“How can things possibly be worse?” Meldane replied bitterly. “I mean, have you been paying attention? Giant demon pig downtown, mad demigods in Hyde Park, and some demon possessed berk killing kids. How does it get worse than that?”

She gave him a disdainful look that was slightly worse than the one she gave him earlier. “I think it’s Anzu, that’s how it gets worse.”

“Who?” Asha asked, looking nervously around at all of them. “Apu? Like the guy on the Simpsons?”

Logan coughed to cover a laugh he couldn’t quite swallow.

“Anzu. The Babylonian version of the Sumero-Akkadian demigod Zu. In legends it’s a sort of personal valet to a supreme god, but ultimately betrays said god for “tablets of destiny” that gave it control over everything. Half Human and half-demon bird, it was almost impossible to kill, and while it was eventually slain, it was after a terrible, drawn out battle.”

“Bird?” Meldane repeated in disbelief. “It’s a fucking bird?”

“No. That’s the legend, and as you know, sometimes you’re lucky to find a single grain of truth in there. As far as we can tell, Anzu - or Zu, whatever you wanted to call him - was the offspring between a Human and a rather powerful demon god, possibly Kingu. His humanity damned him as weak, in spite of his father, so supposedly he got a hold of some artifact that amplified his power and obliterated his Human side … well, physically, at any rate. He did try and set up his own kingdom, somewhere in current day Romania, but a rather bizarre and violent seismic event swallowed up his keep in its entirely, crushing the artifact that amplified his power, and entombing him in stone half a mile beneath the earth.” She slammed the book shut, and tossed it on her bloodstained settee. “Rumor was he finally pissed off more powerful gods, either the Powers That Be or his own father, Kingu.”

“There’s gotta be more than that,” Logan interjected. “How the hell does he go from being a statue buried under Bucharest to possessing a kid in London? It doesn’t track.”

Ruby crossed her arms over her chest and gave him an imperious look. “Yes, it does. Because of his unique energy matrix, Kingu actually can’t exist for long in this dimension except under very special circumstances; it’s like reality spits him back out. When Anzu obliterated his physically Human half, he was only held in this dimension by the artifact. With its destruction, it wasn’t long before he was spat out in another dimension, but he couldn’t come back here, because he was half the demon his father was.”

Asha rubbed her forehead, and just from the way she was grimacing, she was having a hard time assimilating this, believing this, or both. “Umm, okay. This is all real, is it?”

They ignored her, but not out of spite. They just didn’t have time for the newbie. “So how the hell is he back here now?” Logan demanded.

Everything about Ruby’s body language was tight, tense, like she was a coiled spring, a predator preparing to pounce. It didn’t bode well for any of this conversation. “That’s problem number two.”

Meldane groaned dramatically, turning back towards the window. “Just cut the shit and give us all the bad news at once, okay?” He pulled a pack of Galois out of his back pocket, and started searching for a light.

“Try and smoke those things in here, and I will gouge your eye out with a soup spoon and make you eat it.”

“Merde,” he muttered under his breath, shoving the pack back in his pocket.

“The problem is, there’s no way in hell that the ritual to call up Haggoth would end up with you calling up Anzu. He’s on a completely different level, both power wise and dimensionally. It would have required a separate ritual, and an experienced spellcaster.”

Asha looked like a deer in the headlights again, and shifted uncomfortably. “I swear, we thought we were getting Haggoth. None of us knew what the bloody hell we were doing in the first place. I thought this was all shit!”

Ruby’s look was scolding, a stern and unhappy teacher. “I’m sure that would’ve disappointed your parents. Did you think they were full of shit?”

She looked equally chagrined and hopeful, an interesting mix. “No! But did you … did you know my parents?”

“Personally? No. But I’ve heard of the Rahmans, and they were highly respected. I doubt they’d have been pleased you were mixed up in this.”

“Hey,” Logan interrupted, as Asha looked down at her folded hands, clearly trying not to cry. “She’s a kid. They’re allowed to do stupid things; it’s part of growing up. She didn’t know any of this was real, no one told her, so if you want to blame anyone, blame her parents for thinking they could protect her from all of this with ignorance.”

Ruby switched her glare to him, but he glared right back, unimpressed. “Now, who could have set these kids up, and why?”

Meldane, unable to smoke, was now fidgeting, tapping his fingers against his thigh and shifting his weight from foot to foot. Logan was on the verge of getting up and hitting him, although he supposed if he waited a minute, Ruby would help him, and they could beat him down together. It might be a bonding experience. “The most obvious thing would be the book was planted, but there’d be no guarantee she would find it.”

“Too complicated,” Ruby replied dismissively. “We have to apply Occam’s Razor here, which leaves us with two possibilities: the spell was switched after she came into possession of the book, by accident or deliberately. And clearly there was someone else with you there at the cemetery that night.”

Asha looked up, startled, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand. “There wasn’t. I mean, it’s a small cemetery, we would have seen -”

“No you wouldn’t have,” Meldane interrupted. “If they were a powerful mage, you wouldn’t have seen them if they didn’t wish to be seen.”

“There must have been someone there,” Ruby agreed. “There’s no way kids fucking around could have called up Anzu, even if you performed the ritual to a tee. Someone used a great deal of power to release Anzu, and used Glenn as a sacrificial lamb, making him the vessel for Anzu’s return to this plane.”

A quizzical look clouded her face. “Vessel? Do you mean he’s more than possessed?”

Ruby scoffed, shaking her head. “Yes, I do. Anzu is a demigod, technically. They obliterate. Glenn is his new Human half, meaning there’s no Glenn anymore, just Anzu setting up shop in his flesh.”

“So why would someone bring Anzu back? What’s the benefit?” Logan wondered.

Ruby made a small noise of amusement, and let her arms fall to her side before turning around and walking back towards her kitchen. The fact that she now felt like roaming wasn’t an encouraging sign. “That’s just it - I don’t know. Kill people, sow seeds of panic … that’s about it.”

“What are his powers exactly?” Logan asked. “What can Anzu do?”

She turned back to face them, her lips twisting as if trying to hold back a sad, disdainful laugh. “Well, he can tap into a person’s time - the time people have left to live - and siphon it off for his own use; it’s like food to him.”

“The rapidly aged kids,” Meldane murmured.

“And conjure up Golgoth demons?”

She shook her head. “He can’t do that. In fact, he wouldn’t do that; it would have no use to him.”

“What about dismember vampires?” Logan asked, aware that this wasn’t fitting at all. There was a huge piece of the puzzle missing, and from the frustration in Ruby’s expression, she knew it too.

That earned a shrug. “Well, possibly. He is a demigod, after all. But here’s the thing - he could steal their time away from them, and kill them in a spectacularly new way. And since most vampires can live for centuries, you’d think that would be a food trough he’d jump in.”

“Vampires actually do exist?” Asha asked, surprised.

Meldane shook his head and frown down at the carpet, as if it was all its fault. “This makes no fucking sense.”

“No kidding,” Ruby agreed in disgust. “The mage is the key.”

“He - or she - is the big bad here,” Logan concurred, seeing where she was going with this. It was the missing piece, the only thing that could possibly make this all come together into a coherent whole. “They’re doing something, and they needed Anzu. But what the fuck could they be doing?”

Ruby threw her hands up in frustration. “I seriously hope you’re not asking me.”

Logan sat forward, resting his head in his hands, trying to think. There had to be something, something they were missing. They couldn’t have come so far, and yet slid backwards to the beginning in record time.

“I need a smoke,” Meldane said, heading for the door. No one rushed to stop him.

“What was the point of the Golgoth?” Logan asked Ruby. “What was that thing supposed to do? What could it do?”

Meldane paused at the door, sighing like all the burdens had been just dumped on his desk on Friday, and just ten minutes before quitting time as well. “I told you, Golgoths are familiars for powerful sorcerers.”

“Meaning what precisely? What do they do for them?”

Ruby sat down on the edge of the bloody settee, careful to avoid any obvious stains, and grabbed her own knees tightly, clearly needing something to do with her hands. “They help them contact other demonic presences, and channel copious amounts of power.”

“Fine. Would a guy who could call up Anzu and channel the energy of Kali need that?”

Silence descended with a strange heaviness, and the four of them exchanged questioning glances. That was the right question to ask, apparently, although it really just complicated matters. After a moment, Ruby sighed and sagged back, her posture giving way to total defeat. “We are so fucked.”

“I’m not sure I understand any of this,” Asha said hesitantly.

“Join the club, sweetheart,” Meldane replied darkly.

Ruby sat up, steeling herself. “What this needs is research. Asha, you want to help end this? Help me. Okay?”

Asha nodded. “Sure, whatever I can do to help.”

“I have appointments,” Meldane lied, so blatantly it was almost insulting. But no one actually cared if he went, so everyone was cool with it. “I’ll be back later. Ring me if we get a clue.”

“Wait up,” Logan told him, levering himself off the good sofa. “You’re giving me a lift to Chelsea.”

He gave him an annoyed look over his shoulder, lips pursing as if he’d just bitten into something sour. “Since when?”

“Since now.” He turned to Ruby, and said, “I really gotta clean up, but once I do I’m gonna start following the only lead we have.”

She raised an eyebrow at that. “Glenn?”

He nodded tersely. “If Anzu is working with someone, they will meet at some point. I’ll see if he leads me anywhere.”

“You do know he’s a demigod, yes? If he gets any sense that he’s been watched or followed -”

“I know, I’m death on toast. He won’t know.”

Meldane scoff. “Oh, won’t he? How do you figure you can stalk a homicidal demigod without him catching on?”

He wanted to say something really bitchy, related to what a piss poor spellcaster he was, but it didn’t seem worth the effort. He was pathetic, and would always be pathetic, and pointing it out was like taunting the sky for being blue. “Because tracking is one of the things I do best. All I need is to catch his scent once, and he’s mine.”

“Catch his scent?” Asha repeated. “You’re being figurative, right?”

“No, he’s not,” Ruby informed her, standing up. “Our friend Logan here is something of a bloodhound. It’s part of what he brings to the team.”

“The other half is beating the shit out of things,” Meldane added unnecessarily, a smug smirk on his face.

“I can demonstrate,” he snapped.

Meldane simply opened the door and started out, the coward, while Ruby said, “Don’t you dare get any more blood in my bloody house, fuckhole. Take it outside.”

“Fuckhole?” He repeated, unable to suppress a chuckle. “Are you comin’ on to me?”

He just managed to get out of the cottage before she threw something at him, but from the force with which it hit the door, he was very lucky it didn’t shatter the wood and keep on going. He knew damn well he was digging a grave with her, but sometimes it was so damn fun to tick off the snobby.

Although Meldane complained half the way, he drove him to Chelsea, dropping him off a block from King’s Road so he could avoid some of the traffic. Which was fine by him, as he wasn’t sure he wanted Meldane to know where Srina lived.

He kept sifting through the data in his head, but so far little added up. So somebody - call him Gandalf - brought Anzu back, and set him loose in London, while he went around calling up giant pigs and draining Kali’s energy off into gods knew where. To what purpose? What the hell was he accomplishing? Had he made a deal with Anzu for something? What?

And, more to the point - why use Asha and her friends? It was quite possibly just a coincidence, something he came upon and took advantage of, but he didn’t trust coincidences off hand. And how curious that she was a Watcher’s daughter too. This wasn’t sitting right at all. The possibility of revenge surfaced in his mind, and he wondered if Anna kept detailed records on the exploits of the Rahmans.

It was well into the morning by the time he pounded up the stairs towards Srina’s place, the morning gridlock providing many irritating background honks, but he could hear music bleeding from Srina’s flat. Just catching the bass line, he knew it was The Delays again. She had bought (? Well, okay, knowing her she stole it) the CD recently, and it was on heavy rotation, so much so that he felt he actually knew the entire album by heart now. It was shimmery, sunny Brit alt pop, not really his type of thing, but he had to admit that they had recorded some of the prettiest, most ethereal harmonies he had heard in years. Also, some of the songs had started to grow on him, a bit like a fungus, so when she was gone he liked to put on some Tool, just to make sure he hadn’t completely lost his edge.

He’d just fit his spare key in the second lock when he heard her on the other side, and he pocketed his keys while she threw open the door. “Where the hell have you been?” She snapped, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and yanking him inside.

He waited until she closed the door and started throwing locks again before asking, “Is everything okay?” A cursory glance of the room seemed to indicate everything was in its usual place, although the place smelled of toast and fried tomatoes, and his stomach grumbled hungrily. He hadn’t even realized he was hungry until now.

She wheeled on him, magenta eyes wide and bright with anger. “You’re asking me that?! You were gone all night, Logan! I mean, you tell me you’re meeting with some demon friends about a problem, and then you’re gone ‘til ten in the fucking morning of the next day! You didn’t call, you didn’t anything -”

He groaned, rubbing his eyes. She was right, he had completely forgotten about her, and up close he could smell a tinge of her fear. It had been so long since anyone had worried about him, he’d forgotten it was possible. “God, Sri, I’m sor -”

“I was starting to wonder if you were lying in a gutter, half bled to death or something!” She continued, slightly agitated. “I mean … shit, Logan, I didn’t even have any idea where I’d start looking for you …”

“I’m so sorry, hon,” he replied honestly, reaching for her. She slapped his arm hard and angrily, but when he took her in his arms and pulled her to him, she didn’t try and break away. He stroked her hair and rested his head against hers, glad to finally be with someone who was both friendly (generally) and competent. “I didn’t mean to forget you, I didn’t, it’s just been a hell of a night.”

“I guessed. You stink of blood.” She nestled her head against the side of his neck, and he felt a tear against his skin. Her muscles felt tight, her whole body taut with tension, and he knew he couldn’t keep doing this to her. It wasn’t fair. “How badly were you hurt?”

Oh Christ, what to tell her. Certainly the truth wouldn’t do. “Not bad. Most of this blood isn’t mine.” She couldn’t smell the differences in people’s blood; she wouldn’t know he was lying.

But she was a woman, and one who knew him pretty well. She didn’t need to know the differences in people’s blood chemistry to know he was full of shit. “The purple and black blood I believe; the red, no.”

“Some of it isn’t, I swear.” He kissed the top of her head, holding her tight, allowing himself to relax for the first time all night. He breathed in her warm scent, mainly because she smelled better than him, but also because he felt calmer with her, safer, like she was his own personal type of aromatherapy.

She held him tight, pressing herself against him in spite of his smell, and whispered into his neck, “Tell me it’s over.”

He groaned, and she tensed again, preparing to push him away but not doing it yet. “Sri, I’m so sorry, but -”

“But it’s not.”

“Yeah. I just came back to clean up and grab a bit to eat before headin’ out again. But it’s nothing’ dangerous, it’s just reconnaissance.”

“I hate this,” she murmured, and he felt a sudden cold twinge in his gut. Where had he heard that before? Oh, god, Mariko, right? He felt momentarily disoriented as he realized he had some tentative memory of her saying it in much the same tone, one with a great deal of resignation to it; she may have hated it, but she - they - knew that anger wasn’t enough to change it. And he knew damn well what happened to the last woman who had cared about him that much. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, trying to ride out the chilling numbness that shuddered through his body, an echo of searing emotional pain.

Could he lose Srina like he lost Mariko? And Yasha, and Elena, and Jean, and just about every woman he had ever cared about. Naomi was the lucky one, as she was still alive and still on this plane; she had no memory of him or her life previous to adolescence, but hell, at least she was still breathing. Even if he could resign himself to it, would it be fair to her? He was a curse, a tragedy always waiting to happen, and he knew he would damn her if he kept this up too long … if he hadn’t damned her already.

He hated this. He hated all this death, all this pain, but the worst thing of all was how much he had probably caused, how much he had brought on himself.

She looked up at him, concern clouding her face, brows scrunching low over her eyes, “What is it?”

He shook his head, and attempted a smile, but it was so pathetic he stopped. “Nothing. I … I just noticed how much I stink. I smell a bit like a tire fire, don’t I?”

She scowled, clearly not believing that was really what he meant to say. “You always do after you get into bloody fights with demons. How dangerous is this thing?”

He should have known he’d never get her off the track that easily. He considered lying, but that didn’t seem fair, and he was sure she’d see through it immediately. “It’s … pretty fucking bad. If we can’t figure this out ASAP, we’ll be looking at a catastrophic body count.”

She sighed, shaking her head and resting it against his chest. “Bollocks. Do these people - things - have nothing better to do?”

“From what I can tell? No. This is what they do.”

“Do you need my help?”

“No, not yet. I’ll let you know.” He wasn’t going to risk her again. No, she wasn’t feeble, she could take care of herself, but he was not going to put her in a position where she could get killed ever again. Maybe she wanted to go on the Mirror Lake thing, but he knew now he never should have let her come along. He couldn’t have lost her; he wasn’t prepared for that. But when it came to getting back at those fucking bastards, he could have a supremely selfish form of tunnel vision.

She shoved him away, but mildly, breaking out of his arms. “Go get in the shower. I don’t think I can stand to smell you anymore.”

He nodded, agreeing with her assessment, and glad he didn’t have to keep lying to her. “Y’know, I could probably use some help gettin’ my back,” he suggested, giving her a cheesy grin.

He was expecting a molten death glare, and he got it. “Are you going, or do I hit you with the coffee table?”

“I’m goin’,” he said, turning towards the back bathroom and shucking off his jacket, which wasn’t nearly as bad as his shirt, which would probably have to be taken off with paint thinner. But shouldn’t he be used to that by now?

He wondered if he could live with Srina hating his guts. He knew it would probably have to come to that, if he didn’t want to bury her too.

8

He got out of her place later than he expected, mainly because Srina did eventually join him in the shower. She was still a little ticked off at him, but all passion was good as far as he was concerned. Well, as long as it didn’t involve a burning hatred of him and bone saws.

Logan then wasted more time eating all the leftover Chinese and Indian food in her refrigerator, which wasn’t really all that much, it was just scattered among a dozen containers. She had so many packets of soy and duck sauce, he could’ve built a fort out of them.

He felt better, although he’d hoped he would, food and sex being two major comfort mechanisms. It was also nice not to smell like a smoldering chemical factory, and to have all that itchy dried blood off his skin. He hoped this would all give him a slightly clearer perspective on what was going on here … but no, it didn’t. It still didn’t add up.

The two problems that needed immediate solving were: why would a spellcaster of such power need a somewhat limited demigod like Anzu to help him or her? And, come to think of it, what was the guarantee that Anzu wouldn’t just wipe the spellcaster out? It didn’t make sense, unless he or she - Gandalf - had some kind of deal with Anzu - they had a similar goal, a similar desire, a similar need. Which was ..? It couldn’t be carnage; carnage could be achieved with human things: guns, bombs, disciples. There was a picture they weren’t seeing here.

Of course this was the prelude to something else. But what did the giant pig have to do with the siphoning off of Kali’s energy, the dismemberment of vampires, and the killing of kids?

As he sat on the roof of the warehouse, staking out Glenn’s apartment, he suddenly wondered if the most obvious thing - the one thing they had all overlooked - was the answer.

There was no connection. None.

They were driving themselves crazy, smashing their heads against the wall, over-analyzing, looking to connect things that had no relation to each other. Just because Hashim thought there was a connection between the dismemberments and the child killings didn’t mean there was - he was a mobster, yes? There could be a new player on his territory who had chosen to announce themselves this way, taking out the competition before they knew what hit them, before they could fight back. Certainly Anzu was killing the kids, but Logan found himself wondering if he fed on fear as well as time. Energy was energy, right? Could he feed off fear as well? Would scaring a chunk of the London populace be like dessert?

He really wanted to call Ruby and ask, but that would have required him climbing off the roof as he didn’t have a cell phone, and the nearest pay phone he’d seen was one block over. Staking out Anzu’s place seemed more important at the moment, so he decided to wait.

It was a surprisingly warm day for London, a scrim of thin gray clouds seemingly holding in the heat and humidity, and he was glad he decided to leave his coat at Srina’s, and just go with the t-shirt and jeans. It just occurred to him that if he was going to get his gear covered in blood again, the less of it he had, the better.

There was something strangely serene sitting above the crowd, doing nothing, thinking nothing, just waiting. It was the Zen state he had discovered at the same time he discovered he was an experienced sniper; this was useful tunnel vision, the single minded focus on a single task. It was uncomplicated and lonely, and he knew that meant it was probably perfect for him. He was better as a solo act, not just out of personal preference, but necessity. People around him had a tendency to die, while he just had a tendency to get fucked up. The difference was, he recovered; they didn’t. If he cared about anyone in his life, he would push them away and keep them away. He just had to accept the fact that he was a dangerous man, memories or no memories, and whether he honestly wanted to be or not. Choice had been factored out of his equation a long time ago.

After an hour and a half - give or take a few minutes - he finally got his first glimpse of Glenn.

Asha had described him, but Logan hadn’t needed it. He knew it was Anzu just by the way he carried himself, like he ruled this entire puny place - it wasn’t just no fear, it was the presumption of superiority, the loose strut of someone who knew he owned your ass and could kill you with a thought. And it was funny to see on a teenage boy. Oh, teen boys often carried themselves with arrogance, but they preferred to use it in a supposedly “tough” way, shoulders slouched, head down, body gathered in like a clenching fist. This was the open confidence of someone who had lived and killed for a very long time, for whom doubt and fear were foreign concepts. For all their conceit, boys were easy to undermine, their confidence and ego a very fragile thing; Anzu walked as if he was made of adamantium, inside and out.

As boys went, he was nothing special. Glenn was just under six feet tall, lean but muscular, with chestnut brown hair and a rugged face that probably would have been handsome in adulthood, his features strong and not blemished by acne (demigod possession probably helped a ton there). He wore a Manchester United shirt, a navy blue windbreaker, and selectively distressed jeans that were probably designer, along with ludicrously expensive sneakers. You’d think if his parents could afford such things he wouldn’t live in such a shitty area, but the presumption was his parents bought them for him; maybe they didn’t. If you were resourceful or unscrupulous, there was at least a dozen ways to get such things.

His eyes weren’t glowing, but then again they couldn’t, not if he wanted to be inconspicuous.

Logan used his claws to help him climb down the far side of the building, letting himself fall the last twelve feet or so, landing on his feet but not too heavily, which was important for the noise factor. It was unlikely that Anzu could hear him over the traffic and various heavy industrial noises coming from the dockside, or even care about it if he did hear about it, but when you were hunting someone, every detailed mattered.

He let him reach the top of the street before he walked out of the alley, only cutting over to his side of the street when he had turned the corner. Even among the smell of all the people, the garbage, exhaust, and the smell of effluents and sea salt, he could pick Anzu up, a neon streak on a pastel patchwork background. It was a scent like cordite and burning hair, rotting vomit and radioactive decay; it hit his olfactory senses like a knife, a feeling akin to biting down on tin foil. Even his scent radiated evil, or perhaps he should say corrosion; it was power perverted, turned inward and warped, imbuing psychic pollution into the air like a virus.

He let Anzu stay far ahead of him, as he would be able to follow his scent through a fish market on the hottest day of the year. There was no point in risking exposure when it was completely unnecessary. But he kept in general line of sight, in case he did a disappearing act, or, worse yet, attacked someone. Logan knew he’d probably have to blow his cover if Anzu did that, but what the fuck could he do? He didn’t have enough residual Bob energy in him to fight a demigod successfully, certainly not one who could literally suck the life out of you without touching you. At least the Vilkacis had to touch you to kill you, which took longer.

…

The Vilkacis. How good would they be against Anzu? He wondered if there’d be a way to test that theory.

He walked for miles, and Logan was glad he had more stamina than an ordinary person, as Anzu walked pretty fast, and he never stopped, never took a break. Even at crosswalks, he paid no attentions to lights, as they were apparently beneath his notice, even when they honked at him like he was a cow lumbering across the road. Logan was sweating - again, he was glad he left his coat behind - but he wasn’t tired. Yet.

Anzu’s journey finally came to an end in the middle of the business district, which seemed like an odd place for a demigod. In many respects it looked just like any business district in any major metropolitan city, with skyscrapers of metal and glass, mirrors reflecting the mirrors of neighboring buildings like M.C. Escher had zoned the area, towers jammed in as tight as wheat stalks in a field. The sidewalks were equally crowded, even though it was neither lunch time or quitting time, and the traffic was a joke. For a moment, he could have thought he was in New York.

Anzu headed for a rare blank space on the block, a construction site with cordons and yellow tape on the outside, and huge sheets of opaque plastic sheeting covering up whatever was within. Anzu simply stepped over a cordon and went inside, sweeping back the plastic briefly, which swung shut behind him like a curtain. Logan waited two minutes before approaching it cautiously, aware that it might be difficult if not impossible for him to see what the fuck was being hidden in there without giving himself up.

He was within a few feet of the cordon when he smelled the residue of an explosion, old but powerful. He also smelled the more recent scent of blood and something herbal, cloying and thick, with a hint of smoke. The way the wind was blowing, the sheets of plastic, milky as a cataract filmed eye, undulated, opening gaps. Logan peeked through one, trusting that his hearing and sense of smell would have alerted him if someone was close by behind the curtains.

He caught sight of what looked like an altar in the middle of a small pit, the centerpiece of which was a severed Human head with candles burning in its empty eye sockets, its skin so desiccated it looked as if it was made of leather. What appeared to be unfurled intestines ringed the edges of the pit, and arcane symbols were drawn in blood and tar in the dirty, and on a partial wall on the far side of the site. There was some Latin scrawled there as well, which he actually could read.

‘Here lies the Watchers,’ it read. ‘May they burn in hell. May their souls belong to me.’

Watchers? Wait a second - their headquarters were blown up. Was this it? Was this the place?

Oh shit, the Watchers. Was that the connection they had missed? Asha was a child of Watchers; a Watchers book caused this mess. Was that the key?

Holy shit - did Ruby already know that and not tell them? He had assumed she was one of the “good guys” - what if she wasn’t?

He sensed someone behind him just before a voice asked, “See something you like?”