“The risk was too great. The pact has served us well. We have thrived.”

Gabe clenched his jaw, fearing Shadow and Niel were right. He should have killed Lamberti to protect themselves. He studied the people again, noting that although they wore jewellery, none seemed to be Belial’s tokens. The men that afternoon hadn’t wore them, either. Interesting. It was just as Lamberti suggested. He rolled onto his back, staring at the night sky as if he would see two glaring eyes watching him. He suddenly felt too vulnerable on the roof, and longed to crawl under cover. That was the thing with Fallen Angels. You were never sure how much they knew.

Then a door slammed below him, and a swell of voices carried to him. Newcomers.

A man spoke, his deep voice sounding older, mature. “Thank you for coming here on such short notice, especially after our losses tonight. Friends and family have died today. Aria must have been wrong. There must have been more than just one man and the woman there today.”

“So, what are we doing about it, Armand?” a woman asked. “My son was one of those dead men.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t help me! Belial is supposed to offer us protection! From everything. It’s clearly a lie.”

Even from the roof, Gabe could feel the tension. He adjusted his position, and caught a glimpse of the group. No one moved. It was a frozen tableau.

Armand, however, remained calm. “This is not time to lose faith, Emilia. The word has gone out. We are all on alert. Especially Jiri. Please remember that this is a relationship that has bound our families for years. We are rich and influential because of it. Of course there are risks, but…”

Emilia interrupted him. “Never risks like this! These men seem to have come from nowhere! They strike at the heart of us!”

“But they will not win. Georgio has the paperwork already, and they are waiting in Palazzuolo to kill whoever comes for it. We already are making headway on the others. They have friends and family, and they will die unless they leave us be. We have countermeasures. Whatever this is, it will be over soon.”

Friends and family. His brothers, and maybe the witches in White Haven. Maybe even their London team.

Gabe’s blood started to rage, the familiar, ancient bloodlust returning. He was insane for thinking that these people could be saved. They had all sworn allegiance to Belial, and no doubt had touched his jewels as some kind of initiation, just as Lamberti described. It was already too late to save them. They should just kill them all while they had the chance.

Belial was a cancer, and so were The Brotherhood. They had to cut them out, before they spread. Change of plan. As far as he was concerned, no one left here tonight. The house would become their tomb.

Ash edged around the side of the plinth, hoping he’d judged the direction correctly, and rolled onto his stomach.

He wriggled beneath the scant covering of leaves still left, now cursing the fact that Shadow and Niel had done such a good job of clearing the area. Abandoning the idea of using his sword, he pulled his alchemical weapon from his pocket.

Silence once again fell in the temple. He was a sitting duck, as the English so quaintly put it. Scarcely breathing, he focussed on the perimeter, and heard the crack of a branch. Another arrow landed within inches of him, embedded in the paving, but Ash had already spotted his attacker. He shot the branch above the dark figure and it crashed down, crushing him.

The flare of light from JD’s weapon cast a harsh glow on the temple, partially blinding Ash. He used it to his advantage, trusting that everyone else out there would be similarly affected. He was on his feet in seconds, zigzagging across the ground to the edge. Arrows whizzed around him, all missing, and Ash ran up the steps and past the temple columns, then leapt over the fallen branches and the man beneath, using them as cover.

Keeping his body low, he reached between the branches, feeling for the man’s pulse at his neck. He was sprawled awkwardly, but was still alive. Another arrow whizzed in his direction.

Ash shouted, “You risk killing your friend. He still lives.”

There was no answer, only another arrow, this time very close. Ash cursed himself for speaking. Idiot.

He squashed himself to the ground, peering as best he could to try and see the second man, and hoping there weren’t more. His assailant was either intent on killing him or was making his escape. If he had found the paperwork, he would have to follow him, but if he lifted his head to try to see him, he could die.

Another arrow flew above him, embedding in a tree.

Ash fired wildly, shooting haphazardly and not caring. He wanted to deter the assailant. Wound him, if possible. He had questions.

Then, in the flare of light, he saw why the other man was still attacking. There was an oiled package sticking out of the injured man’s jacket, covered in leaf mould and dirt. Lamberti’s paperwork. It had to be.

Ash gripped the fallen branch and reared up, using it both as a shield and weapon, just as a man came pounding out of the darkness. Ash ran towards him using the tangle of branches like a battering ram. He hit him with a huge crunch, and they both hit the ground hard. The man was still holding his crossbow, and the bolt flew past him, stinging as it cut his cheek. But that was the last thing the man did. He hit the ground awkwardly, his head striking the base of a pillar, and Ash knew he was dead, even before the blood pooled from his head wound.

Ash lay still, straddled across the dead man for a few moments longer, only standing when he was sure there were no others waiting. He strode back to the other man and retrieved the package. It was exactly what Lamberti had promised. A list of names, jewels, and where to find them, as well as business interests.

He crouched, moved the man’s crossbow, and searched him for any tokens of jewellery, relieved to find there weren’t any. The man groaned as he regained consciousness, and Ash put JD’s weapon away and withdrew his sword. He placed it at his assailant’s throat.

“Move slowly! I have questions for you.”

The man took a moment to orientate himself, eyes on the sword. “I have nothing to say to you. You may as well kill me now.”

He was young, maybe in his late twenties, and despite his bold words, he looked unsure of himself. Ash decided to try a different tactic. “You are a member of one of the three families who have vowed their lives to Belial, I presume?” His eyes flickered. “Or a friend, perhaps? An ardent convert? You have chosen badly. Belial is a harsh master, and he will kill you in the end, or send you mad.”

“It’s not like that,” the man protested.

“Yes, it is. Were you promised wealth? A place of glory for spreading his madness?”

“He is one of the Fallen! To spread his power is for the good of mankind.”

Ash sighed, withdrawing his blade by an inch. “I have seen the results of his power. People fight amongst themselves, or kill others, or are consumed by Belial himself. Have you touched his jewels?”

“Yes, months ago in a ritual when I was accepted into The Brotherhood, and I’m fine.”

Then it was already too late. “Are you? Or did you see his eyes flash fire, and feel the beat of his wings, and hear the whisper of his voice? Can you feel him even now, as he sits deep within you? I think you can. He’s whispering to you, isn’t he? Urging you to act. Does he tell you who I am?”

The man’s lips tightened as his gaze focussed inward. Then his eyes widened as he stared at Ash again. “You are Nephilim, like Jiri. Of the House of Raym.”

A shiver ran across Ash’s skin that had nothing to do with the cool night breeze. So, Belial knew who he was. “Yes, we fought against his House, and I know of Jiri.” He spoke directly to Belial, knowing the sliver of his presence would register every word. “We will not rest until you are gone. You and Jiri, and however many other Nephilim are here.”

The man writhed, eyes rolling back in his head, and suddenly his eyes flashed a pale, ice cold blue as he spoke in a voice that was not his own. A deep, commanding, and unearthly voice that spoke in the old tongue that Ash understood only too well. “You will all fail. I will have dominion again.”

Anger blazed in his eyes, but Belial had no power outside of the man’s body, and no tokens to draw strength from. The man’s skin became mottled, his breathing laboured as his body failed to cope with Belial’s assault. Ash saved him from a painful death and cut his throat. Blood splashed into the cool, damp earth, and his head fell back as the light faded from his eyes.

Another death, among many. And there would be more.

Twenty-Two

Shadow crept through Armand Beneventi’s house, finding little to interest her.

He was rich, that was obvious; the furnishings were luxurious in a tasteless, overstated way, and the whole place felt claustrophobic. That was compounded by the men who guarded the exterior exits and patrolled the corridors, all armed with guns. She had successfully evaded all of them, her fey glamour and stealth concealing her. Frustratingly, she found nothing of use. No maps, no central area of command, only endless angelic and religious iconography. Neither could she detect any sign of power that would suggest there were more of Belial’s jewels nearby.

Eventually, she left the house through an open window on the first floor, scaled a sturdy drainpipe, and made her way to the roof, where she spotted Gabe on the level below, atop the roof of the single storey building by the cloisters.

Keeping to the darkness, she dropped like a cat and edged towards him, trying to catch his eye before he tried to kill her. When he did see her, he edged back until both were at the rear of the building, well away from the gathered group. Gabe looked angry, his eyes sharp flints of obsidian.

“Something wrong?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“Yes. We need to kill them all.”

“So, I’m right?” She smirked. “Of course I am.”