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invitation to be considered for the trials was rare, and Michael was not about to do anything to interfere with his chances.
    “Is there something more?” Gabe asked suspiciously.
    Michael’s jaw muscle flexed violently as he contemplated options. He should explain about the girl seeing both him and Degan, something he didn’t know was possible. Oftentimes humans think or imagine they see angels in their natural form. Doubtful. More likely, they feel an angel’s presence, or maybe even sense a spirit walker helping lost souls. It would be a similar sensation. But even then humans would explain it away as something else, never realizing the close proximity in which they all existed.
    Some humans can see ghosts, but no normal human should ever see soul seekers like Degan. As pathetic as they are, they belong to the lower spirit realm. Humans can’t see them; it just didn’t happen. And certainly not someone as young and innocent as this girl. If she was as innocent as Michael had first assumed.
    “Should you report her to The Council?” Gabe demanded.
    Michael’s reputation was beyond reproach, his loyalty measured alongside his namesake, the Archangel Michael; but his silence was making his youngest brother uncomfortable.
    “Just ask Dad,” Raph piped in, losing interest and rising from his chair. As usual, he was barefoot, shirtless, and wearing faded jeans low on his lean hips. He stretched, cracked his back, and ended with a hearty burp. “I’m telling you, Dad’ll know what to do. Messengers live for this stuff.”
    As a third-level messenger for the Council of Guardians, Dimitri Patronus regulated and watched over guardians but also reported on any unusual humans they might encounter. This girl more than qualified.
    Still, Michael couldn’t give up her secrets. He gave a mental shake to cast off loose emotions but alleviated nothing. Something had shifted inside him, and he regretted telling his brothers anything.
    “I’ll wait,” he announced with the familiar authority returning to his voice. “I didn’t recognize her as a local so maybe she was passing through. Besides, I didn’t get a sense that she was harmful to anyone. But if she sees any of us in spirit form again, we’ll tell Dad. And as far as I know, this girl doesn’t need any special protection from anyone.”

Chapter 3
    Dante
    Hell smelled.
    If nobody ever told you evil had an odor, Dante Dannoso could. He had been in Hell for seven centuries and knew firsthand.
    Imagine sinners that reeked like roadkill mixed with an ample dose of demon blood smoked to perfection. That was Hell. And it smelled.
    Dante learned to ignore it, to distance himself from his surroundings because he didn’t really belong there. Okay, maybe he did now, but not in the beginning. Who knew dying for love sent you straight to Hell?
    It was complicated.
    Anyway, the stench was pretty faint in the upper catacombs where he lived and even lighter in the antechamber where he was standing now. Waiting.
    There was a lot of waiting in Hell. You waited to be punished, which came far too soon for most losers and involved an unusual number of fiery objects. You waited to get jumped by gang reapers who were easily bored and easily amused by inflicting their own brand of pain. If you were a nobody, some schmuck who had pissed away his soul for job or money or talent, you waited to get yours. And it was coming. Every reaper, soul seeker, or demon would pounce on you, repeatedly. For grins. And it hurt. Repeatedly.
    But if you were one of the Chosen, a demon with reaper capabilities, you usually didn’t have to wait for pain. They were called Demon Knights or Knights of the Unforgiven, post-humans who were cursed with a special demon living inside them. Demons like Persuasion, Affliction, and Impatience.
    They might sound mild but they were from Hell; mild didn’t exist.
    Demon Knights constantly endured some level of pain as they worked to control their demonic urges. The