I whirled around and came to my feet, ready to defend myself if necessary, my hand automatically groping for the sword that was not there. My chair rolled on its casters and crashed into my desk.

A man stood there, a rather heavy man with an amused expression on his face. He was only a little taller than me, and his stomach was round and protruded in front of him. He had hangdog jowls, very little hair and small blue eyes.

“I assure you, Agent Black, that no violence is necessary.”

I dropped my hands to my sides. “Who are you?”

“My name is Sokolov, and I am the assistant to the chairman of the board of the Agency.”

“Really? The chairman?” I said, leaning back against my desk and crossing my arms. I was surprised that one actually existed. I’d always figured he was a figment of J.B.’s imagination. I’d never seen him. “What does the chairman want with a lowly Agent?”

“You are hardly lowly, Agent Black,” Sokolov said. “The chairman has asked me to tell you that your first responsibility is to the souls of the dead, irrespective of the complications of your paternity. As such, you are hereby ordered not to engage in any pursuit of Azazel the fallen angel, particularly as it relates to the incident of today.”

“The ‘incident’? You mean the one where a bunch of your Agents were kidnapped and a whole lot of innocent folks were killed because the upper brass wants to stick their fingers in their ears and say ‘la-la-la’?” I asked.

“It is not for you to question the actions of your superiors,” Sokolov said.

“Too bad I don’t think anyone is superior to me,” I said.

“You should be careful, Agent Black. You have people that you care about, do you not? You wouldn’t want to see them hurt because of your inability to take orders,” he said silkily.

I pushed away from the desk and marched up to Sokolov, getting in his personal space. He smelled like peppermint and onions.

“Don’t you dare threaten me,” I said, my temper snapping. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“On the contrary, the Agency knows precisely of what you are capable. As a further notice, you are hereby warned that any further adventures beyond the Door will result in your immediate death at the hands of the Retrievers,” he said.

I blinked. “I haven’t gone beyond the Door. No Agent can.”

“You set off the alarms at headquarters at approximately four eighteen p.m. this afternoon. Your excursion was of ten minutes in length,” Sokolov recited.

“Four eighteen p.m.? But I was asleep…” I started to say; then my voice faded. That was when I’d dreamed of Gabriel, and Puck had appeared. I thought it had just been a fantasy implanted in my head by Puck. Had I really gone beyond the Door?

Sokolov nodded, as if he’d confirmed some suspicion. “Despite the fact that you were unconscious of your actions, you are not permitted to go seeking the soul of your loved one in the land of the dead. Should this occur again, you will be punished accordingly.”

“Going to send your bogeymen after me?” I asked.

“I would not sneer so if I were you, Agent Black,” Sokolov said. “The Retrievers would not be kind to you.”

“You’ve delivered your message. Now move along,” I said.

Sokolov’s face hardened. “You should take the Agency more seriously, Agent Black. We have the power to destroy you utterly.”

The Agency’s messenger boy turned on his heel and retreated from my cubicle. I pulled on my coat like I didn’t have a care in the world. I was sure they were watching me on the security cameras, and I didn’t want anyone to think I’d been even remotely affected by Sokolov. I picked up the sheaf of papers I’d filled out and walked toward the drop box where all the soul forms were collected. I pushed the forms through the slot and continued on to J.B.’s office.

His secretary was missing from the outer office, gone home for the day like a normal person who had a life. I knocked on the closed door and opened it before he could respond.

J.B. looked up, his brow furrowed. “I thought I said an hour.”

“I’m hungry now,” I said, trying to send him a meaningful glance. “Where’s that dinner you promised me?”

He buried his head in paperwork again. “I still have some stuff to do here.”

“Are you really going to let me get home by myself?” I asked.

“You fly by yourself all the time,” he mumbled.

Gods above and below, he could be so dense sometimes. Especially if he was focused on paperwork. It was like it had some kind of magical sway over him.

“J.B.,” I said loudly, hoping my tone would cut through the fog caused by the delight of completing forms in triplicate.

He looked up again, and this time it seemed like his eyes finally focused on me. He seemed to realize I wanted him for something.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he said, putting down his pen and grabbing his coat. “I lost track of time.”

“I’m used to it,” I said.

“So where do you want to eat? You want a pizza?” J.B. said, playing along as we walked past the cubicle maze on the way to the elevators.

“We eat enough pizza at my house. Beezle thinks takeout is one of the four food groups,” I said as the elevator doors opened and we stepped in.

“The four food groups are over,” J.B. said. “Now there’s a plate or something.”