The first thing Zinobia heard upon entering the house was piano music. She took her time hanging up her coat on the rack in the entryway, along with Apollo's leash. She slipped off her boots and set them next to Vittoria's shoes.

The smell of tea roses filled her little living room, courtesy of the dried petals in the basket on her mantle. Beyond the settee and low table was her little reading nook that overlooked the garden. Te bookcases would need a good cleaning soon. She could see the dust staining the wood.

Zinobia weaved through the settees and armchairs, over the decorative throw rug to the door of what was once a bedroom, and now a drawing room. Muted light streamed in from the window on one side, while golden light radiated from the lamp on the other. By the window, Vittoria's desk sat laden with a typewriter, books, and notes. She sat behind the upright piano, olive hands and hazel eyes flying across the keys, filling the room with the twin melodies of Chopin's winter wind.

Zinobia leaned against the doorframe and soaked in the song. Vittoria was getting better. To think a few years ago she was struggling through the mildest of articulations, and now, here she was, tackling a song that was better off being played by two people than one.

Vittoria stopped halfway through the piece and banged both hands on the keyboard, the dissonant chord ringing through the room like a swear.

"Why'd you stop?" Zinobia asked.

Vittoria started and looked up like a rat caught with cheese. "Oh, sorry mother. I didn't hear you come in." She brushed a defiant, wispy curl from her forehead and wiped her hands off on her dress.

"Why'd you stop?" Zinobia asked again, joining the girl at the piano.

"My fingers got tangled," she answered with a shrug.

Zinobia remembered when Vittoria first came up with the expression. They'd just moved out here. The piano was still new, and new to her. I messed up was what other children would say, but Vittoria said her fingers got tangled, which Zinobia found much more endearing.

"This piece is impossible. I never make it past the middle," Vittoria continued, scowling at the keys as though they were to blame.

Zinobia shrugged. "'Tis an etude, and it's one of Chopin's most difficult. Even those with the most agile fingers struggle. Those rapid scales and arpeggios are not to be trifled with." She rubbed Vittoria's back. "You'll get it, eventually."

"When I'm an old maid," she grumbled. "What kept you so late?"

"More screamers than Josiah and I bargained for." Zinobia ripped the bandages from around her wrist. "They're getting out of hand."

That's putting it mildly, Josiah chimed in.

She rolled her eyes. "I'll go down to the basement for a bit so we can talk logistics. Why don't you get started on dinner? I'll join you shortly."

"Sure." While Vittoria wandered into the kitchen, Zinobia took the stairs down to the basement, where she'd set up a space for Josiah. As soon as she hit the bottom, he stepped out of her body, and the sensation was like jumping into cold water. She'd never gotten used to it.

Even though the basement was big enough to house two more rooms, Josiah had commandeered a corner. It wasn't much—a spot to think and entertainment was all he needed. A chaise lounge and a long table with a decanter of red wine, a set of crystal goblets and all the theological texts and journals Zinobia could get her hands on. It amused him how inaccurate they were. His staff was mounted on the wall above the table—solid gold inscribed with text in a language she didn't understand.

Josiah paced the floor, his bare feet soundless against the wood. "This is troubling. How many have we seen in the past week?"

"Including the four from today?" Zinobia mulled over the maths. "Fifteen." She always stayed on the outskirts of the room when Josiah was in one of his moods. His presence was imposing, given that he was over seven feet tall and draped in gold.

He lowered himself onto the chaise lounge and planted his elbows on his knees, his dreadlocks falling into his face. "And that's only the fraction that we know of. There are surely many more that never make it to us."

"Indeed."

"There has to be a common thread we're missing somewhere. The demons seem to be targeting people indiscriminately, not just the poor, not just people from a specific part of this town."

"I could be more extensive with my questioning post-treatment," Zinobia offered. "But people around here don't seem to like it when I pry."

"Because you're not from around here," Josiah finished. "I swear, you humans and your silly social customs." He huffed out a magic-laced breath that smelled of sandalwood. "Perhaps we should've stayed in London. It's much more densely populated. Perhaps I would've ran into one of my kind by now."

Zinobia sat on the bottom step and let the silence linger between them for a moment. This wasn't just about the demon plague, it was also about getting Josiah back into heaven. That meant finding out why and how he fell, and that meant finding another angel. Which neither have them thought would be this difficult.

Josiah hadn't lost his corporeal form like hell's angels, which meant he wasn't technically a fallen angel. Zinobia had been calling him half-fallen, because that was the only way to rationalise it in her mind. She was never a religious woman and being dragged into this world of angels and demons and wars and careless gods had made her head spin.

"Wouldn't it be more practical to stay here?" Zinobia offered. "With all these demons gathering in such a small area, shouldn't one of your divine friends show up to deal with it before it festers to a point of pandemonium?"

"Theoretically, yes." Josiah stood to pour himself a glass of wine. "I'm actually surprised and somewhat worried that someone isn't here already. This is more Uriel and Michael's expertise. I've never felt more out of my depth wrestling with these demons."

She nodded her understanding. "Alright. What can we do in the interim? You said our current path isn't sustainable. How many demons do you think I could reasonably exorcise until I'm at my limit?"

"Successively? Seven or eight perhaps."

She grimaced. They could be seeing that many by next week. "Alright, is there any way I could manage more?"

"If we used the staff." He gestured at the hunk of gold on the wall. "I could channel my magic through it instead of you. Less burden on you mortal body. But even with that, you could only reasonable handle a score."

"Twenty is a lot more than seven. However, there's no way I could explain bringing that into the office," Zinobia said. She hadn't liked Rolands idea of training an apprentice either. While humans also had dormant magic and could feasibly exorcise a demon on their own, she couldn't drag anyone else into this mess.

Josiah emptied the goblet in one swallow. "With your own magic, you could probably exorcise one or two demons. But not without great difficulty." He sighed. "I'll need time to mull this over."

"As you wish." Zinobia stood. She was hungry and exhausted and in dire need of a bath.

"By the way," Josiah said as she mounted the steps. "That fellow from this evening. Lord Ashbourne. He fancies you. A lot."

She made a face. "No, he doesn't." Josiah was an empath and usually got a good read on people's emotions, but the stress of today must have addled his judgement. "He was simply being polite. Nothing more."

Josiah arched an arrogant brow. "You know I'm never wrong about this."

Zinobia snorted. "There's a first time for everything."