The Nephilim: Book One (17 page)

"Sophie's safe now," Fire
ignited in his hand, "She's away from you!"

Adam rolled across the floor, out
of the flame’s path. He growled, scrambling to his feet and throwing up his
hands, “I really don’t want to fight you.”

“No, you don’t,” Troian rushed at
him and pulled back another fist. Adam dodged his punches, one after the other,
with restraint. Troian was relentless with his speed, but his eyes, Adam could
see, were staring straight ahead, fixed on nothing. It was then he knew Troian
was not wholly himself.

Matched with his frustration for
not having landed a fist, Troian tired himself after throwing his whole weight
into the speedy barrage and stopped, jumping away and sliding back into the
shadows. Adam sighed, the demon giving him little recourse: this needed to end.
He took a firm stance and slammed his palms together, the symbols there
aligning, and spoke the invocation in his mind. A yellowed glow emanated from
between his hands, and he pulled them apart, a golden staff appearing in the
space between. He pulled it from the air and spun it from one hand to the other,
reacquainting himself with its weight. As he did so, a mass of flames sailed
toward him, but he parried the attack, the blast ricocheting off his staff and
back at Troian.

The demon ducked, the flame just
barely missing him, and he stared down Adam, “And so you finally show yourself,
angel.” With a flick of his wrist, flames again ignited in his palm, but this
time contorted into a long shaft which Troian gripped. He flew at Adam and
swung the newly forged fiery blade at him.

Adam blocked him, holding his staff
at two ends as the demon pressed hard against its middle. He could feel the
heat coming from the weapon and leaned away from it, the glow lighting up
Troian’s face and his deadened eyes. “Troian,” he spoke through grit teeth,
“This is not right! Can’t you see what you’re doing?”

***

Rose's claws dug deep into Mona's
back. She fell to the ground, sliding off the strigori's talons with a
sickening sound. Rose laughed, licking her fingers, "Definitely not
pureblood, but a little better than human."

Mona choked, clawing at the floor.
This was not how she wanted to die. She did not want to die at all. She peered
over her shoulder at Rose, the shadows falling sinisterly around the woman.

"It only seems fair, doesn't
it? You stab us in the back, and I stab you," Rose motioned toward
Verrine, "And all for what? Some vile little demon? You're such a pathetic
child."

Rose's words echoed in her mind. A
child. That's all Mona had been to them all along. They had never trusted her,
and it only took time for her to give them a reason not to. Something within
Mona pulsated. Her blood boiled, and she felt her strength return. She was
angry.

Springing from the ground, Mona
tore in Rose's direction, slashing wildly with her claws. Rose cried out into
the room, completely unprepared for Mona’s talons to sink into her arms.
Spattering blood only drove Mona forward, striking at the woman again before
Rose reached out and pushed the girl off of her.

Mona fell onto her back, the breath
knocked from her, the warmth of her and Rose’s lifeblood across her face. The
attack had taken more out of her than she’d expected, and she struggled to push
herself up onto her elbows. Rose stood in a sanguine pool, hands covering cuts.
She snarled, catching her breath, and stepped forward.

The flames sped across the room,
too fast for Rose to escape. Her screams filled the chamber as she fell to the
ground, beating at her arm where the fire had taken her. Retching on the floor,
she ripped at her sleeve. She tore the delicate fabric from her arm and cast it
away before it completely melted to her flesh. Beneath, her pale skin was
blackened and though the fire had gone out, the charring crept down her arm,
bubbling and smoldering.

Mona whipped herself around to see
Verrine collapse, eyelids heavy, and caught herself just before she hit the
ground. Danielle, finally composed, stumbled across the room, and Mona tracked
her as she made her way to Rose. The sniffling strigori tried to help Rose, but
was slapped away. Instead, Rose gripped Danielle’s upper arm and yanked her
onto her feet as she stood, shouting into the room, "Michael! Take care of
this.”

Chapter 16

Mona glanced wildly about the room
and staggered to her feet. Had she really heard Rose call to Michael? She could
smell Verrine as she crossed the room, her blood pungent and tart, tainted with
venom.

"Are you all right?" Mona
asked quietly as she felt Verrine's back press against her own.

"Yeah," Verrine spoke
breathlessly, their blood-soaked backs sticking as they moved against one another,
“You?”

Mona winced, "Fine."

A tall figure stepped out of the
shadows as Rose and Danielle receded into them.

"So, this is Michael?” Verrine
crouched, a flicker of blue igniting in her palm.

Mona reached back and grabbed
Verrine’s arm. “Don’t.” Where energy and power had emanated from the woman
before, she now breathed too heavily, moved too slowly. "The more you
move, the quicker it's going to spread. I can handle this."

Verrine huffed, short and annoyed,
then relaxed. Mona released her and stood to her full height, ignoring the pain
that stabbed at her body. She touched her shoulder where Rose had first clawed
her and felt the wound had already begun to close.

In a flash, Michael sprung from the
ground and passed over the two. He landed a few feet from Verrine, low to the
ground. Mona spun and stepped in front of her, "What's with the theatrics,
Michael?" She kept his gaze and lured him away from the demon.

Michael rose slowly, never looking
away from her, then broke into a sprint. Mona jumped backward as he sailed
forward, missing her with his claws and skidded to a stop just past her. Again,
he turned toward her and ran, but she easily evaded him. Too easily, she
thought.

"What are you doing?"
Mona crinkled her nose and looked him over, second guessing his identity,
"Come on, I know you're bet—"

Suddenly, Michael's hand was around
her throat. She sailed through the air, and her tiny body was smashed between
the wall and his. The shadowed outline of his face glared eerily back at her.
His eyes pulsed yellow, then the color receded, the claws about her throat sunk
back into his skin, and his grip loosened, "Why did you leave us?"

Mona searched his darkened face,
bewildered. His hot breath fell over her and she plastered herself against the
wall. She was scared, "I don't know."

Her whisper enraged him, his eyes
flaring bright yellow and his grip tightening again, "That's not an
answer!"

Mona caught sight of Verrine over
his shoulder, attempting to conjure. Mona held a hand out to her in what little
voice she could muster, “Don’t!” Verrine hesitated, then backed off.

Michael never looked away from
Mona's face, "Why did you leave us?" he repeated, loosening his grip
again. His hand began to shake, "Why did you leave me?"

"I..." Mona searched her
mind for the right words. He was so close to her she could see the pink scars
she’d given him, still raised and angry across his face. His skin had sallowed
and if she didn’t know better she would say he looked ill. She swallowed,
"I realized what was right."

He sighed. His hand left her neck
and touched the side of her face, "Do you remember when we met?”

She relaxed against the wall, guilt
suddenly crawling inside her belly, “I would have starved to death.”

He nodded and took a step back from
her, “I knew you weren’t made for this.”

“Of course not,” she spat out, her
veins burning as blood rushed through them. She made a tight fist and glared at
him, “I had hoped you weren’t.”

"No. It will never be over for
me until I’m dead," he glanced down momentarily at her fist, "Until
someone kills me."

Mona opened her mouth, but no words
came. She peered down at her hand and loosened it, "Are you asking me
to?"

“Either that, or I'll kill
you," Michael's arm flinched and his talons grew, "That's the way
things have to be." The yellow was gone from his eyes, leaving them dark
and empty. She wanted to look away, but his incessant stare wouldn’t let her. A
feeling that she couldn't place swam around her stomach then fluttered in her
chest. She felt her own claws escape from her flesh slowly, the black anger
inside now completely suppressed.

Michael's warm lifeblood spilled
down her arm as her talons ripped through his flesh. He hadn't resisted at all
as she thrust her hand into his chest, piercing his heart. He slumped forward,
pushing her again against the wall. Mona clutched his shoulder, steadying him
and squeezed her eyes shut, disgusted for the first time by the sound of her
claws shredding skin.

His body jerked as she wrenched her
hand away, and she squeezed him tighter, shuddering at his stifled groans. She
felt herself begin to slide down the wall, Michael's body collapsing into her
lap as she hit the floor, a crimson pool growing on the stones below them. The
room spun, the stench of his blood fouling the air. She wanted to scream, to
push him away, to beg him to fight, but knew it was impossible. He had given up
so easily.

She took a deep breath and pushed
his body from her lap, stood, and marched to Verrine. As she helped the demon
to her feet, the woman swallowed hard, “Are you going to—”

“Fine,” she interrupted, then
sighed. She tried to muster a reassuring look on her face and met Verrine’s
eyes. The demon, for once, did not look utterly disgusted by her. “It’s fine.”

***

"Troian," Adam strained
between clenched teeth, pushing back against the fiery blade with his golden
staff, "Stop this."

Troian only grunted.

Adam rolled his eyes,
"Fine." He channeled his energy into the staff, letting it mass
there, then released. A blast exploded between the two, sending Troian into the
far wall, his faux sword crashing to the ground and vanishing. He growled from
the floor, gripping his shoulder, and pushed himself back to his feet.

Adam sighed. It seemed the demon
still would not give up and time was quickly slipping by. Troian pushed off the
wall and ran at Adam, apparently abandoning his astral abilities. Adam leveled
his staff at the demon, challenging him to continue, but Troian would stop for
nothing, even the threat of impaling himself upon the angel's staff. Adam
quickly released the weapon and it fell, disappearing just before it hit the
ground, and Troian's body slammed into his own.

The demon pinned Adam against the
wall holding some kind of metal to his throat. Troian's free arm pressed
against Adam's chest as the angel peered down to see the object. His eyes grew
wide and he quickly looked back up, "Where did you get that?"

Troian smiled, "An angel gave
it to me."

Adam scowled. He knew the metallic
pentagram would mean death to an angel of his echelon if it pierced his skin and
went untreated. He tried to reason with him, "Troian, you know I could
have killed you, but I didn't. You’re Sophie’s brother, I wouldn't kill
you."

Snorting, Troian pushed the metal
closer to the pulsing veins in his neck, "But you had no trouble killing
Sophie's best friend, didn’t you?"

"What are you talking
about?" Adam pressed himself against the wall, leaning away from the
pentagram, "I haven't killed any—"

"Shut up!" Despite how
his body trembled and his voice cracked, his amber eyes, so reminiscent of
Sophie’s, revealed nothing. It was increasingly clear he’d been spellbound, but
Adam had no idea how to break it. "I saw it! I saw her dead,” he pressed
the pentagram onto Adam’s neck, and it instantly burned into his skin, “You
killed Verrine!"

"Troi?" The quiet voice
sounded into the room, silencing the demon's cries. Troian’s body, just for a
moment, relaxed, and he turned away from Adam to see a woman and a girl in the
opening to the chamber, using one another for support.

"No!" Troian ripped his attention
back to the angel, "It's a lie! Why are you doing this?"

"I'm not!" Adam cried
out, smelling his own flesh. His breaths became ragged, and his voice cracked,
"It’s real. She's real. I can’t create illusions."

"Liar!" Troian's hand
shook, his eyes burning, the pentagram bearing down against Adam’s skin,
"You're all liars! I saw her, and she was dead! He told me...you killed
her."

Adam stared hard at the demon,
determined to show him the truth. He slowly lifted his shaking arm and wrapped
his fingers, weakly, around Troian's wrist.

The weapon danced across the floor,
the metallic sound echoing through the room. Verrine broke from Mona's side and
hobbled toward Troian. She collapsed onto his back and he grasped at her,
choking on her name.

Adam slid down the wall, touching
his neck and thanking the Heavens, but mostly the Hells, to still be alive.
Mona was at his side in an instant. She was covered in blood, but appeared
shockingly spry. She helped him to his feet and he felt himself stumble.

“Are you all right?” Mona grabbed
his arm to steady him.

“Damn,” he felt the place on his
neck where the pentagram had scratched him, “I’ll be fine.”

Troian had turned and embraced
Verrine fully, "Why did you leave?"

“I got the book from, and I didn’t
want to get you in trouble,” Verrine sighed, squeezing him back, "I had to
do something. I couldn't just give up." She looked up at him, her gray
eyes glassy and full.

He traced his finger down her chin,
"I thought you were..."

Verrine squeezed him gently,
"Why? You know Adam would never do that."

"But he said," Troian
looked past her as if he were working to remember, "Raziel showed me your
body."

"Raziel?" Adam sneered,
"That recluse talked to you?"

Troian nodded, "In fact, he's
got Sophie right now. He said I could see her as soon as,” his eyes grew wide,
and he released Verrine. He turned and met Adam’s gaze, "as soon as I took
care of you."

***

Sophie was staring at the moon. It
was beautiful, she thought, round and perfect, glowing bright against a dark
gray sky. She remembered the first time she saw it, really saw it, and how it
was more brilliant than she ever thought it could be.

“Awake, my dear?”

The voice jolted her out of the
memory, and she sat straight up. Someone stood before her, cloaked and dark.
No, not a person, she told herself. The shadow of a person. A ghost.

“Where am I?” she pulled her knees
up to her chest and peered around the space. She was elevated on some cold
platform just slightly wider than herself. Moonlight poured down on her,
darkening the rest of the room. She could feel the chilled dampness of the
place, smell the dirt. It was Earth, but where? Last she could remember was on
the river. “Where’s Troi?”

The shadow moved slightly, “Always
thinking of them.” He let out a long sigh, “Tell me, Apollyon, is she intact?”

There was movement to her side, and
she saw two figures there. One came forward, and she recognized him, if only
slightly. She let out a small sigh of relief as she eyed the long-haired man.
He had been the one waiting on the river bank for her and Troian. A friend.

Then the other figure stepped into
view. Naomi gave her a little smile. Sophie’s eyes went wide and her heartbeat
sped as she gripped the edge of the dais she sat on. “You!” she pointed at the
woman, “Stay away!”

“Touchy,” the man reported,
stepping up to her and grabbing her outstretched arm, “but well.”

Sophie tried to pull away from him,
but he was strong and held her still. His misty green eyes bore into her,
searching her face as he held her there. She scowled back at him until he
released her.

“The transformation is, however,
not complete.”

“It will have to do.” The shadow’s
voice was discordant and throaty. He came very near the place where Sophie sat
and she inched backward until her hand slid off the edge of the platform. She
caught herself, knowing there was nowhere to go. “Do you know who I am,
Sophie?” he asked familiarly as he reached up and placed a withered hand on
either side of his hood then pulled it back.

His face was ancient, shriveled and
cracked. Gray skin was pulled taut over where his nose had been, now a slight,
snake-like protrusion, then gathering in folds along his neck. His eyes were
milky and pale and tufts of dry whiskers poked out of a pointed chin.

“Agrippa.”

“Ah,” he clasped his hands before
him, “Even after all this time it seems you remember. Surely we will become
fast friends.”

“What do you want with me?” she
spat out, “You’ve got your book, and you’re clearly alive. You don’t need me.”

“Alive?” he almost laughed, “You
flatter me, child. This,” he gestured to himself, “is not living. I am a shade,
a phantom, and I’ve nearly exhausted this spirit of mine.”

“Then die,” she found herself
saying before she could stop.

He grunted out a little laugh from
the back of his throat, “As if it is that easy.” Agrippa extended a hand and
Naomi hurried over and furnished him with a thick, leather-bound book. “I could
not die if I wanted to, dear girl. Not that I intend to. No, what I need from
you is a spell.” He presented her with the book.

Sophie did not move to take it, “A
spell? From me?”

“Yes. The book is full of them, all
mine, of course, save for one. You put in your own that day so long ago, and I
need you to counter it.”

Sophie reached out carefully and
accepted the book from him. It was heavy and fell into her lap when she took
it. She lifted its cover hesitantly. The thing was so old she thought it would
crumble from even the slightest touch, but it seemed to revive in her hands,
the leather somehow a warmer shade of brown, the paper less brittle. She turned
the first page. Blank. She peered up at Agrippa, but he only stared at the tome
in her hands. She continued only to find unmarked parchment after unmarked
parchment. Just as she was about to thrust it back at him, she came to a page
filled with symbols. They were in some other language, small pictures and
lines, and though she didn’t know exactly what it said, she felt as though she
were looking at a memory. She touched the page, and an angry scene flashed in
her mind, fire, blood, screams, and she pulled her hand away and slammed the
book shut. She grit her teeth and glared at him, “No.”