Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, yet grace must still look so.
— William Shakespeare (April 1564–April 1616)

Chapter One

In the heart of Indiana, within the confines of a secluded psychiatric institution, Joanna knelt, meticulously examining lush foliage, and gathering an array of leaves and delicate petals.

“Find anything interesting?” a mental health technician asked, with what seemed like genuine interest. They were always trying to appear as if they cared about her well-being.

Joanna smiled innocently. “Just some clovers and dandelions, weeds that don't belong here.”

“The gardener will be grateful for your help.” The technician walked away to speak with another patient, and Joanna harvested the perennials she'd neglected to mention—foxglove, hemlock, oleander, and a delightfully deadly specimen.

What a beautiful garden, Granny chirped in Joanna's mind.

A weedy mess is more like it. She stowed away her sampling of poisonous plants in the makeshift pocket she'd created in the seam of her sweatpants, an article of clothing she'd never worn before Claire institutionalized her.

Tomorrow, the Rational One said. You should do it tomorrow. Or, better yet, the day after.

Tonight. I'm doing it tonight. End of discussion.

Impulsive. You've always been so impulsive. It's your downfall, you know. What's the harm in taking time to think things through for once? I don't see the problem with you taking one extra day to ensure your plan is airtight.

You wouldn't.

“Time to go in,” the technician called out.

“Coming,” Joanna replied, satisfied with her harvest. She cooperated with the body search, confident the woman wouldn't discover what would mark the end of her worldly existence by midnight. Dullest crayon in the box, this one. I'm not impulsive. I'm a planner among planners.

In her room that night, door shut, window shades drawn, wearing gloves stolen from the supply closet, she pulverized the plant matter into a uniquely exquisite poison, lightly applying a layer to the inner surface of her door and its handle.

You should test it before you count on it, the Rational One said.

And just how would I do that, Einstein?

It'll work, Granny chirped. My Joanna doesn't make errors.

Sure, she does.

Shut up. Her heart pounded as she pressed her call button. I can't hear myself think.

“Can I help you?” the night nurse responded via intercom.

“I'm nauseous. I think I might have food poisoning.”

“I'll be right there.” The nurse touched the inside of the door as she closed it behind her. “Not feeling well?” she asked softly, her face turning ashen as she moved closer. She staggered, gurgled. “What's happening?”

“You're dying.” Joanna smiled, satisfied. “Don't worry, it won't take long.” Moments later, the nurse in her twenties crumpled to the floor. What I wouldn't give for a pair of nail clippers.

IT SHALL BE YOUR SACRIFICE, God's voice boomed in her head. You shall leave their nails intact from this day forward, taking a strand of their hair instead.

I shall obey your command, Joanna answered reverently, dragging the lifeless body into the shower stall, pulling the curtain, pressing the buzzer again. And so it went on, one by one, the staff falling like dominoes until all had been dispatched and stored away. She'd had no choice but to kill them—before they'd have let her check herself out, they'd have called Claire, and she couldn't have them interfering with her plan to disappear. She collected a keycard from her last victim's pocket. “You won't be needing this.” Stepping into the corridor, she noted the dead silence.

“Elizabeth!” a voice called softly from the hedgerow.

Joanna hurled the contents of the vial she was carrying toward it.

Impulsive. Why do you have to be so impulsive?

Her eyes widened as the lethal concoction splattered. “Cl-Claire? Oh, dear Lord… Claire.” Their eyes met, a moment of tenderness, both struggling to catch their breath. “I'm so sorry, so very, very sorry.”

“Elizabeth. What'd you do to me?” Claire choked, her eyes clouding, the knees of her pleated trousers lowering to the cement. “Hayes knows. Be here soon. Run.”

“Forgive me,” Joanna whispered, watching helplessly as the only woman, the only person she'd loved intimately, succumbed to the merciless toxin she'd created.

And the voices clamored, drowning one another out in a chaotic symphony.

Now look what you've done, the Resident hissed. You're toast, sweet cakes. There'll be no redemption, no absolution for this.

Impulsive, always so impulsive, the Rational One said, tsking.

The Teacher pursed her wrinkled lips. I am so disappointed in you, Joanna. You knew better than this.

Oh dear, Granny said, wringing her hands.

“God, dear God, I beg for your forgiveness,” Joanna sobbed, pausing for a fraction of an instant to pay her respects to Claire before sprinting across the grounds and through the ornate gate. God? … God? … I feel your absence… Are you still with me? …

I'm sorry, but He had to step away, a dark voice with unearthly chill answered, laughing a laugh that could best be described as pure evil.

Joanna froze, consumed by the suffocating darkness engulfing her mind. Who are you?

I think you already know, the voice purred with sinister amusement. Have you come seeking salvation? If so, do I ever have a deal for you.

Dream on if you think I'm dealing with the Devil.

Amusement danced in his chuckle. In time, my darling, you will.

Chapter Two

As Joanna ran, her lungs burned, her breath coming in ragged gasps. But she couldn't stop. Not yet. Not even with the Devil's breath on her neck. “Get behind me, Satan,” she spat, digging in, running faster.

I am behind you, my darling, he laughed. Do you not feel my fiery breath on the back of your neck?

Joanna shivered, stumbling on a tree root. “Well, shit.” Back on her feet, she examined her knee through the torn fabric of her sweatpants, then took off with a limp. You're free. You did it. You executed your plan to poison the staff and escape—

Without a hitch, the Resident added. You should celebrate.

I'd hardly say it was without a hitch. I've lost everything. And I mean everything. God, Claire, everything. I may never feel celebratory again. A chorus of voices reverberated against the walls of her brain, reminding her of Revelation. Please shut up. She told them they sounded like locusts, and quoted the scripture back at them—Revelation 9:3-5, King James: And there came out of the smoke locusts upon the earth: and unto them was given power, as the scorpions of the earth have power. And it was commanded them that they should not hurt the grass of the earth, neither any green thing, neither any tree; but only those men which have not the seal of God in their foreheads. And to them it was given that they should not kill them, but that they should be tormented five months, and their torment was as the torment of a scorpion, when he striketh a man.

The Rational One stared. Really? You see us as tormentors?

Basically. She strained to hear God's voice through the loud, continuous buzzing in her head. He'd been her constant companion since she was a young girl, a guiding presence in her darkest moments. Her heart ached for Him, yearned for His divine intervention, His punishment for what she considered her gravest sin. She trembled, terrified—not of His punishment, but that He might never return to her, might never be hers again. That could be His punishment. And if it is, you may as well be dead. Claire's dead, and you may as well be too.

Later, Granny soothed. You'll have time to think about this later, dear.

You're right. As you often are. She let the smell of damp earth and decaying leaves ground her. The police search will last for days. I'll have time to think about it then. She winced, picking up speed, distracting herself with memories of her past victims—all biracial women, like Claire, and nothing like Claire. She stumbled again, caught herself on a twisted, gnarled branch. Two paths ahead of her, one bathed in the last rays of sunlight, the other shrouded in darkness. Which way should I go? Should I go here or there? This way or that way?

The Rational One stepped forward. If you return to the home you shared with Claire, it will most certainly lead to your apprehension.

Of that, I'm well aware, she snapped, tasting salty sweat. Or possibly tears.

It's the place that calls to you, though, Granny said gently.

Not anymore. Not without Claire. Chicago calls to me. Kenzie Bigham calls to me. And Detective Hayes, she calls to me, too. But our home—it doesn't call to me. She licked her lips, thinking about Rylee—handsome, long and lanky.

The Rational One's eyes widened. Are you nuts? Sleep with her and you will be handcuffed to the bedpost.

SHUT UP! WOULD YOU PLEASE JUST SHUT—THE—HELL—UP? I'm in charge, not you. And I know what I'm doing.

Sure, you do, the Rational One answered, rolling her eyes.

Look, a cabin in the distance, Granny chirped, her eyes twinkling the way they did when Joanna presented her a handpicked bouquet.

It's probably occupied, the Rational One responded, always the first to rain on her parade.

Granny pursed her lips, squinting. Why do you always have to be so negative?

“If it's occupied, Joanna can kill the occupants,” the Devil chimed in, with a slow wink. “Can't you, Joanna.”

You'd be well hidden, the Resident declared.

Please shut up. I have a splitting headache.

Joanna knows without you telling her, Granny said, smiling gently. Don't you, honey?

Please be quiet. She pinched the bridge of her nose, relieved and surprised when her brain fell silent. “Thank you.”

You're welcome, the Rational One said flatly, sitting quietly until Joanna was ready to make her move on the cabin. Slow and steady.

I think she knows what she's doing, the Teacher chimed in, looking over her glasses.

Vacant, Granny declared with satisfaction.

A lucky break, the Rational One said, suggesting she pump a ladle from the well and pick a few berries before it rained.

Not a bad idea. She followed through, then deemed it unnecessary. Later that night, leaning against the wall, captivated by the rain's soothing rhythm, she thought about raindrops—each droplet dancing on the rooftop, playfully hinting at carefree freedom. Raindrops didn't have to worry about choices, burdens, or losses. They simply fell wherever the wind and gravity took them. “Oh, to be a raindrop.”

Enough, the Devil said, his voice slithering through her mind like a deceitful serpent. I can't stand one more minute of this. You've indulged in self-pity for what feels like an eternity. It's time to shake off your gloom, think about something new and uplifting.

Like what?

Well, let me see… Your modus operandi is a bit stale. How about you start there? Ways to evolve. Ways to make your mark more unique, more memorable. Possibly more painful. That'd be new and uplifting.

I'm a healer. Inflicting pain for the sake of pain? I don't think so. I've always taken great care to reduce suffering.

I'm sure you have, he laughed. But what about your own suffering? Maybe it's time to let go and embrace the darkness within you… You know it's there.

It is. But I never asked for it.

Of course you didn't, he cooed. But fate cares little for our desires.

I'm not a monster. People think I am, but I'm not.

Oh, my sweet Joanna. His voice was smooth as dark chocolate, tantalizingly delicious and dangerous. Of course you're not. Society makes monsters out of those it doesn't understand. Just because they see you as such doesn't mean it is true. You are not a monster. You're simply… misunderstood.

“I killed Claire,” she sniffled.

Unintentionally. His voice was no louder than the patter of rain. A tragic accident, nothing more. You can't blame yourself for something out of your control.

When I close my eyes, I see her face. I'm to be forever reminded of what I did to her. That's my penance. That…and God…

What must I say to convince you Claire's death wasn't your fault? She would have already forgiven you. You know that, don't you?

She nodded, walking to the window, staring into the downpour. She was always quick to forgive.

He sat quietly, giving her space.

I miss her. Like I've never missed anyone, I miss her.

I know you do, he replied softly, but mourning won't bring her back. And as you wallow in sorrow and self-pity, your gifts are being wasted.

She clenched her hands tightly, raising them to her chin. You think what I do is a gift?

I do. Your dispatches are an art form, your unique contribution to the world, and your special offering to God.

She turned, looking at him, unable to find her words.

I know you long to hear His voice again. I know you do, my darling. I can feel it.

She remained silent.

A grand spree of dispatches might make you feel better…and…it might just win His favor again.

Hope danced inside her. You think that's possible? … Don't lie to me.

He rose, walking over to stand a breath away, the scent of burnt embers and sweet pastries filling the space. I'm capable of many things, my darling. And I have no idea why this would be the case. But as hard as I try, I cannot lie to you.

As he spoke, she noticed he was no longer confined to her mind. Materializing from the shadows of her thoughts, he'd done what none of the others had been able to do—take solid human form. An icy shiver ran down her spine, considering him as a man. Dressed impeccably in a suit as dark as the night sky, tall and muscular, a face so perfect God could have chiseled it himself. His jawline was sharp enough to cut diamonds, his eyes held the intensity of an inferno, ancient as time itself, his hair a midnight sea of waves falling around his shoulders. She let her gaze fall to the body of a warrior, drawn to his dark aura pulling her in, toying with her. Her heart pounded—fear, curiosity, excitement. But not arousal. Not until she closed her eyes and imagined him as a woman, a handsome woman who looked just like Claire—and then the wanting came all at once, low and insistent, shameful in the way that only made it sweeter. She hated herself for it, just for a moment, before deciding she didn't.

I can take on any form that pleases you. His lips curled into a smile as he shifted into an exquisitely handsome woman.

“Claire,” Joanna breathed, unable to take her eyes off the handcuffs that appeared out of thin air, attaching themselves to the woman's belt loop.

He chuckled, enjoying the effect. You like what you see?

It's not real.

Everything is real. He took a step closer, brushing her cheek with his fingertips—or rather her fingertips—the touch surprisingly warm and comforting.

Joanna trembled, leaning into it, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. I miss her.

I know you do. He stroked a lock of her long black hair, auburn at its roots. But she wouldn't want you to dwell on your guilt and be sad forever. She'd want you to continue your mission to purify the world. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a mirror, displaying her tear-streaked reflection. Look at you. She would hate to see you like this.

I know she would. She felt a tug at her heart, gathering herself, noticing a glimmer in her eyes that wasn't just hers, but Claire's too, as if their souls had intertwined across dimensions. Against the backdrop of darkness, she reminded Joanna of a star, warm and radiant.

Move on, Claire whispered, brushing back a stray lock of her hair. I'm with you now. Again, I'm with you. And I'll be with you forever.

“Claire,” Joanna breathed aloud, reaching into the glass, pressing her palm against her cheek. My sweet, sweet officer. I thought I'd lost you.

Never. Claire peered deeply into her eyes. In death, as in life, I'm with you. And from here on out, whatever you need to do, we'll do it together.

“I'm so sorry,” Joanna choked. “I didn't mean to—”

I know you didn't, and you don't need to be sorry. I knew what you were capable of much earlier than you thought I did. Knew that you were lethal.

And still you loved me, love me.

And still I loved you, love you, Claire whispered, kissing her tenderly.

Chapter Three

Joanna stepped outside before daybreak, her breath visible in the chilly air.

You sure were lucky to stumble across this cabin, Claire said, her Boston accent full as she draped her arm around Joanna's waist. And to have it fully stocked with canned goods and bottled water, it doesn't get much better than that.

I believe God placed it in my path. I can't help but believe he still cares about me. I think He's absent because He's giving me time to reflect on what I did.

You mean when you dispatched me?

Yes.

Well, if that's the case, He must not be too mad at you. Claire halted, looking into her eyes.

What makes you say that?

I'm here, aren't I? He didn't have to send me back. He's God. He could've left me right where I was.

Joanna swallowed, afraid to ask what she needed to ask, but asking. And where exactly was that?

Heaven. Well, actually just inside the gate. Where'd you think? Hell? Her eyes widened. Oh my God, you thought I went to Hell. You thought I went to Hell for being a lesbian, didn't you? Well, I didn't. So there. Maybe now you can put that crazy worry to bed.

What's it like?

I only got just inside the gate.

You must have seen something, heard something. Tell me what it's like.

It's hard to describe.

Try.

Well, it's not like anything you'd expect or imagine, that's for sure. It's really peaceful. And calm. That's the first thing that strikes you. But it's also vibrant and alive. Really alive. It's beautiful, too. Really beautiful. It doesn't exactly look like a place, but it is. You can tell that it is. It's like being in an eternity of moments all strung together. Life, and love, and colors. Man, the colors, they were really something. Not just the ones we know here—reds and blues and yellows and greens—but ones we don't even have words for. And there's music, pure music, everywhere.

Sounds wonderful.

It was.

I'm sorry you had to come back.

Don't be. Because the only thing I can think of that's better than being in Heaven is being with you.

Joanna tiptoed up for a kiss, then rolled her eyes, hearing the Devil drip his charm all over Granny. Could you please be quiet? I have a headache.

When he continued, Claire cut in. She said she needs you to be quiet. So be quiet already!

Joanna smiled, noticing her bravery. Thank you, my sweet officer.

You're welcome, Claire answered, kissing her again before they resumed their trek toward the two-lane highway that would take them back to Chicago.

As a truck rounded the curve, Joanna stepped close to the road, slumped her shoulders, and lifted her thumb, pleased when it rumbled to a stop before her. She climbed into the cab, feigning exhaustion.

The driver, an older man with kind eyes, studied her with concern. “Where you headed?”

“Chicago,” she replied, her voice quivering just enough to seem genuine.

“Are you okay?”

Joanna let fear seep into her eyes before confessing, “I'm on my way to my mother's home on the south side. I just left my husband. He punched me in my belly and threw me down…for the last time. I should have left him a long time ago.” A thin smile. “Thank you for giving me a ride.”

“You're welcome.” He told her to lean back and relax.

The Devil snickered in her mind.

Stop it, Claire growled. You think this is easy for her? She's trying to concentrate.

Joanna gave the trucker directions to a rundown part of the city, her true destination two and a half miles from where she asked him to drop her off. “That's where she lives,” she said, pointing to a dilapidated apartment building, home of a past victim. “On the third floor.” She thanked him again, and set off toward her basement lab, a space separate from her home with Claire, a two-mile walk from where she was. Being careful to avoid webcams, she crossed the overgrown yard within the hour. At the rusty gate, she descended the metal staircase, and with one more glance over her shoulder, retrieved the key ring hidden atop the light fixture.

Wish I'd known you hid that there, Claire said—she'd had to return home more than once when she'd forgotten the key.

I'm sorry. I should've told you. Three clicks, a code, and the door revealed a compact space scarcely large enough to house her treasures. The faint scent of earth and fertilizer enveloped her as she stepped inside, sighing contentedly, closing the door behind her.

“Home sweet home,” the Devil said sarcastically. “I love what you've done with the place.”

Joanna ignored him, taking in the organized chaos of her laboratory. “Hello, my darlings,” she murmured, her gaze sweeping tenderly over her thriving greenery. “I'm sorry I haven't been here to check on you for a while. I'm sure you're all aware of my stay in that dreadful institution.”

Look how well they've done without her constant fussing, the Rational One observed to the Resident.

They've done well because Claire took good care of them. Joanna snapped on a pair of surgical gloves, dismissing the conversation in her head. “I was to have bad news to share with you this morning,” she said, speaking softly to the plants, telling them about Claire's unfortunate accident. “But thankfully,” she went on, squeezing Claire's hand, “our Claire was resourceful enough to find her way back to us before I had to upset you.”

Hey, everybody, Claire greeted with a smile.