"Yes," she said. She'd lied to Laurel for so long, but it was time for truth now, hard and scalding truth. "I knew what you were, even then."

"You knew because I told you," the thing inside Tyler said, and arched one of her son's eyebrows. "I told you everything, just like I've told each of them, for thousands of years. But n.o.body remembers, because if they did, they'd go mad-or worse, they'd go sane. You came the closest, I have to admit. You almost knew."

"Let her go," Emma said. "Let my daughter go. Take me instead."

"Nice try. But like I said, I'm a Witness. I see everything. I am the Many-Eyed, the Recorder, the All-Seeing. So I know that right after you got clean and sober, the first thing you did was get yourself fixed, like a stray dog. Too bad; I'd have taken you up on it, just to see the look on your face. But not to worry. Your genetic heritage lives on in this lovely young lady. Time to start the next incubation cycle."

"You can't do that," Emma said. "She's your sister."

"Do you think I care about stupid human genetics? I'm eternal, sweetheart, and she's just a temporary measure to keep me here in flesh. I'll find someone else for the next go-round." He shrugged. "Compatible women are always drawn near me. They can't help it. It's part of the gravitational structure of the universe."

And as if his words had unlocked some secret closet in her mind, she knew. She saw. She remembered the vision he'd shoved into her mind as he was planting his seed inside her . . . a vision of a universe so complex, so vast, so cold that it had driven her mad. And always, the Witnesses. Part of the world, waiting, with the keys to open the way to something she could only, incoherently, call the Apocalypse, because the vision of that b.l.o.o.d.y vista of death and despair couldn't be looked on directly.

To a Witness, she and Laurel were nothing, nothing at all, but vessels to ensure his perpetuity: broken bottles left empty on the road in the wake of his speeding car.

She also knew something else, something glimpsed in one blinding second-the one thing he'd given her that he didn't want her to know.

He could be stopped. Not with the silver knife; he'd let her kill his old sh.e.l.l as a sign of his arrogance. He'd done it for his own convenience. If she buried that knife in Tyler's chest, he'd laugh, spit blood in her face, and cut her to pieces with the same b.l.o.o.d.y blade.

That spark of hope steadied her in a way that all the fear in the world couldn't.

"If that's true, there's another compatible girl close by," Emma said. "Let me find her. Let me bring her here. And then you can let my daughter go."

That surprised him. Finally. She saw him stop and consider her, frowning just a little. "You'd do that? Bring another woman here, knowing what I'll do to her?"

"I'll do anything to save my daughter," she said, and she meant it. "I swear to you, on my soul, I will keep my word. But you have to swear you won't rape Laurel, seduce her, or harm her in any way while I'm gone. Swear it on your name."

A flicker of yellow danced in his eyes, and he smiled a little wider. "You have done your homework. All right. On my name, I swear that I will not rape, seduce, or harm your daughter while you are gone." She felt a little shiver through her bones, a kind of power rippling in the room.

"Mom?" Laurel whispered, shuddering. Tears gathered in her eyes. "Mom, you can't leave me. You can't."

"I'm sorry, sweetie," she said. "But he won't hurt you. He swore on his name. Try to stay calm. I'll be back soon." Emma took in a deep breath, turned to Tyler. "Tell me how to identify her."

The p.i.s.s-yellow glare in her son's eyes flared almost red and then subsided almost to nothing . . . until she could see her human son beneath it. Or the sh.e.l.l that was left of him. Though this broke her heart, it forged it into steel at the same time.

"You'll know her when you see her," he said. "They've got a glow. Look at Laurel. Really look."

She turned her gaze on her daughter, and she saw it-maybe she'd always seen it, in some way, but now she recognized it consciously. An aura of gauzy light drifting behind her like mist.

Like wings.

Like angel wings.

"Blood of angels," the Witness whispered almost in her ear, and she shuddered. " 'The sons of G.o.d saw the daughters of men, that they were fair' . . . you carry that, Emma, you and Laurel. That's what makes you perfect."

She fought to keep her voice from shaking. "Get away from me."

He took a long step back, and his voice rose to a normal level. "If you go look, you'll find her. She'll be close. You won't have to go too far."

"Mom-" Laurel pleaded.

"I have to do it," she said to her daughter. She knew that if she looked in the mirror now, she'd see the same gauzy light behind her own body, but mutilated, dirty, broken. She couldn't allow that to happen to her own child.

No matter the cost.

Laurel was still calling her name when Emma walked out the door, retrieved the gun from the place she'd concealed it, and got into the car to search for their salvation.

EMMA SPOTTED THE girl less than two blocks away. It was easy. She was the only pedestrian in the quiet neighborhood. She was striding confidently down the dark sidewalk, a tall blond girl, maybe a few years older than Laurel. Under the streetlight, she looked tan. There was a backpack slung over her shoulder. She was wearing a red hoodie with a community college logo on the breast. A girl with her whole life ahead of her.

And those ghostly angel wings whispering through the air behind her.

Emma pulled the car to the curb, rolled down the window, and leaned over to wave at the girl. The girl hesitated, looking around (nighttime, stranger), but then she bent over to look into the car. She didn't come closer, which was smart; but that didn't matter, because as soon as the girl's eyes were level with hers, Emma brought up the pistol and pointed it right at her.

The girl froze.

"What's your name?" Emma asked her. The girl, terrified, suddenly looking like a child instead of a woman, just stared back at her with blank, shiny eyes. "What's your name?"

"Jenna," she finally whispered. "Please don't-"

"Jenna, shut up now and listen. This won't make any sense to you, but to save your own life, you better believe me. I want you to turn around and run, run back to campus. Then I want you to find another school on the other side of the world and go there. Get the h.e.l.l out of here. Don't come back. Wherever it is you would naturally go? Now do the opposite. Save yourself."

"I-" The girl licked her pale lips. "Okay, okay, sure, I'll go."

"Tonight. I mean it. I'll be checking, Jenna. You get the h.e.l.l out of town on the first plane you can find. Act like a psycho killer is after you, because he is. Understand?"

"Yes," Jenna faltered. She clearly believed she was talking to the psycho killer. Emma felt her attempt had only frightened the girl senseless.

But she sighted the pistol on Jenna's chest anyway. The girl gasped. "Tell me again what you're going to do."

"Transfer. Get out of town," Jenna said. "I will, I swear! Please-"

"I'm not going to hurt you," Emma said. "But I'm not the one you should be afraid of. If you ever see a man with yellow eyes, don't hesitate. Run."

Then she put the gun back on the seat, put the car in drive, and sped away, leaving Jenna bewildered and shaking on the sidewalk. In the rearview, she saw the girl start to run the opposite direction from the way she'd been going.

She'd done the best she could do.

She had no doubt that Jenna would be dialing 911 before she reached the end of the block, so she'd have very little time before the cops would be cruising Rockwall, looking for her van. Emma shook the bullets one-handed out of the revolver, then drove to the pond at the subdivision entrance. She got out and pitched the revolver as far as she could into the murky water, exciting some mallards, and then got back into her van and used her cell phone's browser to find the nearest church.

It happened to be a Methodist church, but the denomination didn't matter to her; she was compelled to be in a sacred s.p.a.ce. She'd avoided churches most of her life, for her own reasons; she'd always felt presence in them, and it had frightened her.

Now, it didn't. She knew-because of what she'd glimpsed in the Witness's mind-that the church was where she should be. There was safety there, but it was more than that.

There was power. She just had to find it. It was Laurel's only hope.

No cars in the Methodist parking lot. The side door had an office hours sign in the window, but of course it was night. Emma expected the door to be locked . . . but when she tried it, the handle turned. She had the sense, strange but very real, that she was expected.

She made her way through the dark halls to the sanctuary, and she went inside; it was a neat, clean place, straight lines of pews with red velvet cushions and burgundy carpet. The arched windows were patterned stained gla.s.s, now black with night, and the whole place had a hushed, silent feeling to it. There was an area for the choir behind the pulpit, and a simple wooden cross hanging above the altar. No adornments.

She felt a sudden surge of electricity go through the air, and the bulbs in the fixtures overhead flared on, brightened to an almost unbearable intensity, then went out. The church was left bathed in moonlight, and the feeling of energy racing through it lifted the hairs on her arms. She saw the thin blue crackles of it between her fingers.

And then a voice whispered in her ear, "I've been waiting for you."

She spun, and saw-saw something that her brain refused to process, a raw spiraling tangle of light, bright as the heart of a star. She fell to her knees not out of piety, but out of awe. Even with her eyes tightly closed she could see it hovering before her.

"Do you know who I am?" the voice whispered. It didn't seem to come from the light; it seemed to be on her shoulder, always on her shoulder.

"Uriel," she said. She didn't know why she said it, but the name floated up from her, and she knew it was right. "You're Uriel."

"It is my honor to deliver to you your destiny," that whisper said. "Emma, child of angels, you have been chosen. Rise, and receive that which you seek."

She couldn't have refused even if she'd wished; there was so much strength and inevitability to what the angel Uriel was whispering. She stood, not even aware of the effort, of the muscles working, because the light that was blooming inside her was so warm, so sweet, so perfect that she felt utterly at peace.

And then the pain took hold. She felt her life burning away, the dross of it disappearing in an excruciating blaze of power. The darkness was coming, close enough to touch.

"Peace," Uriel's whisper said, and she caught her breath and felt tears break free to steam away from her cheeks. "I give you the kiss of peace. Your destiny is upon you, Emma."

She let out that held breath slowly, and as it trembled in the air, the beautiful, terrifying thing that had faced her was . . . gone. Just gone. Not a fading, not a slow withdrawal. Uriel was gone as thoroughly as if he'd stepped through a door and slammed it behind him.

The only evidence that he'd been there was steam rising from the carpet like morning mist and the burned-out bulbs in the ceiling lights.

Emma looked down at herself. She looked the same, though steam rose from her clothes, too. And even from her skin. The pain was gone, and so was the feeling of power.

But she knew that she was different.

She smiled and turned toward the altar, and said, softly, "Thank you."

Nothing. But she hadn't expected anything this time.

SHE WENT IN without knocking and found Tyler standing behind Laurel, holding her as a human shield. He'd expected Emma to come in shooting, she realized. She might have done that if she hadn't understood it wouldn't accomplish anything.

But she didn't need to. She knew that now.

"Where is she?" Tyler asked. "The girl?"

Emma said, "Outside. But I'm not bringing her in until you give me my daughter."

Tyler was smart, and he was powerful, and he was immortal-but he was not omniscient. He studied Emma, and he saw nothing except what she wanted him to see-the same tattered, ragged light trailing behind her like broken wings. The same beaten, degraded look in her eyes. "You're a weak little b.i.t.c.h, aren't you? Humans. No wonder the Apocalypse is coming for you. You deserve it." He thrust Laurel at her.

Emma held her daughter in her arms for one long, precious second, feeling the strength of desperation in Laurel's embrace, and then whispered, "You have to go now, baby. Get in the car and drive away."

"Not without you," Laurel whispered back. "Mom, please!"

Emma kissed her temple-just a bare brush of her lips-and felt her child go still and quiet. "Hush," she breathed. "Now go, baby. I love you."

That kiss had given Laurel more than words-it had given her knowledge. All the knowledge that Emma now possessed, of the Witnesses, of the angels, of what was past and what was to come. Not omniscience, but some portion of wisdom.

And that gave Laurel the strength to push back from Emma, look straight into her eyes, and for the first time in their relationship, Laurel saw her. Saw her for the girl she'd been, the broken thing she'd become, the woman she'd tried to be for her child.

Saw her for the bright-burning thing she was now.

"I love you, Mom," she said. "Thank you."

And then she took the keys from Emma's hand and walked out the door with no hesitation. Emma didn't turn to watch her go. She heard the car start, the tires hiss, and the engine roar as Laurel drove away.

Silence fell.

Tyler was still smiling. It looked less like a human expression now than a hole into darkness.

"Well," he said. "You owe me a girl. So let's have it."

"You don't think I really brought one, do you?" she asked. "Come on, Tyler. I wouldn't give you an innocent victim, and you know it."

He shrugged. "Well, it was worth a shot. Sorry, Mom, but your usefulness is pretty much over now. You got any weapons you want to try? Knife? Gun? Ballistic missile? Break it out and let's get it over with. I'm impatient. I want to start tracking Laurel, and your pain's getting boring."

"Is it?" She stepped forward, empty-handed, eyes locked on his shining yellow ones. "Is it really? Are you sure?"

"What are you doing?"

"You're my son," she said. "Tyler, you're my son. Maybe I didn't want you. Maybe I should have killed you. But I didn't. You're here. Whatever else you are, I still love you for being my son."

He frowned slightly and took a step back. "I'm not your son. I'm wearing your son, b.i.t.c.h. A slight difference."

She kept moving toward him, moving slowly, quietly, and Tyler finally took another step backward. She saw him recognize it, that energy crackling in the air. A lightbulb popped in a lamp. Another one, with the sound of a gunshot crack. The stereo, playing softly in the corner, let out a distorted squall and a puff of smoke. But Emma moved closer.

His next step put his heel into the blood of the body of his father, his last host. He had nowhere to go now.

Emma stepped forward, her chest almost against his. As he froze in confusion, she kissed him.

The kiss of peace.

Time stopped, and universes paused in their spinning. Heaven and h.e.l.l took in breaths.

And then the Witness was cast out, screaming, into the abyss that was neither heaven nor h.e.l.l, life nor death, but eternal darkness.

She felt him being unmade in the merciless emptiness-ripped apart. Lost forever, all his schemes, all his ambition, all his destiny, gone.

All his evil, cut off at the root.

And it hurt.

G.o.d, she was so glad it hurt.

Her son collapsed in her arms, and his heart beat on in faltering thuds once, twice, three times. For an instant, his dark eyes focused on hers, and she saw the grat.i.tude there. The love. The peace she had given him.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "For everything. Go to G.o.d, Tyler."

He did. Without pain.