THE NEPHILIM: BOOK ONE
By Bridgette Blackstone
The Nephilim: Book One
Copyright © Bridgette Blackstone 2014
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be reproduced, resold, or republished. The author thanks you for respecting her work.
Cover art by Bridgette Blackstone using altered photography under Creative Commons.
Feather photography by Hariadhi (Own work) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0-2.5-2.0-1.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons.
For Andrew
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Flames burst all around her, beyond them a vast darkness. The scarlet licked at the ebony, played across it, melted into it. A silver haze draped itself over her and seized her throat. She fought it, but it only consumed her faster, and all she could do was stare to the darkened heavens, praying for a savior but knowing none would come.
She struggled to take in a staggered breath, squinting through the smoke. It curled and twisted before her, contorting itself in an ungodly fashion. Something was there, something free of fire and the night. Something that made her reach for the infinite shadows.
Fingertips broke through the haze and met hers. She felt their warmth sliding across her open palm, caressing her hand, grasping gently.
"Sophie," the voice was nearly inaudible, "You're safe now."
She felt herself being lifted, weightlessly upward and towards it. The flames were gone, the darkness giving way to light. A different warmth came over her as she felt a body merely inches from her own.
"You'll always be safe with me." The hand gripped more tightly now as light fell on them revealing her redeemer's figure, "I am always protecting you."
Pale blue eyes shimmered from a shadowed face, and she reached out to touch him, to bring him into the light. She snatched clumsily at the air, but it exhausted her. Her eyes became heavy and her body melted into his arms.
***
The intense rays of dusk's sun fell across Sophie as they poured in her window and forced her awake. She peered at the clock: just after seven. Confusion took her for a moment as countless thoughts rushed through her head. Where did he go? What is this place? Why is it so late?
She sat up and grasped the sheets, holding them at her waist. Messy, honey-colored waves tumbled down her shoulders and swept across her bare arms. A quick sigh escaped her lips as she realized where she was and snorted at herself. It wasn’t morning, but evening.
The dream ran through her mind a second time. It was him again and he saved her. She could not remember a time when she didn’t have these dreams, though since the passing of her parents and brother, they came much more frequently. The situations were always different, but the man always the same. He had the same touch, the same supernatural power, the same eyes, but an enigma for an identity. Sophie didn’t want to prod through her dreams, searching for hidden truths and over analyzing the obvious, but he intrigued her nonetheless. That is, if she could even call him "he." He wasn't real, tangible, but a flight of fancy, an illusion. And yet he was there, always.
But it was just a dream, she reminded herself, and no matter who she was when she was asleep, she had to face the real world when she was awake. The only problem was that she wasn’t entirely sure who she was.
A breeze swept through the room, and she lifted herself from the bed, though its comfort beckoned her to return. She glanced back with a sigh at the bare walls and sparse furniture. All she owned in the world, a single box of clothing, sat in the room’s corner. Everything else had burned.
She gathered her wavy mane into a messy bun and blinked amber eyes into the dim light of the hall outside her bedroom. Mona’s room lay at the hall’s end, the door mysteriously open. Sophie mulled the thought of entering over in her mind. Mona wasn't too fond of her to begin with, but her room was the source of the current. She took careful steps toward the room and peeked inside. The girl’s bed was empty, and she narrowed her eyes; Mona took after her parents, usually asleep until nightfall.
Sophie knelt onto Mona's bed and peered through the open window above it. Twelve stories below, the streets were full of life. People bustled toward their destinations on foot, and the street was jammed as always. An overwhelming energy rose from the city to greet her. The day was spent and the streetlamps were silently switching on against an orange sky.
Nothing stirred within the rest of the darkened apartment, Sophie thought, gazing downward twelve hundred feet. Surely Mona didn't...of course not. She chuckled to herself, then quickly reached up and slammed shut the window pane. Despite how ridiculous the thought, a jump that far gave her the chills.
"Sophie."
The voice made her jerk and fall back onto the bed.
The woman in the doorway, clad in a black satin robe, smiled and gave a little laugh, "Good evening, dear."
"Oh," she forced on a smile, still shaken, "Naomi, hi." Sophie still wasn’t used to her Aunt's husky voice nor her ability to appear from nowhere, but then everything about her seemed to be just off. Her eyes and hair, both the color of chestnuts, shined with a newness that suggested a lifetime of relaxation. The darkness of her gently falling tresses silhouetted sharp, delicate features and her skin, youthful and free of lines, was so pale it almost shimmered, even in the dimness of the hall.
Naomi’s complacent smile suddenly vanished, "Where is Mona?"
"I don't know," Sophie shrugged then realized she was not in her own room, "I was just closing the window."
Naomi looked puzzled for a moment then flashed another smile, always looking as if she held some secret that could destroy anyone who defied her, "Oh, well I'm sure she'll turn up. Come on now, I'll make you something to eat." She turned and glided down the hall.
Sophie didn’t believe she’d ever get used to Mona’s parents’ flippancy about her. She'll turn up? She understood her new family was strange, but Mona was barely fifteen. In her own eighteen years, Sophie’s parents had never let her out of their sight. That much, at least, she could remember.
"Could I ask you something?" Sophie stepped out into the immaculate kitchen after Naomi and flipped on the light switch, something her aunt had neglected to do.
"Of course, darling," Naomi had a way of always calling her by endearing names, "Anything."
She sauntered to the refrigerator, "Have you found those pictures?"
"Hmm?" Naomi's composure fell for a minute.
"Of you and mom, I mean," Sophie spoke in a low tone as placed a gallon of milk on the breakfast bar.
Her aunt busied herself in the kitchen cabinets, "Oh, no, not yet."
"If you want I can look while you're at work and—"
"No!" Naomi snapped, slamming a pan down onto the marble of the kitchen counters. She then collected herself, closing her eyes and exhaling with a tight smile, "Don't worry, I'll find them."
Sophie tended to pouring a drink, ending the conversation with her silence.
"How would you like your eggs?" The woman’s lithe figure did not suggest she had much experience in the kitchen and of the few meals Sophie had eaten in the past weeks that Naomi had tried her hand
at, Sophie couldn't think of one worth trying again.
"Oh, you don't have to do that. I'd rather just have toast," Sophie smiled weakly and hopped up on a stool, counting on the off chance that her aunt couldn't possibly ruin heated bread.
Sophie sipped from her cup and gazed around the room. She was still in awe of just how tremendous their apartment was. Everything was sharp and white and bare with bold pops of black or red. The kitchen opened up into a sunken living room, in its center a modern stone fireplace accessible from all sides. And though it was sparsely furnished, they did have a few large pieces of art, but they were dark canvases with odd golden and crimson symbols adorning them. Something about the symbols felt familiar, but she could never place them no matter how long she stared. Losing herself in the paintings, however, felt, well, she wouldn’t call it good so much as it was a kind of comforting nothingness.
That feeling began to wash over her as she stared at one of the pieces, letting her vision blur so that the lines on the canvas almost formed a word. If she squinted she could almost read "safe" in the obscured lines, even through the shadow coming over them and grunting at her.
Sophie started, nearly falling from the stool, thrown back into reality when she realized she was staring at Grant who peered at her from above his cup. The steaming mug sunk below his chin and he smirked modestly to acknowledge her presence as he continued up the step and onto the kitchen landing. Her uncle was as stealthy as Naomi, though not nearly as talkative, and she wondered if he had been there all along.
His muscular frame took a stiff seat next to her at the bar. He had a strange smile; one that was seen very seldom and, perhaps, not a smile at all. Though she didn’t know for sure, Grant looked to be younger than Naomi, and she was unsure if he was Mona’s father as the resemblance was nonexistent and he took next to no interest in her. Not that he took much of an interest in anything. With a hearty shove of one very large hand, Grant pushed his cup toward Naomi and lifted a thick, black brow. She stared him down for a moment, and when he did not flinch she spun and grabbed the coffee pot. Grant seemed pleased with himself, though it did not come across on his face.
As her toast was passed to her and the coffee poured, the front door swung open. Mona's eyes immediately met Sophie's in an intense glare. It was as if the light refused to shine in them, leaving them wholly black, and they stabbed Sophie at her core. The girl tensed her petite body, her straight, chin length hair, darker than either of her parents’, bobbing once before setting itself at severe angles about her face.
Their gaze was broken by the words of a clearly aggravated, Naomi, "It's nice to see you've decided to come back." Grant said nothing.
Without a reply, Mona left the doorway and stalked across the living room purposefully. She wore a short black sweater dress and tall leather boots that made her footfalls seem even more resolute.
"Have something to eat," Naomi leaned lazily on the bar, the statement sounding almost like a question.
Mona ignored her and poured her own cup of coffee. She leaned against the sink, directly across from Sophie, and continued to stare her down with sharp, hawk-like eyes. She was tiny, but terrifying.
Sophie, averted her eyes and focused on shredding her toast. She popped a piece in her mouth and peered coyly at Mona again when she felt the fiery glare might be diminished. When she saw the girl had given up and was instead downing the steaming cup’s contents, she studied her face. With all of them in the same room, Sophie wondered where Mona got her clearly almond eyes and wheat-colored skin. Certainly not from Grant’s swarthy complexion and Naomi was as white as a sheet.
"We're going out tonight. We’re leaving in an hour whether you're ready or not.
Knocked out of her thoughts by Mona’s sharp voice, Sophie stammered a moment and tried to reply, "Out? Do you mean me?"
But Mona had already vanished down the hall.
***
Verrine nestled herself in a corner and leaned her head against the stone wall. With a nod, a candle across the room ignited into a warm, orange flame, and she sighed, watching the flame play against the cold gray stones.
"Where are you?" she whispered to the walls of her bedchamber. Her voice hung in the air and fell softly to the floor, weighed down by solitude. Ebony and coral skirts surrounded her, falling over her knees to conceal the ground. She could call an attendant or guard to her at any time, but she lacked the companionship she had grown accompanied to so long ago.
A hand ran through her pin straight, white locks. She opened her eyes onto Troian, a crooked smile adorning his face. He sat beside her on the floor and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, "Not having a great day?”
Verrine shook her head. “It’s hitting me twofold today.”
“She's up there, Verrine," he said with certainty, gazing at the ceiling as if he watched her at that very moment.
She faced the same direction, but only saw gray shadowed stone. "You don't know that," she muttered, "That's what they say, but they haven't found her."
She knew her tone made him uncomfortable as he shifted beside her and gave her a little squeeze, but she couldn’t help herself. "They haven't found her yet."
She looked to him, his strong jaw and sharp cheeks highlighted in the candle's glow. The flame danced in his eyes, bringing their amber color to life, and shone across the slight waves in his yellowed hair. How strong the resemblance was.
He rested against the wall, tense as always. She could feel the energy running through him and the stress of holding it at bay. Of course, there was more her depression than just missing her friend, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak of it to Troian.
He caught her staring and raised an eyebrow at her, and her stormy, gray eyes darted away from his gaze. He reached out, gently cupping her chin, and pulled her face back to his.
"I feel so useless, Troi," she admitted and slumped against his shoulder.
Troian nodded though she could not see him with her tear-streaked face buried in his arm. "We all do, but I thought I knew you better than that. I would never guess you would give up."
Give up? The simple words danced in her mind, taunting her, and she snapped her head back up. It wasn’t true, she hadn’t given up. She narrowed her eyes and wiped at her cheeks, “I haven’t even started yet.”
***
Sophie evaluated herself in the full length mirror on the back of her door. Her pink t-shirt rode a bit too high and her jeans stopped just below her protruding hip bones. She grabbed the two at once and attempted to pull them together, but to no avail; the olive skin of her stomach was slowly revealed again. She mumbled, defeated, and looked toward the box of clothes that hadn’t reached the empty hangers, a bundle of dirty ones heaped to its side.
Sophie noticed her reflection shift from the corner of her eye as the door opened. "I knew you'd pick out something like that," the annoyed voice taunted.
Sophie turned, about to defend herself, when a heap of black came at her. Mona shut the door behind her as Sophie lifted an eyebrow at the skirt and top she’d just received.
"Well, put it on." Mona only seemed to become more bothered as she crossed the room and threw herself onto the bed.
Sophie hesitated, "I don't know if it'll fit." Just a little more than three years separated the two and both were petite, but Mona was slightly underdeveloped and gaunt.
Mona rolled her eyes, "You're a stick," she joked dryly, "It will fit." Her hint at humor eased Sophie, and she laid the clothes over a chair, reaching for her own shirt, then stopped. She peered at Mona, not exactly comfortable changing in the same room, but Mona was already sitting on her bed and poking around at what lay on the nightstand. This being the most conversation the two had shared since meeting, Sophie pulled off her shirt, afraid to spoil it by asking her to leave.
Not recognizing the figure before her, Sophie gnawed on her lower lip and drew her legs together. The stiff, pleated material of the skirt barely covered what she imagined was legally required
to be in public, and her stomach was concealed this time as opposed to her arms and most of her chest.
She looked to Mona who nodded with satisfaction, "That'll work," she said more to herself than Sophie.
Uncertain how she felt, Sophie peered to her bare feet and pointed, "You have any shoes?" she asked coyly.
Mona almost smiled. She held in her hand two small tubes that Sophie hadn't noticed before. She instructed her to sit and proceeded to administer heavy eyeliner and mascara with fast motions that made Sophie blink and twitch much to Mona’s annoyance. "You probably aren't used to this much make-up, but you've got to fit in."
In truth, Sophie didn't use makeup at all, her few glaring blemishes a testament to that, but felt almost embarrassed to admit that to the practically prepubescent girl. Instead she inquired as to why fitting in was so important, but Mona didn't respond.
Her cousin finished and took a step back to admire her work. Sophie peered up at her from the chair, grasping the seat. She’d pinched her knees together and chewed at the inside of her mouth. "Stop that. You look like you’re about to crack or something." Mona slapped at her knees and Sophie feigned at relaxing. Finally, Mona resigned and sighed, "I'll go get you some boots."
***
Sophie rushed to keep up with Mona, desperate to not lose her in the busy, darkened streets. She tugged at her skirt as she caught disapproving glances of those that passed and trotted up to her cousin's side, "So, where are we going?" Light gusts of wind picked up their thin coats and they danced in the early fall breeze.
"Lamia," Mona continued to push forward, not glancing from the direction she pursued.
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