Several impassive stone angels watched from the thick underbrush as the intruder slowly made his way up the road. It was an overcast, stormy night. Thunder roared and lightning cracked in the sky as the rain came down in sheets, driven sideways by a piercingly cold North wind. The intruder walked on, seemingly unaware of the dismal weather. His enormous eyes were open wide, taking in his surroundings with a cynical smile under the eternal scrutiny of thousands of sculpted stone eyes.

  Dast encroached further into the cemetery until he came to the front of an impressive mausoleum whose greenish bronze door caught his attention for a few moments. The tombs were crammed tightly together in the dense woods on both sides of Swain’s Lane. The demon considered the spot quite appropriate for celebrating the most important meeting in their history. He walked up to a wrought-iron gate that sealed off the western section of Highgate cemetery. He softly touched the lock and it opened with a click.

  This was the oldest section of the cemetery and, each time he went inside it, it fascinated him. Its gardens were overgrown, covering the headstones and revealing only random parts of many of the sculptures. Stone hands, faces, and claws protruded menacingly from the thick vegetation. The ruins were a jumbled sea of ivy, vines, and ferns, all dusted with snow. There was an enigmatic and sinister air about the place. Dast walked up one of the avenues of death that was bordered by ornate gothic mausoleums, and stopped in front of one of the biggest.

  He felt three soft taps on his shoulder just as he was about to open the gate. He spun around, surprised. Two eyes blacker than the night were looking at him, gleaming. A long, dark, wet mane of hair draped a face that was unmistakably, dangerously beautiful.

  “Nilia, your habit of surprising me never ceases to displease me,” hissed Dast as they stood in the rain. A bolt of lighting illuminated his sickly complexion as raindrops trickled down his homely face. They slid around his unusually large eyes and over the thin mouth that resembled a poorly drawn line, finally coming together at the tip of his long chin only to hang there several seconds before dripping away. “It cannot be that difficult to give me a little warning when you would like to speak with me.”

  “It’s nothing personal. Just keeping myself in shape,” she responded, amused. Then, quickly changing the subject, she said, “I really like this place. And you know, if the Minors see you here, they’ll think you’re a ghost. Your look fits in marvelously here.”

  “I have no doubt they would much prefer to see you. Well, the men, at any rate. Shall we go in or do you prefer to stay out here and get even more wet?” asked Dast in a nearly inaudible whisper.

  “Before we go in I want to make sure our pact is still intact.” Nilia ran her hand over the seventh Baron’s shoulder. “It’s rather risky and, if you’re thinking of backing out, it’s better that you do it now. The moment has arrived. We’ve waited an eternity for this day. When we go down these stairs there will be no turning back. If they discover us, I have no intention of taking the fall by myself.”

  “Didn’t I place my life in your hands by revealing my intentions to you?” A look of indignation flashed across Dast’s face as he whispered. “I will fulfill my part of the agreement with the utmost pleasure. I told you we would both benefit. What reason could I possibly have to break off such a valuable alliance?”

  “Fear,” she said matter-of-factly. “What we are going to do will not be easy, my friend. And frankly, I must say that courage does not appear to be your most outstanding quality. However, I am aware of your past plotting. I know that you are intelligent, Dast. Perhaps more so than the rest of the Barons. But this is not the first war. This time we are going to win. I would not want to find out that you are hiding something yet again.”

  “Don’t worry. You and I make a perfect team. Nothing will sto—”

  Nilia’s hand swiftly covered his mouth, interrupting his most unpleasant voice. In the other hand shone one of her daggers. The demon slowly took her hand away and put her index finger up to her mouth, indicating he should keep quiet. She took a few steps into the weeds, her penetrating, alert eyes scouring the darkness. The blackness of night was no match for her vision. After spending millennia in Hell where there was no light, her eyes saw no difference between night and day on Earth. A few seconds later she retraced her steps.

  “I could swear I heard something.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Dast, intrigued. “I didn’t hear anything other than the storm.”

  “Let’s go,” she said. She put her mouth right up to Dast’s ear and whispered as softly as she could, “When we go in, make note of anyone who has not yet arrived for the meeting. If there are several, pay attention to whoever shows up right after us.”

  Dast remained silent but nodded, and the two of them went down the stairs.

  For several minutes the rain and thunder continued to break the silence that should have commanded the night.

  Eleven figures appeared on the same path that Dast had followed. A ray of moonlight revealed Urkast’s imposing silhouette, seeming to follow his six-and-a-half-foot muscular frame like a spotlight. His shaved head and his sideburns were unmistakable, as were the hoop earrings he never removed and his eyes of different colors. The ten demons in his personal entourage followed behind him. They were all dressed in black garments that covered them from their shoulders to their ankles. Gathered at the waist by a belt, the garments had two vertical slits in the back. The Baron was near the entrance to the mausoleum when a sound coming from the weeds caught his attention. He peered into the woods where he saw a tuft of ferns moving.

  “Urkast, what a wonderful sight for my humble eyes,” said Capa as he emerged from the weeds. The rain created a soft pattering sound on his hood. “Is it not magnificent that we have all reunited here today? So fortunate that we are immortals, since such a long wait would have been most uncomfortable if not for that most fascinating quality we possess.”

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  “Might I ask what you’re doing here?” grumbled the Baron, turning his back to him. He quite enjoyed making it clear that he could see in every direction. “With each passing day you become still more odd, Capa.”

  “I am afraid I got lost looking for the meeting place.” Capa came out to the path and greeted Urkast with an exaggerated bow. “But I took advantage of this by satiating my curiosity in this beautiful place. Do you not find it laudable, the homage the Minors pay to death?”

  “I couldn’t care less about the Minors. We have more important things to worry about. Now let’s go in.”

  Capa let Urkast go in first, entering after his personal entourage. The group crossed through the ornate entrance between pharaonic columns topped with capitals adorned in lotus flowers. They passed through the impressive pantheon and descended the stairs that led them to a large room where every square inch was covered in stone. The demons had duly filled the space for this momentous occasion, and Capa and Urkast’s group was the last to arrive. The rest of the Barons were with their respective escorts, arranged in a circle around a symbol inscribed on the floor in the middle of the room. Tanon was the one exception; no member of his clan had accompanied him until Capa arrived and went to stand next to him. He was the only Baron that did not have a personal escort; he had no need of one. His appearance was not as impressive as Urkast’s; he was not as tall or as muscular, though he was broad-shouldered and had a strong build, accentuated by a braid of hair that trailed down his sinewy back. Only his deep voice and square jaw reflected the incredible strength hidden within him. No one, not even Nilia, had ever dared to test him. Tanon was the strongest of the Fallen and had demonstrated that only too well during the War. He was the only one who’d managed to kill one of the Justices, and he’d done it alone by overtaking and brutally crushing the thirty angels that had been protecting the Justice.

  Nilia was behind her Baron, looking completely bored as she entertained herself by making a dagger dance on her hand. She was not part of Stil’s personal guard, but she was the most valuable member of his clan. Her Baron was the only one who had his wings exposed, though they were folded in on themselves so as not to take up too much space. He almost never kept them hidden since he was accustomed to using them quite often. They were his best weapon of defense and, sometimes, offense. Stil was the most striking of the Fallen; the only one who looked like an angel. Almost all the demons had experienced some kind of change in their appearance during their incarceration in the Hole. The most common trait was the darkening of their wings, which they attributed to having spent so many centuries locked up on a plane with no light. Stil’s wings, however, were as white as they’d been since the first day in there, and combined with his long white hair they made him easily stand out from everyone else.

  Next to him sat Elnis, one of the Barons with the least amount of influence. He did not usually speak up much during meetings unless they were discussing something that directly involved his clan. At the moment, he was talking about something with his personal guard.

  Zibon and Cryn were always in agreement. They were the only Barons that had never had a single dispute. It was believed that they maintained a perpetual alliance to reinforce their mutual positions since to confront one of them guaranteed both would respond to the confrontation. They were seated next to one another and their personal guards were chatting among themselves.

  “We are all here,” announced Tanon from the center of the room, standing on the rune on the floor. “Just a few more minutes and our long-awaited vengeance will begin.”

  “What about the Evokers?” asked Urkast.

  Tanon gestured behind his back without turning around. Capa took a step forward and bowed. Then he removed his hood, revealing an ear-to-ear smile. His eyes were opened wide and in his expression was a glimmer of innocence.

  “They are occupying the positions so wisely assigned by the Barons. My master has conveniently illustrated to me what is expected of us. I only hope that our art will be to your most entire satisfaction.”

  “Just be sure you fulfill your commitment,” said Urkast. “We have managed to hide from the angels what you are capable of, so they will not be expecting it. They will be confident because we have no Healers.”

  “Your concerns are completely unnecessary, though duly noted. I myself will insure that your instructions are delivered to them with total clarity,” said Capa, beaming with pride. “There is no possibility that our devoted brothers will suspect what is about to descend upon them.”

  “Everything is ready,” injected Stil, his voice melodic. “It’s too late to make changes. Let’s stick to the plan, Urkast. We have twenty-four hours, not a second more. The spheres of the Nest will not be in this configuration again for another three hundred years. We have just one chance, and all thanks to Dast finding a way to do it. Let’s not lose out on this opportunity.”

  Dast approached Tanon and showed him an hourglass. The Baron nodded and looked to one side of the room. An gigantic figure that had been seated in the refuge of the shadows stood up and walked toward the center of the room. The demons moved out of the way as the man with the shaved head moved forward, towering above everyone else. When the light shone on the massive proportions of his body, it revealed an extremely large, ebony-skinned man who was carrying something in his hands. He walked toward Tanon with slow, heavy steps, then stopped in front of him. He carefully pulled back the cloth covering the package He gently removed a flat stone from the package and handed it to the Baron, who thanked him for it.

  “It is time.” Tanon’s deep voice resonated through the chamber. “I want to begin as soon as possible. Everyone—outside the rune.”

  The center of the room was quickly cleared. The demons went back to their places next to their respective clans. The titanic black man retraced his steps and sat down again in the shadows. Tanon authorized the commencement with a wave of his hand. A single demon stepped forward walking slowly, conscious of everyone’s eyes upon him. He took the flat stone that Tanon gave him and went to the symbol drawn on the floor. He bent down in the middle of the activation rune and deposited the seal in the center of it.

  In the same instant his body began convulsing violently. His back arched and his head flopped from one side to the other as if his neck were made of rubber. The hand with which he had placed the seal remained fixed to the stone. Blue lines ran up, down, and all over his body. A thick, green smoke began to belch out of him. The rest of the demons stood staring incredulously; some cursed under their breath. No one understood what was happening. One demon made an attempt to go help the one who’d placed the seal, but they stopped him. The horrific scene lasted only a few moments more as the poor, unfortunate demon began screaming, his voice distorted. Small flames were shooting out of various places on his skin, while his hand still remained cemented to the seal. When it was all over, the only thing left in the center of the room was a pile of smoking ashes that was emitting an intolerable odor. The seal was intact.

  For several seconds no one spoke a single word. This was the moment they had waited for for centuries. They had worked so hard to get here and now it was over before it began.

  Tanon controlled his frustration and took a step forward.

  “. . . What . . . the fuck . . . was that?” he said, breaking the sepulchral silence. His fists were clenched, his face red with rage.