When Damien informs Allannan that Oran and the Vanguard were behind the assassination attempts, she banishes them from Carnâk. With their removal, life in the city of Ereb resumes its peaceful pace.

We're given a large villa with room for all of us to live and for Dante to have a studio. Dante is delighted with the colors and quality of paint available and wastes no time setting up shop.

Damien begins work designing a gallery to house their work, and I spend a lot of time holding poses while Dante paints.

It's not home, but it's not bad, either.

Even so, within a week I'm feeling homesick. I miss our apartment and the familiar streets I know. I miss my favorite coffee shop and my favorite bookstore, and all the smells, sights, sounds, and flavors of Earth--even the unpleasant ones.

Dante sympathizes. "When Constantinople fell, I thought I'd never find another place that felt like home. But I did. It always hurts at first, and it takes a while, but eventually home becomes someplace new. You'll see."

About a week after that, Azael makes it known that he's aware of our location by issuing a threat to Allannan and Deberon demanding that they hand us over or face invasion. They refuse, and to our relief, they have the support of enough other realms and powers that they're able to call Azael's bluff with confidence.

Soon enough, it begins to seem like Dante is right. When I think the word 'home' I see our villa, with its whitewashed stone walls, tiled roof, and reflecting pools.

After only a month, Dante's star is on a meteoric rise, and no one is surprised when Deberon proposes a showing of their work at the next State ball. It's the sort of thing attended by all kinds of important people, and it sounds terribly boring. As the primary subject of much of their work, Dante insists I attend. Because I love them, I agree.

Damien, on the other hand, gets out of it. As the artist's patron, the officials view it as a conflict of interest for him to attend an event that could so significantly elevate the worth of Dante's work.

"I'll make it up to you later," he promises, kissing me while he adjusts the uncomfortably loose clothes I'm being forced to wear.

"Can't you come in disguise or something?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "I'd give myself away. You know I can't keep my hands off you."

He demonstrates.

"Fine, fine!" I say, escaping with a laugh. I'm still disappointed he refused; later I'd be only too happy that he did.

~xxx~

Dante looks stunning. They're wearing elegantly tailored pants with a flowing blouse, a jacket, and slim high-heeled shoes. The effect shows off both their height and strength and their soft sensuality. I wonder absently why they get to wear something so normal while I'm stuck looking like an overdressed belly dancer.

At least Dante's debut is a success, I think, as they bask in excesses of praise. Some of it comes my way, but mostly I'm subjected to endless looks of comparison between myself and the likeness in the paintings. I get the feeling most people think the real thing doesn't quite live up. 

I can't blame them. Dante's brush has turned me into something more than I am--an angel or a god. Not that I mind. In fact, with the salacious looks I see on many of the women and not a few of the men, I'm glad the attention is directed at the art and not at me.

Finally, the evening is almost over, and Dante is invited up to a stage-like area at one end of the room to receive an award for 'Contributing to the Artistic Spirit of Ereb,' or some shit. I get dragged along.

"And now," Deberon says, addressing the gathered crowd. "It is my honor to present this award to the newest addition to our artistic community. The talented and gracious--"

His words are cut off by the resounding boom of the doors being thrown open with such force that they bounce against the walls. There are mingled gasps and screams as a retinue of tall and ferocious-looking people sweep in. They march in a double line, clearing a path straight to the stage. When the first two reach its edge, they stop. 

The entire double line of soldiers turns and faces one another before taking three steps back, clearing a path between them.

At the far end, I see an enormous figure, easily seven feet tall. He wears shining armor like something out of one of those Lord of the Rings films, and a long purple and gold cloak. At his waist, he wears a great long-handled sword. Somehow, I don't have to ask who he is.

"Azael," Allannan gasps. "How in Carnâk did he get past our defenses? Guards!"

"Wait!" Deberon interrupts, staying their advance. "It's too late for that."

Allannan turns towards him with a look of shock and realization. "You..." she gasps. "What have you done?"

"Yes, Deberon, tell us. What have you done?" Azael says as he draws near.

His voice is a sonorous baritone, mellifluous and dark, and it sends shivers of horror up my spine as I remember it from Damien's dreams.

"I--I had to," he stammers, holding his hands towards Allannan in a pleading gesture. "There was no choice. I did it for Carnâk--for our people."

Allannan's expression changes from surprise to disgust. "Our people? Our people are not cowards, Deberon. Our people would not wish the enemy to set foot on our soil. They would not agree to deal with devils or to willingly betray our friends to their death. Our people--my people--are better than that."

Deneron's expression hardens. "Don't be naive. Do you really think the strength of our allies is enough to protect us? Which among them do you think would really come to our aid? But you were naive before too. To think you believed that not joining the fight was enough to keep it from spilling into our homes."

A sudden truth strikes me hard enough that I almost stagger under the blow. "It was you," I say. "You betrayed Sakariel all those years ago. You knew where the dead zones were on Earth, because Damien told you about them. He--they--trusted you, and..."

For a moment I don't understand why I feel so personally betrayed, but then I realize that it's because I've just been personally betrayed.

"You sold us out."

"Yes," Azael confirms. "Deberon is wise. He knows when the price of resistance is higher than the price of honor. But what of yourself, Lady Allannan? Are you so wise? Will you give me what I want, or must I educate you to certain truths?"

He nods towards his soldiers, and as one, the double line of men draw long, saber-like blades. Then turn about in unison to face the divided crowd.

"Guards!" Allannan commands with a voice like steel. "At the ready!"

I look down at the crowd. I don't know any of them, don't really care about any of them, but I recognize the fear in their faces, and I know that even if Allannan's guards had a chance of overcoming Azael's trained soldiers, most if not all of them will die in the fray.

"Wait," I step forward. "I'm the one you want. I'll go with you. Just...don't hurt anyone."

Azael regards me with cruel blue eyes. "Come then," he beckons.

Dante catches at my arm, but I look back at them and shake my head. I hope the look I give them is enough to convey that I need them to stay for Damien's sake.

I climb down from the stage and walk towards Azael. He seems to get larger the closer I approach. When I'm within arm's reach, he stretches out his massive hand and wraps it around my throat, pulling me towards him. He turns me so I'm facing away and pulls me against him, squeezing just hard enough that my breath rasps in my windpipe.

"You'll keep your word?" Deberon asks. "In exchange for the Key, you won't open the Abyss in Carnâk?"

Azael's voice rumbles in his chest at my back. "No. I will not. I believe that Earth is far more suited to my designs anyway. Your precious Carnâk is safe, for now." 

Orange fire races down his arms, and I feel a sick feeling in my heart.

"Wait--take me with you!" Deberon cries, crawling from the stage and stumbling towards us.

"I think not," Azael replies.

"But I've been useful to you!"

"Indeed. As a spy. But a spy revealed is no use to anyone. In fact, they're better off dead."

In one smooth motion, Azael draws his long blade with one hand, swings it singing through the air, and resheathes it.

Deberon stands for a moment, a look of surprise on his face. Then his head slowly slides from his neck in a fountain of blood and falls to the floor. His body follows.

"Ennon," Azael addresses a soldier who seems to be of a higher rank. "Return to the gateway. I will see you in Gehenna."

He squeezes a little harder on my throat, and I choke.

"Allannan--I know that Dantalian is here. Tell him to seek me out when he wishes to suffer yet another death."

Dante's horrified face is the last thing I see before orange fire burns the world away.