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moments remained dormant. Yeah, so much for being the great commander of the angelic army. She couldn’t even command her powers at the threat of an intruder.
    She flipped the light switch. The bulb flickered twice before it illuminated the room. A loud snort echoed. There lay her father on the couch, passed out. The all-too-familiar bottle of whiskey rested by his hand, hanging limp off the side of the brown and tan plaid sofa. The distinctive smell grew stronger with each step, until it finally overpowered the pine tree scented air freshener plugged in down the hall.
    Her heart constricted. She collapsed on the floor by his side, the knife clanking against the top of the coffee table. She stroked his damp hair from his forehead. He’d been sober for almost a year this time.
    Something must have happened. He wouldn’t have started drinking for no reason. No way would he give up now, not after everything he’d made it through.
    He stirred. Talk about not being fair. If anyone needed or deserved a drink, she did. Not that she would ever touch the stuff, knowing what a mess it had made of her father.
    Sighing, she stared at him. When had he gotten so old? She shook her head. Once he’d slept it off, she’d find out what had tossed him off the wagon then send him back to a rehab facility.
    She grabbed the bottle and knife then spun on her heals and marched to the kitchen to wash out the remaining drops of caramel liquid. After all remnants were washed away, she tossed the bottle in the garbage and slid the knife back into its slot. With a long sigh, she started the alcoholic house search for his hidden stash, but found nothing. The normal signs of alcoholism weren’t there. Well, if you ignored that he was passed out cold with eighty-proof breath.
    She stepped onto the back porch to get some fresh air. The flood light mounted under the eaves illuminated the backyard. Shoving the door open, she shuffled to the edge of the top step. Dust and dirt swirled into her face. She rubbed the grit from her eyes, searching the swaying trees for demons, as was her habit. After so many demon attacks she had every right to be paranoid. The green grass leading to the tree line still reminded her of the inferno she’d created last school year. It was amazing how fresh it looked now after being disintegrated into black and brown swirls.
    Through the trees, she caught a glimpse of moonlight sparkling on the Gulf. She loved the ocean at night, even when a storm stirred up the waves and a strong breeze swept through the area.
    Eyes closed, she inhaled and smiled. The scent of a nearby magnolia tree danced in the air. Warmth pulsed behind her eyelids. She blinked several times, figuring she must be tired.
    Distant cries drew her attention and she focused on where she thought they were coming from. The colors of the forest muted to grayish-green. Mist swirled in lava-red and black, swooping up and around her body. Breath hitched in her throat as she waited for a demonic creature to show its face.
    The ground rumbled under her feet. She lost her balance and caught the railing before she made her way to the patch of grass below. A shimmer of red and orange erupted from the ground in front of her only a few feet away.
    “Who’s there?” she demanded.
    No answer.
    Déjà vu hit with the memory of the last time she stood in this exact spot, when she had nearly burned her father to death.
    No, not this time. One way or another she would control her powers.
    The red and orange blurred together as an image took shape of a horrific battle scene. It played out before her like an old drive-in movie. People fell into a fiery abyss, slain angels littered the earth, and Hell reigned.
    She gulped, the horror of what she was seeing strangely drawing her closer. The scent of burning feathers churned her stomach. The metallic taste of blood invaded her mouth. Screams echoed, cries pierced her skull. She pressed her palms over her ears to stifle the