about this anomaly, something that marked no Grigori before or since. Perhaps they were different,
more unique, somehow better than the others.
Sighing with annoyance, Armigus reached the door. Under normal circumstances his Anakim angel
would take care of this for him, but he always dismissed the Anakim from the house when he held
human beings there. The screaming and crying always spooked the Anakim, who were truly lower in
the hierarchy of angelic beings in every sense of the word. They simply could not tolerate the
preferences and habits of the Nephilim.
He felt the hot, sensual energy of an Emim angel before he actually saw Eno in the doorway. She
slid her sunglasses into her hair and said, “Your brother asked me to come for you.”
Armigus stepped aside, letting Eno push past. She was as tall as Armigus, strong and dangerous.
“He’d like me to help capture Sneja’s Nephil?”
“I have caught her already,” Eno said, giving him a haughty look, one that perfectly represented her
feelings about Armigus. She preferred Axicore, thought him a true Nephil, and always reported to
him. Armigus was just a secondary master, the one with a weakness for human beings. “Axicore is
moving her to Russia now, but he needs your help. He wants you to speak with Sneja—to tell her that
he’s got Evangeline—and to meet him in Siberia to finish the job.”
“What about Godwin?”
Eno blinked, clearly surprised that he would speak to her about the subject. The Grigori dealings
with Godwin were confidential, not the kind of topic to be discussing with a mercenary angel, but
Armigus wanted to win Eno’s confidence. He wanted her to like him. But she only thought he was
weak. He could see it in her eyes.
“You will have to speak with your brother about that,” Eno said, her voice cold.
Walking to the center of the room, she paused under a glass sculpture suspended from the ceiling,
its crystals catching light and scattering it over her dark skin, her black hair, the eerie yellow glow
that surrounded her eyes. A cry rang through the room.
“You aren’t alone?” Eno asked, raising an eyebrow. Her long black tongue appeared at the side of
her mouth, thick and wet as an eel.
“I’m in the middle of something,” Armigus said.
Eno met his eye and smiled, a sadistic look suffusing her face. “Armigus—do you have a human
here?”
Armigus looked away, refusing to answer. Axicore didn’t approve of his appetite for human men,
but Eno understood his preferences all too well.
“You know, Armigus, your brother needs you now. You haven’t the time for playing games. I
would be happy to take care of the creature for you,” she said, stepping toward him. “More than
happy.”
Armigus took the key to his bedroom from his pocket and placed it in Eno’s hand. She was doing
him a favor—he hated finishing them off, hated the stink of the blood and human flesh—and yet he
couldn’t help but feel as though he had been cheated. “Don’t leave a mess behind,” he whispered.
“You know me better than that,” Eno said, smiling.
Bracing himself, Armigus grabbed his jacket and hurried out the door, closing it before he could
hear the sounds of Eno’s work.
Angelology Research Center, State Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg
At that hour, with the sun rising at the edge of the city and the sky oozing a diaphanous mist, the oak
tables were completely empty of scholars. Verlaine always found such places comforting, a reminder
of who he had once been when he spent his days in quiet research, preparing classes and organizing
notes for his next lecture. Indeed, the moment he and Bruno had set foot in the research center, and he
heard the sound of their shoes on the polished floors, he felt his entire being relax, as if, after
wandering in inhospitable territory, he had at last come to a place of safety.
A commotion in the hallway drew his attention as Vera Varvara walked briskly into the room, an
air of crisp efficiency about her. He leaned down and kissed her twice, Parisian style, noting that her
blue eyes didn’t settle on his but stared through him, as if they had never met before. He felt his
cheeks go warm, and he wondered if it had been a good idea to have called her at all.
While she was the perfect agent to consult—her extensive knowledge of St. Petersburg and access
to the angelological collection at the Hermitage was invaluable—he wasn’t sure how she felt about
seeing him again. They’d met the year before at a conference in Paris, and spent the night together
after having drinks at a bar in the fourteenth arrondissement, near the academy. The next morning they