angel. They can tell I’m speaking the truth.”

  “Just because you think you speak the truth doesn’t mean it is the truth. That’s such an insane level of blasphemy that no one in their right mind could believe it. Not even Isabella should believe such nonsense.”

  "Then what’s the harm in helping me to talk to an angel? If they can instantly tell I’m lying, there’s no problem."

  “No problem?” Katherine actually laughed. "Listen to yourself. You sound insane. It’s like you’re not my son anymore. It’s like you’re her creature. I’m not helping a madman speak to a messenger of God. I’m not participating in such blasphemy."

  "I'm telling the truth!"

  "You're telling Isabella's lies." Her voice turned cold. "She's using you, Peter. Sending you here with some ridiculous story to spread discord in the Church. And you're so brainwashed you actually believe it."

  "I'm not brainwashed!" I realized I couldn’t win this. There was no way through, but I couldn’t stop myself. “It’s you who’s become too old to think. The world has moved on without you. Accept it, see the reality for what it is. I have moved on.”

  The anger left from me the moment I said the last sentence, replaced with guilt. But it was too late. I already said it.

  “Sorry, I…” I stuttered.

  "Leave.” Mom glared at me, gaze deathly cold. “I will pray to God for mercy upon your soul. That’s all I can do for you now.”

  Fuck.

  I turned, ignored Kallisto, who stood leaning against the wall next to the door, and left the room.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I stopped at the empty antechamber. Instead of continuing, I circled around. I couldn’t just leave.

  There had to be something I could say or do to calm this down. First, I had to calm myself down. But how?

  Kallisto stepped into my way, saying something. I walked straight through her. Not the time. I had to come up with an apology, one that could get through my mom’s skull, and fast.

  I almost bumped into a man. He stood by the window, dressed in a dark red suit, his brown hair and beard perfectly trimmed, amber eyes observing me. Raphael.

  “Came here to kick me out?” I asked, stopping in my stride.

  “I’m here to tell you that I believe you.”