I gape, speechless.

The only demon I've seen do something like that was a Jinn called Hadji, and all he could do was light matches with his mind. Which was cool but, I mean, is it that much harder to just swipe it against the box?

Damien waves his hand and the blue fire goes out.

"Well?" he demands.

"Well, what?" I return, confused.

"Am I a demon?" he leans forward, dark eyes intent.

I bite my lip. "Maybe? Probably?"

He frowns.

What does he want? Taxonomy? It's not like there's a Peterson's Field Guide to Demons I can consult.

"When did you figure out you could do that?" I ask.

He pulls absently at his stylishly cut hair. "After I looked you up, after I found out about Derek, it just occurred to me. If demons are real, maybe Hell is real. Maybe my dreams are real. So I tried it."

"Jesus Christ."

"Can you say that?" he asks.

I look at him, exasperated. "Look, Damien, I'm only a dream-eater, and I've only been a demon for like, eighty-years, which is nothing. I only know what I've picked up along the way. This life--or existence, or whatever--is lonelier than you think. All I can tell is that there are ranks. I'm nowhere near the bottom--that would be like, sludge entities and shit--but I'm also not far above the bottom-feeders either. Whatever you are...I think you're way up there. I think you're Fallen."

"What's that?" he asks.

"Okay like...was Derek religious at all? If you possessed his body shortly after he died, and picked up his basic memories, maybe you have some of his knowledge too."

His eyes get a faraway look as he searches his mind--or Derek's. "I think he was Jewish or something," he says at last.

"Fine. Then he knew about concepts like angels, demons, stuff like that?"

Damien nods.

I search my mind for something I can use for comparison.

"Okay, so like with international borders and shit for humans. If you're a U.S. citizen, you can't just wander over to Mexico or Canada without going through the proper checkpoints, right?"

He nods.

"But if you're, say, a coyote or a jackrabbit, no one's gonna stop you. I mean, some asshole might shoot you for fun, but they're not gonna stop you and ask for documents."

He nods again.

"Okay, so in this scenario, you're a citizen. But not just a citizen--you're like, a governor, or a senator, or something. People notice when you cross borders. It's a big deal. I'm a coyote. No one care where I am, because I'm not important enough to be worthy of notice.

He frowns. "But humans and coyotes aren't even the same species," he says.

"Exactly. Whatever you are, it's not what I am."

He looks thoughtful.

"Do you think the dreams are real?"

His eyes are bleak, and I wish more than anything I could tell him something other than the truth, but I can't.

"Yes," I say. "I can tell when a dream is either a real memory or based on one. Yours are real. I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you tell me?" his voice is quiet, and he sounds lost.

I think about that. "I was afraid. I am afraid. You scare me. I don't know who or what you are. I only know that you aren't supposed to be here and that you're probably something powerful and dangerous. After the first time, I thought I'd never see you again. Then...well, here we are."

He sighs. "Do you know of anyone who might know more?" he asks.

I think of Dante. They're old, and they know a hell of a lot more than I do, but I owe them more than to drag them into whatever this mess is. "No, I'm sorry. I'm kind of a loner, to be honest. If you want to be invited to all the best parties, you picked the wrong demon."

"Oh well," he gives me a smile. "How are you feeling, anyway?"

"Better," I say. "I can make it home now." Or back to Dante's, which is the same thing at the moment.

"Sure...sure." There's a sadness in his eyes that makes me feel a little sorry for him, but I really do want to get out of here. "Let me call you a cab. It's the least I can do. And you're taking the rest of that money."

I start to protest, but he holds up a hand. "You've been here over twenty-four hours, and you got hurt. I probably owe you more."

"That's not how I work," I say, but decide not to argue the point.

"I had your clothes cleaned," he says, and points to where they're neatly folded on a chair. "I'll let you change."

I use his shower again, and then dress in my torn jeans and t-shirt. My head is still sore, but the cut on my scalp is superficial, and mostly I just feel hungry. 

Pancakes sound really good, I think, and start to plan where I can get some.

When I leave the bedroom, Damien is waiting. "I don't suppose I'll ever convince you to help me again," he says.

He looks miserable, but I can't quite bring myself to lie.

"Probably not," I say. "There are other dream-eaters out there, though. Now that you know what you're after, maybe it will be easier to find one."

He hands me the money, this time neatly sealed in a pair of plain envelopes. "What do I do now?" he asks.

I shrug. "Anything you want, probably. Seems like you've got it made as far as the human world goes, and if you're Fallen you're basically top of the food chain."

"What if I want something money and power can't buy?" he asks, looking at me with a crooked smile.

I return it warily. "I don't know, but handcuffs are not the answer."

He laughs and leads me over to the elevator.

He's about to push the button when he pauses, frowning.

"What?" I ask.

"It's already on its way up."

"Oh... And?"

"This is a private elevator," he says. "Only I have access. I mean, my cleaning service has a key, but it's Sunday, so who could this be?"

A very bad feeling decides to visit me, and I step away from the elevator doors. "I think we're about to find out."

There's a soft ping, and the doors open. Three people are inside--two females and one male. I can tell at a glance that they are not human.

For one thing, their eyes are glowing, which is usually a sign. For another, they're wreathed in the same otherworldly fire that Damien demonstrated earlier. It crawls along their arms and over their bodies like flaming snakes, but it doesn't seem to give off any heat.

The man steps forward, an unpleasant grin stretching his features. He's tall and pale, and his mouth is slightly too large for his face. He looks at Damien, ignoring me completely.

"My Lord Dantalian," he says, and bows. "At last."

Instinctively, I shove Damien behind me. I don't know exactly what I think I'm going to do. I'm like a house-cat taking on a pride of lions: I might be fierce, but I'm no match.

The man's eyes slide over me like oozing slime, but he speaks only to Damien.

"And what have we here? A new pet, and so soon? I'd have thought Sakariel meant more to you, my lord."

Placing a restraining hand on my shoulder, Damien steps around me. "I don't know who you are, and I don't care. Get out of my apartment--now, or I'll call the cops."

The two females laugh, and the man cocks his head and squints. "Ah. You've suppressed your own memories, I see. Very smart, my lord. If you hadn't used your power just now, we might never have found you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Damien says. "Last warning: leave."

The man sighs. "This is tiresome. Yakketh?"

One of the females steps forward and raises her hand. A band of gold light appears around Damien's brow. It starts to glow brighter and vibrate. He clutches at his head and falls to his knees. I drop beside him, holding his shoulders.

"Stop this! What are you doing to him?" I shout.

"Nothing," the man says. "We're only undoing what he's done to himself."

The woman called Yakketh grits her teeth, outstretched hand tensed into a claw. With a burst of light, the gold band shatters and dissipates in a shower of sparks. Damien collapses.

"Damien? Damien--are you okay?" I shake his shoulder, uncertainly.

"That is not 'Damien,'" Yakketh says scornfully. "That is Lord Dantalian, Duke of Hell, Commander of Legions, and..." she pauses and grins. "A wanted fugitive."

At my side, Damien raises his head, and I know instantly that something is different. Whatever he is, wherever he's from, whatever he's done--he remembers it all.

He stands and straightens, and he seems taller than he did before. His eyes glow like the others now, and when he shakes his head, a cloak of blue flame unfurls over his back.

He addresses the three Fallen, and his voice is different--darker and deeper than before. "Charion. Yakketh. Maliel," he says. "You should not have come here."

Charion--the man--sneers. "And you should not have left us, my lord."

"How could I do otherwise, after what happened?" he answers. "And now you think you can make me go back? You are mistaken."

"Lord Dantalian--"

"Dantalian is dead!" he shouts. "He died when Azael destroyed his heart. I am Damien Knight, and anyone who says otherwise can burn."

Charion steps forward, grotesque features twisted in a look that might have been meant as conciliatory. "My lord, we all regret what happened to Sakariel, but--"

Damien reaches out and grabs him by the throat, choking off his words.

"His name is too good for your lips," he says. "You'll burn for speaking it. And tell Azael, if he seeks me, he seeks death."

Charion screams as blue fire erupts from his skin. A moment later, all that remains is a pile of smoking ash.

Damien's eyes are entirely black, and the veins under his skin show dark against his pale skin.

The female Fallen--Yakketh and Maliel--step forward. Long swords of red fire appear in their hands, and they brandish them with obvious skill.

Damien takes a step back from them.

"That's right," says the one called Yakketh, "We have the Blades of Barr. You're weak here, my lord. Give up and come home, while you're still in one piece."

"As for this one," the other--Maliel--looks at me. "We can always bring him along. I might get hungry later, after all."

Damien--or whoever he is--glares death at them. Then he looks at me. "Do you trust me?" he asks, holding out a hand wreathed in blue fire.

I shake my head. "Not at all," I say, and take his hand.

His smile would give the Cheshire cat a run for his money. "Well, I always did like a challenge," he says.

He takes my hand, flips Yakketh and Maliel the bird, and in a flash like lightning, we're gone.