“Thanks. So, where are the Pearly Gates?” I asked Rene.

“There are many entrances to the Court,” he answered with a particularly vicious yank on the steering wheel to avoid a group of joggers. “But the nearest one is back in London. In the men’s restroom in Hyde Park.”

“You’re kidding,” I said, giving him a close look to see if he was pulling my leg.

“Not at all. It is not a very nice restroom, but it serves its purpose.”

So it was that two hours later I found myself ducking into a run-down, beat-up wooden building in a little-used section of Hyde Park, half-hidden by trees. “How come they have their entrance here?” I asked, my nose wrinkling as I followed Rene to the last stall. The walls of the bathroom were slightly green tinted, as if mildewed, and the smell was a nasty mixture of cheap toilet cleaner and rotted leaves. “Don’t people run into it all the time?”

“See for yourself,” he said, opening the stall door with a grand gesture. Although the stall itself was tiny, in the center of it a ward glowed briefly.

“It’s warded! Well, that would explain it. So I just go in?”

“Yes. I will follow you.”

Pushing through the perdu ward was not difficult, al though for a moment everything seemed to spin around, but then I was standing on the cobblestoned street of what appeared to be a small medieval village.

If small medieval villages had latte stands…and shops with brightly colored clothing, and people zipping around the cobblestones on Vespas.

“This is Heaven?” I asked, taking in the tall spires, tiled roofs, and half-timbered buildings.

“It is the Court of Divine Blood. The two are not the same thing.” Rene pointed toward a grand-looking marble building that sat off to one side. “The library. It is in there that we will find the almoner.”

“OK. Is that a McDonald’s?” I asked as the door to one of the buildings we were passing opened, and a woman came out with two brown paper bags. “Fast food in Heaven? Isn’t that wrong?”

“Shh. One does not look too closely at the little sins of the Court. The office we want is on the ground floor, just there, you see?”

Evidently the almoner was a popular guy, because we had to give our names at a reception desk before taking our places on hard wooden benches with about ten other people.

“What is the almoner going to do, do you know?” I asked Rene in a whisper. “How many hoops am I going to have to jump through to have them lift the proscription? They aren’t going to demand another sacrifice, are they? Because really, I don’t think I have much left to sacrifice except Drake, and that’s so not happening.”

“Pfft. You spend too much time in the worrying. The almoner will tell you what he wants of you to grant the removal of the proscription.”

That didn’t do much to ease my mind. “Given my past history, it’ll be my kidney. Or my soul,” I muttered darkly.

Rene ignored me to read up on the latest Hollywood gossip, as provided by a glossy magazine. He tutted over a story about a popular actress. “She always did have such a strong will. Just like you—I never could do anything but try to catch up to her.”

I gawked at the magazine. “You know J-Lo? You mean you…you…fated her?”

“Perhaps,” he said, inscrutable as ever. “I have enjoyed my time with you much more, though. I prefer dragons and demons to the strange beings who inhabit Hollywood.”

That thought distracted me for a few minutes. Unfortunately, by the time we were called into the almoner’s office, I had worked myself into a swivet and was convinced that I would never have the proscription removed.

It was with much trepidation and no little sense of depression that I entered a small but pleasant office. The almoner sat at a desk, a nondescript man of medium height and build, with brown hair and friendly brown eyes.

“Good afternoon. I am Terrin. And you are?”

“Aisling Grey. This is my friend, Rene.”

“Ah, the daimon, yes, I believe we met a few centuries ago. Welcome to the Court, Aisling,” Terrin said with a pleasant smile. “Please sit. You are here for…let me see…” He punched a few keys on the laptop sitting in front of him on the desk. “I’m sorry, I’m not normally the almoner; he’s out with a family emergency so I’m filling in for him. If you can just bear with me for a moment or two while I locate your file…”

It struck me as a bit odd that someone bearing the name almoner was using a laptop, but I forbore from pointing out the anachronism.

“Ah, yes, there you are. Aisling Grey. My, you are a busy lady. Guardian, wyvern’s mate, demon lord, and…prince of Abaddon?” Terrin looked up in surprise.

“Former prince of Abaddon,” I said, passing him the expulsion.

“So I see.” He took the form and typed in a few things before looking over the screen at me. “And your status as a demon lord? That is also nil?”

“Um…no. I have only one demon, though.” I bit my lower lip. “That’s…that’s not going to screw things up, is it? Because my demon isn’t a real demon. That is, it was one of you guys, and it got booted out and made a demon, but it’s a demon sixth class and is actually not evil at all.”

“Ah,” he said, enlightenment dawning in his eyes. “Effrijim! Yes, I remember him. He had quite the sense of humor.”

“That pretty much sums it up, yes. So, is that going to be a problem?”

Terrin made a little face. “I do not believe we’ve ever granted a sanction to a demon lord. You would not be willing to give up Effrijim?”

“No,” I said, lifting my chin and giving him a firm look. “I wouldn’t.”

“Brava,” Rene said quietly, patting my knee.

“I see.” Terrin looked back at his laptop, hit a couple of keys, and asked, “And the other information is current? You are still a Guardian and a wyvern’s mate?”

A little shaft of pain threatened to unwind within me, but I stomped down hard on it. “I am still a wyvern’s mate. I am…” My throat closed for a moment. I cleared it and tried again. “I am no longer a Guardian.”

“Really?”

“Bael demanded that I disavow my Guardian status in order to receive the expulsion,” I explained, wondering if the day would come when I wouldn’t want to burst into tears at the thought of what I’d given up.