Empower

A Lothian Book, a division of Hachette Australia

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Copyright

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‘That you will gather the souls of the righteous and the wicked, place us on your great scales and weigh our deeds.

That if we have been loving and kind, you will take the key from around your neck and open the gates of Paradise, inviting us to live there forever.

And that if we have been selfish and cruel, it is you who will banish us.’

Roman Catholic poetry

‘But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.’

Robert Frost

m
y sweater was coated in a layer of mist – again – a byproduct of life in London. I barely noticed the constant drizzle any more. It’s not as if the cold bothered me. Not when I was the very definition of cold.

What
was
bothering me was the smell. There is something rank about a meat market at night. Especially when you’re wedged into the eaves wondering what, over the years, has been sprayed about and never cleaned away. I shuddered.

The Smithfield Market was currently in vogue, but a gritty sense of history thickened the air, giving it a density that made me sure this wasn’t the first time the site had been used for wicked intent. And right now, it was hunting hour.

At least I was the hunter.

I watched quietly
as the exiles came into the centre of the massive terminal-style space, vaguely interested to note that there were six of them, instead of the four I’d expected. No bother, I suppose. I still had the element of surprise on my side.

The past two years had taught me not to let the everyday hiccups get to me. Sure, the additional muscle would hurt, but only in the physical sense and I could cope with that. Rolling with the punches is necessary when you are a Grigori – a human–angel hybrid – a weapon against the ever-increasing numbers of exiled angels on earth. For me, even more so since they gave me such a colourful nickname. I’m the Keshet – the rainbow. I didn’t ask to be, but I made my choices and I stand by them.

So, there I was. Although I was still trying to figure out exactly what being the rainbow meant, mostly I found that the desire to know conflicted with my continuing need not to think about it at all. One thing I did know was that somehow I could create space with the angels – an unknown place where we were able to take form and communicate. My angel maker – whose name I still didn’t know – said it was a place of new possibilities. For what, I was not sure.

But I know this is what I am. It is what I will be.

The final two exiles sauntered up to the four already waiting. It used to be impossible for me to be this close to exiles without them going into a frenzy, sensing my presence. But I’d learned many lessons over the past year, the most useful of which had been how to keep my guards up and locked so tight that even exiles couldn’t sense me when I was truly concentrating.

Which – judging by the thin film of sweat on my forehead – is now.

The exiles dumped the
huge calico sack they had been dragging along the floor and pulled it open, revealing three mutilated bodies to join the two maimed ones already on display.

From my position it was difficult to tell how old the corpses were, and if the smell was able to give a clue, I wouldn’t have known, the stink of death and flesh being an overall theme of the place.

It was no wonder the exiles liked it so much.

Normally, exiles wouldn’t bother with the clean-up – leaving evidence was of no concern.
Normally
, the exiles enjoyed the mess and despair they left behind. But not these ones. These dark exiles were working for someone else. They’d been following a plan, using a hit list, and it was all too well-constructed for any one of them to mastermind. Our intel told us they’d been hired. Such behaviour would usually be considered beneath them, but apparently this group of exiles had decided the job was thrilling enough to suffer the humiliation of working for the highest bidder – even if that was a human.

As for the billionaire businessman, well, that’s not my department, but someone will pay him a visit. Right after all the evidence of his wrongdoing – minus the exile activity – is handed over to the authorities and his bank accounts are heavily syphoned to pay for the futures of his victims’ families. And our fee, of course.

Which, thanks to certain people, is exorbitant.

Two of the exiles
were dressed impeccably: one in a steel-grey suit and sporting villain-typical slicked-back hair; the other wore a slim-collared black suit that hugged his tall figure and set off his of-the-moment tousled light brown hair. The remaining four were less striking in casual wear, though nonetheless picture perfect. All six looked over the bodies like fishermen comparing the size and quality of their haul. My hand grazed my dagger, the blade that had been given to me after I first embraced my powers and became a Grigori warrior three years ago. I was never without it. I even had a sheath attached to my bed for a quick draw if needed.

I’d learned the hard way – through the death and suffering of people I loved and, strangely enough, through my own death and suffering – exiles stop at nothing. Their insanity and misguided missions know no bounds and they take pleasure in causing great pain and suffering to humankind.

At least tonight I would only face exiles of dark. A couple of years ago the two opposing sides, light and dark, had called a truce. Of course, I tried not to think back to that time.

I tried constantly.

The discovery of the scripture that could end all Grigori had found its way into my hands. That in itself was part of the reason the Assembly had rejected me. They blamed me for trading with the dark exile, Phoenix. My decision had allowed him to resurrect Lilith – his mother, the first dark exile – from the dead, and she had taken control of the Grigori Scripture. But at the time my choice had been a simple one. Phoenix had Steph, my best friend, and I wasn’t about to take any chances with her life. I’ve never regretted that choice.