Father Carrow and I arrived at a small coffee shop in the Village several minutes before our designated meeting time, so we ordered inside—quad espresso for me, tea for him—and staked out a shady table in the back of a tree-filled courtyard at the side of the shop.

When Lon Butler rounded the corner and raised his hand to us, I was taken aback; he was not what I expected. I stood up from the table when Father Carrow made the introductions.

“Lon, this is Arcadia Bell. Cady, meet Lon Butler.”

Tall and lean, the man looked to be in his forties. Wavy, light brown hair fell to the tops of his shoulders and was neatly tucked behind his ears. A slender mustache trailed around his mouth and down his chin, matching the patch of hair below the center of his bottom lip. He reminded me of a pirate. A very attractive one.

He was also an Earthbound.

“Mr. Butler,” I said as he offered his hand to shake. I took it, and tried not to squint too hard at his halo. Usually Earth-bound halos are green or blue, but his was unusual—green near his head, changing to gold toward the outer edge, with small, shimmery bits suspended inside like glitter in a souvenir snow globe.

“Just Lon is fine,” he replied in a low monotone.

I stopped staring at his halo, only to find his own eyes fixed above my head. When Earthbounds first meet me and see my small silver halo, they’re usually wary or nervous. He wasn’t. Matching my gaze, bold and direct, he discretely lifted one eyebrow.

“I think you’ll both find,” Father Carrow said with a kind smile, “that the three of us have some concerns that intersect. Isn’t it wonderful when we can learn something new?”

Wonderful? I wasn’t sure about that. But it was certainly compelling. I wondered if Lon was the reason that Father Carrow had never pressed me too hard about the origins of my silver halo. Next to his, mine seemed almost pedestrian.

After Lon let go of my hand, I realized we’d been shaking far too long. My palms were hot and sweaty; I wiped them on my jeans as I sat down. Instead of taking the more convenient chair across the table, Lon sat in the empty seat next to me. A little too close. I didn’t like that.

“I’m afraid Cady isn’t a photography aficionado,” Father Carrow said as he pulled his chair closer to the table. “She owns a bar back in Morella. It’s got an interesting reputation.”

Lon’s eyes darted to mine, but he didn’t say anything. Tambuku Tiki Lounge wasn’t the only demon-friendly bar in Morella. Okay, maybe it was the only one with binding magick being used, but still, I doubted he’d heard of it way out here, and I definitely would have remembered seeing him in my bar.

I wrapped my hands around my coffee cup. “I didn’t think you’d be …” What? Another Earthbound, like Father Carrow? The first person I’d ever met with a halo weirder than mine? So good-looking? “So young,” I finished.

“You either.” His eyes trailed away as he pulled a silver cigarette case out of his denim jacket pocket.

Unsure whether that was a barb or not, I tried to keep my face blank to mimic his. He held out the open cigarette case in offering—valrivia. Its pungent, earthy scent was inviting. I hesitated, then gave in and took a skinny cigarette. He offered the case to Father Carrow with an inquiring chin nod.

“No, no,” Father Carrow said with a shake of his head.

“I’ve told you before, it doesn’t get you stoned. It’s just calming. I don’t think God would count it as a sin,” I teased.

“You’re probably right, but I just don’t understand the attraction.” He waved the case away. “I have trouble staying awake as it is at my age—I don’t need anything to make me calmer.”

I leaned forward while Lon flicked a sleek, engraved metal lighter for me. His hands were tan and muscular. From that and the golden strands of hair at his crown, I assumed he spent a lot of time outside. Maybe for his job. I scrutinized him while he exchanged a few pleasantries with Father Carrow. He had a reserved, proud look about him. Long, hollow cheeks sat between deep-set eyes and an angular jaw. Good bones.

“So,” Father Carrow said, getting to the point, “as I explained on the phone, Arcadia is looking for information on a rare Æthyric demon. Tell him what it looks like, dear.”

I repeated what the Caliph had told me. “It’s an albino demon—white skin and hair, light pink eyes. Four arms, each with long talons. Twice the height of an average human. Long tongue that rolls up like a party favor and hangs outside its mouth, and a large set of spiraling horns.”

I took another drag from my cigarette.

“Do you know the class of demon?” His small eyes were narrowed. Distrustful. “I’ve run across drawings and descriptions of many albinos. It’s a congenial pigmentation disorder that could occur in any class. Just like humans.”

His flippant attitude irritated me. Famous photographer, I thought. Arrogant bastard. Even though he was dressed casually in an ink-stained T-shirt and a denim jacket with a tear in the pocket, he was also wearing a wide silver watch on his left wrist that looked expensive. Snotty, too, I added to my mental list of his probable sins.

“I don’t know the class of demon,” I replied with forced patience, “but I do have a little information about the seal.” I perched my cigarette on the edge of the wrought-iron table and dug around in my purse until I found a pen and an old envelope that I tore up for paper. After sketching a few characters and letters, I slid the paper over to him and put the cap back on my pen. “I’m not sure how familiar you are with summoning seals, but I know them pretty well, and this symbol here”—I pointed—“narrows it down to about fifty or so classes of demon.”