I am in the place of dust again. The place of forgotten things. The sand shifts under my feet, revealing half-buried secrets. I find a bone carving, warm and worn, of a woman with the head of a snake. I find a stone block crudely carved with a horned man with a pointed chin, tied by long ropes. I find an old photograph of my family; me just a babe in arms, my Papa still clean-shaven, my…

I throw it away.

The sphinx is motionless, his eyes closed, coated in dirt. The tip of one wing sticks out of the dunes, the bedraggled feather as long as my body and as red as an old blood-stain. I stand before his paws and wonder if that is a pharaoh’s headdress he’s wearing or just a huge mass of unkempt hair.

“Gabriel?”

He opens his eyes. They are the most beautiful topaz eyes I have ever seen. “Free me, Daughter of Earth,” he rumbles.

“Is it really you?” I demand. “Is it true?”

“I have suffered enough!” As he heaves his paws, trying to pull free from the sand, I see that he’s bound down with huge iron chains.

“What are you doing here? Why you?” My voice is rising to a shriek. “When did you Fall?”

* * *

I woke with a start, and was surprised to find how late it was. Last night after Azazel’s booty-call I’d showered and crawled into bed early, aching and shaking—and then slept right through the morning, by the looks of things.

“Damn,” I mumbled to myself, flailing around for clothes. My heart was still pounding from the dream and my stomach was churning with anxiety. I had to talk to Egan, I told myself, hurrying through my ablutions.

What’s he hiding from me? What’s the secret that the angel, whoever he is, keeps? Does Egan know?

What is the Church hiding?

I dragged a brush through my hair as a final concession to respectability and then rattled down the uncarpeted stairs and along the barrel-roofed corridor to Egan’s door. I could hear the murmur of his voice, and I was so agitated by now that I didn’t knock. I just forgot.

“Egan, tell me about Gabriel!” I demanded as I stalked in. Egan was dressed, which was something. He was sitting blamelessly at his table, clad in his cassock, looking into an open laptop; and at my intrusion he looked up with his mouth open, aghast. “He’s here in Rome,” I snarled. “I know he is! Why’s he here? Why’s he tied up?”

Egan shut his mouth, slammed the laptop closed and jumped to his feet. “Get your stuff,” he said.

“What?”

“Get anything you need. You’ve got two minutes. We’re out of here.” He hurried to his chest of drawers and began to fling things into a small rucksack. “Hurry. Do you have cash?”

I was still fixated on my dream-memory. “Some—Why?”

“Because that was Don Giuseppe online—” he stabbed his hand at the computer “—and he heard you. And the Gendarmeria are going to be coming for you right now. We have to go!”

“I, uh…” I didn’t have anything to fetch from my room, except clothes. “What’s happened?”

He grabbed the bag. “You just made yourself into an enemy again. Do you have anything else you need to get?”

“No!”

“Good. We need to shift our arses this minute.” Seizing my arm, he pushed me out of the room and then took the lead, towing me down the corridor.

Just like that, we were on the run again.

Stunned by the turn of events, I didn’t protest or ask any questions. I kept quiet as we scuttled out of the hostel, dodged across three streets, and then flung ourselves into a white taxi-cab that Egan practically body-checked in the road.

“What’s going on?” I asked, much more meekly, as we pulled away into the Rome traffic, heading at his command for Roma Termini.

“Quiet.” A flash of his eyes indicated the driver. “Talk later.”

I dug my fingers into my thighs and obeyed, keeping silent as we wove through the streets—sometimes quickly, sometimes snarled up by other cars. My heart was racing. I’d done something terrible, I realized. I just wasn’t entirely clear as to what that was.

We couldn’t cut through the city center so we went south, skirting past the Colosseum. I stared up at its arched curve, wondering at all the people who had died in there, and whether they’d found meaning in their sacrifice.

Roma Termini was a big railway station, it turned out, but Egan made the cab stop some distance away, not out at the front. He didn’t wait for his change but added a blessing in Italian, then hurried me away. I thought we’d head for the main concourse, but he took us down a back street.

“This is a rough area, be careful,” he said, and I could sort of see that; even during the day there were groups of underdressed women hanging about on the street corners, obviously looking for trade, and in places the litter was piled nearly as high as the tide-mark of graffiti.

He found us an arched entrance that seemed to lead into the station. A policeman dressed in gray-blue pants and a dark blue jacket and cap was leaning there, smoking.

“Wait,” Egan muttered, then sauntered away toward the policeman. His body-language changed as he slowed; he was suddenly, obviously, a young priest in a black robe, looking a little embarrassed.

The policeman looked up at his greeting and his question, then grinned and fished inside his pocket. They stepped back into the shadow of the arch as a cigarette packet appeared. Egan glanced around once, moved in to take the cigarette—and then there was a sudden flurry of movement I didn’t understand and an embrace.

I moved forward slowly, my heart clogging my throat, in time to see Egan lower the policeman gently to the ground, releasing his neck from the chokehold, and then remove his sidearm from its holster. He hitched up his cassock to slip the pistol into his waistband, looked around again, and signaled me to cross into the arch.

“Is he okay?” I asked, as I approached the policeman’s unconscious form. Egan was using the man’s bright white gun belt to truss his elbows together behind his back. He worked with shocking efficiency.

“He’s fine. Get that bin open.”

I obeyed. This was way beyond me. Egan heaved the limp body into the recycling skip full of cardboard and shucked off his cassock to fling it in alongside. Then we walked on past the bollards and the traffic barrier into the back of the station. I shoved my hands into my sleeves to stop them shaking.

“Get some cash out.” He stood guard over me as I fleeced the ATM of a wad of euros. “Okay, let’s take that train.” He nodded across the tracks to another platform.

“We haven’t got tickets,” I protested as we headed down the subway stairs to cross beneath the tracks.

“Tickets will take too long; we can just pay the fine onboard.”

“Where are we going?”

“Anywhere not here.”

This was not what I’d bargained for when I flounced downstairs full of indignation and questions. How had things changed so quickly?

We piled into the train, whose LED screen proclaimed it was heading to Civitavecchia, with seconds to go before it pulled out from the platform. This was no express, I realized as it clanked out of the station; it was probably just some local train, and we were lucky enough to walk up the row and find a carriage that was all but empty. Egan waved me into a seat as far as possible from the other passengers and dropped down opposite me, his knapsack in his lap. He’d been wearing a thin gray sweater under his cassock; when he sat now it rode up slightly over the bulge of the stolen gun, and he twitched the wool back into place to hide it.

I was glad he was back in civvies; despite my earlier words I preferred him out of clerical wear. He looked once more like the Egan I knew. Except, right now, quite pissed with me.

“Okay, Milja,” he growled. “What the hell?”

“You dumped Father Giuseppe,” I said, wonderingly. “You betrayed Vidimus. You walked out on them without a second’s hesitation.” For me.

He blinked and turned his face away. “Yeah,” he said, and I could see all the blame churning over and turning inward, redirected against himself. “I did, didn’t I? Well.” He slumped back against the seat. “Saints’ sake, Milja… What the hell am I going to do with you? You know you’ve set the GIR—the Vatican’s rapid intervention group—on our tails?”

“That’s bad, is it?” I asked, stalling.

“Yeah, it’s pretty fecking bad.”

“Where’s Civitavecchia?”

“On the coast. It’s a port.”

“So your Vatican police have got no jurisdiction outside the Holy City, have they?”

He shook his head. “Technically you’re correct. And they will hesitate to follow us outside Rome. Which is good, except that it means Vidimus will likely turn to its extra-ordinary agents for this one.” He scrubbed at his face with one hand. “People like me.”

I didn’t like that thought. I’d seen what lengths he’d go to. “We need to go to Jotunheim. Do you know where that is?”

“What?” He narrowed his eyes. “What for?”

“That’s where Azazel and Penemuel will be. They’re trying to release Samyaza.”

“Ah, grand.” He rolled his eyes; the news was clearly not a huge surprise, but also not welcome. “That’s just what we need.”

“Where is it?”

“A bit north of here. Norway, to be precise.”

Norway? Oh, that actually makes sense. All those Viking stories about imprisoned Loki…

I bit the bullet. “What exactly have I done?”

“You’ve gone and told Vidimus that you’re on to the one big secret they don’t want anyone to know about. Ever. What the hell were you thinking of? Didn’t I tell you we couldn’t discuss it?”

I’d made myself stop apologizing long ago, just so that every other phrase out of my mouth wasn’t, ‘I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.’ So I just took a deep breath. “What’s the secret?” I sat forward in my seat. “Tell me.”

He opened his mouth—and I could already see from his expression that he was going to say No—but at that moment Azazel blinked into existence behind his seat. The fallen angel met my eyes with his silvery, impenetrable stare, but his hands fell on Egan’s shoulders.

Egan had just enough time to open his eyes wide before they both vanished.

I jumped to my feet. “Azazel!” I yelled down the carriage. “Azazel NO—bring him back!” But only the random passengers at the far end glanced out from their seats. I ran a few paces up the aisle, not knowing where I was heading, then turned and ran back. Egan had left nothing behind; no sign that he’d ever existed. “Shit!” I screamed, whirling from side to side and drumming my hands in the air like a child.

Penemuel appeared behind me. She smiled, reached out her arms in an embrace, and pulled me off the train, out of the world, and into darkness.

* * *

When I could feel air again on my face, it came with the cold wet sting of winter. I opened my eyes to a dizzying world of white and gray; white snow, gray rock, and—a long, long way down beneath my feet—gray water. I staggered as the wind pushed me on the slippery stone, but I had more to worry about than the weather.

We were standing on a tongue of rock that thrust out into space thousands of feet over a wintery lake. It was such a typical angel haunt. Egan stood almost at the very tip of the point, his back to the vertiginous drop, and he was being faced off by the most impossibly enormous goat. When I say it was big, I mean as big as a rhino and black as obsidian, with curved horns sharp as knives. It had him backed up on that insane diving-board of a rock with nowhere to go, and it was pawing the wind-scoured rock with its hoof.

Egan hadn’t pulled his gun. At least he had enough sense to know that it would do him no good. He stood with palms raised and his face averted in placation, only looking at the beast from the corner of his eye. The wind tore at his hair. I think he was wondering whether to jump.

“Azazel!” I shrieked, the moment I could draw breath. “Please! Don’t!”

The animal glanced back over its shoulder. I don’t think I’d ever realized just how evil goats look until I saw that dark, bearded face with its slotted eyes.

Or maybe we just think they look evil because we dimly remember the Scapegoat himself.

“Stop tormenting him, Azazel,” Penemuel said equably, walking up to the huge haunches and tugging on the long glossy coat.

In a second he shrank, changing form into his human guise—shirtless, but clad in a long black sarong that hung low off his hips and trailed upon the rock at his bare heels. It was hard not to stare; he’d upped his sartorial game since the other angel’s release, clearly. Just as she’d come out of her shell.

“We were just playing,” he said, smiling darkly at Penemuel as she cocked her fists on her hips and gave him a sardonic look. Then he moved to pace around me, glancing me up and down. “Want to play too, Milja?” he asked, his teeth glinting against the dark scruff of his stubble and his eyes narrowing.

His voice, as silky and dark as his hair, made every inch of my skin tingle with dread, but my fingers ached with the longing to touch him. That hard, dark-flecked torso; that teasing low-slung garment that looked ready to fall at the slightest touch…

“Please,” I said, my voice trembling and hoarse, trying to meet his silver eyes but finding myself too self-conscious, “he’s done nothing wrong, except fall in love with me.” That wasn’t entirely true of course, not by Egan’s reckoning or by mine, but it’s amazing what a human can push out of mind when necessary. “And you can’t blame him for being an idiot.”

Azazel merely grunted in response to that.

“Can we just concentrate on—” said Penemuel brightly, then broke off. “Are you cold?” she asked. Because Egan was shaking. His thin sweater was no match for the wind or the snow up here, and looking around it was clear to me that the temperature was way, way below freezing.

Except I couldn’t feel it. I felt a bit cool. The ice-flecks blowing horizontally against my cheek were nothing more than a kiss of chill.

“Tch.” Penemuel thrust a hand into the air and suddenly the snow stopped. Well, I could see it still blowing all across that steep winter landscape, but we seemed to be standing inside some invisible globe of immunity. In seconds the snow started clotting on the outside of that globe like it was an unseen umbrella. No breath of wind stirred against my skin. The air temperature shot up to balmy.

Egan slid down, very slowly, onto one knee. His shoulders shook and his eyes were glazed.

I cast Azazel a defiant, despairing look and walked out along the rock to where Egan knelt. My feet skidded a little on the wet rock. I didn’t want to look down, because looking down made me feel sick. I couldn’t imagine what was stopping this narrow tongue of rock snapping off and plummeting hundreds of feet into the fjord below. “Take my hand,” I said.

His fingers were so numb he couldn’t even wrap them around mine, but I closed my eyes and let the warmth run from me into him. I had stolen the heat from him in that house in Minot, but this time I did it in reverse. I heard him gasp as I infused him. Suddenly his hand felt toasty-warm in my grasp.

“Stand up,” I suggested, turning back to face the two Watchers.

Azazel’s face was dark with scorn, but he simply stood with arms folded.

Rising to his feet, Egan put one hand on my right shoulder from behind, and I covered his fingers with mine. We didn’t move away from the edge. We stood there with Heaven yawning above and Earth yawning below. Like gods, or like specks of ice. Take your pick.

“Right,” said Penemuel, who was between us and Azazel, rather to my relief. “Good—now we can talk about interesting things, like what’s going on in Rome.” She smiled at us in an encouraging way.

“That’s what this is about?” Egan said huskily.

“Of course.”

Not about revenge then. That’s good. Keep them focused on that.

“Milja, you claim to have some news?”

“There’s one of your people imprisoned there,” I admitted. “I’ve met him in my dreams. Twice now.”

“There’s no Watcher in Rome,” she said. “Funny, you’d think there would be, wouldn’t you? But I’ve worked it all out. Every one of our surviving brothers is accounted for.”

“That’s…impressive.”

She grinned. “It’s wonderful. So easy! Everything is written down! I never imagined! Did you know you’ve created a whole world as a mirror of this one? I can walk its streets as swift as thought, and see every detail, and explore all its history without once exposing myself to the Host. Every tree, every brick, every temple.”

“You mean online? Like, Streetview?”

“You are truly made in the Divine Image. Who could have foreseen what you have become with the tools we gave you? You are creators of worlds!” My obvious bemusement wasn’t going to stop her geeking out. “So many worlds! We could not have imagined them, but you have! Worlds just like this, and better ones, and worse. Worlds full of people you can know and love and defeat! Mysteries to solve, and wars to win, and terrors to defy!”

“Okay,” I said uncertainly.

“Azazel said that you had created wonders since our time, but I could not have guessed at what he meant.” She smiled at him. “I thought maybe towers and ziggurats and statues, but you—” she pointed at us “—you are something beyond all the rest of Creation. Unique.”

“Yeah, we’re something else all right,” I muttered.

“You are our children, but I see Our Father in you like a shining light. We did right to keep you alive. We did right to mold you as we did. We did right to give you our seed!”

Egan’s hand squeezed my shoulder, uncomfortably hard.

“Let us get to the point,” said Azazel, rather less effusive. “The Pillar of the South.”

Gabriel.

Penemuel smiled. “Of course. Tell us about him.”

“We will,” I heard myself say, “but you should also let us help you find Samyaza. I mean, you are really clever working it all out, but his actual prison is sealed from your eyes, isn’t it? You can’t hear him, and you can’t find the way in, right? Well, we’ll help you find him.”

“We will?” said Egan in my ear.

Penemuel threw Azazel a grin that said I told you so as clearly as if she’d thumbed her nose and done a dance.

“Come on, Egan,” I murmured. “The better their odds, the easier it will be to make the Host compromise. You’ve already started down that track—you can’t jump trains. Vidimus got the message, so like it or not that’s the only way forward now.” I lifted my voice. “We are on your side. We will help, if you let us.”

“Ah grand,” he muttered.

Penemuel was clearly pleased. “Yes. Yes. Your eyes to see the door, your hands to break the bonds. That will make things much easier. We can do that.”

Even Azazel dipped his chin grudgingly for a moment, before returning to the question, “But who are we up against? What has happened to the Pillar of the South?”

I wanted to know that too. I dreaded the answer though. I could feel my guts twist inside me. “Are you going to tell us, Egan?”

“Oh, Milja, you won’t like it.”

I’d already felt that premonition, but I couldn’t stop now. “I dreamed, when I came to Rome. A sphinx, in a desert full of dust. His wings are red. He’s huge. He begs me to release him.”

Penemuel’s eyes darkened from gold to bronze. “He was one of the faithful, when we knew him. He fought against us.” Her face was suddenly hard. “He slew my lovers and my children. He threw us into our pits to rot until eternity. When did he Fall?”

I looked over my shoulder at Egan, feeling queasy.

He exhaled through his nose. “A little over two thousand years ago.”

Azazel laughed.

“No no no,” I whispered, though it was the answer I’d guessed. The worst possible scenario. If the rock had chosen that moment to drop into the abyss, it would have felt fitting. “That can’t be right. If He was… I can’t…”

“Come on, Milja. Why did the Nails of the True Cross work on your man there?”

“Because they’re holy relics.”

But I knew Azazel didn’t care about sanctity. He could walk on consecrated ground without harm. He could shower in holy water. He could swat away silver bullets—but he couldn’t stand up to Saint George’s dragon-killing spear. Or the Nails, hammered through his flesh.

“Because blood calls to blood,” said Egan grimly. “Because once something has been used to bloody one of the Nephilim, it will injure an angel too.”

“I knew it!” Penemuel just about folded in half in her vehemence. “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas! The First Gospel of the Infancy of Jesus Christ! I knew as soon as I read them! It was obvious!”

I forced myself to turn and look straight up at Egan. His face was gray. “She’s right,” he muttered, shrugging.

“What is she talking about?” I asked.

“Non-canonical gospels, rejected from the Bible. Traditional chronicles of Our Lord’s childhood. And yeah, it’s obvious. He was…monstrous. He molded figures out of dirt and brought them to life. He commanded serpents. He killed people with a glance, for accidentally bumping into him in the street. He was accused of pushing someone off a roof, so he animated the corpse to testify to his innocence. He headed a gang of youths who forced travelers to come pay him homage. The people of Nazareth were so terrified of him that they went and begged his family to take him elsewhere. In vain. You can see, can’t you?”

I shook my head, wordless.

“Well, the Pillar of the South,” Azazel chuckled. “Who would have thought it?”

“But he was the Son of God,” I whispered. That’s what my Papa told me.

“He was one of the Nephilim.” Egan’s voice was as gray as his face. He looked as if a leap off the edge was appealing to him right now. “To take a positive view, he grew out of the killing people pretty early. He learned some wisdom and empathy.” His eyes flicked across to the two Watchers. “Your offspring are not beyond all hope.”

“Mine are,” said Azazel grimly, and Penemuel put a hand on his arm.

“How do you call yourself a Christian?” I asked, with some spite. “A Catholic?”

Egan smiled, in a sickly manner. “Because he was God too. He just didn’t remember it at that stage. He didn’t know, until his baptism at thirty or so. ‘And the Holy Ghost descended in a bodily shape like a dove upon him, and a voice came from heaven, which said, Thou art my beloved Son; in Thee I am well pleased.’ That was it. He changed. The world was changed.” He stuck his hands in the pockets of his black trousers. “Yeah, it’s all kinds of heresy. Wars have been fought and thousands slaughtered over the question of the nature of Christ, but what it boils down to is that We Have Seen. Vidimus. We’ve spoken to Gabriel. This is the archangel’s version.”

It felt like I’d glimpsed light again in the middle of darkness. I could draw breath.

“I did warn you,” Egan said unhappily.

“Who knows this?”

“You mean in the Church? Just us.”

“So it’s Vidimus’s dirty little secret?”

His eyes flashed, then veiled. “It’s not great. But that’s the way it is.”

“Truth wouldn’t be good for business, would it?” I rasped.

“Quite.” He looked away. “You can’t change public doctrine just like that. People would lose faith.”

“You guys are so messed up.”

“Maybe. I think you’ll find we’re no worse than anyone else.” He looked grim still, but not as bad as he had done. Some weight was off his chest. “And it was never my choice, Milja. I took a vow of obedience and service.”

Only obeying orders? I thought. But I didn’t say it out loud. It wouldn’t have been fair. Egan had always done what he thought was the right thing. We might not agree on that judgment, but I couldn’t doubt his intentions.

Besides, at that moment Penemuel spoke up. “Don’t you see? This is excellent news; the archangels are one down. The Messenger himself.” Her smile was razor-edge. “It is not only justice for what he did—it is to our great advantage.”

Azazel nodded thoughtfully.

“And with human eyes to aid in the search…” she continued, obviously enchanted by the plans scrolling inside her head. “We can free Samyaza. We can free them all.”

“You think I will agree to that?” Azazel growled. “Is everything just to be alright now? Are we all good friends?”

“Aren’t we?”

I gave Egan’s arm a little squeeze, then turned away from him. “Azazel, may I talk to you alone? Please?”

“Alone?” He curled his lip. “If you have anything to say, say it in front of him. You have nothing to hide from your lover, surely? Say it in front of all of us.”

Penemuel folded her arms and looked askance. Egan looked unhappy, but said nothing.

It was an unpalatable mouthful, but I swallowed my pride. I walked back down the tongue of stone to where Azazel stood glowering, and moistened my dry lips. The air was absolutely still; I was pretty sure that my words would carry no matter how quietly I spoke them. “I’m sorry about Roshana, truly. I wish I hadn’t had to kill her. I had no choice.”

“You had no right,” he countered. “She was mine. My daughter!”

“Yes. And she was about to kill us.”

“Kill your paramour, you mean.”

I hesitated, stung.

“Which bit of ‘Milja saved your life too,’ are you struggling to grasp?” Egan growled. “Because either you’re thick as a plank, or you’re claiming she offended your high moral precepts. And I’m not buying that.”

You’re not helping, Egan!

Azazel took a single angry step forward and I put my hands on his bare chest just to stop him crashing into me. The touch, thankfully, distracted him from Egan. He glowered down into my face. “Why do you love him?” he demanded.

“Why do you love me?”

He shook his head and laughed; it was an ugly sound. “You told me you needed me to love only you. In five thousand years chained in darkness, I had forgotten how much humans lie. There is not a bone of honesty in your bodies.”

“Okay,” I said humbly. “You were right. I was a gigantic hypocrite, and I wronged you. I’m sorry.”

Azazel waited, one black brow crooked high.

“I should never have made demands on you. I screwed up. I was… I am… I’m weak, Azazel. I’m scared. You’re so much more…” Oh, this is not coming out right. I cleared my throat. “I was jealous because I was afraid that if you got, um, involved with someone else, then you couldn’t possibly love me.”

I could see Penemuel out of the corner of my eye like a great golden flame.

“Because I’m just not that beautiful. Not good enough for an angel.” I took a deep breath. “That was so stupid of me, wasn’t it? I already knew that love’s not like that.” I already knew how I felt about Egan. I just didn’t grant you the same grace.

“Yes,” he said with consummate bluntness. “It was stupid.”

“There are ways they teach us we should act when we love, and I don’t know if they’re right, but they’re definitely wrong for you. Because you’re not… Every time I try to control you I screw up. Every time I make demands, or expect you to behave like a proper human boyfriend, whatever that is. Every time I try to make you safe for me.”

“You were always safe with me.”

“No. You’re not safe. And you’re not my husband, or my boyfriend. You’re a fallen angel.” It felt, as I said those words, that I was letting go of something I’d clung to for a long time. It felt as if I was falling away from him. “I still don’t know how to deal with that. But I do know I should stop trying to make you do things. You are you, forever and ever, and I am just human. I’m momentary. So love who you want; it’s not my job to tell you. Do what you want; I will still love you.”

“Will you? Whatever I do?” Azazel’s silver eyes bored into mine. His voice was low, his breath honey and pepper. “What if I choose to push him off that rock?”

He would. He would, you know.

For a moment I held my breath. “I’d rather you killed me first. Really.”

He understood. His face seemed to crumble, muscles pulling his eyes and mouth awry. “All I wanted was to make you happy,” he rasped. “Why couldn’t you just be happy with me?”

I shook my head. “I can’t ever be happy, Azazel. Ever.”

“Why not? What do you want?”

What do I want?

“I want to be yours,” I said, my breath so shallow that I could hardly get the words out. “Yours entirely. Your concubine—your slave. I want to forget everything but you. I want you to love me and desire me and never stop, even when I cry for mercy. I want to kneel in chains at your feet; I want you to ravish me whenever, wherever, however you want me. I want you to own every inch of my body, and to fuck me so senseless that I never think again.”

Everyone was staring.

“And I want a lover,” I continued, “who will be with me all my days. Who will grow fat and wrinkly with me, and share stupid jokes and cook dinner and cut the lawn and drink bad wine and watch box-sets on TV and get all excited imagining what will happen next. I want to hang wallpaper with him and argue about whether the cat should be allowed to sleep on the bed with us. I want a partner whose life I make complete. I want to wake up every morning determined to be the best version of me that I can be, for his sake. I want to sit in the park with him and watch our children feeding the ducks, and know that this is the most wonderful, exciting thing we could ever do in all the world. I want our lives to be one. I want to grow old with him, and change with him, and know we have made each other different and better people. I want him to die first and break my goddamn heart forever, so that he never has to mourn me.”

I fell silent.

“I can’t give you that,” he said at last.

I shook my head, my pain a mirror of his. “I know. But neither can he.”

His eyes were molten pewter, the silver of Heaven and the darkness of the Pit swirling together.

Penemuel stirred, lifting her head. “Michael’s here,” she said ominously, as light turned the spinning snow to motes of gold. “Hurry.”

Azazel glanced up at the sky, then flung me bodily with a scoop of his hand against Penemuel. She caught me in one arm, faster than thought, strong as a lioness, and launched herself straight at Egan. We body-checked him as a single mass, straight off the edge of the overhang, a tangle of limbs plummeting into the empty air.

Then the air tore open, and we were nowhere, and then whumph Egan and I were released to spin horizontally across packed snow and crash into a drift piled against a clapboard wall. The snow cushioned us, mostly.

I lifted my head, spitting out bloody ice from where I’d bitten the inside of my lip, in time to see Penemuel—who, catlike, was still on her feet—look up with a snarl at the sky and pull the fabric of reality around her like a curtain, vanishing into the folds.

I crawled out of the snowdrift as Egan hauled himself to his feet. We were in a side street of a snow-covered mountain town. I could see the huge cliffs towering beyond the neat, insulated, multi-colored houses. Light spilled from a shopfront on the opposite side of the main road; clearly darkness came here early, so close to Midwinter and so shadowed by the mountains.

Up on those peaks, though it wasn’t yet sunset up there, strange lights flickered and bloomed briefly in the sky, red as blood and gold as glory.