CHAPTER TWELVE
ANGELOS SHIVERED. IT was snowing again, and somehow he felt the slushy cold more keenly in his current ghostly form than when fully fleshed. But his discomfort didn't matter. He had a mission to complete: find the key to the ritual that would unlock the cage of Night. The keeper of his soul and the font of his power, she would not be pleased with the delay. And she was a harsh mistress.
And to fulfill his mission, he needed a body. He breathed in, little more than a whisper in the lee of the building, then exhaled slowly, deeply, mote by mote, as his frustration turned the breath into a growl. He'd returned to haunt the square where he'd sucked what life was left out of the old bum the other night. He needed a body. But not just any body: he needed one that was strong and
