Julius listened to the conversation with interest. He couldn’t quite figure Trina out. She’d promised to help him the other day, but she didn’t seem to like him at all—not for anything beyond the information she wanted. She feared him, too. Why?

And why was she so desperate to get the Watcher’s name? They already had the thing re-imprisoned in its tower. “Why are you so worried about the Watcher?”

“He’s up to something. Every other day he makes so much noise his tower starts to crumble. The next day, he’s silent. Then it begins all over the following day.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Here’s the deal, Crowley. I’m going to have Harrison and Scott let you out of those restraints. The hood stays on. You get no weapon. You lead them to where you think Leopold is and if you find him, bring him back.”

If he found Leo, the only thing he’d be bringing back is the bastard’s ash.

Scott scoffed. “Crowley isn’t going to come back.”

“Yeah, he will. I’m keeping Kat. If he doesn’t come back . . . .”

He stared at Trina. Nothing in her aura gave away her true intent. She might be bullshitting him, but he couldn’t be sure. Everyone else he had a history on, but Trina was a blank. The only memories he had of her were ones where he’d dealt directly with her and she’d always been a bit unpredictable.

She motioned to the chains. “Harry.”

Harrison cursed under his breath, but undid the restraint closest to him. Scott came around the other side to help.

As soon as he was free, he jumped up.

Scott reached for him. “Hey, settle down.”

Julius shrugged him off, zeroing in on Kat. He strode up to her and lifted her so she could wrap herself around him. He held her close, burying his face in her neck. “God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Shut up.” Her words were muffled against his neck as she hugged him back.

“No. You’re beautiful. Special. You’ll be fine.” He kept his words low, hoping the others wouldn’t hear. “But us . . . we’re done now. You gotta stay away.”

“No.”

He pulled away to see her face. Damn it, he wanted this fucking hood off. “You have to separate yourself from me. Please.”

“Hey.” Harrison came around his side. “This isn’t why we released you. We need to go.”

Shit. They couldn’t even give him a minute with her. “I’m not done talking about this, butterfly.”

She sniffed. Cupped his face and planted a kiss on his lips right through the hood. “Good. Neither am I.”

He eased her down to the floor, wishing he could kiss her one last time. “I’ll come back.”

Someone, either Harrison or Scott, grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away from her. He kept his gaze on Kat. “I promise.”

Her gaze shifted to Trina and when she looked back she nodded, but tears flooded her eyes. What did that mean? That she didn’t expect him to stay true to his promise? Did she not expect him to survive? Did she not expect to be here when he got back?

He pointed to Trina. “You better not hurt her.”

She smiled. “Come back and I won’t have to.”

Fuck.

“Now, where am I sending the three of you?”

Jesus. He hoped to hell Leo hadn’t moved his hidey-hole. “Knightsbridge.”

Her brows drew together. “You mean near Harrods’?”

“Yep.” The son of a bitch might live in a sewer, but it was a sewer in the best part of town.

She pulled a necklace out of her pocket, a black stone on a gold chain, and handed it to Harrison. “When you’re ready to come back, say my name three times.”

“Like Beetlejuice. Got it.” He took the necklace and put it on. “Let’s go.”

The bitch wasn’t real.

Azazel pressed a knife through her shoulder, pinning her to the wall. Evelyn was a doppelgänger. All this time . . . .

Azazel pushed another through her other shoulder and stepped back, leaving her hanging there, wailing. When Leopold had first come to his tower to make his deal, Evelyn had been a real vampire. Beautiful. Naughty. He’d enjoyed watching her cause problem after problem, sometimes for the Council, sometimes for the coven.

She’d been injured by the coven when she and Leopold had tried to imprison Satrina and Lilith. That had been right before the Clearances. Right before the coven spell-traveled to the colony of Roanoke to try to stop him from changing the hundred and fifteen colonists into Nephilim. He remembered seeing Satrina cast a spell that had thrown Evelyn across the room against a wall. The stroke had been instantaneous.

The coven had gone to the colony of Roanoke and . . . what a disaster. The coven had destroyed all hundred and fifteen Nephilim. He and the Nephilim had destroyed all thirteen witches. And Crowley had trapped him in his body, preventing him from creating more Nephilim.

Evelyn must’ve died while he’d been busy with the coven and Crowley in Roanoke. Maybe Leopold created a doppelgänger then? That must be what happened, because he hadn’t seen anything since to indicate she wasn’t Evelyn. Leopold treated her like his wife.

Rage coiled through him. He was a Watcher. The first of all angels created. He was meant to see all and hear all. And he’d been tricked. Made to look like a fool.

“When did you do this?”

Please don’t hurt her. She can’t fight back.

“When did you create a doppelgänger of your wife?”

She died in my arms. Turned to ash even as I held her. I begged for her to come back. I prayed as I never pray. And next thing I knew she was there, hugging me back and trying to tell me everything would be okay.

“Why did you do it? Why not make her whole?”

I didn’t realize. I thought she’d come back. I thought she was better than before. . . . She’s not a threat to you, leave her alone.

Better than before? Why, because she no longer caused him problems? No longer argued with him? “She’s not real!” He stabbed another Guardian blade into the doppelgänger to prove his point. The damn fool hadn’t even realized she was a doppelgänger. All this time he could’ve made her be anything he wanted. Azazel laughed. And the fool hadn’t known.

In the back of his mind, Harrison, Scott, and Julius drew his attention. A moment ago, he couldn’t see any of them. Now they were here in London.

Azazel froze. In his mind’s eyes, visions blasted through his consciousness.

The scene narrowed to Brompton Road in London. His old host appeared there, in front of Harrods, five blocks above and to the south of where he stood. Harrison and Scott were with him. Crowley headed in the direction of Leopold’s sewer entrance.

He should be dead by now!

Azazel checked the time. This wasn’t good. He had to leave Leopold’s body soon. But doing so would leave both him and his host weaker. Should he wait? Pop out and right back in? He couldn’t risk meeting his old host outside his new host. Crowley was the Destroyer.

He must have been with Trina—that’s why he couldn’t see Julius earlier—they were together. Plotting. Planning. His old host’s powers may have activated by now. Is that why they sent him to find Leopold? Did they know he was free from the tower again? He couldn’t take the risk.

Minutes ticked on while he tried to decide. Stay? He’d have to get rid of them quick. Wouldn’t have time to mess around. Thirty minutes tops.

Or leave the body for a few moments and risk failing because he was too tired? He’d have more time then. Wouldn’t have to rush. He could take his time making his old host suffer.

They were already at the gate.

Time was up.

Traveling by spell wasn’t as pleasant as Julius remembered. The tingling sensation reminded him of the spiders, which made him itch.

The three of them stood outside Harrods’. The store was closed. The streets deserted. For a moment, he looked around, disoriented. He couldn’t remember ever seeing a London street quite this vacant.

Scott turned a slow circle, eyeing the streets. “Nephilim hit London again a few days ago. People are scared.”

Ah. He’d forgotten about the Nephilim. All the more reason to get this over with and back home. “This way.” He reached up to take the hood off.

Something hard, round, and cold jabbed against his spine. “Now, I know this gun won’t kill you,” Scott said, “but I’m thinking if I shoot you at this close a range it will put you down for a while.”

Julius lowered his hands. “It’s gonna be a long damn night.”

Harrison snorted. “Yeah, it is.”

He led them down the five blocks to an alley between fancy townhomes.

He had been here before. His memories of this place were real . . . well, at least one of his memories of this place was real. A wrought-iron fence accentuated with gold filigree sat between two white-washed townhomes. Last time he’d been here, two Sentries had stood guard but the Nephilim he’d brought with him had ashed them both.

Harrison nudged him. “What are we waiting for?”

“For one of you to pick the lock.”

“Pick the—?” Harrison scoffed, pulled out his side arm and shot the lock.

The discharge was still echoing through the canyons of London when he kicked it in. “Let’s go, Crowley.”

“So much for sneaking up on him.” Julius led the way down the alley and into an old townhome. The place was empty—wasn’t even furnished to give the impression of being used. Scott and Harrison’s auras emitted enough light for him to make out the wallpaper hanging in strips in some places.

“Is this a fucking joke?”

Julius’ boots echoed as he strode through the house at a quick clip. “We’re going downstairs.” He entered the kitchen and opened a door on the other side of the room, went down the stairs, across the unfinished basement and through another door.

“Where the hell are we going?” Scott asked.

Julius headed down stairs again. “Vampires don’t like the light.”

Harrison chuckled. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“And Leopold has his wife down here. She’s not well. Had a stroke or something.” He stepped off the last stair into ankle-deep water. “Found the old sewer.”

He realized as Harrison and Scott came up alongside him that down here not even the light of their auras gave off enough light for him to see.

Scott pulled out his phone and turned on a flashlight app. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?”

The added light helped, but not a lot. Mostly, he was seeing the outlines of objects, not any detail. “Don’t know. I can’t see fuck all.”

“That wasn’t a problem ten minutes ago.”

“There were streetlights on the surface. Moonlight. Here all we have is the weak-ass light from those phones.” Julius grabbed Scott’s hand and angled the light around the room. They were in a cistern, best he could tell—a large room with curved walls and six tunnels shooting off in different directions. These sewers hadn’t been used in centuries, though there was still about an inch of stagnant rainwater sitting in this one. “There.” He shined the light on the tunnel in front of them.

Scott took out his sidearm, checked the clip and chambered a round. The click echoed in the sewer. “You first, Crowley.”

He sauntered forward as if he didn’t have a care in the world. This sucked. He couldn’t see. He might walk right up to Leopold and wouldn’t realize the danger until he was on top of him. “Come on, assholes, more light.” What the hell did Trina expect to accomplish with this whole charade? Was this their sanity test? A loyalty test?

They walked in silence for a while, their breathing and the splash of shallow water echoing off the curved walls. They were getting close. The tunnel angled up slightly. Enough for the ground to be dry. Their shoes squelched with each step. When they came to the next cistern, Julius stopped. They should be there. “This isn’t right.”

Had he gone down the wrong tunnel? He glanced back the way they’d come.

“This looks the same as the last one, ’cept it’s dry.” Scott’s shoes made a squelching noise as he stepped onto the dry surface.

“There should be a piano there.” He pointed to the other side of the cistern. “A bedroom down that tunnel.” He flattened his hand and motioned from right to left. “All this is carpeted.”

Harrison snorted. “Maybe the son of a bitch moved.”

“Or maybe he was never here to begin with.” Scott holstered his weapon. “Jesus, this was a waste of time.”

No. No. No. What was he missing?

“Come on, let’s head back.”

He wasn’t going back. Not until he found Leopold. Going back with anything less would be a death sentence. At least if he found Leo, he wouldn’t look like a total loss. “No.” He squinted. He was seeing something. It was faint. Odd. He pointed. “What is that?”

“Don’t start.” Harrison took a step closer, his foot squishing in his wet shoes.

Julius side-stepped. “He’s here. Someone’s here.” There was a red and white blotch moving around not twenty feet away, down the tunnel he thought had once been a bedroom. “There.” He pointed down the darkened tunnel. Took a step toward it.

A scream echoed off the walls.

He froze. A woman? He cocked his head to the side. As the scream faded, he caught the scratchiness that suggested male. Too high-pitched, though.

The scream tore through the sewer again, this time the voice broke, cracked.

“It’s a kid.” Harrison stepped past him. Turned to the left. As the scream echoed around them, he turned to the right. “It’s a boy.”

Oh, Jesus. “We don’t know that.” What was the likelihood there was a boy down here screaming? That wasn’t Leopold’s MO, it was Adia’s. And Adia and Leopold didn’t get along. “Leopold’s a projector talent, remember?”

Harrison turned a full circle, shining his light down each of the tunnels and the scream kept bouncing off the walls. “I can’t assume that. We have to check. Where are they?” Harrison didn’t sound right. He was breathing too fast, almost gasping.

“Harry. Don’t run off.” He didn’t like this. Leopold was a bastard, but he’d never known him to torture kids. “This is a set up. A trick.”

Harrison paused. “To what end?”

The scream grew in volume again.

“I have to know for sure.” Harrison whirled around.

Another scream rolled through the cistern.

“There!” Harrison darted down one of the tunnels.

Julius followed.

“I never . . . I never meant to hurt you and your mother.”

Julius paused at the sound of Scott’s voice. The old man had been damned quiet the last few minutes. Slowly he turned.

Scott was gone.

Jesus. He must’ve gone down one of the tunnels.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry.” Scott’s voice was quiet, but still echoed in the tunnels. “I didn’t choose to be this way. Back when your mother and I got married . . . .” Scott’s voice faded.

Was he talking to his daughter? Impossible. First a boy screaming—something guaranteed to trigger Harrison, and now this? What the hell was going on?

Julius ran back to the center of the cistern. He didn’t see the light from Scott’s phone down any of the tunnels.

Leopold was a projector. He could project a person’s truest desire. But a boy’s screams? Dealing with a daughter who was upset because her father was gay? Those weren’t desires.

They were nightmares.

Julius took off his hood. He turned, saw something move in the darkness and froze.

There, not ten feet away, his brother, Julian, stared back at him.