Chapter 1: The Day Everything Changed

The day my house was finally finished just happened to be the same day the great war between angels and demons broke out—because of course it did. I barely had time to savor that new paint smell, or set my favorite Stars & Stripes coffee mug on the porch railing, before the whole place got caught in the crossfire. One minute I’m admiring my porch swing, the next it’s a pile of splinters and my American flag is swirling somewhere in the smoky chaos. The air was thick with the crack of swords, the roar of magic, and the acrid scent of burning wood.

It honestly felt like fate was pulling one over on me. My smile died on my face, twisting into that look you get when you realize you’re still on the hook for a mortgage on a house that’s now just a memory. I could already picture the foreclosure notices and angry emails stacking up in my inbox, like a digital slap in the face.

As the battle noise faded, I locked eyes on the culprit, braced myself on the uneven ground, feeling the grit bite into my palm, and with a good ol’ American kick, sent him flying right off Devil’s Drop.

Under the stunned stares of the church’s disciples, I took a steadying breath, squared my shoulders, and hollered down the cliff as loud as I could—just in case he was still tumbling:

"Next time, try not to wreck someone’s house!"

You better believe I made sure my voice echoed back up—after all, that’s a once-in-a-lifetime zinger, and you don’t get a second shot at a line like that.

1

My name’s Autumn Reeves, and while the sign out front says I’m caretaker of Devil’s Drop, in reality, I’m its guardian—just the gal who keeps the peace around here.

Not exactly a glamorous gig. For as long as I can remember—just a bit over a hundred years now—I’ve watched over Devil’s Drop, the wild border between the realms of angels and demons. I like to think of myself as the old fence post in the middle of a Kansas field—nobody notices it until it’s gone and the cows wander off.

I always kept to myself, hardly ever dealing with the neighboring church order—at least, not until today, when I drop-kicked Archangel Michael Carter off Devil’s Drop.

Just as the disciples were about to drag me away for punishment, Michael, clutching his side, floated back up from the bottom of the cliff on his shining blade. He took one look at the smoldering wreckage behind me and got it immediately.

"Miss Reeves, I sincerely apologize."

Michael not only paid off my mortgage, he apologized (like, actually apologized), and even helped me rebuild—using the toughest Appalachian Ironwood from the demon lands and the prettiest Sierra Opal tiles from the angelic city.