as sumptuous as it looked. She traced the words going down his right arm. "This is the one you showed Father Gregory."

He nodded. "The Saint Michael Prayer."

She slid her hand across to his other arm without breaking contact, looked up and met his eyes.

His lips quirked at the unvoiced question. "Psalm 91."

Georgia touched the ornate calligraphy. "Did they hurt?"

He sucked in a breath when she grazed the fine skin of his inner arm. "Not much." His teeth flashed white in the darkness. "But I'll show you what did..."

He turned, and Georgia couldn't help the awestruck sound that rose up her throat. On his back was an angel. It was kneeling, head down. One hand held a sword, the other, a set of scales. Its wings spanned the broadsecond, smaller side door, almost invisible behind a patch of tall pampas grass. Jervais pushed it open without a moment's hesitation, and strode inside.

One of the behemoths from the Prelude gave Darius a shove. Reluctantly, he followed. A dull crunch underfoot made him look down. The unmistakable outline of a metal padlock glinted against the dead, dark earth. The shackle had been shorn clean through.

They weren't alone.

The man behind him gave him another shove. Darius pressed his lips together, and continued inside.

The interior of the building was predictably dark, the glass windows too coated with grime to allow much moonlight through. Jervais clicked on a small flashlight. Twin colonnades of corroded metal I-beams flanked a large open floor. An elaborate latticework of crossbeams was faintly visible in the