"Who killed Oscar Vile?" Lucian repeated after a few tense seconds ticked by in which I stared at him like a deer in headlights.

My tongue seemed stuck to the roof of my mouth, and my heart thudded painfully in my chest. He raised the gun and cocked it with a 'click,' holding it so I stared down the barrel.

"Third time, last chance. Who. Killed. Oscar. Vile?"

"I don't know!" The words escaped me in a rush of breath, and my eyes went wide. It couldn't be what he wanted to hear.

He frowned. "You don't?"

I shook my head.

"Speak it!"

I startled. "I don't know who killed my father."

The words came easier this time and brought a strange sense of relief; Ro may have delivered the poison, but he wasn't the poisoner.

Lucian stared hard at me, and I held absolutely still, wondering if the rest of my life could be measured in milliseconds.

Finally, he relaxed and settled back in his chair once more. "All right," he said, "so, you don't know. But perhaps you have an idea. Who do you think killed him?"

"Besides you?" I snapped, and gasped at my own audacity.

Lucian seemed unfazed and cocked a jet-black brow at me. "Why would I kill Oscar?"

I bit my lip. Maybe he'd shoot me once he confirmed what I knew—or didn't know—but he'd definitely shoot me if I refused to speak at all.

"Because of the angelic cult," I said shakily. "You're the Throne he was investigating. He got too close. Al got too close, too. And now I...."

I trailed off and swallowed, looking up to meet his coal-dark eyes.

"Tell me what you know of this 'angelic cult," he said.

I hesitated. If I was right, then he knew all this already; if I was wrong... Well, then I was in uncharted territory, but still in the same burning boat.

Slowly and with great reluctance, I told him what I'd learned from Al, and he prompted me with additional questions until I had revealed everything. For better or worse, it wasn't much, and fortunately his phrasing allowed me to leave out any mention of my mother.

"So," I concluded in a whisper, "my dad discovered something, or was close to something, and someone used Ro to kill him. And it had to be you, because you know Ro's name."

He pressed his long pale fingers to his thin lips as he listened.

"Who else have you told of this?" he asked thoughtfully.

I opened my mouth to say, 'No one,' but my throat closed off, and I choked. With a chill of horror, I realized it was a lie.

I'd told Kyrie and Janelle.

My eyes dropped again to the gun as I saw the choice before me: betray my friends and maybe die, or keep my mouth shut and die for sure.

I couldn't do it; I couldn't repay their kindness and generosity with selfish cowardice.

"Who else have you told?" Lucian repeated with a softness that belied the threat behind his words.

"I can't," I breathed; and even as I trembled, a tiny thrill of pride went through me as the words rang true.

Lucian studied me with narrowed eyes and drew a sharp breath. "Well, I suppose I've heard enough, anyway."

He stood. 

I shut my eyes. 

Something clicked.

Then, suddenly, my fear was gone. I was about to die and there was nothing I could do about it, and as I accepted this, a strange, warm peace settled like a billowed blanket coming to rest in my mind.

I opened my eyes to let Lucian see that I wasn't afraid of him—my last, meager triumph—and saw he'd left the gun on the table beside his chair, and instead held a small key.

"You are not at all what I expected," he said softly, though I couldn't tell if he thought this was a good thing or a bad one. Moving behind me, he bent and unlocked the cuffs, freeing my hands. "Perhaps you will find the same to be true of me."

He retook his seat.

I rubbed my wrists and stared at him, a bit of confusion seeping through the tranquil blankness eclipsing my thoughts as the fact he hadn't killed me sank in. He didn't seem about to, either, and left the gun untouched. It was still within easy reach, of course, but at least it wasn't aimed at my head.

Lucian settled back in his chair, crossed his legs and steepled his fingers, like an old-fashioned gentleman prepared to be entertained.

"You are partly correct," he said. "I am indeed the one to whom Oscar revealed Ro's name. He was perfectly aware of my involvement with the cult, however, and we had agreed beforehand that I would be his initiator. We were working together. Moreover, I have not used Ro's name and do not intend to. As far as I know, I am the only Throne with any connection to the cult; if Oscar had discovered another, then perhaps we are both missing pieces of the puzzle."

He gave me what may have been a smile. It seemed he didn't use his smiling muscles very often.

"Tell me, Ellie, what do you know of angels?" he asked.

I swallowed and glanced once more at the gun as my first thought—that I'd told him everything I knew already—stuck in my throat. I was getting a little tired of wondering if I was about to die, honestly, and clung to the remnants of calm that lingered in my mind.

"Why don't you tell me?" I countered.

He watched me for a moment—not quite with patience, but not with displeasure, either—and then sniffed in another deep breath.

"Very well," he said. "Angels are beings similar to demons in that they originate in worlds beyond what we call the 'earthly plane.' Whether they can, in fact, be classed with demons is a matter of debate. Some say they are something else entirely—closer to what we might call gods or demigods. There is even some speculation that the gods of the ancient world—from Egypt to Asia and the Americas—were possibly angelic beings who had staged a successful incursion into our world. Do you know much of the old mythologies?"

"I've read a few books," I admitted. The more accurate truth is I was obsessed with mythology in high school (I didn't have many friends) and I wondered if the truth drug was wearing off.

"Then you will note that not all the ancient gods were benevolent; in fact, most were only benevolent when it suited them. They had their own affairs and agendas; humans were incidental."

"And angels... are like that?" I ventured.

"From the few verified accounts we have, yes. If a powerful alien race, with technology so advanced they might as well be gods, took an interest in our planet, it would be something to fear, yes?"

"Er... probably."

"You may think of angels in the same way, except that their 'technology' is raw spiritual power, and rather than another galaxy, they come from another... dimension, you might say."

"So we don't want them here?"

Lucian blinked slowly and raised his brows. "Well, it depends on who you ask. There some who believe angels are nothing but a powerful and elusive class of demon, with magic waiting to be harnessed; others believe their return would usher in a new age of prosperity for our kind—the 'witch ascendant.' Some even consider it our 'divine destiny' to serve a 'higher power,' and view an angelic invasion as the best way to get there."

"And you?"

His lips twitched in what might have been a smile. "Personally, I believe another incursion would be disastrous. Life as we know it would end: humanity enslaved, as we ourselves now enslave 'lower' animals. It is to be avoided at all costs."

"What did my dad believe?" I asked.

"You tell me," he returned.

I shook my head, perplexed. "How should I know? I hadn't spoken to the man in ten years. I only learned he died because his lawyer tracked me down. I had no idea he was a witch, or a Throne, or whatever—much less that I was—until, like, three weeks ago."

"After his death?" Lucian leaned forward a little.

"Obviously. Didn't you know all this already?"

Lucian wiped a hand over his mouth and sat back again. "No, I did not. You see, I only learned of your existence quite recently, myself."

"How?"

"From Alister Raine. He and I had a strained, but professional, relationship. He contacted me a few days ago and told me he was onto something concerning Oscar's death. He told me he'd found Oscar's child, and warned me he felt he might be in danger because of it. In case something happened to him, he wanted me to know at least that much, though he refused to tell me anything else besides your name. I spent the last few days finding out what I could about you, but turned up very little. I imagined this was because you were adept at hiding, but now it seems as if you are simply one of those people who leave very little mark upon the world."

 "Nice. You can put that on my epitaph." I snorted, then winced; was I asking  to be shot?

He said nothing for a moment, then drew a sharp, deep breath through his nose.

"We've gotten off on the wrong foot, you and I," he said. "But you can hardly blame me. Consider this: your father is murdered, your 'roommate' is murdered, and now Raine has been murdered. The one thing they all have in common is you. You, and Ro, I should say. How did you end up with him, anyway?"

I chewed my lip.

"Tell me something first," I said. Either the truth potion was wearing off—it had been an hour at least—or it didn't prevent me speaking, so long as what I said wasn't a lie. "You initiated my dad into the cult; who initiated you? And where is your familiar?"

He frowned at me, but he didn't appear more displeased than usual. "The man who initiated me is dead," he said, "and my familiar is away on business."

I let the first part go, and focused on the second. "Is your familiar a hyena?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your familiar's animal shape—what is it?"

"Chester is a Doberman Pinscher. Why?"

I hesitated, still uncertain, and glanced at the half empty glass of 'truth juice.'

Lucian followed the direction of my gaze, and lifted a brow.

"Ah, I see. You know it works, but you've only my word it works on me. Well." He got to his feet abruptly, startling me again. "Perhaps this will convince you."

He handed me the little key he'd used to unlock my cuffs.

"That will work on the other pair as well. Come along."

He strode to the door and opened it and, a little unsteadily, I rose and followed him. He led me back down the hallway, and back down the menacing flight of evil Disney-castle stairs, and back towards the room where we'd left Ro.

My heart lifted with each step. Maybe Lucian was an ally, after all. If not, with Ro free and his own daemon absent, we might even have the upper hand.

At the door to the sealed room, Lucian paused, fished in his pockets for a different key, and worked the rusty lock until it clicked. Then he pushed the door open and moved aside.

I stepped through, Ro's name on my lips, and then the tiny flame of hope within me died like a candle blown out by a sudden gust of wind.

The room was empty, there was no trace of Ro, and the walls and floor were splattered with blood.