Azazel had already won.

Morgan was trapped in her mind, and all she could do was watch from an icy cage as Azazel piloted her body.

She saw and heard and sensed everything, but from far away, in an astral room built of ice: Morgan's psychic barrier, the only thing keeping her alive. If she forgot the barrier for even an instant, Azazel would break in and tear her soul to shreds.

Rowan taught her to dreamscape years prior. They taught Morgan countless things, and if she surrendered, all that knowledge would pass to Azazel and then on to Adam. She couldn't give in. Rowan was going to save her. She just had to hold on.

'That's adorable. You have hope,' mocked Azazel, standing outside her wall of ice, wearing a curvaceous buxom redhead in silky nightwear. It was distractingly beautiful. 'Let's see how long that lasts.'

Morgan ignored Azazel and started shaping her room. If she was to be trapped in a cage, it might as well be cozy. She carved out space for a comfortable seat, thinned the wall in front of it, so the picture was clearer, and then sat down to watch what her stolen eyes witnessed on a large flat screen.

Azazel opened the door to Morgan's father's office. Inside stood the former Steward of Lona, Milo Meiori, next to the Holy Father Himself, Adam, replete with all five Blessings, the crown, sword, gauntlets, and belt.

Morgan had never seen Adam in person before and was surprised to find He resembled a fairly average, if strikingly handsome, man. His hair was long and straight and golden. His expression was stately and paternal, with an air of supreme confidence. One could sense He ruled the world, deigning to take note of Morgan with royal disinterest. Adam was probably too old and world-weary for such trivial things as passion or rage. That terrified Morgan more than anything. Adam could massacre countless people on a whim and probably wouldn't feel a thing.

"Good, let's begin," said Adam. He moved to sit behind Arthur Avalyn's desk. On the wall behind him hung a large oil painting depicting the Decimation of Exile, titled 'Wrath of Godfather.' A wasp familiar flew to land on the desk.

"Effective immediately, Milo Meiori will assume the duties and responsibilities of Steward of Crescent. In one week, and upon his marriage to Morgan Avalyn, Milo will ascend to Steward of the Vulpen Islands. The three other islands' stewards will be informed of this change in their position, and their attendance at Milo's coronation is mandatory.

"Upon marriage, Morgan Avalyn will act as Regent of Crescent until an heir comes of age. Her responsibility will be organizing the locals into line."

Adam's demeanor changed from stately to menacing. "There's also the matter of the firefox you allowed to escape."

Azazel blinked in surprise, briefly glancing at the wasp familiar.

"Did you forget?" said Adam, "I see and hear everything. You told the firefox about the missionary I sent to retrieve the other Avalyn girl, the one who displayed magical affinity. She belongs in the Garden, not out here at the edge of nowhere. My missionary hasn't reported in, and his bird went to the aether. Both are assumed lost.

"You let an enemy escape, revealed dogmatic intel, and thereby compromised a critical mission. As punishment for these crimes, I should banish you here and now... but given your otherwise sterling record, I'm inclined to give you a chance to redeem yourself. Find the firefox and the girl, and bring them to me. You have until the coronation. If you fail, I will send you back to Hell."

Azazel was furious. Morgan felt his rage like a strong wind. But in Morgan's voice, Azazel answered, "Thank you for this opportunity. I won't disappoint you again."

Adam said nothing. He didn't threaten or repeat himself. He didn't need to. The painting hanging on the wall behind him told volumes. Instead, Adam rose and turned His back to Morgan. He walked over to the full-length mirror on the wall. Adam drew His Blessed Sword, made of pure ivory, and gently He tapped the sword against the mirror. Its image rippled and changed, revealing a white marble room. He turned to face Milo and Morgan, tall, handsome, and perfect.

"I'll return in one week to officiate the wedding. Use that time wisely." Then Adam stepped through the mirror, disappearing as the image returned to a reflection.

Azazel and Morgan were alone in a room with Milo. He repeatedly glanced down at a large bloodstain on the rug where Morgan was standing.

'This is the room where he betrayed your father,' Azazel taunted from beyond her psychic barrier, still wearing the buxom redhead. 'And the blood we're standing on bled out the head of the man your father killed. Look how uneasy Milo is.'

Morgan had to look away from the screen and Azazel toward an empty corner of her icy cage. Deciding she would like a breakfast nook, Morgan imagined a cute little table and chair. But then she heard Milo's voice and struggled to remain focused.

"I don't know if you're in there, but Morgan, I'm so sorry this had to happen. Your father… he doomed himself by plotting against Adam. He can't be beaten; you can only reason with Him. I convinced Him to spare you. Morgan, I… I swear I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

Milo stepped toward Morgan and raised a hand to brush her cheek.

If Morgan could vomit, she would. She wanted to scream and stab his kind face with a knife. She wanted to run away.

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Morgan's psychic barriers shattered. She felt Azazel reach into her and unlock something, something she hadn't known was there before.

She mentally fell into a fetal position encased in ice, fearfully awaiting Azazel's attack.

But instead of attacking Morgan, a burst of light launched Milo across the room, slamming him against the basalt wall.

A glowing ring encircled Milo's neck. It lifted him by the throat, gasping, confused, and terrified.

"Let's establish some ground rules going forward, husband," said Azazel in Morgan's voice. "First thing, don't ever touch me again. Second, stay out of my way. Follow those two simple rules, and we'll get along. Break the rules; I break your bones."

The glowing ring evaporated, dropping Milo to the floor, who collapsed on impact. He stumbled to his feet, nursing his throat and looking livid.

Azazel summoned two more rings for Milo's wrists, dragging him down to a kneeling position. Morgan stood over Milo, casually adding, "I hope this clears up any confusion you might have had as to the chain of command in this relationship."

Milo looked daggers up at Azazel, gasping, "You will bear me an heir!"

"Bear it yourself." Then Azazel turned and left the study.

As Azazel walked down the hall, Morgan collected herself, trying to rebuild the room she'd imagined earlier. Her cage was smaller, but concepts like size and space were meaningless in the dreamscape. She carved the room out just as it was before.

And just as before, Azazel stood languidly outside the mental wall, wearing the face of a beautiful woman, always watching, constantly teasing, but now the humor in its eyes was gone. There was a hard seriousness in its expression.

'I need access to your memories,' Azazel said flatly.

Morgan ignored the fallen, crafting a board game and flower to set on her breakfast table. Then she realized where Azazel was taking her: to Gramma Henrietta's room, stopping outside her door.

'Your mental fortifications are impressive. They impede my psychic attacks, but there are other ways to convince you. Rather than a stick, let me offer you a carrot. Surrender your memories to me, and I'll let you tell your sweet old granny her son and grandson are dead, and you're all set to marry Milo. Ignore me again, and I'll tell her myself, but you won't like it when I tell her,' Azazel menaced.

Morgan almost dropped the cage protecting her. She turned to face the fallen. So beautiful. So terrible. Morgan was paralyzed with fear; of what it might do with the information and what it might do to Gramma Henri if she refused.

Azazel put Morgan's hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly.

'Going once, going twice-'

'I accept your terms. Let me speak to her. My memories are yours to access.'

'Excellent. Now imagine me a door to enter your memories. Say what you want to say fast because this shouldn't take me long at all.'

Stepping into her grandmother's room, Morgan took command of her body again. She sensed Azazel rifling around her memories for something, remembering moments with Rowan, in training, at family dinners, midwifing for Lyn's birth. Azazel remembered Morgan's mother and grandfather, both long gone; and moments with Raf, bickering, supporting, encouraging; until finally Azazel remembered yesterday's investigation. That memory included the information Azazel was seeking. But this took several minutes of rattling around Morgan's head, so while it was remembering her entire life, Morgan spoke to her Gramma Henri.

Henrietta's room was traditional, elegantly lit, with candles about the room and more than a dozen paintings on the wall. There was a balcony that looked over the ocean, but Henrietta had drawn the curtains closed.

Gramma Henri sat in a comfortable chair by the fireplace. Morgan took a seat across from her; that's when Henri first noticed Morgan was in the room.

"Oh! Dear, you startled me. I must have dozed off. I was having the most horrible dream. I dreamt I was alone. I had outlasted everyone. My husband. My son. My grandchildren. It was so awful. I tried to wake up, but I must have been exhausted. I still feel exhausted. But you're here, and you woke me from that awful, awful dream. It's so good to see you," Gramma Henri reached up and held Morgan's face lovingly.

Morgan held Gramma Henri's hand against her cheek, resisting every urge to cry. Morgan wanted to fall into Gramma's lap and sob until her tears ran dry. But Gramma Henri needed her now, so Morgan put her grief aside and forced a smile. "I'm still here. And the others aren't gone. They're just not here right now. It was a bad dream, Gramma."

Henrietta's face lit up in relief and shock. "Oh! Oh, my dear, you can't imagine what… I thought… oh, but it's all right now. I'll put on some tea." On shaky knees, Gramma Henri stood and grabbed the kettle, put it over the fire, and then prepared the tea cups.

Morgan spoke quickly, not knowing how much time she had left, trying her best to keep the fear and heartbreak out of her voice. "I'm going to marry Milo."

Gramma Henri turned in shock, carrying the cups to the side table and saying, "Milo is too old for you! That's wildly inappropriate. He's almost my age!"

"I know that, but the decision has been made, and I… I've decided to go along with it. He is old. Maybe he'll die soon and leave me a free widow."

Gramma Henri chuckled darkly and poured the tea, handing a cup to Morgan. Then she looked into her granddaughter's eyes, and with timeless wisdom and loving sympathy, Gramma Henri comforted Morgan.

In the end, Morgan got more time with her Gramma than she'd expected. She told Henrietta she loved her and not to worry if she soon seemed different or distant. Everything was going to be fine.

'Well, that's enough of that,' said Azazel, taking control of Morgan's body again, having found what it was looking for in her memories.

Morgan's physical demeanor instantly and noticeably changed, as if a switch had been flipped or someone else had materialized and replaced her between blinks.

Azazel was back in command. It stood and left Henrietta's room without a word. Poor Henrietta didn't understand what had taken over her granddaughter. She cried out Morgan's name in vain as the young woman walked out in silence.

Morgan was back in her psychic icebox. She wanted to tremble. She wanted to scream and cry and feel the cathartic release that comes from surrendering to despair, but it was impossible. Tears are real. In the dreamscape, nothing is real, and if she gave in, Azazel would devour her soul.

So Morgan imagined a small box, and in the box, she put her grief and sadness alongside the memories of her father and brother. Then Morgan closed the box and stored it under the icy floorboard of her mind.

One day, Morgan thought. She would take the box out again and let herself feel, but now, she needed to concentrate.

Azazel watched everything she did with an amused expression from outside her psychic barrier.

'Cheer up. Aren't you going to ask me where we're going?' it asked.

Resigned to letting herself be distracted, Morgan decided to play Azazel's game.

'Where are we going?' said flatly.

'We're going to catch a Raven and rescue your little sister.'