Granted, the lighting down there was next to nil, but I was standing less than a yard away.

“Uh, yeah,” I said, waving my hand in front of his face. “Have I changed that much in the last day?”

“Uh, no. Sorry. I, uh…” He looked over my shoulder.

“Expecting someone else?”

“I, uh—” He blinked as if snapping out of a fog, then took me by the elbow. “You should check in with Lizzie.”

“Uh-huh. Not very good at subterfuge, are you? Let me give you a tip. If you want to get rid of someone, the worst thing you can do is act like you’re trying to get rid of them. Subtlety is the key. Lying helps, but you might be stuck there. Can angels lie?”

“Eve, really, you have to—”

“Leave? Uh-uh. We need to talk. Starting with ‘Who is Dachev?’”

“Dach—” His brow furrowed as his brain switched back from whatever track it had been on, he blinked, and his gaze slid away from mine. “I know hundreds, if not thousands, of people by that name. It’s a common surname in—”

“You know which one I mean. The one connected to the Nix. The one you’d rather not talk about. Now spill it or—”

“Trsiel,” said a voice from the doorway.

I’ll admit, I almost expected that voice to be female. Anytime a guy is that eager to get rid of you, it usually involves a woman. Well, it can involve a man, but the meaning is the same. With Trsiel, though, the chances of him interrupting a mission for a romantic liaison—with someone of either sex—were pretty much zero.

The voice was male, with an angel’s rich timbre. I turned to see a man about my age, sandy blond hair, well built, wearing trousers, a short-sleeved dress shirt, and a tie. Clearly lacking Trsiel’s sense of casual style, but a damn sight less unnerving than those iridescent outfits the other full-bloods had worn.

The man walked into the room and looked around. “The abandoned basement of a penitentiary.” He looked down. “Dirt floor, rat turds and all. You do know how to make a fellow feel welcome.”

He looked around, then stopped, as if seeing me for the first time. His eyes were a clear neon blue, even brighter than Kristof’s. As he turned toward me, Trsiel tensed. Before he could react, the man was right there, less than six inches from my face, eyes boring into mine. Trsiel’s eyes widened, genuine fear flickering behind them, and he jerked forward, but the other man lifted a hand to stop him, then stepped away from me.

“Eve Levine,” he said, with the barest bow of his head. “A pleasure. Your father speaks very highly of you.”