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  “Azazel…these were poor people. Families. Just trying to make a living.”

  That produced a derisive snort. “I really don’t care.”

  I chewed my lip. “Other people will catch the bears before they get far enough away. They’ll all be shot or put back in the cages.”

  “I don’t care about that either.”

  “That’s not true,” I said, very gently. “You couldn’t stand to see them caged and in pain.”

  He considered this. “Then I’ll do it again,” he announced. “And again. Until all the bears are free or dead.” He smiled, with a wild mirthless satisfaction.

  “Is dead better?”

  “Better than the cages.”

  I reached out and touched the back of his wrist, just the merest brush of fingertips. “Do you understand why I couldn’t leave Egan, then?”

  He looked down at my hand. His voice cracked when he spoke next. “What do you want, Milja?”

  “I want to say sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  He touched me gently on the cheek, his fingertips cold. Lightning flickered again, a long-drawn-out stutter. I could see the new gray in his hair, the shadows of exhaustion around his eyes. “Milja…”

  I could not do it to him. I could not throw myself on his forgiveness and beg his help and draw him into whatever trap awaited. I didn’t know what Father Velimir and Egan were plotting—for all I knew Egan might be lying to the priest just as he’d lied to me—but I could not risk that. I couldn’t see Azazel trapped again, not for my sake.

  “That’s all,” I whispered. “I understand now. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. Now I have to go.”

  “Go?” He drew himself up taller. “You came back. I…can forgive.”

  “I’m not staying. No. Find yourself a nice girl, Azazel,” I said quickly, before my resolve could weaken. “Be gentle with her. Let her grow to love you.”

  He grimaced, bewildered.

  “Just don’t get her pregnant though—they’ll use that against you.”

  His fingertips traced the lines of my face, like he was blind and trying to see me. “Why aren’t you like the other women, Milja?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They were all proud to be with me. Proud to be loved by a Son of Heaven. How is it that I’m not good enough for you?”

  I shook my head gently, though inside I could feel my heart tearing itself to shreds. “You’ll find someone like that,” I promised. “Plenty of women would…” I’d been about to say sell their souls for a guy like you, but it seemed a really unfortunate choice of words. “Just not me,” I finished; “so you must stay away.”

  He lowered over me, washing me in alcohol fumes and broken dreams.

  Don’t kiss me, I prayed. Please don’t kiss me. If you do I will break, I will not be able to hold back, I will give up to you. And you will take charge and come to my rescue, because that is what you are like—and then they will have you, because that is what they have planned all along. Everything for them depends on us being lovers. I am your weak link. I am your Achilles’ heel.

  “I could be better, if I tried,” he offered uncertainly. “All I need is for you to love me, Milja.”

  That nearly killed me.

  “No, no,” I said, my voice hoarse. “You’re an angel. Don’t stoop like that. We’re just apes, remember?”

  “You are creatures of infinite wonder. You are climbing to the stars. We…only fell.”

  “You didn’t fall; you jumped. Don’t you forget that.” I hardened my voice. “Fight your way back, Azazel—don’t just stand in the rain having a pity party. You look pathetic.”

  His hand recoiled. Red light flared in his eyes.

  “That’s…cold, Milja.”

  I hated myself. “It’s the truth.”

  “You will kill me.”

  And that was true too, if Uriel’s words could be trusted at all. It was, quite literally, Azazel’s fatal weakness: he needed to be loved.

  “They will bury you again,” I said through gritted teeth, “unless you stop feeling sorry for yourself. And if you need someone to love you, then go earn it. You’re no more entitled than anyone else.”

  Lightning flashed, filling my vision with his bleached-out face, beautiful and ravaged. Then darkness returned, and when I blinked away the blooms of color in my eyes he was gone, and only the fallen bottle lay at my feet, spilling its contents to mingle with the rain.

  I woke up in my cell, my socks wet with mud.

  On the fifth day, at six in the evening, my guard of the day brought me in a bucket of water to wash myself, and a clean dress.

  “Make yourself look respectable.” His name was Ratko, which suited him better in English than in Montenegrin, where it meant “happy.”

  I stared at these offerings and rattled my handcuff meaningfully against the pipe. With my right hand tethered, getting changed was impossible.

  “Fair enough,” he said, and came to unlock me. But the moment I was free he took out his gun and pointed it at my face. “No tricks,” he said, as he retreated a few steps.

  “You can’t shoot me,” I countered. “Father Velimir needs me.”

  The muzzle of the handgun dipped to a different angle. “He doesn’t need your pussy.”

  I clenched my jaw, outmaneuvered.

  “Get on with it, girly.”

  It made me feel like my stomach was full of barbed wire, but I obeyed, glaring. Getting undressed in front of this wiry, hard-faced man was nothing like being stripped in public by Azazel, in my dreams. It wasn’t titillating. It wasn’t even shameful, to be honest. It wasn’t sexual at all, not from my end of things, though his smirk certainly suggested that he was finding some entertainment in the exposure of my grubby flesh. I just felt cold and vulnerable and angry.

  I washed as quickly as I could and pulled the dress on over my still-damp skin, leaving my unbearable underwear on the floor. At least the dress, though faded, was clean—though it was the sort of sack-like floral smock a middle-aged woman might have picked, and I’d not normally have been seen dead in such a thing.

  Once I was dressed my guard locked me up again and took away the key. He made sure to lean against me in the process, breathing hard, though he didn’t quite get as far as groping.

  I pictured Azazel’s hand around his throat, squeezing.

  Half an hour later, Egan entered the cell.

  That took me by surprise. I stood up from my mattress, inhaling deeply as if it could fill me with words, my heart flip-flopping over. He looked better than the last time I’d seen him. At least they’d given him a black clerical shirt and let him clean himself up, and the bruises were fading. But his mouth was compressed to a thin line and his shoulders were tense.

  His eyes were all sorts of blue with pain.

  Standing there in my thin flower-sprigged smock, I found myself starting to shake. All those vitriolic monologues I’d rehearsed in my head whilst alone—they were still there somewhere inside me, but filed away. I wasn’t ready for him, weirdly. Some stupid part of me still wanted to throw my arms round his neck.

  “You knew,” was all I managed to blurt. “You knew all the time.”

  Egan opened his mouth, hesitated, and then nodded. “Yes. Some of it.”

  His admission was like lemon juice poured on a wound—the harm was already done and known, but the fresh pain was out of all proportion. It seemed to run right through me. I wiped at my face, looking away, momentarily speechless.

  “Milja, we’re going outside now, and it’s really importan—”

  “How long? I mean—from the beginning? You were following me when I flew here?” It wasn’t coming out the way I’d imagined.

  “We, um…you’d been watched. Your family. A long time. I mean, centuries. We knew there was something there. We just didn’t know what…who. You came to the States, and we watched. When you suddenly headed home…”

  The familiar soothing confidence had g
one out of him. He was all hesitation now, picking his words like they were steps through a minefield.

  “You were sent to take me?” My voice was raspy.

  “To keep watch. To find out,” Egan said, not meeting my eyes. “To act…if necessary.” He was ashamed, I realized. That, oddly enough, gave me fire.

  “You played me, you lying bastard,” I said. “You used me. Dear God, Egan. I hate you more than I hate Father Velimir.”

  His eyes were narrowed and glistening wet. “I deserve that.”

  “Where were you taking me?”

  “I was going to keep you safe. You’re not going to believe me—”

  “Too right I’m not.”

  “—but I was trying to help you. I have tried all along.”

  “Safe? Where? Rome, like he said?”

  He nodded.

  “You were going to hand me over? Your lot instead of this lot? Were you hoping for a sweet little Nephilim baby too? Was that your plan?”

  “Milja…”

  “Different shovel, same shit,” I spat.

  His mouth twisted. “I would never have let anyone hurt you.”

  I laughed at him. “Yeah, right!”

  “Milja, I promise I wouldn’t, I mean, you and me, we have become…I wouldn’t harm you. Ever.”

  “Bull!” I sneered. “You would have done what you were told, just like everyone else in this setup. Just following orders. That’s what you people do.”

  Egan blinked, and swallowed, and did not answer.

  “I thought you were my friend,” I said. It was the cruelest reproach I could think of. “I really liked you.”

  I had the satisfaction of seeing him wince, no more than a tic around the eyes.

  “Milja,” he croaked, “we have to get him, the Fallen, recaptured. The priests here are right about that. You’ve no idea how dangerous he—”

  “No!” I rasped. If he’d been within reach I would have hit him. “Don’t you dare say that! I know him better than any of you—don’t you tell me what he is!”

  “He’s a creature of darkness,” Egan soldiered on grimly. “Great evil, and immeasurable power. Don’t be fooled by the way he looks. He has to be taken down. We are not meant to share the Earth with that kind.”

  “Can you hear yourself, Egan?” I was in despair. “Can you hear what you sound like?”

  “I know this is hard for you—”

  “No. You know squat. You’re just so afraid of what you don’t control that you’ll do anything to crush it, even if means working with Velimir and these bastards. Did you hear what they were planning to do to me?”

  “I heard.” He moved in closer, to the edge of the mattress, fists clenched.

  “And you’re still working with them?”

  “Milja, what I am doing right now is keeping us both alive,” he rasped. “You shouldn’t have come back for me—”

  “You think?”

  “It didn’t matter that they had me. Now they have you.” He blinked hard. “What choice do I have? I had to give them what I knew. So they’re going to do it now. They’re going to call him, and bind him. That’s what we all want.” His voice became stern. “And you’re going to do what they tell you, Milja, because that is the only way they are letting you out of here in one piece. You have to cooperate. Do you hear me?”

  I shook my head, my face crumpling. “This is wrong!”

  “Remember, he is not a human being—not a real one. That’s just the way he’s chosen to look.”

  Oh—that’s what my father said, when I was seven, that very first time.

  “I don’t care!”

  “You don’t have any choice. Neither of us does. If we don’t go along with this then you’ll never be allowed to leave this place. Is that what you want?”

  Openmouthed, I shook my head.

  Egan opened one fist and showed me the familiar handcuff key. “I’m going to let you out now, and take you upstairs. Please, don’t do anything rash. They’re watching us every step of the way. They’re ready for the fight. You have to let this play out, Milja, and give them a chance to fix things the way they were.”

  He reached for my bound wrist, and I didn’t try to stop him. My own despair was as great as his, and for a moment I even found myself wondering if he was right. Egan’s hand slid over mine, wrapping my fingers up in his warm grasp, squeezing tight. The touch of his skin made me want to cry out. He was so close I could feel the heat of his body and smell the laundry powder on his borrowed shirt.

  Gently, he fitted the key into the little lock. I swayed, my footing uncertain on the sprung mattress. With a click the steel slid open and fell away. Suddenly he abandoned the handcuff key and reached to touch my hair instead, clasping the back of my head, bending his own so that our foreheads met.

  I should have been relieved that I was no longer chained, that they couldn’t fry me with the flick of a switch. But the only thing in my mind was Egan, the smell and the feel of him and the promise of his touch. In the middle of all my rage and pain, some part of me wanted him to fix it all—to say the magic words, or to do some unimaginable thing that would change and justify everything. I wanted it all to be revealed as a terrible misunderstanding.

  I wanted him to be right.

  “Milja, please, don’t think about him,” he whispered; “just concentrate on staying safe.” He took my freed hand and pressed it to his breastbone. Under the shirt I could feel the swift hard pounding of his heart. “If you’re hurt then it’s all for nothing. You should not have come back.”

  I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t think. The scent and the heat and the solidity of him made my head swim. My heart ached, its rhythm matching his.

  “I’ve messed this up so badly. I shouldn’t have let…” He cut himself off.

  “Let what?” I whispered. His blond scruff was almost a beard now, scratchy against my skin as he pressed his lips to my temple. The hand not occupied holding mine to his chest was tracing the fall of my hair, and his thumb sought the curve of my cheek.

  “I’m so sorry, Milja. None of this is fair—and none of it is your fault, I know that. I just wish things could have been different.”

  You cannot do this to me, I thought faintly. You cannot betray me and ask forgiveness. You can’t use me to entrap my lover. You can’t be my enemy and my only hope.

  But the priests had made a good choice sending Egan in to free me. When he murmured, “Come on,” and he put an arm round my shoulders and drew me toward the cell door, I went docilely. It was a strange thing, maybe, that I would argue and argue with Azazel, but I couldn’t bring myself to fight Egan. Or maybe I was just too worn out by that stage.

  Outside in the corridor they were waiting for us—many men: priests and monks and laymen in rough clothes. It was hard to imagine why such an entourage was necessary—there were too many for me, I thought, and not enough for Azazel. Three of the burliest priests carried filigreed silver caskets before them with an air of solemnity. The boxes didn’t match, though they were roughly of a size—a little over a foot long.

  Ratko trained his gun on us the moment I opened the door.

  “Ah, Milja,” said Father Velimir, who had reverted to his usual mild, implacable gravity. He even gestured me politely to walk beside him, as if I were some visiting European royal come to look round his monastery. “This way.”

  But they put Egan to the front of us in the procession, an armed man at his shoulder. The threat was still there, just unspoken.

  Should it still work? I wondered, as we walked in silence through the halls and passages of the complex. Should I care what happened to Egan now? I’d come back to save him, but he had turned out to be not worth saving. At least, that was how I ought to see it, if only I could be hard-headed and not confused by leftover feelings that refused to go away.

  What options were left for me? I’d told Azazel to go away and forget me. That was the only way to be sure of his safety. If I let them use me in whatever ceremony it was
they had planned, would it work? I wasn’t cocky enough to think they couldn’t make me cooperate—they’d shown every willingness to hurt me. But would Azazel even bother to answer my summons?

  And if he did, was there anything the priests could really do to bind him? Egan had promised, but Egan wasn’t to be trusted. He’d demonstrated that clearly enough. He had his own masters, his own agenda. Was he lying to the priests now? Was he just playing for time?

  Yet despite everything, I couldn’t bring myself to want them to hurt Egan, any more than I wanted them to recapture Azazel.

  My thoughts went round and round in circles as we climbed stairs and came out, eventually, into a long passageway with shutterless windows to either side. This was a very old bit of the monastery, I realized, glancing at the unplastered stonework and the rough and broken tiles beneath our feet. We were walking the length of a wall. The windows to the right seemed to overlook the main courtyard of the building complex, several stories below. The ones to the left looked out into sunshine and at a rough hillside across a great gap. The ravine was on that side. The ravine and the shallow stony river I could hear very faintly.

  Unconsecrated ground.

  I thought of the ghost-girl flinging herself from the tower window to escape the unseen soldiers. An act of utter desperation, and yet of courage.

  A piebald cat slunk in the angle between floor and wall, beneath the windows, staring up at the procession of priests. It looked at me with green eyes and mewed.

  Maybe, I thought, the priests were right. Maybe I was turning into a witch or a siren or whatever it was they called me. Maybe that accounted for the besotted cats and the terrified dogs, for my inability to cry real tears, for the ghosts and the campsite visions and the prophetic dreams—and even the traffic lights changing when we needed them to. Maybe I could do something after all.

  Something will happen, I willed, clenching my jaw. Something will happen to distract them all. Something, something, yes, it will.

  One of the priests at the front of the group stumbled. I didn’t see what tripped him—a monastery cat perhaps, or just a broken floor tile catching his sandal-toe. But he fell, and the heavy silver casket he carried slipped out of his hands and crashed to the ground.