Sea when I was a girl, and my family spent holidays there. Azov supported my early work. He is a
brilliant man, and his research quite startling.”
“Do you think Azov would be interested in looking into this?” Bruno asked, realizing even as he
spoke that Vera was two steps ahead of him.
“Of course,” Vera said. “Despite the distance, Azov has been a close contact for the past few
years. He’s advised me in every aspect of my research. I’m sure I could arrange to see him
immediately.” She looked at her watch. “It’s nearly lunchtime. If I start now, I could probably be
there tonight.”
“You will report back the second you learn anything,” Bruno said.
“Of course,” Vera said, kissing each of them good-bye. She extricated herself from the situation so
gracefully that Bruno had to admire her. If only he could get out of there with such skill.
Taking the album in hand, she looked to Nadia. “I’m sure that you don’t want to let this out of your
sight, but Azov can’t help us unless he sees it.”
“You will take it then,” Nadia said, hesitant. “But you must be extremely careful. This album has
been hidden for many years. If the Grigori know you have it, they will want it. And I believe you
understand what they will do to get what they want.”
Vera looked momentarily concerned and then, finding a plastic bag in the corner, she slipped the
album inside and walked into the labyrinth of Nadia’s home. Within seconds Bruno saw her through
the dusty glass, hurrying along the street, her blond hair filled with midday sunlight.
The corner of Mokhovaya Street, St. Petersburg
The blow struck Verlaine before he’d fully stepped out into the street. The world seemed to waver
and tip; he hit the cobblestones hard and rolled as the sharp wooden sole of a shoe sliced into his
hand. A warm, wet substance dripped over his forehead and into his eye. He blinked, trying to clear
his sight. He was blinded by blood.
In the seconds he lay on the cobblestones, he put together the facts of the ambush: The car they’d
spotted at the Neva must have followed them. The creatures had waited outside the antique store,
preparing to attack the moment he and Bruno stepped out of Nadia’s door. It had been planned and
executed perfectly.
Wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, he saw that there was not one but two Nephilim. As
he moved his gaze from one to the other, he realized that they were identical in every aspect, from
their lush blond curls to their Italian leather shoes. The twins seemed eerily familiar to him. He
recognized their build, their features, even the way they dressed. And yet it was impossible that he’d
seen them in Paris. Nephilim rarely did their own dirty work.
He jumped to his feet and kicked at the closest twin, aiming for the solar plexus. He felt his shoe
connect, but it had no effect. His target—it must be a Grigori, he realized; there was no other family
that looked quite like them—simply smiled, as if Verlaine were nothing more threatening than an
insect. Bruno fought, taking on the second Nephil, but it pinned him to the ground. Verlaine patted his
jacket, feeling for the egg. For the moment, it was safe.
Then, quick as a flicker of light in the corner of his eye, he saw Eno. She stepped from the
shadows, her skin translucent in the early afternoon light. Her wings were hidden under a sable cape,
but he knew that if she were to open them, they would span the width of the street.
Time seemed to stop as Eno walked coolly to Verlaine and kicked him in the stomach. He tried to
stand, but she pushed him back to the ground and, feeling his pockets, took his gun, which she looked
at with disdain and threw aside. She paused and felt his jacket a second time. Verlaine knew even
before she removed it that she’d found the egg. He struggled to grab it from her fingers, but the other
two creatures held him down. Bruno jumped up, gun in his hand, and fired at Eno, who turned on her
heel and ran. The twins climbed back into a car and drove off, disappearing as quickly as they’d
attacked.
“Come on,” Bruno said, brushing himself off. “We’ll follow them.”
“We’ll be more efficient if we split up,” Verlaine said, spying Eno in the distance.
Bruno eyed him, wary. “Think you can handle her?”
“We’ll soon find out.” A moment of doubt came over Verlaine. Bruno had warned him that taking
her on alone was suicide. Yet she was the kind of creature every angelologist dreamed of hunting. She
would either be the biggest catch of his life, or she would kill him.
“Okay, move,” Bruno said. “Stay on her. She’ll know you’re following, but it doesn’t matter. The