“Leo is ... damned?”

The ghost spoke brutally, coldly. “The world is damned with him. Gaining souls, the Dark One’s power strengthens. His influence spreads like plague.”

“The riot,” Anne murmured to herself. She had seen creatures in the theater, demonic beasts. Leo must have seen them, too, for he had tried to get them out of the theater before the creatures could strike. He knew. He knew. He was part of that madness, perhaps even the engineer.

“A foretaste of what is to come,” answered Livia. The image of the Hellraisers shifted, becoming a hellish landscape of flame and destruction. It was London. Fire engulfed the city, consuming Saint Paul’s Cathedral, Buckingham House, Westminster Bridge. People ran to flee the inferno, whilst others looted and committed horrible acts. And demonic creatures swarmed the streets and skies, turning London into a true hell on earth.

Leo would make that happen.

The specter waved a hand, and the images of a destroyed London mercifully vanished. “Our magic is the fortification, but we must take up arms at once. I have given you the power once belonging to the Druid sorceress. Her magic I stole for my own selfish use, but it is yours now.”

Anne did not know anything of Druid sorceresses. Shaking her head, she said, “I’ve no magic.”

Livia’s mouth curved. “You make this assertion? Daily, you have seen evidence.”

“The candles,” Anne whispered. “The fire.” It had begun the morning after her dream. When alone, she could not keep a fire lit. Candles guttered and went out. Because ... she possessed magic. She stared down at her hands.

Power within her? Magic. She reached into herself, searching. Surely she could feel it, if magic imbued her body.

She gasped, for there, faint but true, came the flutter of power in her veins, tucked into the secret corners of herself. A cool, blue energy swirled like currents of wind.

“Such a spell comes with a cost. Not until this moment could I appear before you and summon you to battle. Yet I am here now, and you are ready.” The ghost hovered nearer, her expression determined, merciless.

Anne’s pulse beat thickly in her throat, and she could barely speak. “I do not ... how can I ...”

“I have armed you, and yet you still require me to devise the battle’s plan? Can you not formulate your own attack?”

Anne felt the blood leach from her face. “I won’t harm Leo.”

“The greater good demands—”

“No.” The ground beneath Anne shifted as her head spun. Her life had become a nightmare. The Devil. Magic. Doom. “I chose none of this.”

“It has chosen you, fragile mortal.” Livia scoffed. “This female has none of the strength of the other, the girl of flame. Oh, for a better ally.”

“I am not your ally. I am nothing.”

“That is of a certain, should you continue on with your mewling protests. As the world collapses, you shall be burnt alive. And the man you call husband will watch and laugh. The crisis point is here. Either you are my ally, or my enemy. Make your decision now.”

Anne choked, bile rising in her throat. She staggered forward, then ran toward the house, seeking safety yet knowing that none was to be found.

He raced into the entryway of the house, the cold of early evening spreading an ache through his bones. As Leo handed his greatcoat and hat to the footman, Anne ran into the foyer. She skidded to a stop when she saw him, her face ashen, eyes wide and dark.

Leo understood at once. Wordlessly, he stepped forward and took hold of her wrist, then strode up the stairs, pulling her behind him.

She did not speak, either, not until they reached the bedchamber. He closed and locked the door behind them.

The candles sputtered. Went out. Likewise the fire. Darkness enveloped the room, the only light coming from the last remnants of a dying sun.

In her pearl-gray gown, Anne made a pale shape, a ghost of herself. She kept nearly the whole of the chamber between them, as if holding herself out of striking distance.

“The Roman priestess,” he said, toneless, “she spoke with you.”

A choked sob broke from her. “Then it’s true.” She turned away, pressing her hands and forehead against the wall behind her. “I kept hoping, wishing. God, this cannot be happening.”

He stared at the slim, straight lines of her back, his gaze tracing down the heavy pleat of fabric that ran from her shoulders to the floor. “It began long before we ever met.”

She made another strangled, wounded sound, and it pierced him straight through. “The whole time you courted me,” she said, “knowing I was to be your wife. Knowing you would bring me into this. Leo, what have you done?”

“You don’t understand.” Now that this moment was at hand, he felt hollow, bereft. A man facing the ruination and loss of everything. It slipped from his grasp, no matter how tight he clutched at it. He wanted to crush her to him, bind her close.

She whirled to face him. “Make me understand.”

A tap sounded on the door.

“Get the hell out of here,” Leo roared.

“Sir,” said the footman on the other side of the door, “I’m sorry, he said it was urgent and must speak with you immediately.”

Leo stalked to the door and threw it open. “Send the bastard away, whoever he is. And if you disrupt me and my wife again, I will throw you out of my damned house.”

“Yes, sir.” The servant gulped. “Only ... he said I was to give you this.” He held out his hand. A ribbon encrusted with dried mud lay curled in his palm.

Anne’s ribbon. From the riverbank earlier that day.

Leo stared at it for a moment. “Where is he?” he asked tightly, pocketing the ribbon.

“He told me he’d wait in your study, sir.”

Leo drew a breath. He could not leave Anne now, but this had to be attended to. “Tell him I’ll be down presently.”

The footman nodded, looking relieved that his job was not at risk, and hurried away.

Turning back to face the darkness of the bedchamber, Leo looked for Anne. She was pressed into the corner of the room, preserving the distance between them.

“I’ll return,” he said. “A few minutes only.”

“You cannot leave.” Her voice was thin, strained. “Not now.”

“This is important.”

She made a disbelieving laugh. “So is this.”

He was racked between necessity and longing, wanting to stay, yet knowing that he could not. “I have to go.”

“Leo—”

Before she could convince him otherwise, he turned and strode from the bedchamber. He hastened down the stairs, then along the corridor, until he reached his study. Leo opened the door.

Waiting for him was not Whit, as he had expected. The man who stood before the fire, glowering at him, was him. Save for the clothing he wore, the man was identical to Leo in every way, from his size, face, hair and eye color, to the way he stood, balanced lightly on the balls of his feet as if readying for an attack. Leo’s double.

“My master is extremely displeased,” the man snapped.

He wasn’t a man at all. It was his geminus.

Everything made a terrible sense now. Everything became clear. He understood what he must do.

Leo stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

“The situation is intolerable.” The geminus strode toward him, its face contorted with anger.

But its face was Leo’s face, and he knew in that moment how it must feel to be on the receiving end of his rage. Torn between fascination and horror, he stood his ground as the creature who was his exact likeness paced nearer. No wonder so few ever opposed him—in the full of his anger, he appeared utterly merciless.

And so he had been. In almost all aspects of his life. Anne remained the lone exception.

Thoughts of her spurred him on now.

“The situation isn’t intolerable,” he said, his voice cutting. “It’s ending.”