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C esare Alleva circled the room. A predator.

‘So kind of you to visit on my return,’ Jules said conversationally. ‘Or are you planning to send me away again, personally this time?’

Selene gave him a look . One that hinted at how brutally she’d murder him if he didn’t shut up right now.

He shut up.

Cesare was tall—almost Jules’s height—and broad at the shoulder. He had the same dark hair as Selene, but unlike her, he had eyes that were nearly black. Their unfathomable depths made it difficult to tell what he was thinking.

He flicked a bored glance at the messed-up bed.

Jules hooked his thumb in his pocket and waited to see what Cesare would do. The moment he’d heard him outside the door, his well-honed sense of danger had sparked to life. Cesare had personally exiled Eliot, which was no small thing.

‘Eliot. What brings you back to Rome?’

Uncertain what answer to give, Jules remained silent. Eliot hadn’t told him why he’d been expelled from Rome. It could make this meeting difficult to navigate.

He could play it safe—be polite . But that didn’t suit him at all.

The Imperium Bellum was a handsome man, as forbidding as he was tall. Calloused hands attested to long hours spent training. This man had not let power make him soft. Rather the opposite. Power had tempered Cesare like a blade—and by impersonating Eliot, Jules had slipped into the shoes of his enemy.

With effortless dignity, Cesare folded his tall frame into the large armchair. Beside the Imperium Bellum’s immaculately shined shoe sat a button from Jules’s shirt that had rolled under the armchair the night before. Jules followed the trail of forgotten clothes with his eyes, and not for the first time, he wondered what was real and what had been a dream. He thought he remembered waking with the honeyed dawn to find Selene in his arms, but when he woke again, she’d been totally composed.

Cesare tapped the armrest with his index finger. It was the only outward sign of his impatience.

‘I was under the impression you approved my return?’ Jules said, curtailing the lengthening silence.

Cesare adjusted his attention, regarding Selene impassively. ‘Is that so?’

Jules had to figure out why Eliot had been exiled. To protect his own neck, because to survive he had to make sure he made no misstep, but also because he was curious . He wanted to know everything there was to know about Selene, and as much as she might deny it, Eliot was a crucial fragment of her past.

Selene crossed her arms loosely. ‘I don’t know if you recall our telephone conversation, uncle. You told me to say hello to Eliot, remember?’

‘When I said to say hello, I did not expect you would take that to mean bring him back to Rome.’ His voice was soft and low; if there was any recrimination, it was only in his eyes.

‘He’s my second on this case. This case is not done. Besides, I didn’t know you sent Eliot away.’ Selene raised a shoulder, eyes narrowing. ‘Perhaps this is less my fault than yours, uncle.’ Heat blotched the high angles of her cheekbones, and Jules could almost hear the angry thunder of her heart as she stared Cesare down.

He couldn’t look away. This countered so much he thought he knew about Selene; a consummate professional, and utterly respectful of her uncle and his position.

‘How could you?’

Jules felt a stirring of jealousy. Was this Selene’s defence of Eliot?

The real Eliot?

After a moment’s stand-off, Cesare sighed heavily and dropped his gaze. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. You were children. I didn’t think your attachment was so strong. I … miscalculated.’

Selene seemed mollified at that.

‘You sure did.’ Jules indicated Selene with a nod. ‘Selene’s incredible, sir. Seeing her in action … I’m more in love than ever.’ He glanced at her.

Selene had her full lower lip caught between her teeth, and when their eyes met, she looked quickly away.

He added quietly, ‘And if you’d seen her in Nice, you’d be so proud.’

At least, he should be. But Jules wasn’t so sure. Cesare hesitated, eyes flicking to Selene. ‘I am.’

‘Her power is a credit to your training.’

Cesare’s jaw tightened, a muscle flickering beneath smooth skin. When he finally smiled, it was the barest twitch of his lips. ‘I appreciate that. Eliot, Selene, I have a meeting. We will catch up again soon, no doubt.’ A promise and a threat.

Jules watched the Imperium leave with narrowed eyes. Returning to the bedroom, Jules threw open the suitcase—unconcerned by the buckles scraping against a beautifully beaded beetle sitting on a wallpaper fern—and stilled when his fingertips brushed the hard leather cover of the notebook he’d first glimpsed among his things last night.

He heard Selene’s footsteps before her furious hiss. ‘What the fuck,’ Selene breathed, ‘was that ?’

He flicked a glance at her. ‘Your turn.’

She raised a brow in question.

‘I want to see the library. Now . I’ve had enough of playing with the elites.’ He didn’t even attempt to keep his voice steady. ‘Much as I enjoy rubbing shoulders with Imperiums, you have a deal to uphold.’

He was still furious. He’d schooled his expression, not wanting her to see how effectively she’d hurt him. He wanted to slink away and lick his wounds in peace. But so long as he was here, in this place, he wouldn’t be allowed the freedom to do so.

He also wanted a smoke. Preferably one of Farah’s slender black cigarettes.

But they were gone, and so was she.

The casual way Selene had brought up Farah had been an unwelcome reminder. An intrusion even. He’d let Selene and her world swallow him whole. But … Kian was still dead. Farah, dead. And Jules was more alone than ever. No matter how brightly Rome glittered, no matter how beautiful Selene was when she smiled at him … he was more alone than ever. He no longer even had his name.

Selene observed him with a military eye, as though assessing risk. Lashes lowering to hide her light eyes, she said, ‘Fine.’

He nodded but didn’t immediately follow her, turning the notebook over in his hand. It wasn’t Eliot’s notebook as he’d thought. This one had a marbled cover and a spine of stiff leather scrawled with the notation vol. ii .

‘What’s that?’

He gave her a sharp, irritated glance. She was as silent as a cat.

He opened it at random. His eyes settled on the page, widening as he tried not to drop the book. He knew that man. Recognized those eyes captured in dark Indian ink. In his memory, they burned so blue they veined the skin around them black.

The Duke of Briars.

Selene’s breath caught in her throat and she stepped up behind him, trembling fingers reaching to touch the page. Her breath ghosted against his bicep, warming his shirtsleeve as she let out a shuddering sigh. ‘My father drew this.’

He swallowed, taking in the expert lines. The looping, confident script.

Each line was delivered with the self-assurance of someone committing fundamental truths to the page. Only one who wrote like this could create such a daughter.

Jules turned, the book between them. Again they were too close. But he could tell she wasn’t really there; her amber eyes were utterly distant.

He offered it to her.

She snatched her hand back as though burned, tapered fingers curling against her chest. ‘I—No.’ But her eyes were still drawn to the page.

He rubbed his thumb over the picture of Baliel, then turned the page. The next page was filled with tiny script. The one after that contained a sketch of the Pantheon, streaks of light captured in the spaces between dark pen strokes rendered in faded black ink.

‘Wait,’ Selene said quietly.

When he looked up, her cheeks were bloodless. He wanted to reach out to her, but knew it would not be welcome. He spread a protective hand over the notebook, concealing it from her sight. ‘Is this too much?’

She dragged her eyes up to his. ‘My father’s dead.’

‘I know.’

Her eyes went half-lidded. ‘Seeing his handwriting, it’s like seeing a ghost.’

They stood like that another moment, and Selene drew a steadying breath. Finally she nodded. When he turned another page, a scrap of paper fluttered out.

Selene snatched it from the air, holding it as though the ink might burn. ‘It’s from Eliot. He says that my father never allowed him to see the writing inside and he respected that, even after his death. He took it from his office before—’ Her voice trembled.

Jules eased the paper from her hand, surprised by her lack of resistance.

Selene,

Matteo never allowed me to read these pages, and I still have not.

I retrieved the notebook from Matteo’s office before his execution. Before they stripped it. Before my exile. Even as a child, I knew the words on these pages were dangerous. Matteo did not trust them with anyone else in life, nor would he in death. But now that Baliel has returned, I suspect you will need your father’s guidance.

Eliot D’Alessandro

Jules flipped to near the beginning of the book and began to read.

I must untangle truth from dogma. I refuse to blindly accept the words of a demon.

Even when my gut says he is telling the truth.

Jules frowned, rubbing the aged paper with his thumb. The indigo-blue ink had faded noticeably, but other sections appeared to have been added later in black Indian ink. The final sentence, struck through, was one such example.

It suggested to Jules a man at war with himself.

Selene made no move to stop him. Glancing sideways at her, he saw her eyes trailing the words as she read over his shoulder.

On the day God stepped into our world, we teetered on the brink of death.

Rome burned. Countless died. But God would not watch His people suffer. Accounts of that day tell of how God appeared in St Peter’s Square, prepared for battle. He was immensely tall and powerful and nothing like our scholars or priests had said. He was so much more. Beyond anything humanity could have imagined.

He was God, for who else but God would appear to protect humanity from demons?

Who else but God ever could?

He gave His life for humanity that day, our Deathless God. Now He exists in perfect stasis within the Vatican. Neither fully living, nor fully dead. And we have learned our lesson well. We will be ruthless, we will be cruel. Demons must not be allowed a second chance to kill God.

Jules turned the notebook, reading a line of text written vertically in the margins.

We became the very thing Valeria and the Kairos feared we would become.

Demons cannot be given an opportunity to finish what they began two centuries ago.

Si vis bellum para pacem. If you want peace, prepare for war.

M. A. 15 September MMVII

And on the next page, in tiny writing around the edges of an earlier drawing of the Vatican obelisk:

In the beginning, there were humans and demons.

There must be more.

In the beginning, there were two worlds. Ours and theirs.

Demons wielded unimaginable power, power that ran through their veins like blood. We were blind. Ever ignorant to all but ourselves, we were unaware of the visitors who oh so rarely walked among us. Unaware of the fissure between our worlds.

Once, demons were united.

The demon king wished to protect humanity from outside influence. Selected for his unparalleled power, he was considered a great leader, beloved by all. But he had a secret. Sometimes he walked among humans. It was on one of these visits that he fell in love.

Valeria, Duchess of Razors, knew that given half a chance, we could destroy her people. She saw the greed and cruelty of humanity and believed that we did not deserve more from demons than we afforded each other. She visited the human world, each time hoping to witness something that would change her mind. Something redeeming. Each time she left disappointed.

She was the first Kairos. To the Kairos, our world was a vast resource to be utilized. Humanity a threat.

The Elysian faction formed in opposition, and ancient grievances festered in the name of a new rallying call. To the Elysian, we were a curiosity.

And still Valeria of the Kairos would visit Rome, where the boundary between the worlds was thinnest.

She saw nothing worth changing her way of thinking. Her loathing grew.

Until she fell in love.

But it was too little, too late. Their war spilled over into Rome. And still it burns.

Ad pacem. Toward peace.

M. A. 28 March MMXV

Our family motto rings truer for me now than ever. Animas nostras pro populo. Our lives souls for the people.

Selene’s brows were drawn together as she stared down at the notebook, consternation pressing out her lower lip in a slight pout.

‘Duchess of Razors?’ Jules murmured. ‘A friend of the Duke of Briars, I assume?’

Selene shook her head slowly. ‘I have never heard of such a creature. There are only twelve demon dukes, but each of them is named. Each of them is known.’

She reached for the book and then hesitated. Changing her mind, she leaned closer. Her hair smelled of orange blossom. ‘I am also confused by this.’ She hovered her smallest finger over the word Kairos . ‘I do not know of this. Elysian too. They aren’t taught.’

‘But your father knew.’

She shook her head, eyes clouding with pain. ‘He might have known, or maybe he was mad. We’ll never know because he’s dead.’ She straightened, forcibly sweeping away any hint of pain in favour of a cool mask. ‘Put it away. You wanted to visit the library, so let’s go.’

The marble halls of the Vatican rang with silence. Jules felt it like a physical thing pressed to his skin. Selene led them deeper into the complex, through antechambers and frescoed hallways, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

He flicked a glance at Selene’s watch. Barely midday. Why was it so damn quiet? It reminded him of the orphanage at midnight. The stark hard beds had been arrayed in military rows. The breathing, snuffling and snoring a constant litany until you stepped out into the chilly hall. Then it was cold and silent. But this was different. Where the orphanage was full of blossoming life, this place was opulent but putrid with the scent of death.

Jules raised a gloved hand, touching his nose. This wasn’t the stench of other exorcists, redolent with their own blood even in their crisp military uniforms. Even Selene smelled faintly of her own blood where she’d fought and bled, but it didn’t bother him as much. Selene’s heels clicked as she strode ahead of him.

Halting, she glanced back with an arched brow. What is it? the impatient look said. Idiot.

He had no answer. It was like nothing else. ‘Where are we?’ he asked hoarsely.

Her brows crumpled in irritation. ‘St Peter’s Basilica?’

Selene was the only person he’d ever met who could say something so patiently it circled right back around to impatience again.

‘I know that ,’ he snapped.

‘We’re about halfway to the library. It’s on the other side of St Peter’s.’

Conversation over, she continued walking.

He lowered his hand cautiously, taking a breath of rancid air. Perhaps it wasn’t a scent at all … maybe it was the atmosphere of this place?

Selene pivoted on her heel the second he stopped moving. ‘What is it now?’ she snapped.

‘Death,’ he said, his voice low and gravelly. He cleared his throat. ‘Don’t you smell it?’

She looked around, as though she might find a corpse hanging from a chandelier. ‘No?’

‘How much further?’

‘Not far.’ Her expression cycled through annoyance to concern.

He swallowed. ‘Good.’

‘Are you all right?’ she asked. Reaching for his hand, she added his name in a whisper. ‘Jules?’

He grasped it, holding it tightly in his own as he pulled her down the hall. If they were almost there, well and good, but the smell was stronger around the next bend and he reared back from it, fingers tightening on Selene’s.

Her cheeks paled from his hard grip, but she didn’t make a sound.

Jules pressed a hand to his nose, clamping his teeth over a leather-clad finger in hope of stopping his guts from coming up his throat. His heart thundered and he pulled her back, turning in place, trapped by the reek of desolation, of death, of all those things and worse.

‘What are you doing here?’ The harsh voice crashed over him like a wave.

Some of the panic receded as he straightened his shoulders.

You’re Eliot D’Alessandro , he reminded himself.

Selene turned. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Oh, Captain Alleva. I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you.’

The liveried guard stepped closer, circling them, eyes on their joined hands. On Selene’s bleached knuckles. Jules tried to loosen his grip, but his fingers felt stiff. His heart still thundered as though he’d run a fast mile.

‘I suppose I can turn a blind eye to your mistake.’ Selene moved in front of Jules, their fingers still loosely linked behind her back. ‘ This time ,’ she added haughtily.

‘Thank you, Captain. Unfortunately he is not allowed here.’ The guard nodded to Jules. ‘Authorized personnel only this close to the Cor Cordium .’

‘The Cor Cordium ?’ Jules echoed faintly.

The guard gave him a strange look, hand tightening on his wicked black-hafted spear.

Selene straightened. ‘I think you’re very much mistaken, however … we’ll go the long way.’ She forced Jules into motion. Coaxing him to take one step, then another. She wrapped her hands around his arm so she could pull him along with all her strength.

She kept her expression haughty. ‘Come on, Eliot. The nice guard wants a demotion.’

The words broke through his daze and he gave a soft gasp of a laugh. The resulting quick pull of rancid air almost made him vomit, but it was worth it. The strain on her face eased and she met his eyes, a small smile stealing across her mouth. ‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

Her smile melted away. ‘What was that?’

‘I don’t know,’ he breathed. ‘I really, truly don’t know.’

Selene pulled Jules along, worry coiling in her gut at his slow pace. It was as though he’d lost his strength. Usually she strode through here quickly as though she had somewhere else to be. But in truth, she hated these hallways. She tried not to look too closely at the columns, the shadows they cast. Shadows long and deep enough to conceal a small girl.

No …

Selene tried not to remember, she really did, but even as she hardened her mask and lengthened her stride, the memories came for her throat.

Memories of soft bare feet on marble, in a hallway where she had no business being.

Memories of long ago.

If her teachers caught her on this side of the Vatican, Selene knew they’d be furious . Morning was meant for reading, they said. For writing, symbology, first aid, sometimes even—dreaded—geography. Being discovered near the training rooms meant punishment. But she was small enough to easily melt into the shadows.

A crisp tap of boots made her press her back to a column. Footsteps passed her as she owned the dark corners. Edging around the column, Selene risked a glance at the retreating figure, realizing with a jolt it was her father.

It was unusual for him to be here. His offices were on the other side of the Vatican entirely.

Curious, Selene quietly ran after him.

He only looked back once, and even that was almost one time too many. She was slow to react, only ducking behind a draped velvet curtain at the last possible second. Her heart skittered with excitement and maybe some nerves. Then she dashed to catch him again.

St Peter’s Basilica had grown terribly quiet. As ominous shadows deepened, Selene noticed it. Usually the vast marble halls echoed with every tiny sound. An unpleasant chill started in her bare toes and tickled up her neck, and she resolved to shout out to her father soon.

When she spotted a familiar painting, large enough to fill an entire stretch of wall, her heart climbed her throat. She knew this particular hallway. Her father was going to the heart of the Vatican.

Toward the Deathless God.

Selene fought a shiver at the thought of one place within the Vatican she’d never been, and would be glad never to go. The thought filled her with terror. Most of the time Selene could make herself forget that she shared a roof with a real god. That His divine presence filled this place. She had heard stories of what happened to people who looked upon Him, that all but the Vatican’s anointed would burn at the sight.

When she stepped around the corner, Selene drew breath to yell for her dad. Instead, she clamped both hands over her mouth. Two guards lay flat and a pair of huge double doors yawned open. Only blackness beyond.

‘Papa?’ she whispered, but her voice sounded thready in the vast space. She tiptoed carefully past the nearest guard and peeked in the door. She pretended she couldn’t see the spreading puddle of blood.

They were only sleeping …

‘ Selene! ’ Florentina stood in the courtyard ahead of them, a longbow in one hand.

Selene jolted out of her reminiscences. ‘What?’

‘Are you all right?’ Jules breathed softly.

She nodded, her smile bitter at the edges.

Kindness wasn’t something she deserved. Not from anybody really, but especially him. Not after earlier. The pain on his face when she’d mentioned his dead superior was still vivid in her memory. She made a mental note not to stumble into his grief like that again.

Florentina grinned toothily, eyes sparking. Selene’s guard immediately flew up as they stepped into the cool air and she saw the others in Gabriel’s team similarly armed. Then she realized they were in training gear, not the official Vatican black.

‘Perfect timing.’ Florentina smiled. ‘We should make sure you’re back in form after gallivanting around France.’

The second they got outside, Jules’s colour improved. The pale cast washed from his features. He smiled easily at Florentina, though Selene could feel his muscles tense beneath her hand. But he needn’t have worried; Florentina wasn’t speaking to him.

‘I was working ,’ Selene replied dryly, ‘not on a wine tour.’

Florentina grinned, looking around at the others. ‘Oh yes, working .’ She gave an exaggerated wink. ‘Curses and demons that don’t even qualify for a number don’t count, Selene.’

Selene stepped away from Jules, closing the distance between herself and Florentina. She smiled as she looked into her eyes.

‘It’s Captain Alleva to you, Florentina. We’re not at the Academy anymore.’

‘I noticed.’

Selene stiffened. What did that mean?

Florentina didn’t make her wait. ‘We don’t see you training anymore, do we? We don’t even know if you’re keeping your skills sharp. You only train alone, we hear. Which would be fine. If your subordinates didn’t keep ending up dead.’

‘Or maimed,’ added Chiara, an artificer.

Florentina nodded affably. ‘Quite.’

Pressing her lips into a tight smile, Selene stepped around Florentina. ‘I don’t owe you anything.’

Florentina moved quickly and Selene shifted, tensing for an attack. Instead, Florentina blocked Jules’s path. ‘What about you, D’Alessandro? Don’t you want to join us for a bout or two?’

Jules smiled easily. ‘I kind of do actually. Given I really was in France for years—’ The colour drained from Florentina’s face at his quiet tone. ‘Fighting, what did you say? Curses and demons that don’t even qualify for a number ? Yes, I’m definitely tempted.’

‘ Eliot ,’ Selene said warningly.

A beat passed before Jules tore his eyes from Florentina, catching her gaze. ‘Fine.’

Selene pivoted on her heel. This was no time to be drawn into a training bout. Jules had already said he wouldn’t touch a weapon, what was he going to do in the ring against Academy-trained exorcists? Much as she hated admitting it, Florentina was good. Not so good as Selene, of course, but still a strong opponent.

‘Scared?’ Florentina taunted.

Selene stopped, boots skidding on the slick cobbles.

Jules touched her shoulders. ‘Selene …’

But Florentina wasn’t done. ‘Are you afraid I’ll kick your ass?’ she asked sweetly. Selene could picture her smile, though she resisted the urge to turn.

‘No,’ Selene bit out.

Jules chafed her biceps, thumbs making small circles.

‘Or maybe … maybe you’re worried Eliot’s improved? He’s a foot taller than you now. With that reach—’

‘I was the best in our class.’ Selene turned, shoving Jules aside so she could see Florentina.

‘I don’t deny it. But I want to know if you’re still the best.’

Florentina nocked an arrow, drawing it to look along the shaft at Selene.

Jules’s muscles tensed, but Selene didn’t move, only narrowing her eyes. Oh well . Maybe this was good. Burning muscles would force her mind away from dark memories and distract her from her guilt.

And maybe she’d get her ass kicked—no less than she deserved—although she doubted it. The only one capable of hurting her was her dead father and his words from beyond the grave. She hadn’t even been able to touch the notebook. Jules had it tucked into his inside pocket against his skin.

Why had her father gone to the Cor Cordium that day? Why had he removed the spear from God’s body and broken every rule they’d ever been taught? Every rule he’d ever taught her?

Before Florentina could form another jagged taunt, Selene spread her hands. ‘All right, let’s find out.’

Florentina’s eyes sparked with challenge and she let the bowstring loosen. ‘You’ll let me pick your opponent?’ She looked around, gesturing broadly at their classmates training around them.

Selene didn’t follow Florentina’s eyes. ‘You won’t fight me yourself?’

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ Florentina asked, teeth flashing in a grin. ‘I want to see you beat Eliot.’

Around the courtyard attention sharpened on their conversation. The clang and grunt of combat training died as the others stopped pretending not to care.

Selene looked around. They were dying to see her beaten.

Jules drew a breath, following her eyes. ‘I don’t mind.’ He smiled slowly. ‘My love, it can’t be any more strenuous than last nigh—’

‘Fine!’ she shouted over him. Someone wolf-whistled.

Jules grinned. He seemed to be enjoying this a little too much.