Now it’s my turn to shake my head. We can’t just leave Angela.

“He’s not here. I told you,” Angela says.

“You are mine,” Asael says in a harder voice, starting to lose patience. The floor creaks under his weight as he takes a step toward her. “You are blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, and that baby belongs to me as well. The seventh is mine. I will have it.”

“Him,” she corrects again softly.

The others return.

“There’s no baby,” a woman’s voice reports. “But there’s a crib in one of the back rooms.” Then they start tearing apart the kitchen, dumping out drawers, throwing things on the floor for good measure.

Anna’s praying gets louder.

“Enough,” Asael says, his voice calm again. “Tell us where he is.”

“He’s gone,” Angela says, her voice wavering. “I sent him away from here.”

“Where?” Asael asks again, less patiently. “Where did you send him?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Angela,” rasps Phen. “Please. Tell him. Just tell him, and he will let you go.”

Asael makes an amused sound in the back of his throat. “Oh, Penamue, you really do care for her, don’t you? How droll. I would never have imagined, when I sent you to check up on my long-lost daughter in Italy, that you’d lose your little gray heart. But I suppose I understand. I do. She’s so young, isn’t she? So new, like a tender green sprout pushing up out of the earth.”

I get a flash of the floating woman again, him carrying her this time, his face pressed against her white, pulseless neck.

“So,” Asael continues, “do as your lover bids you. Tell us where you’ve taken the baby.”

“No.”

He sighs. “Very well. I don’t enjoy having to employ this particular tactic, but … Desmond, hold her mother for a moment?”

Footsteps. Anna stops praying as she’s yanked away from Angela. Then she starts up again: “Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven….”

“Amen. I do hope He’s listening to all this,” Asael says. “Now, then, tell me what I want to know, or your mother will die.”

I hear Angela’s sharp intake of breath. I cast a desperate glance at Christian, my mind whirling. What can we do?

“It’s quite the dilemma,” Asael says. “Your mother or your son. But consider this: If you tell us where to find the infant, I promise you that he’ll be safe from harm. He’ll want for nothing. I will raise him as my own child.”

“Yeah, well, I’m your child,” Angela says. “And that’s not working out so great.”

He gives a startled laugh at her back talk. “Then be my daughter, as these two lovely girls have been—your sisters, you know. I will give you a room in my house, a place at my table, by my side.”

“In hell, you mean,” she says.

“Hell’s not so bad. We’re free there. The angels are kings, and you could be a princess. And you could remain with your child.”

“Don’t do it,” Anna says.

“Come with me, and we’ll let your mother go unharmed, for the rest of her life,” Asael promises.

“No. Remember what I taught you,” Anna murmurs. “Don’t worry about me. They can murder my body, but they can never harm my soul.”

“Are you so sure about that?” Asael asks. “Olivia, come here, dear. Perhaps we should educate her. This”—he pauses briefly—“is a very special kind of knife. I call it Dubium Alta—the great doubt. The blade causes grievous injury, I’m afraid, to both body and soul. If I say the word, my girl Olivia here will cut your soul to ribbons. I think she’ll rather enjoy it.”

“Lead us not into temptation—”

“Olivia,” he prompts.

I don’t hear the one called Olivia move, but suddenly Anna gives a long, agonized cry.

“Mom,” whispers Angela, as Anna dissolves into ragged sobs.

I taste blood I’m biting my lip so hard. Christian’s hand comes down on my arm, tight enough to hurt.

No, he says.

I’ll call glory, I say, and we’ll run to them, before they can—

I feel him going through the possible scenarios, but none of them work, none of them will end the way we want them to, with all of us together and safe. It’s no use, he says. They’re too fast. Even with surprise on our side, there are too many of them. They’re too strong.

“And deliver us from evil,” Anna pants out finally.

“She’s a bit like a broken record, isn’t she? Olivia, sweetheart …”

Anna cries out again.

“Stop,” Angela says. “Stop hurting her!” She takes a deep breath. “I will take you to Web—to the baby.”

“Excellent,” Asael almost purrs.

“No, Angela,” Anna pleads weakly, like speaking is almost too much for her.

“You have to promise me that he’ll be taken care of, that he’ll be safe,” Angela says.

“I give you my word,” Asael agrees. “Not a hair on his head will be harmed.”

“All right. Let’s go, then,” she says.

Christian starts pulling me down the stairs.

But Asael sighs. “I wish I could believe you, my dear.”

“What?” Angela’s confused.

“You have no intention of taking us to your son. I hate to think of the wild goose chase you’d lead us on.”

“No, I swear—”

“You’ll give me what I want,” he says almost cheerfully. “Eventually. A few hours in hell and you’ll be drawing me a map to the child, I think.” His voice hardens. “All right, Olivia. I’m tired of playing games.”

“Wait!” Angela says desperately. “I said I would—”

Someone gags—a muffled cough, choking.

“Mom!” Angela’s crying, struggling against someone’s arms. “Mom! Mom!”

Anna whispers hoarsely, “God help me,” and falls heavily to the floor.

I can smell her blood.

God help me.

“Mom,” whimpers Angela. “No.”

The reality of what’s happened breaks over me like a tidal wave. We’ve waited too long, too afraid to take action. We’ve let this happen. We’ve let them kill her.

“Let’s go,” Asael says.