"All right," I said. "Let's do this."

The angels left. It was still early evening, so I hung out with Vincent. We played a couple games of cards and watched bad movies. Hanging out with him in such a casual way made it easy to forget he was a nephilim. When midnight loomed, I stood up and stretched.

"I don't think I can sleep," I remarked. "It's like trying to go to bed on Christmas Eve. Too jittery to settle down. Except…it's not Santa I'm waiting for."

He smiled. "Well, try. If we need to, we can probably give you a sedative or something, but this whole thing will be more efficient without."

It took a long time—lying in bed for almost two hours—before I fell asleep. It wasn't easy to relax when you were inviting a creature of chaos to come feed off of you. And yet, as I drifted off, I couldn't help a small flicker of eagerness. I'd be dreaming the dream again.

And I did.

It started from the beginning, like always, running all the way to the part where the little girl fell and my dream-self comforted her. The girl's tears were drying when we both heard the faint sound of a car door closing. My dream-self straightened up. A smile blossomed on her face as she regarded her—my—daughter with the kind of over-exaggerated excitement adults often use with children.

"You hear that?" my dream-self asked. "Daddy's home."

Mirrored excitement showed on the girl's face as my dream-self stood up, still holding the girl and balancing her on one hip. It was an act of some coordination, considering how small my dream-self was.

They walked to the front door and stepped outside onto a porch. It was nighttime, all quiet darkness, save for a small light hanging on the porch. It shone onto a long stretch of unbroken white snow on the lawn and the driveway. All around, more snow fell in a steady stream. I didn't recognize the place, but it certainly wasn't Seattle. That much snow would have sent the city into a panic, putting everyone on Armageddon alert. My dream-self was perfectly at ease, barely noticing the snow. Wherever she was, it was a common occurrence.

In the driveway, a car had just pulled up. I felt my dream-self's heart swell with happiness. A man stood behind it, a non-descript dark figure in the faint lighting. He took out a rolling suitcase and slammed the trunk shut. The little girl clasped her hands in excitement, and my dream-self waved a hand in greeting. The man returned the wave as he walked toward the house, and my waking self tried desperately to see his face. It was too dark. I needed him to get closer, just a little closer—

I couldn't get any closer because just then, I felt my soul get ripped out of me.

I sat up in bed, nearly screaming in agony at the pain coursing through me. All four angels, plus Vincent, ringed the room. The power pulsing around us felt like smoke. I could barely breathe.

And there, beside my bed, was Nyx.

She looked a lot like Erik's description: an old, emaciated woman. Her skin and hair were white, her dark eyes sunken and inhuman. A tattered, gossamer dress wrapped around her body. She had an almost translucent look, like she wasn't entirely solid, and a sparkling aura shone around her.

I couldn't see the forces being wielded, but I felt them distinctly. The angels temporarily had her enclosed in walls of power, but she wasn't bound, not yet. She pushed back against their restraints with considerable power of her own, and I gaped. Any one of those angels dwarfed my own power—yet, their combined force was still an even match for hers. It was a staggering thought, and I couldn't understand why she'd need my energy since she had so much of her own. And actually, she did have some of mine. She'd taken about half before they'd pulled her out of me.

Nyx shrieked in rage, still pushing back on them. Then, bit by bit, I could see the balance shift. Her power was fading the more she used it. The angels' was steady. They were weakening her. She realized this and panic showed on her face. Casting frantic eyes over all the angels, she finally rested her gaze on Yasmine. There was still enough of a faint connection between us that I realized what Nyx was going to do. She'd sought out the least powerful of the foursome. Mustering the last of her power, she blasted it toward Yasmine, hoping both to smash the angels' united front and hurt Yasmine enough to cause a distraction.

A heartbeat before Nyx unleashed her attack, I saw Vincent's face. He too realized what she was going to do. He moved forward, and I felt his mask drop. The telltale nephilim signature washed over me, and his power filled the room as well. There was a lot of it. He'd held back in the alley.

Invisible energy rushed from Nyx toward Yasmine, trying to destroy the angel. But Vincent was there, blocking the attack. It rebounded back on Nyx. She screamed again, her defenses shattering. The other angels seized the opportunity, and bands of light snapped into place around her. A moment later, the light faded, but the restraints were there, even if I could no longer see them. She clawed around her, like a twisted version of a mime in a box, but she was trapped. She couldn't get through the walls they'd locked her in.

They'd done it. They'd recaptured Nyx. But none of the angels were paying attention to her.

They were all looking at Vincent.

"You," gasped Joel.

He didn't hesitate. He strode toward the nephilim, and I saw Joel's body start to shimmer with light. He was about to transform into his true form, a form of terrible beauty and power.

But Yasmine was faster.

The slim, dark-haired woman became pure light. She was all the colors of the rainbow and none of them. A sword of flame appeared in her hands. She stepped in front of Vincent—who was screaming at her to stop—and swung toward Joel. The blade hit him, and he screamed.

An awful, burning sensation was starting to flood me. Hastily, I shielded my eyes and looked away, realizing what I'd almost done. An angel's true form was an indescribable thing, requiring senses a human—or a human-turned-succubus—didn't possess. Staring at her could cause me major damage. Even being in the same room with her hurt.

But I'd seen what I'd needed to before looking away. I'd seen the sword fall. Yasmine had attacked Joel. Nyx had pegged her as the weakest of the four, but Yasmine and Joel must have been incredibly close in power. Catching him by surprise like that tipped the scales.

The air in the room swirled, reaching hurricane levels. Power exploded around me, like a sun going supernova. Everything was fire and wind. And screaming. Twin screams: Yasmine's and Joel's. I wrapped my arms around me, burying my face, certain I was going to die. The energy exploding toward me reached a point in which it would surely blow up the building, blow up the world. Stronger and stronger it grew.

Suddenly, it all reversed. Power rushed away from my side of the room, back toward the angels. It was like a black hole had formed, sucking everything toward it. Of course, it was only pulling energy, not physical objects, but I nonetheless felt like it was dragging me in too. I clutched the bed's comforter, using it like an anchor to hold me down. Time ceased to have meaning. Ten seconds or ten hours could have passed for all I knew.

Finally, the rushing stopped, and everything went still. The atmosphere returned to normal. No more insane power levels. There was only what you would normally expect in a room with three angels, a nephilim, a succubus, and a primordial entity of chaos. The latter had suddenly moved to the backburner of everyone's attention.

Yasmine had returned to her "human" form. It was safe for me. I looked up, expecting Carter and Whitney to swoop in and attack her. But they stood frozen. No trace of Joel remained. He was gone, destroyed. The typhoon of power had marked his death.