She came to the last result on her list in a deserted area on the third floor, and pulled the book from between others. The shelves looked as if they hadn't been moved for years, but the one she was after was sitting slightly askew like it had been recently handled. She flipped through the pages to the index and ran her finger along the entries as she ventured to a nearby table. When she passed the A's she flipped back to the front page and began looking one by one.
Title page, blank page, credits and acknowledgements, an abandoned cart—
Her balance lost, Sophie dropped the book and slid backwards, promptly smashing her head on the metal bookshelves. She landed on her back, a metallic ringing in her ears. After a moment of immobility, Sophie sat up. Lightheaded, she reached out for something to grab onto. A hand found its way to hers, gently skimming her palm then holding tight and steadying her.
"...all right?"
Sophie blinked a few times as the darkness around her melted away and a voice filled her ears.
"Are you all right?"
She began to focus on a pair of shoes; brown, then on two, jean-clad bent legs, a white shirt, and a pair of reaching arms offered for her to steady herself on. She thoughtlessly leaned against them.
"Can you stand?"
Sophie tried desperately to form the words, to answer him, but it was impossible when his eyes shimmered so familiarly back at hers from under the shadow of his coppery hair. She raised her hand to sweep it away, but stopped herself abruptly and made a fist, grounded to the spot, afraid moving would wake her. This was, after all, a dream, wasn’t it?
He took his now free hand and gestured toward her head, "You hit that shelf pretty hard. Would you like me to check?"
She nodded at him, and he reached out to touch her head. She saw he had something scrawled in black ink across his pale palm, a grocery list or study notes, but they were a blur. He ran his fingertips gently over her scalp and she found herself sighing audibly.
"Well, not even a bump. Pretty lucky."
"Oh!" Sophie realized she was on her feet with a quick glance at the ground, then looked back to him. "Thank you," she uttered breathlessly.
He flashed her a simple, comforting grin, "That looked painful."
Blood rushed past her ears loudly and her cheeks burned. "Yeah," she squeaked, her humiliation growing when his smile broadened.
"Are you sure?" His brow knitted with worry over pale, blue eyes, the way a good friend’s might. He was tall and broad-chested, but with soft features and a smattering of freckles across his slightly crooked nose. It had got like that in a fight, she told herself, then shook her head—how could she know?
She nodded slowly then felt her head. The pain was gone and she hadn't even noticed it leaving. Strange, she thought, feeling around in her hair, sure she was missing where she’d made contact with the shelf: the pain had been searing moments earlier.
Then the book she’d been reading was under her nose. "Thank you," she said again gingerly receiving it and hugging it to her chest. As he pulled his hands back she saw the markings on his palms, both of them she realized. Before they had looked like hasty scribbling, but now she saw they were tattoos, circular with unfamiliar symbols in their centers.
“Wow,” she grabbed one of his hands and pulled it up closer to her face, “It’s so beautiful.” They were letters, somehow she knew, and they made up a name. “Oh!” she dropped his hand and took a step back from him, “I am so sorry.” She could feel her face turning red again.
He laughed lightly and shoved his hands into his back pockets, “It’s all right.”
They stood in silence for a moment more while Sophie willed herself to avoid making eye contact.
"Well," he awkwardly shifted from one foot to the other then pointed to her book, "I hope you find what you’re looking for." And with that, the man turned, evading the cart that had tripped her, and disappeared between the rows of cases.
Sophie exhaled, covering her face with the book. "Idiot," she murmured to herself. But then, he was so familiar, just like the man she’d dreamt about. It was silly, she’d never met him before, but she thought, maybe if she got another look at him it might make sense.
She jumped in the direction he had gone, peering between the stacks. He wasn’t there, so she hurried along the shelves to the other end and quickly glanced down the aisle. Nothing. “Well,” she said to herself with a sigh, “At least I’ve saved myself from further embarrassment,” and feeling just a bit sad for herself, she fell into a chair beside a pile of forgotten books.
"Agrippa," she repeated to spur herself on and forcefully opened the text. The pages fanned out and settled on a marked sheet, something she hadn’t noticed before. Sophie plucked a scribbled on notebook paper that had been torn into a single, long strip, from between the pages, and inspected the symbols upon it. They were unrecognizable, largely circular and layered, but they weren’t the mystery she was seeking to solve. It was pretty though, so she stuffed the paper into her pocket and examined the marked page. There it was: Agrippa.
In approximately 1508 while Henry Cornelius Agrippa worked in the Balearic Islands he took on a student of unknown name. The student studied under Agrippa intently and was obsessed with the occult, but he was into much darker magick than his teacher. Rumors of the student suggested he was crazed and had mysterious contact with demons and the underworld.
The student, who eventually took on the misnomer Agrippa as well, fled from the country sometime after 1513 for fear of persecution for witchcraft, renounced by even his former teacher. Tales of his travels throughout Europe using a voluminous book of his own design to heal as well as destroy crop up in histories for the following nine decades. His tome, entitled The Book of Agrippa in homage to his idol, was said to have direct links with Hell itself.
The Book of Agrippa itself is said to house the names of thousands of demons and incantations to summon their power for personal use. It also allegedly describes, in graphic detail, the inner workings of Hell and a hierarchy of demonic royals. The coveted book is lost to occult scholars, most debating its existence, but is said to be linked with the The Book of Raziel, another enigmatic tome containing all earthly and celestial knowledge.
Sophie reread the page to herself twice. The short insert seemed so incredibly important to her that, without a second thought, she tore the page from the book and stuffed it in her pocket. She stared at the tiny shreds left sticking up from the binding, amazed at herself, then snapped the book shut and tossed it onto the stack beside her where it fell behind.
"Sophie!" The bubbly voice was unmistakable, and the moment Sophie looked up she saw Danielle at the head of the stairs, her neon pink hair gathered into two puffy, pink balls atop her head. She couldn't have seen her tear the page, though Sophie wasn't sure it would matter much to Danielle anyway.
Rose followed close behind, shushing her, "This is a library," she hissed sarcastically, "I know you're not familiar with them, but you've got to be quiet."
They both stood on the landing, dressed slightly more refined than the night before, but still in all dark hues. Danielle didn't seem very hurt by Rose's comment, obviously used to them, and bounded up to Sophie, "Hi!"
Sophie smiled back coyly, more than a little intimidated without Mona around.
Rose sidled up beside Danielle, "What are you doing up here all alone?" She had a strange, drawn-out way of speaking, forcing the listener to hang on to her words.
"Uh," Sophie glanced around, somehow forgetting what a library was for. Then it came to her, "Just reading!" She pulled a random book from the pile with her free hand.
Rose took it from her, "The History of the Modern Serial Killer? Nice." She smiled broadly and flicked her tongue across her teeth, "So, where's Mona?"
Sophie was relieved they didn't discuss her reading material, "At home, I guess."
"What?" Danielle scrunched up her face, "Thought she'd be here like, now. I mean, I totally didn't think she'd bring you, but—"
Rose nudged Danielle, "She didn't bring her," she reached up and untied her long, blue-black hair, explaining with a pained expression, "Sophie came on her own, and Mona's not here."
"And I don't think she's coming," Sophie remembered the conversation she’d heard earlier.
"Why not?" Danielle moaned childishly.
"Well, last night," Sophie paused. She almost revealed the fight she overheard, but redeemed herself, "She was really tired. Still asleep when I left."
Rose thought as she ran long, slender fingers through her dark locks, "She'll be here," she decided.
"Well," Sophie stood, "I think I'm going to go."
"Wait!" Danielle grabbed her arm, "Why don't we talk?"
Sophie snatched herself away, "Ah! Wow, you're hands are freezing!" The icy feeling lingered even as Sophie rubbed at it.
Danielle looked down at her hand and flipped it over a few times, "Yeah, it's a curse!" She laughed until she was in hysterics.
Rolling her eyes, Rose instead made conversation, "Anyway, Sophie, how did you like Lamia?"
"It was interesting," she didn’t want to insult the women by hurrying off and tried to casually lean against the bookshelves, slipping and catching herself. With a nervous smile, she cleared her throat, "I've never been to a place like that before."
The two grinned at one another knowingly. "And, how did you like the men?" Danielle bit her lip and scrunched up her nose.
Rose pulled one of her pigtails, “Rude.”
"Oww!" Danielle grabbed her head, "What? I just want to know what happened up on the roof last night!"
"Oh no, nothing happened!" Sophie waved her arms, her heartbeat quickening.
"You sure?" Danielle leaned in close, the freed half of her hair swinging around. Rose did nothing to stop her.
Sophie nodded, "Ask Mona. She came up on the roof right after us."
Danielle fell back in her chair, defeated, as she bunched her hair up again, "Figures."
Rose cocked her head, "Indeed, it does." Sophie's questioning look spurred her on. "Mona would be the one to interrupt any romantic encounter with Michael," Rose licked her teeth again.
"Yeah, no kidding," Danielle looked over her shoulder to Rose, "She made it impossible for me to have a romantic encounter with him at all!"
"No," Rose shook her head, "I believe that was all you."
Danielle crossed her arms and scowled.
"Listen," Sophie began, "It doesn't matter because there wasn't any encounter to be interrupted. He's too old for me anyway."
"Are you calling us old?" Danielle perked back up, grinning playfully.
"No! I just mean a man his age isn’t going to really be interesting in a teenager," she attempted to defend herself, but realized this opened up an opportunity for her. She looked from Danielle's cheery face to the sly smile on Rose's thin lips. If they wanted to talk, then she’d talk. "While I think of it, what are you doing hanging around with Mona anyway? She's only fifteen," she ventured cautiously.
"Oh," Rose cast off the question, "We've known her forever."
Sophie thought this answer strange, but knew it was all she was going to get from them. With a glance out the window at the darkening sky, she had no time to carry on, "I really do have to go now, it's getting late."
Danielle pouted, "But it's still so early."
"Sorry." With that, Sophie quickly walked away from them and took to the stairs. She whisked guiltily past the front desks, checking once for the papers in her pocket, and out into the cool night. Leaving the women behind, she breathed a quick, relieved sigh, but unbeknownst to Sophie, she was not truly alone.
When she rounded the corner, a small voice sounded, calling her name. She stopped. Again, she heard her name, whispered clearly, as if right in her ear, but when she turned, there was no one. Suddenly, Sophie felt herself enveloped in a warm embrace from behind and the world around her went black. Buildings, street signs, even the ground and the sky vanished, and it all went silent. She glanced over her shoulder to see a the girl there, white hair cascading down her shoulders and melting into the extreme pallor of her skin. Her features were small and pointed and she wore a smile that Sophie knew had to be for her, eyes squeezed shut. She never remembered opening her mouth, or seeing the girl's face before, but her name fell off her lips just the same, "Verrine."
The girl gasped and pulled back. She then beamed and spun Sophie toward her, but the second time their skin met, Sophie realized a stranger was touching her. She pushed the girl away, "What are you doing? Who are you?"
She stood just before Sophie in the moonlight, towering taller than any woman she’d before met, her odd clothing alight in the breeze. Skirts seemed to be layered onto one another in pinks and blacks and a lacy, gray top clung to her torso. She wore silver bands wrapped around her upper arms and her feet were bare. Looking at Sophie with enormous, gray eyes, she pouted, "Don't you know? You just said my name! It's Verrine!" she quivered with excitement and adjusted the sack that hung over her shoulder, "I can't believe I'm seeing you again, after all this time."
"Seeing me again? I don't even know you!" Sophie side stepped her, putting space between them but never letting the stranger out of her sight.
"But Soph," she huffed, "We—we’ve known each other since, well, since you were born and…" Her voice trailed off and the smile slipped off of her face, "You really don't remember?"
Sophie shook her head slightly, afraid to take her eyes from the otherworldly girl.
Then the girl looked determined, "Come on, of course you do, Soph." Soph. No one had called her that in such a long time. "It's me. It's Vera. We were inseparable. And your brother and I, we—"
"What do you know about Eric?" Bravery welled up in Sophie at the mention of her brother.
"What?" Verrine narrowed her eyes and shook her head, "No, Troi."
"I've only got one brother," Sophie took a staggered breath then corrected herself, "Had one brother. His name was Eric."
Verrine reached for Sophie's hand. Her voice came out trembling and her stormy eyes glistened, "Please, listen. I know you don't remember now, but—"
Sophie wretched her hand away, remembering the white flash last time she touched a stranger. She couldn’t let that happen again. "You don’t know me, and I don't know you."
Verrine made small fists then reached her hand out again, "Please, just—damnit!" She looked about enigmatically, "They’re coming. Just, please, come with me, quick. I’ll explain it all, but now isn’t the time."
"No!" Sophie stepped backward, more afraid of herself than the stranger, "Leave me alone!"
She turned on her heel and fled.
***
A tear streaked across the old leather and Verrine hurried to wipe at her face. Crying, at a time like this, was reprehensible, she told herself. Instead, she removed the old book from her bag and smiled. It was nice to see Sophie again after so long, even if she didn't remember the past. It was strange, though, how the book had known where Sophie was. It was so easy, why hadn’t anyone done it sooner?
"Wicked beasts," she snarled to herself. The danger of nearing strigori had cut her opportunity short and she’d taken refuge in the darkness between two of the taller buildings before letting her guard down.
"Who are you calling wicked?" The voice seemed to come from everywhere. Verrine jumped up and squeezed the book to her chest, but a blow to her back knocked her face down on the pavement. The book flew from her hands and skidded to a stop a few yards before her. She tried pulling herself up on her elbows, but the pain was more than what she had expected. Something was still there, pinning her to the ground.
The book lay a few yards away, unscathed, and she sighed in relief when she saw, but then a figure stepped from the shadows behind it. The silhouette of a woman bent down and reached out.
"No!" Verrine threw out a hand and sparks flickered at her fingertips, but immediately went out. Confused, she looked at her hand, then helplessly back to the woman. M
oonlight fell on the pale face of the book's captor as she smiled and revealed two glistening fangs hanging just over her bottom lip.
Verrine tried to glance over her shoulder again, this time able to bear the pain long enough to see a second woman with dark skin and brightly colored hair bending close to her ear. "Want to join us for dinner?"
Verrine growled and pressed her hands against the ground, pushing the now shrieking woman off just enough to stand. In the same moment, the other woman appeared before her and hissed, gripping Verrine’s arms and sinking in her claws.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You must have better manners than that." Verrine could feel wetness trickling down her arms as the woman retracted her claws. "We weren't trying to kill you by any means, were we?" She looked to her accomplice.
The other was inches behind Verrine, essentially pinning her between the two, "Oh, but could we?" She sounded all too excited.
Verrine focused. She could feel the warmth in her hands, bubbling just below the surface of her palms. She’d hadn’t attempted to use her powers in the Material World before and hadn’t anticipated any difficulty. She closed her eyes, concentrated, and heat engulfed her. When she opened then, flames flickered all around her then quickly died down, the two women now standing back. "Stay away from me," she warned, this time successfully igniting flames in her palms.
The giddy woman snickered and gnashed her teeth with a smile, "Oh, you're really fun!"
Verrine hurled a flame at her, missing by inches but throwing the woman off balance. She then raised her other hand and prepared to strike when the dark-haired woman held up the book.
"No, no, no," she scolded, shaking the leather-bound artifact before her, "Wouldn't want to miss and accidentally hit this, would you?"
Verrine froze. Destroying the book could be even worse than the strigori getting their hands on it. Pain pulsated in her back and arms. With her aim off, she realized, she didn't know what she was capable of. She lowered her arm, defeated, but stood her ground.
The Nephilim: Book One Page 4
