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just as you will be if you venture beyond the door. Remember that. I’ve done my duty,” Suriel growled. “Now it’s up to you, stupid human, to do what you want with the knowledge I’ve given you.”
    And then the angel was gone, disappearing before Rhys’ eyes. As he shook off the unease he felt, Rhys’ gaze was drawn to the wooden box that sat on the corner of his desk. Engraved on the lid was a Celtic cross. He’d been raised Presbyterian—the Church of Scotland—and he believed. As strange as that sounded, as fucked-up as his life was, he still believed in God and the angels, in heaven and hell. A little piece of him even believed that Suriel was telling him the truth. Annwyn didn’t want him, and if he ventured into the Cave of Cruachan, God couldn’t—or wouldn’t—help him.
    The warning was clear. But then, he’d have Keir . . .
    “You needed me?”
    Rhys looked up from the wooden box to see the wraith standing in his office.
    “How long have you been here?”
    “Long enough to hear Suriel warn you away from the cave.”
    Rhys shrugged and glanced away. “Suriel’s a fallen angel. Why would you or I believe anything he had to say?”
    “Because your God speaks through him.”
    Rhys snorted. “Yeah, right. If God spoke to Suriel, he wouldn’t be fallen, would he?”
    “The Dark Times have come to Annwyn. They’ve also come to the mortal realm. Perhaps your God is in need of Suriel’s knowledge of the seedier side of the human race. Maybe Suriel is God’s hope for humanity.”
    Rhys met Keir’s electric gaze. He had looked into his eyes a million times; yet somehow tonight they looked different. Gone were the silver eyes rimmed with violet. Now they were white like ice, edged in a darker purple that looked almost black in this light. Keir was different. He was worried about something—or someone.
    “Don’t go near the door again,” Keir commanded him. “It’s off-limits.”
    The wraith’s tone made him bristle. Both of them were angry and tense, and they needed an outlet for the rage. They didn’t typically use each other this way, but it was different now. They both needed to let off steam, and they were each other’s convenient whipping post. “I’m not five anymore!”
    Keir crossed his thick forearms over his chest. The divination symbols that ran up his hands and arms began to glow softly.
    “Do not think of putting any sort of magical spell on me,” Rhys snarled. “I mean it, Keir. You think I’m pissed now . . .”
    The symbols faded to a blue-black color. They now resembled ordinary tribal tats. But they were far from ordinary, or innocuous.
    “It’s my duty to protect you, Rhys.”
    “I know that.”
    “There is no place in Annwyn for you.”
    “I know that, too. But this mortal gig is pretty damned boring. Especially when I know for a fact you’re involved in something and are deliberately leaving me out.”
    “For your own safety.”
    “You make me sound like a weakling.”
    “No. Just a mortal.”
    Rhys bit back his thoughts. He really hated to be reminded of his mortality. When you spent your life with magical and powerful creatures, being human was a disappointing vocation.
    He knew he wouldn’t win this argument with Keir, so he tried another tack. “So what’s going on in Annwyn that has you going there every day?”
    “I want to see Rowan.”
    That was the truth. Rhys felt Keir’s honesty, and his despair. But there was another reason for going. Rhys sensed it. And he didn’t like that Keir was able to keep something from him—not when Rhys’ life was an open book to the wraith.
    But pummeling Keir wouldn’t work. And neither would pestering him into spilling what the hell was going on in Annwyn.
    “Suriel does not lie about what will happen to you, Rhys.”
    “How do you know?”
    Keir winced, glanced away, and dragged his hands through his black hair. “I have seen it.”
    Tarot cards. Keir’s special kind of magic was divination. He