“Oh, we did it together. Marguerite finds it sexually exciting, which is crude, but there it is.”

Sara clung to the side of the tomb, heart racing, eyes straining to see in the dark, knowing that Gabriel was pointing the beam on Raphael for her benefit, for her protection. She felt a little sick to her stomach and she wondered if she really wanted to hear everything Raphael might say. Up until an hour earlier, she had thought of him as Rafe, her mother’s devoted boyfriend. Even knowing he was immortal, a fallen angel, hadn’t altered the essence of her opinion of him. She had thought he was a nice guy. Now he was standing there and blithely saying that his real girlfriend found it exciting to slice women to pieces with him.

She felt a disgust, a hatred so profound that it overwhelmed her, kept her frozen to the wall she was leaning against, unable to look away.

Gabriel’s beam shifted to the left, and suddenly Sara realized Marguerite was standing there, beside Raphael. “Hello, Marguerite,” Gabriel said, his voice deceptively calm, but with a tightness Sara knew revealed his controlled anger. “It’s been awhile.”

“Hi, Gabriel,” Marguerite replied, with a sly smile and a wave. “I just want you to know it wasn’t anything personal with you—you know, Anne, and the trial. I did it for Raphael, that’s all.”

“Feeling guilty?” Gabriel asked.

Marguerite blinked. “No, not really. Of course not. Why would I?”

“Aren’t you going to ask why I did it?” Raphael asked, stepping in front of Marguerite and shoving her behind him so that she stumbled. She gave a cry of protest, but he silenced her with a look.

It was a look that sent chills down Sara’s spine. She didn’t know this man at all, had never seen that kind of patronizing dominance on his face, and it was disturbing, paralyzing.

“No, I’m not going to ask why,” Gabriel said. “You can’t possibly have any reason worth listening to.”

Sara didn’t want to hear it either. But obviously Raphael wanted to talk, because he spoke as if Gabriel had enthusiastically inquired.