I'll be brief with this next part. A lot of people were involved, so a lot has been written about it, by better writers than me. Some of it's on video, too. No need to repeat all that.

The police burst in. They were confronted with a radiant Trixie, a double dagger priest, an apparent devil from hell, and me. When I had a chance to look at myself, I was appalled. Stains from various sugary fluids blotched what was left of my clothing, but there wasn't a lot of it. I had lost a pants leg to the gargoyle and most of my shirt and jacket to Kezzias's claws. Due to my angel talent, I was almost unscathed. Even at the center of my chest where I had been shot there remained only a purple-red contusion, but the fabric covering me had been blown away.

Trixie and I enjoyed the odd sight of Kezzias being stuffed into the back of a police cruiser, but hearing Father Brent insist on speaking to the mayor brought our mood crashing back down. The gravelly words "We're going to kill everybody" kept pinging around inside our skulls, trying to attach to some familiar point of reference. The statement was extremely definite but infinitely vague at the same time.

The pair of us tagged along with Father Brent. He was our wise man, and he had fully committed to ringing as many alarm bells as he could. So we saw the inside of city hall for the first time and met Mayor Gorra. The Honorable Yasmin Gorra was young for a mayor, and didn't even have gray hair. With the breeze cooling my bare chest, I shook her firm hand. After a glance at her steady eyes, I looked at the floor and blushed.

The mayor and the police chief took us along to interview Kezzias in his jail cell, but the creature seemed uninterested in speech, except to fire off a few sarcastic jabs. I could see little evidence of physical damage on his gray-black hide, and it worried me. Could he heal himself sort of like I could?

We learned that cameras and people uninfected with the angel virus saw a bland male human in a dark blue suit. The police chief, mayor, and a few others saw what we did, more or less. And they were very impressed.

Back at city hall, an angel (an accountant with a horsey face but a generous heart) lent me his tweed jacket. Gratefully, I slipped it on. Somehow, that action seemed to click me out of my funk. I felt that, even if something terrible happened, the spirit of kindness could not be killed. Unlike we humans, kindness is immortal.

The vague nature of the threat prevented any concrete plan. The police and hospitals were put on alert — for something. The mayor put out a call for virus-infected volunteers to meet in the afternoon (it was noonish by then) for a town hall.

Father Brent, Trixie, and I escaped to a sandwich shop. I ordered a turkey foot-long and I remember its dreamy flavor. I don't remember chewing, though. I think I was so hungry I just sucked it straight into my stomach.

Father Brent tightened his belt a notch, having shrunk around the middle. He was still a big man, but now it came across as a healthy big rather than an imminent heart attack on legs. "I stepped on the scale last night," he said in the comfortable after-lunch sleepiness. "Seventy-five pounds off. And I don't think I even have a blechth anymore, or, if I do, it's the size of a gnat. So, if we can avoid dying, things are looking up."

"You were really awesome today, Father Brent," Trixie said. "First the knives, then getting in to see the mayor. And she totally believed you! I expected we'd just get laughed at."

"Yeah." I eyed Brent speculatively.

He narrowed his eyes back at me. "Yeah, what? Spit it out."

I squirmed a little. "Wull, it's ... that moment you had your daggers to its throat. You convinced me you would just love to plunge 'em in. Convinced Kezzias, too."

Brent tried to smile, but the sunny expression died its own quick death and his face sagged. "I was pretty worked up. I absolutely would've if he had tried to rise or play a trick."

I nodded my head up and down in slow motion. Two days ago, I mopped and moped and envied and dreamt of striking it rich. Now, it was about life and death. On the one hand, death wasn't the same any more. Not after I had seen Photropolis. On the other hand, Trixie could hear and walk and I might have a chance with Resa Rockthwaite and, on the whole, life was sweeter and more precious than ever. I spread out my hands, palms up and split my attention between Brent and Trixie. "I don't want to die. But I also don't want to kill ... things. Not even Kezzias-things."

I could almost see equations flying around inside Trixie's head. A few of them clicked into sync, and she said, "Just hurt 'em, then."

Father Brent bounced his head around a bit. "Yup. We probably need to stop them, if what Kezzias said is true, but we don't need to kill them." He held up a finger and creases appeared between his shaggy brows. "They're going to cheat, you know. No idea what they've got planned, but it won't be lining themselves up for one-on-one combat. It'll be something dastardly."

"If they've got nukes, we're toast," Trixie said.

I shuddered. Was it my kid sister that dreamt up that notion?

Brent said, "We'd already be radioactive dust if they did."

City Hall was half Greek revival and half generic A-frame. I suspected the row of marble columns out front were really wood cylinders painted white. As we ascended the steps, a female voice called, "Mister Fernandez! Miss Fernandez! Oh, and Father Brent."

Dr. Friel jogged up from the street. Her black helmet of hair shone especially glossy, and her wire-framed glasses had disappeared from her round face. "I'm glad I caught you," she said. "Coming directly to the point, do any of you glow? Now and then?"

Brent and I smirked and leveled fingers at Trixie.

Trixie's eyes relaxed and crinkled at the corners. "You, too, Dr. Friel?"

"Whew!" The biologist's shoulders relaxed. "Can you control it?"

"Sure," Trixie said, "but it's instinctive if you feel like you are in danger. Your hackles rise, and snap, you're made of— Well, Dad called 'em tachyons, not photons."

"Interesting," the Distinguished Chair said. I found it delightful that the many-titled biology professor craved Trixie's advice. Way to go, sis. Friel reached for Trixie's elbow. "Could you, well, demonstrate and I'll watch how?"

"All right." Trixie didn't hesitate. "Tune in, now." Father Brent and I stared, too. We'd never really seen this happen.

My sister laid her palms together as if she was about to say a prayer. Abruptly, beams of light like forty searchlights burst from her body. When she spoke, her voice came from all directions, but quieter, and also with echoes. "When you have fully transformed, a push of willpower will let you leave the ground."

And she floated upwards.

"Wow," the decorated biologist breathed. But in the next moment, she, too, had turned into blue-white beams of light. And a few heartbeats later, she, too, rose into the air.

"Gotta admit, that's amazing," Father Brent said contentedly.

"Hey!" a male voice called from the street. "I can do that, too!"

And just like that, my former hazmat-encased nurse, Robert, launched himself into the air in a blaze of glory, then landed by us. Without the plastic wrapper, he was a tall fellow. Short black hair hugged his skull, receding slightly.

"Hey, Robert," I said.

"Oh, yeah, hi! I know three out of four of you! I'm just here for the town hall thing. Danger to Delphia and all that. Just want to do my part."

Barely-controlled panic boiled in the pressure cooker that city hall had turned into. We dodged two men wheeling a big map down the hall, and lots of uniformed individuals had appeared in the time we had been gone. We hastened to the center hall.

A hundred people had already crowded the benches. The mayor, police chief, and several others huddled together up front, speaking urgently amongst themselves. We shot worried expressions at each other.

The mayor took the podium and gripped the sides. "Thanks for coming, but we've got an emergency in progress. Show of hands, please. Who here is definitely infected with the angel virus? Raise your hands."

All I saw were raised hands.

"Great. Now, who has seen the parasites that crawl on people. Raise your hands."

It looked like about two-thirds.

"What about large, dark colored ones with two legs and two hands with claws?"

Only about ten hands raised, and Brent, Trixie, and I stood in a conspicuous clump.

"Thank you. Now, who is the oldest angel?"

I didn't expect that! I grimaced and slowly raised my hand one last time.

Mayor Gorra called me up to the mic. I eventually saw videos of my three or four minutes of fame. I looked odd in a borrowed blazer and chest skin showing, but at least I didn't stutter like crazy.

"What are we up against, Mr. Fernandez?"

I preferred to look at the mayor rather than the crowd "Well, ma'am, we have blechths, the parasites. Not absolutely everyone has one. And then we have retches, which might refer to the big bruisers with claws. But it also might refer to something I caught sight of this morning: a medium sized one, almost human in shape, with regular fingers and hands. Kezzias mentioned the word, that's all. And it called their leader Vhoor."

Mayor Gorra's eyebrows steadily hiked higher on her forehead as I talked. She said, "What about their ability to be invisible? Or disguised?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am. It's not invisibility so much as the ability to rub themselves out of our memories. But I guess the effect is the same, pretty much. The blechths erase themselves so well, and the ones like Kezzias can look like forgettable men in suits."

The mayor blurted, "And they threatened to kill us. What can we do?"

I swept my gaze from the mayor's strained face to the crowd of people afflicted by the angel virus. Firmly, I said. "Oppose them. They're not going to back down and neither can we. Use whatever you've got. Father Brent there, he fights them with swords, and that works well for him, but I can't really do that. I've learned a trick where I can toughen my skin. My sister learned to shine with a light they really hate. The light burns them. Maybe you are learning different ways."

At that moment, what I saw no video camera could capture. All that small crowd had an imprint in the spirit world, too. I could sense their shimmering lights like sunlight on dewdrops, and I knew they listened. In reverse, they could feel my sincerity. Free of the fetters and maze-turns of lies we normally muck around in, the truth shone.

"Seems like a steep learning curve," the mayor mused. And the crowd joined her in the contemplation of our collective vulnerability.

"It's kind of do-or-die," I said glumly. "I wish I had a better plan."

"At least we're not alone," said a young woman in the front of the crowd. With a spasm, I realized that it was Resa Rockthwaite, and gravity ceased to operate.

The police chief barreled toward the mic, a walkie-talkie clamped to his ear. He bumped me and my moony face out of the way. "Excuse me. Phone call from the jail," he said. "That monster we jailed broke out. Dug a hole in the concrete wall when we left it alone."

Before we could process that bombshell, a tenor voice cried, "Chief! Chief!" A lanky police lieutenant with a prominent Adam's apple approached the stage, waving his arms. They pushed him in front of the microphone and he shakily reported that the city was under siege. Three highways fed Delphia, two by land and one across the river by bridge. Kezzias's ilk had managed to block the land-roads by crashing trucks across the lanes. Anyone approaching the blockades faced merciless slashes from the same claws that could ravage masonry. People lay dead, but no-one could come near enough to count the bodies.

As if that weren't enough, a woman in an Army uniform ran in. One of her sleeves was torn and bloodstained. The National Guard armory lay just across the river. She told us that the devils had mobbed it. All soldiers on duty were dead or had barely escaped, like her.

The police chief grabbed the podium. "Lieutenant, get four squad cars to the bridge. I bet my bank balance the devils are going to come across it with tanks. Set up a roadblock. But take some angels with you." He looked and sounded like an Army drill sergeant and he pointed an Uncle Sam finger at us. "Citizens, we need volunteers."