Devil's Return

Death's just the first complication

Luther Cross here. Chicago's best-dressed paranormal investigator, Lord of Hell, and, as of last week, dead. Don't worry. It's not as final as it sounds-at least I hope.

Asmodeus put a knife in my gut on a Philippine beach, and now I'm a ghost with no body, no hellfire, and a front-row seat to my own funeral. Dakota and her son are running with nothing but a nun and a wounded professor for protection. Iblis is still out there. And the angel who fathered the first nephilim in centuries isn't just any angel. He locked away my friend, took his position, and doesn't plan on stopping at one stolen throne.

I can't touch anything. I can't be heard. All I can do is watch the people I swore to protect walk into the arms of a priest who thinks he's saving the world, and try not to scream at someone who can't hear me.

Back in Chicago, Alistair Carraway has a crazy plan to drag me back from the other side. It involves a reluctant witch, a stolen book of unspeakable power, and a heist on Odysseus Black, the last man in the city you want to owe. The ritual requires summoning Death himself. Cain is hunting them. And that's before the real trouble starts.

And me? I'm learning the rules of the afterlife the hard way. Memory lane is a nightmare. Heaven is a lot less welcoming to a Hell Lord than the brochures promised. And the only way to get anything done is to hitch a ride inside an archangel's body and hope he doesn't mind the company.

I made a lot of promises while I was alive. Looks like I'm going to have to keep them even as a dead man.