“What—”

But she’d already gone. I stared after her, one more gray person shuffling through the city streets. She’d been young, but her eyes were empty, her clothes shapeless and drab. Instead of finding answers, I was left with even more questions .

Keep away from the river, she’d said. I could do that. In fact, if I had any sense, I’d turn around and head back to the huge old house and my unpleasant companion.

The problem was, he wasn’t unpleasant. For all his cool, cynical reserve, a fierce bond of heat and longing flowed between us, set free by his mouth on mine, his body pressed up against me. He felt it as well as I did, and it made no sense. We hated each other.

But even so, I was horribly afraid that if I went back there, if I went back to him, we would be past kissing. I would lie with him, I would take him inside me, I would …

No. I’d written about women who fell in love with their abusers. I wasn’t going to let errant hormones get in the way of reason. I wasn’t going to let him touch me again. And the longer I stayed away from him, the stronger my resolve would be.

Stay away from the river, she’d said. It wasn’t that far away—I could smell the water on the night air. I’d turned around to head in the opposite direction when I heard the screams.

The sound was horrifying, chilling me to the bone, the raw, terrified sound of a man in such horrible pain that I wanted to cover my ears. The few people still out on the streets seemed totally unconcerned, unaware of the fact that someone was being murdered, and I wanted to grab them and shake them.

I seized an elderly man’s arm in a punishing grip, surprised at my own strength. “Do you have a cell phone? We need to call nine-one-one! Someone’s being murdered.”

The man was looking at me in terror. “Leave me alone!” he cried. “Go away!” And he managed to pull free, taking off down the street.

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered under my breath. So it was up to me. I started running in the direction of those screams, which had now moved on to sobbing pleas for mercy, racing past the gray people out for an evening walk, totally oblivious to the horror going on.

I was furious, and I shoved more than one out of my way in my desperation to reach the poor man in time. The sound was getting closer, and there was another noise beneath the screams, the ominous snick of sharp metal, and I could smell blood, as thick and evocative as the food scents had been in this drab place. I could see the dark ribbon of the river up ahead, and I sprinted the last two blocks, narrowly dodging a brown taxi that looked like it came from the 1930s; the noise stopped abruptly, leaving the air thick with silence.

I came to a stop at the edge of the river. The streetlights overhead illuminated a deserted landscape. Not even the heartless city strollers had ventured this far, and the only sound was the heavy rush of the river, black in the moonlight. I’d ended up in the last place I wanted to be.

I peered around, but the victim was gone, and I knew without question that I was too late. I stood frozen, staring, as a man appeared furtively from a nearby doorway, a hose in one hand, and proceeded to spray down the dark wet pool of liquid on the cobblestone walkway before he scurried back inside. The smell of the brackish water couldn’t quite wipe out the scent of blood, and the huge dinner I’d eaten threatened to make a reappearance, especially after my desperate run. I swallowed, trying to calm down.

There were benches lining the waterside, even though no one was taking advantage of them, and I sank down onto the nearest one, my legs shaking. If I’d had any doubts about the kind of place Azazel had brought me to, they had now settled into an unhappy certainty. This place was wrong.

I could think of only one place where I’d felt safe. Beloch’s. I tried to remember the name of the restaurant, but I hadn’t paid any attention when following Azazel there. And the streets had all looked the same as I’d raced through them. I’d never had a particularly strong sense of direction, and I’d be hard-pressed to find my way back to Azazel.

Not that I wanted to, of course. Except, sitting there on the bench, I had no idea where I would go.

I smelled them first.

An awful thought, but that sense had been heightened as my sense of sight had been depressed, and I could smell blood, and human sweat, followed by the sound of footsteps, the muffled quiet of voices drawing nearer, and I knew without question that I was in even worse trouble than I’d been before.

Someone had been killed within a few feet of me, and I’d decided to sit down and think about things in the place I’d been warned against? Some people are too stupid to live, Azazel would tell me, and for once I agreed. I glanced at the fast-flowing river, but there was no escape there—water held more terror than whoever was approaching. I jumped up, tensing to flee, but it was already too late. They’d seen me.

I’d automatically braced myself for something like the Nephilim, but the group of men who appeared looked quite ordinary. They wore dark uniforms with high-necked collars and walked in military formation, straight at me.

They carried swords and knives, not a gun in sight, and I wondered whether I could outrun them. Probably not. Besides, why would they want to hurt me? I was just a harmless young woman sitting by the river, enjoying the night air.

Of course, I was a different color than they were, drastically different, which might be reason enough. I held very still, stiffening my back, ready to offer a friendly explanation, when the huge man who was clearly the leader of the group spoke.

“Gut her.”

Those swords were unsheathed in an instant, and before I could move they encircled me, blocking off all avenues of escape. I just stared at them stupidly, noticing how shiny the blades were in the moonlight. They must have cleaned them after they killed that poor man, I thought, and then I snapped out of it.

“How dare you.” The words came from me of their own volition, in an icy, regal tone that shocked them almost as much as it shocked me. The men froze, looking to their leader for encouragement.

But the surprise lasted only for a moment, and then they were advancing on me, and it was those blades or the river. I preferred the blades. “I’m a guest of Azazel’s,” I said in a more normal voice, but it didn’t slow their determined approach. A sword sliced past my face, just missing me. “Beloch wouldn’t like it if you hurt me!” The last came out on a tiny scream.

“Beloch.” The leader spoke the name, not as a question, just a word. And this time the words worked. “We’ll take you to Beloch,” he said finally. He was a giant of a man, with broad shoulders, brutal hands, and empty eyes. “And if you’ve lied, we’ll show you no mercy.”

As far as I could see, they hadn’t been about to show me any mercy in the first place, but I simply nodded, not wincing when two of them grabbed my upper arms and force-marched me away from the river. I felt something trickle down my face and onto my T-shirt, and I realized the saber had been closer than I’d guessed. I made an attempt to reach up and wipe the blood away, but their grip on my arms made such a move impossible. All I could do was let them march me through the now-deserted streets of the Dark City.

We approached the restaurant, now closed, of course. They took me in through the lower level, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I recognized slightly familiar ground. They pushed me into the building roughly, then shoved me into some small, dark closet, locking me in.

Okay. I was only slightly claustrophobic, and that mainly went for MRIs and caves. Not that I could remember any MRIs or caves, but I must have encountered them at some point. I leaned back against the wall, reaching up to check my face.