'You think I'm crazy, don't you?' he said.

I was still staring at the vial. I couldn't look at him. Not yet. Not while an eternity rested in the palm of my hand.

He chuckled, the sound forcing my gaze to meet his.

'Maybe I am,' he said with a sniff, cuffing his nose with the back of his hand. 'You barely know me. I mean, you know more about me than anyone else ever has, but I guess that doesn't really matter. Not in human terms anyway. To you I must be this crazy bloke who's turned your world upside down and who's now asking to you stay with him for as long as we can stay alive. I wouldn't say yes if I was you.'

His face was guarded, his tone too matter-of-fact, like he'd flipped a switch labelled Stop Being A Soft Bastard, but I could still see something in his eyes, a touch of hurt maybe? I hoped not. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him. I didn't know what the Hell I wanted, but I knew I didn't want that.

'I'm not saying no...'

'But you're not saying yes either.' He swallowed. 'It's okay. Really. I'm not expecting you to say yes. Not yet. Just... think about it. That's all I'm asking.'

Think about it. Sure. But how was I meant to think when my head was a jumbled mess of jagged memories and nightmares, of a hope I hardly dared to allow myself, because let's face it, where had hope ever gotten me before?

Closing the book, Ethan placed it by his side on the bed. 'Here,' he said. 'I want to show you something.'

Pulling his legs up underneath him, he sat cross-legged, leaning forward slightly so his back was no longer against the wall. Taking a breath, he concentrated on a spot just in front of him, holding out his hands, palms down, fingers splayed. With small, delicate gestures, he began pulling on the air, but not in any way I had seen him do before. I'd seen bold, forceful moves, ones that I knew required strength and power, but this was completely different. It was like watching an artist paint a canvas with delicate brush strokes that required precision and fluidity, and as I watched, his movements quickened, a dizzying speed that left me breathless. Just when I was about to ask what he was doing, I saw it.

A blur of colour suspended in the air.

It grew, solidified, took shape, became something.

I knew then what I was witnessing. I was watching him create.

My eyes widened, but Ethan's hands just kept moving, pulling the air, controlling it, moulding it. I craned my neck to look closer, my mouth open in amazement.

The way his fingers moved, it looked as if he was knittingsomething out of metal. Strands of silver overlapped, twisted, formed a delicate crochet-effect that was cylindrical in shape, probably no more than about 6-7cm in length and the width of one of those expensive fat cigars that Oscar always liked to smoke. I was hypnotised by the intricacy of the pattern as he wove the silver strands together. Pausing, his brow creased as he examined it – the artist critiquing his own work - before continuing, this time, the movements of his hand even more focused as he wove together what looked like a silver chain, attached either side at the top.

When he seemed finally satisfied with the end result, he stopped, plucking the chain from the air and holding the finished article up in front of himself. The pendant swayed gently in his grasp.

He grinned as he looked at me. 'You always wanted to know how, right? Well, thisis how.'

I stuttered, trying to muster up my voice which seemed drowned under a weight of stunned awe.

'Uh, well, sure,' I croaked. 'But, seriously, howdo you do it?'

His eyes darkened. 'Old magic. Perhaps the oldest to ever exist. And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of the waters called he Seas; and God saw that is was good.'

I gasped. 'You're not serious?'

He arched a brow at me.

'Okay,' I said. 'You're serious.'

He shrugged, shooting me a wry smile. 'Look, I can't lay claim to any of that, obviously. Some say it was the First who created it all. Some say it was all here already, the Big Bang and all that, and that the First simply built the world thereafter. But, however it all started, what you read in the Bible is essentially this. Thisis the magic of the Angels, Casey. It's creation. Genesis.'

I gulped, desperate to conjure up some moisture into my arid mouth. 'But, if this is Angel magic, how come you're able to do it?'

'They took much from us, but they could never take this,' he said. 'At our core, this is who we all are. The Angels might only see our differences and hate us for it, but whether they like it or not, we are them, and they are us.'

Taking the vial of blood from my palm and holding it by the top, he dropped it into the opening of the pendant. The vial slid into place with a click. Holding the chain with both hands, he twisted slightly to face me and slipped the necklace over my head. The pendant lay cold against my chest, but my skin tingled where it touched, and after a few seconds, I became aware of a very faint pulsing, like there was a tiny heartbeat encapsulated in the small glass vial.

Ethan stroked his thumb down my cheek.

'You don't have to decide now,' he said softly. 'Keep it hidden. Keep it safe.'

'You're trusting me with the Grail?' I replied, rolling the pendant between my fingertips. 'I could sell it to score, you know.'

'If I thought that was even a possibility, I wouldn't be giving it to you.' Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth against mine, leaving me breathless with a kiss that lingered long after his lips had left mine. 'I trust you, Casey. And maybe soon, you'll come to trust me.'

I shook my head. 'It's not that...' I began.

'Yeah, it is. And that's okay,' he said. 'I'll earn it. You'll see.'

I raised my chin, narrowing my eyes. 'You sound very sure of yourself, demon.'

A flicker of a shadow passed across his face and I knew instantly that he wasn'tsure of himself at all. He wasn't sure he could win my trust and after everything he had done, after everything I had seen of the real Ethan, I couldn't help but wonder why he felt like that. Maybe it was because I had seen the real him and he still wasn't convinced I was okay with it.

Flashing me a wide grin and a wink, he raked his fingers through his hair. 'What can I say? I'm pretty persuasive when I want to be. I have Lucifer's charm and Lilith's patience.'

'Your mum's name was Lilith?' I asked, wondering whether there was any connection to the Lilith I'd read in stories.

His nose wrinkled. 'Yeah, but don't believe everything you've heard. She never stole any babies, wasn't ever married to Adam and she definitely wasn't a demon. All lies created by the Council to discredit her.' Picking up the book again, he held it in both hands, gingerly brushing his thumbs over the cover. He gave a small smile as he looked down at the Gospel in his hands and I could see how much it meant to him to have it back.

'Why did you steal back the book?' I asked. 'I thought you didn't want Oscar to have it?'

Ethan exhaled sharply. 'I don't, but it's the only way. I made a deal. I need to buy us some time.'

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, guilt racking my chest with a dull ache. This was my fault. He'd made the deal to keep me from being handed to Rosier and now hehad to hand over the one thing he cherished the most.

'Why does he want it anyway? What's he going to do with it?'

He looked at me, his gaze piercing. 'He's going to give it to Blake.'

'What?' My voice shot up an octave. 'Why would he do that? And what good is it to Blake?'

'The Gospel of Lucifer would be very valuable to someone like Blake. Perhaps the key to everything for him.'

He paused, biting on his lower lip. The smile that followed seemed false somehow, like he was doing it just for show.

'My father was the most famous of us all. The most revered. The most respected. Despite the enemies he had, he was put on a pedestal because of who he was. The first to question. The first to Fall. The great revolutionary. His story, his words, his belief for a different world, it's all in here. It's like his manifesto, Casey. If Blake gets his hands on this, he thinks he can rally all of our kind behind him. He wants to use it to push his own agenda, uniting every demon to the cause, dragging every one of them into the Final War.'

'The Final War?' A shiver ran down my neck.

'It was my father's original dream. To lead us to victory. To destroy the Throne of the Angels once and for all.'

'Wait, what do you mean by original dream?' I frowned. 'Does that mean his plans changed?'

Ethan shifted uncomfortably, rolling back his shoulders as if needing to release the tension that tugged at his muscles. 'It was still his dream,' he said, an insistent tone in his voice. 'It was always his dream, but he became a husband. His priorities shifted. He had a wife to protect.'

Swinging his legs out, he jumped up from the mattress, the book still clutched tightly in one hand as he began rifling through the pockets of his coat, hissing out a curse when he pulled out a packet of cigarettes only to find it empty.

'Can't you just...?' I wiggled my fingers.

He dropped the coat to the floor, his shoulders relaxing. 'Nah,' he said, whistling out a long sigh. 'I should give up anyway, right?'

'You're asking me about giving up nasty habits? Seriously, Ethan...' I rolled my eyes, laughing and he soon joined in, his warm throaty chuckle making the heat rise to my cheeks for a different reason.

'You're not really going to let Blake get his hands on the Gospel, are you?'

Ethan crossed over to where the leather satchel lay by the bed and slipped the book back inside.

'Blake getting hold of it is inevitable, I'm afraid,' he said. 'It's better that I let Oscar hand it over to him, than risk Blake discovering what you are. It probably won't get his trackers off our backs, but like I said, it willbuy us some time.'

'He's trying to track us?' I gasped.

'He's been trying ever since we left London,' he said, with a sneer. 'So fucking predictable as always. This is why he'll never win, because he pulls the same moves time and time again. Never changes, never adapts. So arrogant in his own leadership that he can never think outside the box. Anyway, I can always steal the back the book later if I want to.'

He shook his head, a strange smile on his lips that sent a chill rippling over my skin.

'But in the great scheme of things, it doesn't matter. He's wasting his time. He's not going to find what he's looking for in those pages anyway.'

*

We'd taken a wormhole from the bathroom of the restaurant 10 Corso Como in Garibaldi, Milan – one of those pretentious eateries that Claire would have loved- to the east of the Piazza del Duomo in the city centre. By the time we reached the Square in front of the Duomo, it was about midday and the place was jam-packed with tourists and city-dwellers. Pigeons crowded every inch of the monument and the scammer gangs were out in force, desperately foisting themselves on unsuspecting tourists to buy friendship bracelets, selfie sticks and seed for the birds.

Pulling me into a coffee shop that looked out onto the Piazza, Ethan brought us both an espresso and ushered me to stand by a tall table in the window, his eyes scanning the Square outside.

'What are we waiting for?' I whispered, not that anyone could hear me. The coffee shop was a bustling hive of activity, as the Milanese patrons came and went, their exuberant voices melding with those of the Japanese and German tourists who lingered longer than the locals did, cooing over the delicious pastries and chocolates on the display stand.

'We've got to get across the Piazza to the subway on the far side,' he said, sipping at his coffee. 'Whichever route we take to reach it isn't going to be easy. This place is well-known for its Watcher activity. There's one that works in the news-stand, one that's a guard at the Duomo, one selling to tourists. I've got to time it just right.'

'Which is when exactly?' I said, glancing around the coffee shop as if I thought a Watcher was going to suddenly pop up on the other side of the counter, wearing a barista uniform and ready to use the scalding water from the coffee machine as a weapon.

'Soon,' he said. 'Have another espresso.'

'You know, it's never a good idea to encourage an addict to have more of anything that's going to keep her totally wired for the next ten hours.'

Ethan grinned. 'Maybe not, but it's a long journey back to London and you're going to need all the fuel you can get. Besides,' he said, slipping his hand around my waist inside my jacket and tugging me against him, pressing his mouth against mine. He drew back, slicking his tongue over his lip. 'You taste even better when you've drank coffee.'

'No fair,' I chided playfully. 'I'm not here to feed your coffee fix, you know.' I glanced over at the counter. 'I think I will get another. Want one?'

'Sure,' he said, dropping a ten-Euro note into my hand, his gaze drawn back to the scene outside the window.

I ordered the coffees and waited at the counter until they were done, taking the opportunity to shoot surreptitious glances at the man standing by the window, drinking in the strong line of his jaw, his confident posture, the way his fingers drummed against the table-top.

Nothing about this whole fucked-up situation was normal. Nothing. Yet, standing here, drinking espressos in a coffee shop in Milan of all places, I was struck by how normal it felt. How rightit felt. I wondered what it would be like spending a lifetime with him. The places we would go. The things we would experience together. If changing the world had been Lucifer's dream, then this felt like mine. I didn't need a war. I just needed someone to hold onto while the war raged around us.

Ethan had been right. I didn't trust him, not completely. But I was sure I would. I feltthat I would. There were just a few things that were still bothering me. Questions that wouldn't go away. Questions that needed answers.

I carried the two tiny cups of espresso back to the table, sliding in beside Ethan so I could see through the window. In the distance, the spires of the Duomo rose high above the Piazza, the sky behind it a tranquil clear-blue backdrop contrasting with the crowded chaos below.

'Can I ask you something?' I said, wincing as the hot coffee scalded my lips.

'If I say no, you're still going to ask me anyway, right?'

'Of course.' I shrugged, putting the cup back down on the miniature saucer and taking a deep breath. I knew how this was going to sound before I even opened my mouth, but I knew I had to say it. I had to know. 'The last time you broke into the Vaults,' I said. 'When you hid the Gospel there. Who helped you break in?'

Ethan said nothing for a moment, his eyes not leaving mine as he took a sip of his coffee.

I swallowed. 'I mean, you said yourself that you need a maledicti to get in and keep the Erelim distracted. So, who was she? The one that helped you?'

He put the cup down, his fingertips tracing the tiny handle, pushing it anti-clockwise on the saucer until the handle was positioned at a perfect ninety-degree angle.

'Does it matter?' he said, tightly.

'Fuck,' I muttered, pulling my hair off my neck which seemed suddenly hot. 'Look, I know how this must sound. I'm not pulling the jealous girlfriend shit on you, I swear I'm not. I'm just curious, that's all.'

'She was no one.'

I laughed, hating how nervous it sounded. 'She can't have been no one. She was a maledicti who helped you get into the Vaults. She must have been someone for you to find her and get her to help you?'

He scowled. 'Like I said, why does it matter? She helped me and that was it. She's gone now. She's been gone a long time.'

I stared at him, feeling the temperature drop like a harsh plummet into icy waters. He'd retreated, sunk into himself, just like he used to be when I first met him. What the fuck had I said?

'Gone? What do you mean gone?'

He grimaced. 'For fucks sake, Casey, she's gone.' He hesitated, scraping his teeth against his bottom lip. 'Look, if you must know, I borrowed her from Rosier for a fee. I needed in to the Vaults and once I'd done what I set out to do, I gave her back to him.'

His hands had balled into fists, pushing against the edge of the table. The tendons strained. Knuckles screaming white through his skin.

'You're lying,' I said.

And he was. I could see it there. The lie was etched across his face like a tattoo. It couldn't be scrubbed away. Couldn't be hidden now that I had seen it.

'What?' he snapped. 'Casey, this is insane. Why won't you believe me? Why do you even care anyway? I told you, it was a long time ago.'

He was right. It wasa long time ago. Before my time, that's for sure. I didn't even know who this maledicti was, but that wasn't the point. There was something dodgy as fuck about his story and I was as certain that he was lying now, as I had been when he'd told me his name was Ethan Drake.

'You want me to trust you,' I said. 'How am I meant to do that when you won't even tell me the truth?'

He sighed wearily, the defensive anger fading quickly as he rubbed at his short beard with the palm of his hand. 'Casey, really, this isn't important...'

I pursed my lips and folded my arms across my chest in frustration, tearing my eyes away from him to scan the Piazza outside. Everyone was moving so quickly, the crowds weaving together like one teeming mass, walking in perfect unison, never bumping into each other, never slowing. Life was going on, right in front of our eyes; a never-ending, constantly-shifting tide of life that seemed so far away and yet so close I could reach out and touch it.

Ethan was still talking. 'Casey, please, look at me...'

But I wasn't listening, and I couldn't look at him. Instead, I pressed my hands against the windowpane, my eyes widening as I stared into the crowd. My breath left a cloud of condensation on the glass and I quickly wiped it away, wondering if I had imagined it.

'Oh my god,' I whispered. My heart pounded hard in my chest, a drumbeat I never thought I'd ever get to feel again. 'Fucking Hell. Addi.'

I pushed my way towards the door, slipping into a throng of excitably-chattering tourists before Ethan could grab me. I heard him call my name, panic lacing his tone which was soon lost to the void of noise as I disappeared through the open doorway and out into the Square beyond.

I'd seen him. I'd seen Addi. Was certain of it. I'd seen him walking towards the edge of the Piazza, not far from the pigeon-swamped monument. It had to be him. I'd know his walk anywhere. His face.

God, his face.

The Piazza was now a maze of bodies and I pushed and dodged my way through them, desperately scanning the crowd for Addi. Not used to the hustle of Duomo Square, my skills at crowd-dodging were severely lacking and I pinballed from one collision to the next, muttering apologies and ignoring the cursing and tuts of those I bumped into. From somewhere behind me – how far back I had no idea – Ethan was still calling my name, his shouts growing in volume as I kept on going.

The chaos seemed to dissipate, the crowd opening up directly in front of the Duomo and I came to a juddering halt, my mouth dropping open.

'Addi,' I said.

Addi was standing not far from the huge Gothic-style black door of the cathedral, staring back at me, his hands by his side. He was wearing the same clothes he had worn the night the Cherubim had killed Davey and the others. I ached for him then. Ached for his smile. His charm. The way he used to roll his eyes at me whenever I irritated him. I ached for that look on his face whenever he knew I was about to royally fuck things up. I ached for our friendship and the familiarity of it and for a face that I knew.

White noise rolled into my ears, a fuzzy haze that made me rock back on my heels.

I was vaguely aware that someone was talking to me and tugging on my hand and I wrenched my gaze away from Addi for a split second, expecting to see one of the street sellers wrapping a friendship bracelet around my wrist.

Ethan's face swam into focus, his voice cutting through the void.

'Casey, listen to me, this isn't right, you know this isn't right,' he urged. 'He shouldn't be here. He was in London, why would he be here, of all places? We're in danger, we need to go now...'

I tried to yank my hand out of his grasp, but he held firm, a coldness creeping into my bones. My head jerked down. He was using his powers to bind me to him. A blur of air encapsulated his hand which was wrapped around my wrist.

'Stop it,' I hissed. 'I don't care how he's come to be here, we have to help him. You promised me you'd help.'

Ethan's eyes were wild, bulging. 'And I will, but not now, not like this. We have to go.'

I glanced back at Addi. Still there. Thank god. Thank god.

'If you won't help me, I'll do it myself,' I said through gritted teeth as I looked back at Ethan, gripping his wrist with my other hand. Power ignited like electricity and I felt it there, under my skin, feral and hungry and desperate to break free. 'Let go, Ethan,' I demanded. 'You will let go.'

I squeezed his wrist, not hard – it didn't have to be hard, somehow I knew that – and it surged between us, a jolt so strong that it should have knocked him backwards off of his feet. It didn't, but it hit him hard enough to make him loosen his grip and I took advantage of those couple of seconds of shock to wrench out of his hold and start to run.

The crowd opened up and swallowed the space left behind me, like a monster opening and closing its jaws and I kept running, this time unimpeded by the tourists who moved aside as I ran, the pathway ahead clear. Addi was still there, he hadn't moved, and as I drew closer to where he stood, I saw the faces of the street-sellers in the crowd change, their eyes turning inky-black.

They weren't Watchers. These weren't Angels. They were demons.

I glanced either side of me as I ran, knowing that the demons were heading in my direction, piles of friendship bracelets and bags of selfie-sticks discarded at their feet, but I was moving faster than they were. I was going to reach Addi before they did. I knew I was.

Behind me, Ethan was screaming at me to stop, to come back. To my left, one of the demons that had gotten too close, suddenly stopped in mid-step, his face a picture of pain as he froze for a second and was then gone, the air opening up and swallowing him whole. A cold voice in my head wondered whether it had been meant for me or for the demon, but I wouldn't allow myself to linger on it, because all that mattered was Addi and he was here now, right in front of me.

I grasped him by the shoulders. He was real. Flesh-and-blood-real.

'Addi, thank fuck,' I gasped. 'I've got you.'

His face twisted with pain as I touched his cheek.

'Nah, Case,' he groaned. 'Nah, you ain't got me. You shouldn't have done this, babygirl, you shouldn't...' His gaze drifted to something behind me, his eyes now wide pools of fear.

The street-seller demons had raised their blackened hands in the air, but instead of attacking, they hurled great handfuls of seed up above our heads and I watched, bemused, as it landed all around us, tumbling to the ground like a barrage of yellow hailstones.

The birds hit us instantly. A storm of sharp beaks and talons, scratching, tearing, gouging and the wings – oh god, the beating of the wings– swarmed down upon us, forcing us to our knees as they attacked us in a frenzy. I threw my arms up over my head, frantically trying to protect my face, but I felt them pecking at my scalp, twisting in my hair. Fire exploded in my hands as they ripped at my skin with their claws. I tried to curl up into a ball, tried to do anything to stop them from reaching me, but they just kept on going, the shrill shrieks that pierced my ears almost as painful as their beaks and claws as they ravaged my skin. They covered me now, shrouding me completely, their feathery bodies pushing against my face, my mouth, my tongue. I couldn't breathe.

As I began to fade, the wings continued to beat furiously against me. The sound of them cut through the air with so much force that even after the darkness took hold, I could still hear the beating of the wings and feel them on my face.

Struggling to stay conscious, I caught one final glimpse, sparking a strange realisation just before I went under.

They weren't the dusty grey hue of pigeon wings. They were tinged with gold; incandescent light shimmering across the feathers like oil on water.

Like Angels wings, I thought. Like Angels wings. 

***