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missing a few tools in the shed.”
    Alec studied the petite blonde with a calculating eye. She was slender, pale, her blue eyes rimmed with thick kohl and her mouth painted a dark purple. He would describe her as “delicate,” despite her spiked collar and cuffs. “Why do you say that?”
    “Izzie’s pulled a Bowie knife on damn near everyone in this room at some point or another. She doesn’t like any of us.”
    “That’s an odd name.”
    “It’s short for Iselda. Iselda Seiler. ‘Izzie’ suits her more than ‘Goth,’ I think. Like the other girls, her nickname is more of a description than anything else.”
    Alec noted the guarded way Eve watched the other woman. Not that he blamed her. The blonde had been mad dogging him since he entered. “You don’t like her.”
    “I don’t mind her,” she corrected. “But she sure seems to have a problem with me. More so than the rest of the class, and that’s saying something.”
    “Is there anyone here you get along with?”
    “Well . . .” Eve shrugged. “I don’t
not
get along with anyone, but I haven’t made any friends either. I just keep a low profile and stay out of the way.”
    Alec turned to face her. He asked her about her experiences in class every day, and every day she found a way to redirect him to another topic. Their present conversation was the most she had shared to date.
    “How does Raguel feel about that?” he asked. “I bet he wants you front and center.”
    Her nose wrinkled. “Sure, so he can pick on me and point out all the ways I’m doing things wrong.”
    Alec’s jaw clenched. When he was done with Charles, he would deal with Raguel. Eve had innate talent. It was a travesty that she didn’t know it because the archangel withheld his praise.
    As if Alec’s thoughts served as the archangel’s cue to appear, Raguel entered the room by floating through the glass door, displaying for one and all a small portion of his power. He was dressed casually in loose-fitting indigo linen pants and tunic, but the intensity that radiated from him belied the outward appearance of leisure.
    A brief nod passed between Alec and the archangel, then Raguel looked around the conference room. His lyrical voice rolled though the room like smoke, “Good afternoon.”
    “Good afternoon,
moreh,”
the class greeted in unison, using the Hebrew word for “teacher.”
    Raguel frowned. “Where is Molenaar?”
    “He hasnae shown his face yet,” Ken answered.
    Alec glanced at Eve, trying to remember which classmate was absent.
    Her lips formed the words,
the Stoner.
    Nodding, Alec wondered at the composition of studentsin the class. Two former drug addicts, a teenager with poor motor skills, and an elderly gentleman most likely set in his ways. Marks came in all shapes, sizes, pasts, and temperaments. But only select Marks became hunters rather than behind-the-scenes personnel with occupations like personal assistant or travel coordinator.
    It was Dubois and the absent stoner who most disturbed him. Addicts had the hardest time acclimating to the mark. In addition to the loss of their homes, family, and friends, they also lost their crutch. The mark was an instant cure, changing the body so that mind-altering substances were no longer effective. Some novice Marks went crazy facing reality. They hadn’t been capable of functioning without drugs in their ordinary mortal lives. It was impossible for some to cope with sobriety in an extraordinary world filled with demons who wanted them dead.
    “We will leave on the hour,” Raguel said, “whether Molenaar is present or not.”
    Eve raised her hand. “What is the purpose of this field trip?”
    Raguel widened his stance and crossed his arms. He raked the room with a sweeping glance. “All of you carry fear. You must face it and learn to see past it. You have been tasked with eliminating the vilest of Hell’s denizens. The horror movies you enjoyed in the past are nothing compared to what you will