I was dying.

I don't know what I'd expected to happen. I mean, it had looked just like an ordinary vial of liquid. Blood, yes, but I'd tried not to think about that as I'd swallowed it down. Tried not to think about the strange coppery taste on my tongue. Tried not to think about how it was warm, when it shouldn't have been, because the First had been slain thousands of years before my time. I'd tried not to gag as it hit the back of my throat, because that's what you did when that voice inside you insists you shouldn't be consuming something alien. I even half-expected Oscar to start laughing and call me a stupid cow for falling for it, because of course, this had to be a joke, right? I wasn't drinking the blood of some fabled First creature to have ever existed. I wasn't drinking the blood of the First Angel. I couldn't be, because even just the thought of that was total bloody insanity.

I was dying. I had to be.

Maybe this was the joke. Maybe this was what Oscar had been hiding. Maybe he'd known it would kill me, but wait, that couldn't have been the case because Ethan had wanted me to drink it too and he didn't want me dead. He didn't. He wanted me. He actually wanted me. Me. Casey Brogan. Champion of Fucking-Everything-Up-Just-Because-I-Can-Thank-You-Very-Much-Mate. Former party-girl of Hackney. Queen of the underground rave scene. Princess of pills, thrills and overdoses. Only, that wasn't me anymore, was it?

I wasn't even sure who I was now. A maledicti. An Endorian. A witch who didn't have the first bloody idea how to use her powers, because if I did, I stop it all. I'd stop the pain I felt, the agony of each spasm as it hit, crushing, squeezing. I'd stop the way my heart was pumping in my chest – a staccato nightmare of insane beats that forced the breath from my throat and brought me to my knees. I'd stop the way my head was being submerged, random thoughts and memories drowning in a strange drunken-haze, gripping me tight and pulling me down deeper and deeper.

I couldn't stop it. I couldn't even think straight.

I could only lie there, my hands still bound, as the blood of the First infected every part of me, infusing bone and muscle and vein. I could only lie there, with Oscar crouched in front of me, his head tilted to one side as he watched, doing nothing, saying nothing, just studying me with a keen interest that sparked a dark fire in his eyes.

His eyes, an endless black. A flash of gold as the light glinted off his wristwatch. The line of spittle that stretched from his yellowing front teeth to his bottom lip. The scent of baby powder and aftershave. Grey hairs that curled on tanned skin in the V where his shirt was unbuttoned at the neck.

And a heartbeat that wasn't my own. Slow. Deep. Strong. Ancient.

Drink-spasm-drown-relax.

Relax.

Relax, Casey.

*

Ethan's eyes weren't black, but they were the first thing I saw when I opened my own.

He was the first thing I saw, those eyes, that face, the smile, and straight away, my addiction kicked in. A yearning. A want that screamed in my veins. A desperate need to touch him, to trace my fingertip over that tiny scar on his nose, to press my lips against his throat, to feel his arms around me. Having him so near and yet unable to reach for him, made me feel instantly starved. Withdrawal sunk in its teeth, a bite so bittersweet that for a moment, I wanted to close my eyes again, because seeing him and yet being unable to consume him felt like the cruellest kick to the gut.

'Oh, you're awake,' he said, raising one dark brow. 'About time. My knees are fucking killing me.'

I stared at him and tried to focus, but the edges of my vision clouded over, and my eyelids began to droop again.

'You've got to be kidding me,' I heard Ethan say, his voice sounding like it was coming from under water. I swallowed and shook my head, trying to clear the haze that engulfed me. When I opened my eyes again, there were three blurry Ethans, which soon morphed back into one that was smirking at me.

'Great, you're back,' he remarked. 'Any chance you could try and stay awake? I mean, it's not like you're keeping anyone waiting or anything.' He rolled his eyes and jerked his head to the side.

My eyes widened, and I swallowed again.

We had an audience. A large audience.

We were back in the Great Hall again, which was now packed out with demons. The crowd was far bigger than it had been before, and I noticed, seemed to be divided, with one group congregating mostly on one side and another group on the opposite. Whispers ballooned as they realised I was awake and now, as I looked around at them all, the dizziness threatened my ability to hold my head up every time I tried to turn to stare at the faces looking back at me with curiosity.

Opening my mouth to speak, my tongue felt thick and heavy, I struggled to form words that at first came out as nonsense. I stopped and tried again, bringing my attention back to Ethan, who was on his knees, less than a metre away from me, his hands still bound, but now in front of him, instead of behind his back. If our hands had been free, we could have reached out and touched.

Fuck, I wanted to be able to touch him. I wanted him to hold me steady now as the room spun around me.

I felt high, but not in a good way. One of those bad trips where everything was spiralling out of control and all you could do was ride it out, letting wave after wave of crazy shit reign down heavy upon you, like you were floating in some endless nightmare.

'Wh-what's going on?' I asked, finally managing to speak.

'Showtime.' Ethan flashed me a smile. Wide. Warm. Beautiful. 'I'm dying to do jazz-hands now, you know. Seems like the perfect moment for it.' He glanced over my shoulder. 'Blake, old chap,' he called out, his voice now mimicking a posh English accent. 'You're really not allowing my comedic flair to flow here. I feel quite stifled.'

Footsteps clipped against the tiled floor until Blake, who had been standing out of sight, stopped a short distance away. He looked far more in control than the last time I had seen him, that now-familiar look of amusement in his eyes that told me he undoubtedly was in control and not just of himself, but of us too and this whole situation. The top half of his hair had been pulled into a tight bun, and the rest hung straight and long, reaching down past his shoulders. He looked less military than usual, wearing immaculately-pressed slim-fitting black trousers, shiny black brogues and a black shirt that wouldn't have looked out of place on one of the cool-as-fuck Canary Wharf acolytes that Claire would have drooled over, while desperately trying to appear nonchalant and equally cool-as-fuck.

I felt a pang for her then, something that twisted painfully in the base of my stomach. I would have given anything to have seen that look of disapproval on her face, that she always wore so well. I would have given anything to hear her tell me I was a screw-up, a junkie, a failure. I would have given anything to be able to tell her I was sorry and that I loved her and didn't blame her for anything and I was rocked then by the sudden thought that the Angels might have wiped out all memories of my existence after I'd witnessed the Cherubim. What if Claire no longer knew I'd ever existed? What if I'd been scraped from her mind? Erased with a snap of their angelic fingers? I was lost for a moment then, flailing in a sudden sense of grief that felt like the tug of quicksand on my heart. My vision blurred again, the sound of Blake's voice pulling me out of the haze.

'Forever the comedian, Helel,' he said, dryly. 'Laughing in the face of Fate. Quite a human trait, I think. Inherited from your mother maybe? Ironic really then that the power your mother possessed and sought to keep from us all, will now be the one thing that finally puts you in your place and thankfully rids us all of your sad attempts at humour.'

'Oh, come on, Azazel,' Ethan replied, his tone jovial, but a hard glint in his eyes which was unmistakably tinged with darkness. 'You love my jokes. In fact, despite your attempts at playing hard-to-get, I reckon you have a real soft spot for me. I bet you can't wait till I'm all magicked-up. Just a word to the wise though, I'm more of a giver than a taker, so we might have to play around a bit with that whole dom-sub thing you like so much, but once we get the right balance, trust me, I'll be the gift that keeps on giving.'

Blake laughed then, snorting an exhale of air out of his nose, but his eyes were equally as hard as Ethan's.

'What a disappointment you must have been to Lucifer,' he said, with a cold smile. 'Such greatness, such vision and what does he beget, but an arrogant, reckless whelp of a child who takes nothing seriously. A traitor to the Fallen, who runs from his true destiny. A coward who ran when his own mother was discovered by the Council, instead of staying to protect her.'

The silence that cut through the room was palpable, an awful, terrible thing that suddenly felt like being plunged into darkness, that feeling you get when the lights go out and you realise you're not alone in the dark, and can only wait, holding your breath, for whatever lurks there to attack.

I was definitely holding my breath.

'Whatever magic your witch has cooked up better be bloody water-tight, for your sake, Azazel,' Ethan said, his face all hardened angles and shadow. 'Because if there's one small crack I can slip through, you can bet I'll be there to show you just how seriously I can take things when I'm stripping the flesh from your bones. Your death will be legendary. You'll finally get the glory you've always craved. They'll be writing about your screams for centuries to come.'

'Now, now, boys,' Juliette said as she walked into view, linking her arm through Blake's, who broke his gaze with Ethan, only to shoot her an irritated glance. 'Do play nice. As pleasurable as your little power games are – and trust me, they are pleasurable,' she purred, shooting Ethan a look that left nothing to the imagination as she ran her tongue over her perfect teeth, 'this whole tiresome situation has dragged on far too long already. Wouldn't you agree, Samuel?'

She turned her intense gaze on a tall, lithe figure who stood slightly apart from the group on my right. There was a youthfulness about his face, and a certain look about him – with his shaven head and tattoos covering his neck and hands, and one small italic '21' inked just below his left eye – that reminded me a little of the guys in Davey's crew and he certainly didn't look anything like I had expected of this Samuel I had briefly heard about. I knew little about him, of course, other than the derisory comment Ethan had muttered about him, but I knew he was the leader of the other demon faction, and judging by the sizeable crowd behind him, there were some numbers here that Blake clearly needed for his army.

'Perhaps dispense with the fake niceties, Juliette and just get on with it?' Samuel said, his voice stronger and deeper than I had expected from the man who looked barely older than me. 'It's about time you proved your stories to be real once and for all, that's of course, if they're not just stories?'

Blake looked over at Samuel and grinned. 'Not just stories, Semyaza. Time has rendered you faithless. You have forgotten our beginnings. You have forgotten the truth. But you will remember, and you will have faith again.' He looked around at all the demons. 'You will all have faith.'

'Then prove it, Azazel.' Samuel sneered, raising his voice. 'If the half-breed is who you claim him to be, then have your Endorian enslave him and prove to us all that our allegiance is warranted. Otherwise, let us leave this place so that we can leave you to your little fantasies.'

'Fucking half-breed?' Ethan shook his head, chuckling. 'That's rich, Semyaza, coming from a low-level Shedim such as yourself, who spent most of your time bowing and simpering at my father's feet, hoping that he just throw a fucking smile in your direction once in a while. He always said you'd made a piss-poor Watcher and an even worse Shedim, by all accounts. I'm surprised you've managed to hold on to your leadership for so long, although if Azazel gets his way, you'll be on your knees in front of him in no time, just like Juliette here.'

He gestured a nod at Juliette, who seemed completely unfazed by his insult. If anything, the intensity of her stare just grew even hotter than before, until even I felt like blushing. Samuel, however, clenched his fists, the air around him darkening, like the murky water of a stagnant river, swirls of muddy-grey gathering around his hands.

'None of that, Semyaza,' Blake said, bringing the exchange to a halt. 'We will show you that the Gospel of Helel is more than mere fantasy. Bring forward the witch,' he called out.

I turned my head to look, as the crowd behind Blake parted and a child, who looked no more than twelve, walked towards him, her large eyes fixed upon me as she approached. She was thin and fragile-looking, her gaunt, pale face framed by a mass of silver-grey hair that reached to her waist and she was wearing a simple white smock-dress down to her knees. Her feet were bare, and I watched as she drew closer, unable to stop the gasp from escaping my lips as I saw the trail of watery footprints she left behind her.

'A child witch?' I murmured, trying to blink away the fog that still shrouded my head. This really wasstarting to feel like a bad trip.

Ethan, who had stiffened at the sight of the child, shot me a glance. 'That's no child, Casey. She's a Naiad – a water witch. Ever heard the phrase 'you are what you eat'?

As if on cue, the Naiad smiled to reveal a set of very sharp piranha-like teeth.

I shuddered. 'You're telling me she eats kids?'

'Look on the bright side,' Ethan said, with a smile of his own that didn't feel very reassuring. 'At least you're not her type.'

'That's the bright side?'

'Right now, it's all I've got,' he shot back, turning his attention towards the Naiad and Blake. 'What did you promise her, Azazel? What did the witch demand? I know the Naiads. Their services don't come cheap.'

Blake shrugged. 'True, Helel, but once the ritual is complete, we will have two of the most valuable power sources under our control. I doubt very much that we will have any trouble in meeting her demands for payment.'

'And that's what she wants? Power?'

The other demon smiled, his gaze coming to rest briefly on me. 'What do all witches want, but power?'

Ethan seemed unconvinced at this, his eyes troubled.

Blake glanced down at the witch standing by his side, a strange expression on his face, wary, almost pensive as he directed his gaze back to Ethan. 'I had hoped, with time, Helel, that you would reconsider my offer, that you would realise the error of your ways and understand that there was only ever going to be one outcome to all of this. It's regrettable, truly it is, but you have left me no choice. You must know that?'

'Regrettable?' Ethan smirked. 'You will live to feel regret, Azazel. Not for long, mind you, but you will feel it. You. Your witch. Every single fucking Shedim in this room will feel it. I'll make sure of that.'

Juliette laughed, the sharp trill echoing around the hall. 'Goodness me, Ethan. So many threats. I will do this, I will do that. Once this is done, it is our tune you will be dancing to and I, for one, simply cannot wait to watch you dance. What a sight that will be.' She bit down on her bottom lip and winked, and I hated her then. I felt it cut through the slowly-shifting haze, such a sharp sense of hatred that I hadn't felt since I was a kid. I hated her for ever touching him. Hated her obvious display of desire. Hated Blake for his fake sense of regret and for trying to pretend that he was somehow being forced into doing this. I understood why Ethan had always turned his back on them. I hated them all.

'Enough of this,' Blake snapped. 'Let's get on with things.'

Ethan grinned humourlessly. 'Oh, are you going to do a speech now? What do we have prepared this time? Let me guess: something about Lucifer's grand plan, how he betrayed you all, how it's your time now, how there's going to be a reckoning? I really hope you're going to mention the word reckoning by the way because let's face it, every great speech of every mad bastard should contain a reckoning, right? Isaiah started that trend and he was a total fucking loon. Of course, he had to be to write sixty-six chapters of such utter spoon-fed bullshit, but that's what happens when you give a man a stage and an audience. Come on, Azazel, don't keep your audience waiting.'

Blake pursed his lips, his cheeks spotting with an anger that he quickly quashed.

'No speeches this time. I need none. The Shedim know why they are here, and they might not believe yet, but they will. Your Endorian will see to that, and then you...' His smile grew wide with malice. 'You, Helel, will be the perfect puppet, and my audience will applaud as the Seraphim burn and the Divine Council are no more.' He turned to the Naiad. 'Shall we begin?'

Without a word, the Naiad smiled in response, the sight of those tiny, sharp teeth sending goose-bumps over my skin.

Stepping closer, she raised her arms, palms downwards, thin fingers splayed, and she began to whisper words that I couldn't make out. Over and over again she chanted, the incessant whispering sounding like the whistle of wind through the trees or brushing against the windowpane. I felt it before I saw it, a vibration in the floor that juddered through me, and then, a light that appeared all around us, as if it was coming up through the monochrome tiles. When her whispering stopped, so did the vibration and what was left, was three circles of white light, all linked together and where two of the circles joined, I was kneeling in one area, Ethan next to me in another and the third remained ominously empty.

The Naiad stepped into the third link, her tiny feet leaving damp footprints on the floor behind her.

Up close, I could see that her skin wasn't as youthful as her size would have had me believe. Around her eyes, fine lines snaked outwards and her hands bore the tell-tale signs of someone much older. When she turned her gaze upon me, there was a hunger there that made me wonder whether Ethan had been wrong about her diet just consisting of children and suddenly, I thought that if she was to touch me, I might finally scream.

Leaning his body towards her, Ethan spoke low, words that were barely audible, but clearly not a language I understood. When she didn't reply, he repeated it, and I saw the command in his eyes, the firmness in his tone.

With a jerk of her head at me, the Naiad spoke.

'Talitha,' she whispered. 'Tal-iiiii-tha.'

Her voice was child-like, but I recoiled from the venom in her tone and the way her face twisted darkly.

Ethan's eyes widened as he stared at her, but I saw the way the muscles in his arms tensed as he pressed his bound hands into his lap.

'What is it?' I hissed at him. 'What did you ask her? Ethan?'

He dragged his gaze from her, blinking as he looked at me. 'I asked her what she demanded as payment.'

'What does she want? She said talitha. What does that mean?'

Ethan sat back on his heels, his shoulders slumping, looking like someone had just punched him in the stomach. 'It means...' He stopped. Blinked again. Swallowed. 'Just what Azazel said. You. Your power.'

He looked away, his troubled eyes finding hers.

'Talitha,' she said again.

Throwing her head back, she screamed, her mouth open-wide.

All around us, the Shedim winced, some even clapped their hands over their ears, as the noise exploded through the room, the little witch's scream shrill and loud. She jolted as if she'd been hit by a bolt of lightning, the tendons in her hands and neck protruding as her whole body tensed and then, in a burst that made me flinch, a stream of water gushed from her mouth defying gravity to stretch up towards the ceiling. I watched, horrified to the core, as the water continued to stream from her mouth in a powerful torrent.

'Casey,' Ethan said, suddenly and my attention snapped from her to him. He looked desperate, frantic. 'Casey, whatever happens now, whatever they make you do, it's okay, yeah? Remember that, whatever happens, it's okay.'

'What's going to...'

Before I could say anymore, the explosion of water that had been gushing upwards, suddenly dived down towards us, dividing into two separate streams, one reaching for me, the other for Ethan. It surged towards my bound hands and began to wrap itself around my wrists, tugging my arms until they were suspended out in front of me. The water that had reached for Ethan, did the same to him, until our hands were practically touching in between us and all the time, the Naiad kept screaming and the water kept gushing out. When she finally stopped, and her mouth snapped shut, the deluge of water was cut off and, as if it was a serpent that had been severed, it writhed and thrashed downwards until all that was left was the two separate streams twisting around our hands. The same vibration that had made the floor tremble was now rippling over my skin, the stream of water icy-cold.

Reaching out, the Naiad clapped her hands together, clasping her fingers and, as she did so, tendrils of water stretched out from my hands to Ethan's, the streams combining into one, which writhed and twisted, until it was just one torrent of water binding us.

All around us the Shedim watched, unmoved by my horror as the water that was binding us together in one continuous flow, broke off into small tributaries and began to snake up my arms and Ethan's. My breath exhaled in wheezed gasps as I felt its cold touch creeping upwards.

'Casey, look at me!' Ethan urged. 'Look at me, now.'

I did, my eyes wild, noting how the water had reached his throat now and knowing that it had reached mine too, icy fingers scratching at my neck.

'Casey, it's okay. Keep looking at me, it's okay.'

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't...

The water was creeping up my chin, his chin, my face, his face.

'I love you,' he said, and the water streamed into his mouth - my mouth - drowning out his words.

My head was thrown backwards as the water forced its way into my mouth, down my throat, and I could do nothing but let it happen, my eyes wide staring up at the ceiling as it filled me, a never-ending surge that felt less like water and more like something alien, taking over my body the more it flowed into me.

For a moment, I felt nothing – like I was suspended in motion, frozen – and I thought, I bet I look like she did, tendons straining against flesh, as if the water was suddenly going to burst through my skin, my body unable to house any more of it.

And then, I heard it, that same heartbeat I'd heard after I'd drank the blood of the First, an incessant drumbeat, hammering, pulsating, not just inside of me, but through me, like it was a part of me now. It beat loud and hard at first, and it hurt – god, it fucking hurt– as it drummed faster. Still, the water surged, the flow growing in strength as each second passed, the noise of the torrent filling my ears until it was all I could hear, and the heartbeat was drowned out. Fading. Dying.

No. No. Please. Don't.

It hit me then. It all hit me. Flashes of memories. His memories.

Lilith laughing, red hair flying around her as she ran, Ethan looking up at her, his small hand in hers. Lucifer, so much like Ethan was now, but his eyes a steel-grey, his arms outstretched, hands manipulating the air, his young son by his side, copying his stance, tiny brow creased in concentration. The street markets of Cairo, full of noise and bustle, Ethan's eyes wide as he drank everything in, pushing through crowds, the smell of perfumes and oils, fruit and spices infusing the air. The harsh bite of the Tibetan wind as they trudged through snow and ice, a dark-skinned handsome man looking back at Ethan as they climbed – Oscar, instinctively, I knew it was Oscar – and winking at him, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he grabbed a handful of snow and threw it at Lucifer's back. Lilith's face alight as she listened to an old woman talking, the crackle of the fire making Ethan pull closer to his mother. The warmth of her embrace around his shoulder. Lucifer watching him from across the room, a deep sadness in his eyes. The Cherubim's screech of triumph as his mother screamed. Ethan, running, running, running, tears streaming down his face, his father's leather holdall clutched tight to his body, the pain that had started in his chest, taking root deep inside – a pain that would never leave him. Oscar – a different Oscar now, full of muscle and brawn, and overwhelmed with grief and anger – shouting, a rage that sent Ethan fleeing into the night. The first touch of a woman, a human, who looked older than the 'teenage' Ethan, confident, assured, guiding him, even though his hands trembled when he laid them on skin which was softer than silk. Those same hands pushing the contorted body of a Watcher Angel into the cold, wet earth, watching as the silt and mud filled its mouth and stifled its screams. Blake's face, full of hurt and rejection and disbelief. Traitor. More screams. So many screams, so many deaths by his own hands. Juliette's mouth on Ethan's. Her naked thighs wrapped around his waist. His moans against her throat. His hand grasping the throat of a woman, who was crying, sobbing, her damp hair plastered to her face, as she begged for her life. His sobs as he walked away, remembering her fear and pain as he'd pushed her into the wall of the museum. The dull, grey walls of his dimensional home. The loneliness that tore him apart for centuries. The grief that consumed him. The smell of cigar smoke and baby powder. And me. Me. Me. Me. I love you, he said, even though he'd already said it in his head a hundred times, believing I would never love him back, because how could I when I hated myself so much I wanted to die every time I looked in the mirror. I love you and...

And I couldn't stop it. The heartbeat that I had heard, the heartbeat I had felt, was the heartbeat of the First and the water was drowning it, crushing it. I was willing it to fight back, willing myself to fight back, but the witch's magic was so strong as it filled every part of me, just as I now filled every part of Ethan.

Inside my head, the Naiad gnashed her sharp little teeth and laughed, urging me on, compelling me to do it, even though I was fighting back with everything I had. Inside my head, she reached out with her child-like hands and sank her fingernails deep into him and I knew it was me doing it, not her.

I was doing it. I was inside him.

Oscar had been wrong. Oscar had been wrong.

I couldn't stop it.

I couldn't...