The cold night air was bracing, and the battle cries were loud. Maggie fired at a Nephilim who flew at the tower, sending him wheeling. A bomb exploded below, and a Nephilim was thrown backwards. She fumbled for a bomb, too, planning to throw it at the Nephilim in the air.

However, in seconds, Anna was with her. She extended a hand, jaw tight, eyes full of fury. “Give me one.”

Maggie smacked one into her palm, and with startling speed, Anna activated it and hurled it under the Nephilim that Maggie had fired at. It exploded below him, not quite underneath him, but close enough, and he shot skywards.

Impressed, Maggie passed her another. “Great shot!” Then she shouted to Nahum and Barak, gesturing with her hands, hoping they would understand her. “Nahum, Barak, keep low!”

What was taking JD so long?

Then Anna pointed upwards. “What’s that?”

Two bright lights like shooting stars were hurtling towards the house from far above.

“Holy shit. They’re Nephilim wielding Belial’s tokens. They’ll kill us all.”

“Then we need to slow them down.” Anna grabbed a catapult off the table on the terrace, twisted a bomb to activate it, and expertly fitted it into the catapult’s pouch. In seconds, the bomb was hurtling upwards to meet the descending Nephilim. It exploded with shocking brilliance, the shockwave sending Nahum and Barak tumbling to the ground.

“Well, you’re a dark horse,” Maggie told her.

“Who do you think helps test these damn things?” She fired another with surprising accuracy, the shock of the explosion almost knocking Maggie off her feet. The flaming Nephilim slowed to divert around it. They were so close now that Maggie could see them in all their glory. Their outstretched wings were bathed in an almost incandescent white light. She could see the murderous intent in their eyes, and the flames dancing along their swords.

Another explosive kick of power rippled across the house and grounds, like a localised display of the Northern Lights. JD had activated his shield. Of the two Nephilim wielding Belial’s power, one was caught in it, and he vanished, vapourised, the other was stuck on the outside.

For a brief moment, their eyes locked, and Maggie felt the full brunt of his anger. It was so palpable that she fell backwards into a chair, his eyes feeling like they had burned a hole in her head. He lifted his sword and pointed it at her, as if promising what was to come, and then he turned off whatever power he had used, his incandescent light diminishing, examined the view below, and in seconds, he flew away.

Estelle raced across the lawn to the last Nephilim she’d brought down. He lay on the ground, wings smouldering, his skin badly burned by the fire balls she had released.

Barak was also running over, his sword raised ready to dispense justice.

“No!” Estelle shouted. “Wait!”

Barak stood over the injured man. “Why?”

“Because we need him to tell us where the others are.”

The Nephilim spat at her feet, barely hanging on to his consciousness he was so badly wounded. “I will tell you nothing!”

“Careful,” Barak warned, sword at his neck, “or your death will be slow. Help us and I will show mercy.”

The man laughed, blood staining his teeth. “I doubt that.”

Jackson had followed her, and he asked, “How will you get him to talk?”

“Glamour. I need you all to hold him down—just in case.” Although she doubted he’d mount much resistance.

By now Nahum and Harlan had arrived, and without argument, all four pinned the Nephilim down. Estelle crouched beside him, aware of the other dead bodies close by. She hated all this death and destruction. Excitement and treasure hunting was one thing, but this was something else. When this business was over with Belial, she wanted a new direction with Barak. She hoped he would want the same. This was not what her magic was for. For a long time she didn’t know how she wanted to use it, she just knew she needed to use it to its full potential. But now… Well, this wasn’t the way.

Pushing her objections to the back of her mind, she cupped the man’s face in her hands and stared deep into his eyes. The pain he suffered was enormous. She had inflicted that. She took a deep breath and cast her glamour spell, feeling its power roll into the fallen man. Nephilim were generally too strong to succumb, but this man was near death. Nevertheless, he tried to resist.

“Tell me where Jiri is.”

He ground out words through clenched teeth. “Screw you.”

Estelle decided to try another angle before she recast the glamour spell. “Belial’s time is at an end, or should be, and you know it too. Is this really what you wanted when you came here? To be doing his bidding once again? Or did you want true freedom, like these Nephilim have?”

He gave a grim laugh, blood speckling his chin. “Belial does not offer freedom. Death is my only way out.”

“It is now, for you, but not for the others. What if we could work together and defeat him? Would Jiri help?”

“Jiri would never help you.”

“Would the other Nephilim help?”

“And betray our commander? Never.”

Barak’s deep voice rumbled a request. “Forget commanders. Forget rules! Make your own.”

The Nephilim’s eyes flickered with what looked like hope before it vanished again. “It’s not possible.”

“Yes it is, because we did it.”

Nahum nodded, adding his own support. “Yes, we did. We have long lives, too long to live under the yoke of Belial.”

Estelle turned the man’s face so he was staring at her again. “Tell us where Jiri is, or who we can contact who will help us.” She reinforced her glamour spell, and added one to dull his pain, but tried not to confuse him. Regret was the man’s overriding emotion though, and she appealed to that. “Who would help us? I know someone will. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Ozan. There will be a few others too.” He gave the name up easily this time.

Estelle felt Barak flinch in surprise, but she didn’t dare break eye contact with the injured Nephilim now. “Where are you based?”

“Cabo.” His speech slurred as he slipped away, his eyes glazing.

“I need more details! Where is that?” Trying to keep him with her, Estelle asked, “What is your name?”

“Emre.”

“Thank you, Emre. We need a number. A way to contact Ozan.”

But Emre was already dead.

“No!” She groaned, head falling forward with disappointment. “Damn it!”

Harlan however was searching the man’s pockets, and with a cry of triumph, he shouted, “Yes!”

He had found Emre’s phone.

Twenty-Four

Ash opened the door of the rented villa for his brothers and Shadow at two in the morning, taking in their dishevelled appearance, and cuts and bruises. They all stank of smoke.