The Nephilim: Book One (11 page)

"You came back." A tall
man stood before her, cloaked in shadows.

A drop of sweat slid down the back
of Mona's neck and she felt it slither between her shoulder blades, cold
against the hot prickling of her skin. Her face burned and her stomach twisted.
It was reminiscent of the same feeling she always got around him, only this
time the feeling nearly took her over.

Michael stepped from the shadows
and embraced Mona warmly. She winced, shocked at the intimate touch, too
terrified to enjoy it. She let herself be gently squeezed, afraid to move, to
even breathe, but then his arms parted from her body, and she let out a tiny
moan.

He stared at her in silence and she
couldn't think of what to say. The thought of words coming out in her own
voice, not Sophie's, terrified her no matter how unreasonable it was.

"Something's different,"
he finally whispered into the dark.

She stepped back bumping into the
bedpost, his words making her stomach flip.

"I don't quite know," he
reached out toward her and ran his fingers through her hair slowly, "what
it is."

Her breaths became shorter,
heartbeat louder.

"Something about the
way," he stepped closer to her, taking his free hand and wrapping it
around her wrist, the other tangled in her curls. In one quick movement he
pulled her close. A shriek caught in her throat. His face hovered just inches
above hers, the shadows eerily falling across it, "The way you
smell."

Mona's heartbeat was so loud she
knew he could hear it. His warm breath fell on her face, and she stared up into
his dark eyes. "Perfume?" she ventured.

"Must be." He slipped his
fingers to the back of her neck and let them play across her skin, "I
thought I'd never see you again."

Mona watched as he looked away and
wondered how Sophie fell for his blatant insincerity. His words sounded
heartfelt, his tone exact, but, whether it was from her knowledge of their plan
or the many years she had known him, she could read the deceit etched into the
very structure of his face.

Then, she recognized another look.
Hunger. He was so intoxicated by bloodlust that he would never realize she
wasn't actually Sophie. He was trying to focus away, to contain himself. It was
a look she’d seen on the faces of others in compromising situations, others who
had crumbled to the whim, but Michael was different. Wasn’t he? He had had a
taste for the girl she was disguised as, and there was no doubt her blood was
unique, but he was not a weak man.

His gaze shifted, locking on her
neck. Mona became aware of how intensely her pulse beat there, how the taut
skin across bright blue veins would throb rhythmically, slowly beckoning to him
in the shadows of his hunger. She was no longer Mona, nor was she Sophie. She was
his victim.

Mona opened her mouth, hoping to
deter what was coming, "Michael?"

The man broke from his trance, for
a moment, and smiled, "Sophie, you're in trouble."

Michael’s lips pressed hard against
Mona’s. His hand groped at her curls and pulled her into the kiss. Mona’s heart
shot into her throat and her eyes flew open. What was happening? Why weren't
his fangs bared, sinking into her neck?

Heavy lids covered Michael’s eyes
peeking yellow from beneath dense lashes. His hard features, once frightening in
the moonlight, now seemed romantic and alluring. Dark hair fell across his face
and tickled her nose. He was gorgeous, she thought, and pressed gently back.

His thumb found the pulse on her
neck and he shuddered, clumsily biting at her lips with his own. Without
thinking, Mona sighed into his mouth, and it only seemed to drive him forward.
She’d never seen him act like this over a meal. Was his wild hunger driving him
mad? Could it be that she was having such an effect on him that he couldn't
control himself?

Then she realized: no. It wasn't
her at all. It was Sophie. Sophie’s hair, Sophie’s lips, Sophie’s pulse.

Mona pushed against his chest and
broke from the kiss. Knowing it was all too dangerous to be in his arms, she
turned away, but he pulled her back.

"What's wrong?" His eyes
cried out for her, shining a dim yellow.

Mona shook her head and took deep
breaths, resisting the urge to kiss him again, "I have to go."

She tried to shove herself away,
but he held tight, "No, Sophie. There's nowhere to go."

She pushed again, then stopped. He
really thought she was Sophie. She knew she would have to take a chance,
"Where's is the book?"

"What?" The yellow faded
from his eyes and they returned to their deep brown.

"The book, Michael, where is
it?" She tried to sound stern, to command him with her voice, but it
quivered.

"And why are you looking for
such a thing?" he purred, the glow returning.

"I," she searched her
mind for an answer, "I need it," came out in a reluctant whisper.

He reached up and slid her hair over
her shoulder, "No you don't. Not now."

His warm breath fell on her face
and her eyes fluttered, entranced by the thought of his lips on hers once
again. "I don't?" she mumbled against his face.

"No," he purred,
"It’s gone away."

His mouth hovered just above hers
and her chest ached, wanting so badly to consume it, but logic broke through,
"Where?"

His lips curled up ever so slightly
and he tilted his head mischievously, "Far, far away from this place. They
would of course be happy to have you back, but what they don’t know won’t hurt
them. Now, you are all mine."

The pain was so intense, she
thought she would die from it alone. Memories flooded back to her, a nightmare
of blood and slaughter, the feeling of life being sucked away and replaced with
something worse than death. But then, she realized, this time would not be the
same as the last. She would not wake in a pool of her own blood and crave that
of another. She would not wake at all.

Mona slashed before her, blindly
with her human nails, trying to force the talons to come. Michael released her
neck and recoiled as she stumbled to the doorway and clung to the frame. Her
body twisted and contorted. She gasped for air and doubled over in the pale
moonlight, the curls of ashy blonde hair falling away until all that was left
was a short, chestnut mop. She coughed, sputtered, and fell to the ground,
damning the human body in her mind until she gazed at the hand upon the floor.

Sophie's long, slender fingers were
replaced by Mona's much shorter and childlike hands. She traveled up the arm
with her eyes and noted that no long, blonde strands were cascading around her
shoulders and the t-shirt now fell loosely around her straight figure instead
of clinging to a full chest.

Mona gazed up at Michael, the
yellow gone from his eyes, replaced with shock. She lifted her hand and touched
her neck feeling the warm liquid seeping from her skin. Her eyes found her hand
and peered at the crimson stain, then back to Michael, his own mouth covered in
the same hue. His bite had broken the spell. She stood slowly, never looking
away from him, and backed out into the living room.

"Wait, Mona!" His voice
was normal again, the deep rumble now gone, and he rushed to her. She tried to
hasten her steps, but felt weak and he was soon upon her.

Her claws ripped into his face,
tearing flesh and splattering blood, immediately stopping him. Her strength had
returned to her all at once and she felt new and powerful. The blow sent his
head to the left; he’d been completely unprepared for it. Mona gasped at
herself and stared at her talons. Had she really just spilled the blood of one
of her brethren? The blood of Michael?

His gaze steadily returned to hers,
but neither bloodlust nor anger filled his eyes. Instead, she saw only pained
awe.

"Michael." She reached
out with her soiled hand to touch his scarred face, but he shrank back like a
beaten animal. Never had she known him to cower. “I’m—” the apology caught in
her throat. She touched her hand to the bite on her neck, feeling the sticky wetness
pooling there. “You would have done it, wouldn’t you?”

He looked back at her defeated, his
arms weak at his sides, his flesh torn away from his face. He said nothing.

“I always thought you were
different.” Mona turned and raced toward the large windows at the front of the
apartment. He called after her, but the sound of the shattering glass
overpowered his words, and she disappeared into the city.

Chapter 10

Sophie rolled onto her side and
blinked her eyes open. A heaviness settled upon her the moment she woke that
she couldn’t place. She immediately felt restless and sat up from the bed,
swinging her bare feet onto the wood floor. She faced the room’s only window
and stared out at the unending mists beyond it, only this time something broke
up the immeasurable field of haze.

A roof sat out amongst the fog,
brown and red, atop a salmony-painted, single-storied home. Though the mist
climbed up it, she could see the windowed top of the brilliant white garage
door on its right and the top of the big bay window to the left. Unlike the
oddly familiar house she now sat in, she knew immediately that this house,
sitting alone in the fog of this strange world, no matter how bizarre it
seemed, was her home.

She stood, pulling down the black
sweater dress that she had traded to Mona for her own clothes and padded
quietly out into the narrow hall. From one end she could hear Verrine and
Adam’s soft voices, and at the other she saw the back door to the house. She
would take a quick peek, just to be sure she hadn’t been seeing things, then
return to the two. Of course, she would.

With a steady, intent hand, she
silently stepped out into the mists and went around to the side of the house.
It was still there, the home she’d grown up in with her parents and brother. She
hadn’t seen the place since, well, the fire. But then, had it existed at all?
The way the others had spoken, this was all just something she’d made up. That
family may not have even existed. But here the home stood, untouched by flames,
preserved perfectly, and her feet were moving toward it. Whether she could have
stopped herself, she didn’t know—she didn’t try—and before she realized, she
had gone down the covered pathway leading to the front door. And her hand was
on the knob.

Thick, white sheets were draped
over the furniture making the pieces appear colossal in the dim light that
filtered through drawn blinds, and a looming silence hung in the air. The walls
were bare, outlines of where portraits and family photos once hung a slightly
lighter beige than the paint around them. The brick fireplace stood out against
the colorless room, but its mantelpiece too was bare. The frames were, instead,
piled in a far corner of the living room and Sophie went immediately to them.
She hadn’t taken anything with her after the fire—the fire that
had
happened—and desperately wanted the photos.

Her hands could not move fast
enough as she knelt before the pile of frames and flipped through them, her
family smiling back. There was Eric, a toddler in a Santa hat, and her mother
and father on their wedding day, Eric’s first high school photo just after he’d
had his braces off but still covered in acne, all three of them at the Grand
Canyon. Their faces became blurred as tears formed in her eyes. She sniffed and
tilted her head back, knowing if she rubbed at her face she’d fall into a
sobbing fit. When the feeling passed, she looked back down at another of her
parents and Eric at the beach then stopped, lifting the framed photo away from
the others and standing. It was a far off memory like most she had since the
fire, nothing specific about it stood out, but despite its bleariness she
suddenly felt compelled to convince herself that it had indeed happened. She
looked hard into the picture, gripping the frame tightly, trying to remember.
Something about it was not right.

Then a tiny voice emerged from the
depths of the room. It was a like a song rising from the quiet, and Sophie
slowly glanced over her shoulder to find it. A tiny, blonde girl, no more than
six, kneeled against the raised hearth of the fireplace, a doll in hand, which
she walked back and forth among a few bricks, singing to herself. She was
completely intrigued with the doll, narrating its movements to herself in a
childish lilt.

Sophie watched the girl as if in a
trance, until, from through the doorway to the kitchen, a little boy strolled.
He held a bright yellow toy dump truck and, upon seeing the young girl, his
eyes lit up and he ran over, immediately crashing down onto the doll crying
out, "Demolition derby!"

The tiny girl was stunned and the
doll flew from her hands, smashing against the bricks: body in one spot and
head in another. The girl burst into tears at the sight of her decapitated toy.
Sophie was upset and took a step toward the two, forgetting the bizarreness of
the situation, but stopped when the boy's face changed.

He too appeared upset and grabbed
the pieces. After inspecting them as the girl wailed beside him, he began to
shove them together awkwardly, in a desperate attempt to fix what he had
broken. After a few twists, the head was firmly back on and the boy thrust it
at the girl with a toothy grin, "See? It's all better now, so stop
crying."

The girl's sobs came to a halt and
she squeezed the doll to her chest, beaming. Sophie's hands flew to her face,
covering her mouth as her eyes brimmed with tears, and this time she allowed
them to spill onto her cheeks.

"I thought I said stop
crying."

She hadn't heard his voice in so
long, but knew right away it was him. He leaned against the kitchen doorway
with his arms crossed, his hair falling in the same way, clean cut just above
his eyes, and he still loomed nearly a foot above her. The crinkling of his
long, leather coat sounded as he bent over and took up the doll, the two
children now gone, and stared at its face. Sophie knew it was impossible, but
couldn't bear to lose sight of him again like she had on the street. She took a
quick step toward him and reached out, "Eric."

His eyes darted back up to her, and
she stopped abruptly with a gasp. Something was different. There was no lively
shine to his once hazel eyes like before. In fact, only a large sphere of black
shone back. His skin was paler, cheeks deeper. Even his hair was a shade
darker.

"I’m impressed," he
motioned to the hearth, "but don't get the wrong idea," he lifted
himself from the wall and moved toward her, his heavy footsteps filling the
room, "your illusions still disgust me."

Sophie pulled her hand and foot
back, afraid to question him. She wanted to run, but the image of her brother
held her to the spot, even as he came closer to her. He held the doll out to
her, offering it. When she didn't take it he thrust it closer and lifted his
eyebrows. She reached for it apprehensively, but it vanished. "They’re
easy to conjure up when you left so many around." He grimaced, staring
down. Tension hung between the two and Sophie wanted to cry out, but felt
bound, gagged by her own fear. What was he talking about?

With a disgusted grunt and a flick
of his hand, something slammed into Sophie’s side, and she flew into the
adjacent wall, tumbling onto the floor. His voice rang out into the room,
"For someone like me, that is!"

Sophie rolled herself over, the
pain in her side reeling. Nothing had touched her and yet she was on the other
side of the room. When she opened her eyes, the scene about her had changed.
The walls were blackened with ash and flames licked at the covered furniture.
She could just make out Eric’s smile through the smoky haze setting in before
he shouted once more, "Someone who's dead!"

Sophie was lifted by an unknown
force and thrown into the room's center, landing on the covered coffee table,
cracking it in two. She couldn't open her eyes from the pain in her back and
choked on smoke as she took in a deep breath, but could hear his calm footsteps
and the rustle of his coat as he move closer, coming to a stop just before her.

She pried her eyes open. The grin
was gone from his face, "Dead. Do you even know what that means?"

She couldn't respond, but wouldn't
have been able to find the words if she was still on her feet. She now knew
angels and demons and vampires: death had taken on a whole new meaning, but she
knew none of that would matter to him.

"Of course, what do you
care?" Eric shrugged, "It’s all your fault anyway."

He raised his fist above her when
she finally found her voice, "Eric, no, please!"

He stopped, staring down at her as
she held her hands in front of her face and tried to pull her knees up to her
chest, “You’re so afraid now. Why?”

She blew out a heavy breath, wasn’t
it obvious?

“Where’s the fiery rage of the
demon that killed my family?”

“What are you talking about?” she
coughed and it sent a shock through her back, “You’re my family. You’re my
brother.”

His face contorted, and he growled,
“Never. Call. Me. That!”

Eric brought down his fist and
Sophie, trapped on her back by the broken table, could only thrust her hands up
toward him, open-palmed as she screamed. An intense, white light broke through
the smoke, encapsulating her for an instant, reminiscent of the bright light
from when she and Mona had encountered the strange men in the alley.

It went as soon as it came and Eric
was no longer standing above her. She pushed herself up and raised to her feet
amidst the smoke and flames to see him across the room, doubled over on the
floor, a hole smashed into the wall above him where he must have landed when
he’d been thrown. He didn’t move. Around them, the house was crumbling and
Sophie had just now begun to notice it. She could run, she knew, but then he
would be left with the wreckage falling about him. He had said it was an
illusion, but it felt real enough.

She went to Eric and knelt before
him. He looked calm then, eyes closed like he was sleeping, and his face was
more like she remembered. She could only seem to remember looking at it from
afar, that being this close was an anomaly, and she reached out a hand to brush
his hair away.

His eyes flew open, wholly black,
and his hand shot out and gripped her throat, “Now that’s more like it.”

He stood in a quick motion, taking
her up as well, and she dangled on the end of his arm. She tried to pry his
hand away, digging at his fingers with her own but it did no good. Her throat
constricted, she could hardly take in a breath, and the smoke did nothing to
help.

“Come now,” he brought her in
closer to him, “Show me something else.”

There was a crash at the front of
the house. Light poured in at the open door, and two silhouetted figures
stepped inside.

“Soph!” Verrine’s voice was
unmistakable through the haze, but she couldn’t call back to them.

Eric only glared at her,
"Called in the cavalry I see."

Adam strode to them, and Verrine
was on his heels with both palms aflame.

Eric glanced at them only a moment
then looked back to Sophie, “Oops.” His figure dispersed into the haze, and
Sophie fell to the floor. Both Adam and Verrine’s hands were on her in an
instant, lifting her, and then they were all moving out of the house back into
the mists.

They cleared the doorway just as a
crash sounded from behind them and were yards away before they stopped and
looked back at the house. Flames licked upward as it fell in on itself, and in
an instant it disappeared into the fog all at once.

***

“So that was your...brother?” Verrine
ventured cautiously as they sat around the little table in the brick house’s
kitchen.

Sophie sighed, “Yes. Well, I don’t
know actually. You say my brother is someone else, and Eric...he wouldn’t let
me…” she dropped her head down so that it rested on the table and closed her
eyes. She thought this would be the time to cry, but no tears came. In fact,
she felt more confused than anything. The pictures, she now realized, were
strange to her because she was not in any of them. Eric and she were close in
age, and her memories, like that of the beach, despite being fuzzy since the
accident, clearly put her in those places with them. But the photos looked so
complete without her. “I know it shouldn’t really surprise me,” Sophie spoke
cautiously, not knowing how to phrase the question, “But Eric...he died. He
even said he was dead, but he, well, he wasn’t.”

“Souls are complicated,” Adam
leaned against the kitchen’s counter, “The body, be it human or astral or
anything in between, is just a vessel. Some are stronger, sustain longer, but
they are nothing without the soul. Souls are big, eternal bundles of energy but
need vessels to recharge and continue to be active. When the vessel fails,
dies, innumerable things can happen to the soul, but typically it goes to rest
in a place that those of us still attached to vessels cannot go. Some souls,
however, use their last bits of energy in different ways.”

“So you’re saying that’s Eric’s
soul? Like a ghost?”

Adam cocked his head and looked
deep in thought, “That’s how you would see it, yes. Some souls hold out for
another vessel, and on rare occasion can get one. They sometimes live like
parasites off others, or just wreak havoc wherever they go. They’re not all
bad, many don’t even realize what they’re doing, but there are plenty with ill
intent. I think that is what we saw today.”

“He was strong, Adam,” Verrine
looked to him with anxiety in her gray eyes, “Couldn’t you feel it? It was a
little scary.”

Adam nodded, “I think he’s being
fueled by something. An intense emotion, maybe, or a memory.”

“And he found us. That’s not good.”

“He found Sophie,” Adam corrected
her, “This place is protected, so they must be linked, but I don’t know how.”

“Well, he’s a threat,” Verrine sat
back, pursing her lips, “until he peters out for good.”

Sophie looked to her, “What do you
mean?”

“Souls without vessels can’t keep
going on forever like that. He’ll eventually burn up that energy.” Verrine
flicked her hand away at the thought.

“And then what? He goes to rest
finally?” Sophie gave Adam a hopeful look.