The Nephilim: Book One

by Bridgette Blackstone

  "You were a bit harder to find this time," his voice was low, quiet, "But I kind of liked that. I really wore myself out getting here."

  Sophie tried to take a breath, grasping at her chest, "You're dying, Eric," she wheezed between shallow breaths as she remembered what Adam had told her about lost souls using up their energy until they ceased to exist.

  "Dying? I'm already dead!"

  She could hear his heavy steps coming toward her in the dark and scrambled to her feet, "No, you don't understand—"

  "You don't understand," he spat as his hand shot out and grabbed the back of her head, "It was your little stunt that got me this way." Eric wrapped her hair around his hand and ripped her away from the wall. She reached up and held onto his arm, trying to pull away, but found it impossible. This did not seem like a soul on the verge of burning out.

  Then the fire in the room's center ignited into a blinding, blue light. Sophie shut her eyes against it as she was dragged in its direction. She threw herself more violently against his arm, trying desperately to get away. She was less sure of her powers now than she had ever been. They wouldn't work against him, they couldn't, and she knew she had to find another way.

  The heat intensified as he brought her up against the flame, plunging her head down next to it. With a scream, Sophie flung her arms in front of her and gripped the stone bench that encircled the fire, holding herself away. Eric let her dangle there, the sapphire flames licking out at her, and she heard him scoff.

  "Please, stop!" she choked out against the oppressive heat of the flames.

  "Stop?" Eric wrenched her upward and to his face, and she gripped his arm tightly for support. "Why should I show you any mercy, demon?"

  Sophie gasped. While he seemed infinitely powerful, she could read the truth on his face. The hollowness around his eyes had deepened and their color had all but gone, black, dull pupils sitting unblinking in their place. Long, cavernous shadows fell across his face, and the fleshy tones had drained from his skin leaving blackened veins creeping in from the edges of his jaw and forehead like ivy overtaking a crumbling manor.

  Still grasping his arm, she lowered her voice, "Please, Eric, you're my family."

  Eric exhaled, growling in the back of his throat, "I am not your family."

  And then, it made sense. Sophie released him, her body falling limp. Eric, too, yielded at the sudden halt in her struggle. He cocked his head slightly, and she noticed. She let her mouth fall open, "You're not, are you?" Confusion ran along his face, softening it if only minutely. She lifted a hand toward his face, the face she'd looked on from the outside for so long, "Oh, Eric, I didn't mean for this to happen."

  "No." He shook his head, rigidity and malice taking him, then pulled back a fist.

  A hand appeared and grabbed Eric's arm from behind. He swung around to see and his jaw was immediately met with Adam's own fist. Sophie fell to the ground as Adam took another swing at Eric which was promptly caught by Eric's hand and held at bay.

  "Stop." Sophie's voice was muffled by the scuffle of the two men as she lifted herself from the stone floor. She watched as Eric pushed back against Adam, the veins on his face growing toward its center, his skin that much whiter. He was fading.

  "Stop!" she yelled, and Adam glanced toward her. His concentration broken, Eric swiped his hand across the angel and sent him reeling toward the hall. Eric raised his arm again, his form becoming ever darker even in the bright blue light of the fire, and Adam found his footing and started forward.

  "No!" Sophie threw an arm out toward Adam and the man was stopped by an unseen force holding him back. Panic filled his eyes as he pressed himself against the transparent barrier she'd somehow erected, and he looked helplessly at Sophie.

  She, however, focused on Eric. The disembodied soul too ignored the angel, but he stood very still, surveying Sophie with narrowed eyes. She gently stepped toward him, trying to reign in her shaking voice, "I understand now, Eric. I know why I wasn't in any of the pictures, why my memories aren't complete, why you won't let me call you brother."

  He took in a sharp breath, and she stopped, frozen. He tilted his head, the veins across his face receding if only slightly. She let out a long, low sigh: she could do this.

  "It's all because you're not my family. I have no claim to you or your parents. I never did, did I?" Eric shook his head in a slow, deliberate movement and wavered on his feet, taking a step back from her as she edged closer. She stopped. Should she say, she asked herself, watching his stance change. He looked less threatening suddenly, almost frightened himself. Sophie stood a bit straighter, her voice firmer, but inside she was crumbling, and she wanted to fall to her knees. The truth, she realized, was that she deserved this, and he at least deserved to hear her acknowledge it, "I killed you," she felt her lip tremble and bit at it to stop, "And I killed them."

  It lasted for just a moment, but Eric's eyes changed then, the blackness falling away and their light blue peeking in from behind them dark. Sophie saw the little boy she had watched be embraced by his parents before going to his first day of school, the child playing so carefree on the beach, she saw all the moments that she had taken in and tried to trick herself into making them her own, and worst, she saw herself make the decision to try and become one of them with total disregard of the consequences.

  Eric screamed. The sound he brought forth from his chest was enough to waken the entirety of the realm. He threw back his head, his arms spread like wings. Black veins lined his exposed skin, crawling toward fingertips, and a dark, writhing shadow grew from his being, devouring him. He would break, she knew, he would fly apart and completely lose himself if he went on like this. And it was her fault, after all.

  Sophie ran at him and threw herself around his body, trying to contain him. She could feel his body contort, pressing against her as if it wanted to be free of itself. Was this what it was to be destroyed completely, she wondered. She did not want to find out.

  She clasped her hands behind his back and nudged her head just below his chin, squeezing as tightly as possible. She felt warm, and, despite the danger she'd flung herself into, she felt safe, and whispered, "I'm sorry, Eric."

  There was a flash of white so bright she thought she must have died, but she still felt Eric wrapped in her arms. Furtively, she glanced up. He was looking down at her, confused, lost, broken, but his eyes were losing their darkness.

  "I was selfish, and I made a terrible mistake," she told him, her voice cracking, "but please don't do this to yourself. Don't you want to be with your parents again?"

  Eric stared plainly into her eyes for a moment, then a smile appeared on his face. Not vindictive, or cruel, but one she remembered from long ago. "That would be nice," he told her.

  "Then you should go." Sophie loosened her grip but didn't fully let go. She watched him nod at her then glance upward. The dark veins had receded and his skin began to shimmer and exude warmth. Sophie felt a lightness between her arms as his body dissipated. She closed her eyes, she didn't really want to see him go; he was all she still had of the only life she could remember, but when she opened them again, he was gone.

  She looked over to where she had trapped Adam. On either side of him stood Verrine and Mona, both more than a little shocked. She was concerned, but she felt quite at peace as she made her way to them. When they said nothing to her, she took a deep breath, "I really never meant to hurt them, that family, it really was a mistake. I'd forgotten until now."

  Mona, though, was shaking her head. She raised a finger and pointed at Sophie, “Did you know you're...you're kind of glowing."

  Sophie held her arms out in front of her and could see they radiated a strange iridescent light. She rubbed at them instinctively, thinking it would come off, but it did not.

  "And for a second there," Verrine's voice was far away, like she were speaking to herself, "I could have sworn I saw..." She trailed off as she lightly tapped Adam's arm.

  Adam crossed his arms, peering at h
er with utter confusion, and completed Verrine's thought, "Wings."

  Chapter 14

  In the courtyard, the sounds of metal on metal rang out, paired with encouraged shouting and even some laughter. A few bannermen had come ahead of their troops from across the realm and were sparring, some with weapons, more with fire. Sophie had been taking part, but marginally, and found she was unable to do much more than conjure a simple flame on a highly flammable surface once again. The glow to her skin had disappeared by morning and apparently so had her powers. Now, she watched as Mona went from group to group demonstrating strigori abilities. She tapped Buer on his shoulder and he tried looking back to catch her, but she’d already disappeared across the courtyard to pop up behind Verrine who shrieked and jumped behind Pru. This made Sophie laugh from her spot against the archways that lined the courtyard, but it was fleeting, and her heart grew heavy again.

  “Tell me,” Adam came up beside her suddenly, “Would you rather be able to mix concoctions like Carabia or have Aeshma’s strength?”

  Sophie watched Carabia as she spoke to a group of dark-skinned demons. She picked out the largest one, at least three heads taller and two men wider than herself, and had him stand apart from the others. She tossed a small bottle at him and the moment the capsule broke at his feet, her victim collapsed in a massive heap and began snoring audibly. Aeshma guffawed, slapping Carabia on the back, nearly knocking the girl over. She then threw the passed out demon over her shoulder with ease and carried him off, still chortling.

  “Well, Aeshma can’t really run out of strength,” Sophie thought aloud, “but I saw Carabia give Ose a potion to make his fire poisonous, so I might go with that.”

  “I’m not surprised,” he leaned back on the wall.

  “But I can’t do those things,” she sighed heavily, “And I think this morning proved that last night was just a fluke.”

  “You’re being too hard on yourself,” he told her, “And last night had to have been draining.”

  Sophie peered up past the crenellations atop the castle into the darkened sky and thought of Eric. She bit her lip, wondering if she should say what had been rattling in her mind since the night before. She had returned to bed after barely speaking with the others, afraid she would reveal the broken memory that had come to her during the night’s ordeal.

  A hand waved in front of her face, Adam’s hand covered in black markings, and then was replaced with his face, “Lost you there for a minute.”

  She pursed her lips and shook away the thought. She needed something else to occupy her mind, “What are those?” she asked pointing at his tattoos.

  “Don’t you—” he screwed up his face, the line of freckles across his nose crinkling, “Oh, that’s right.” Adam held out one palm, “A name,” then the other, “and a place. If I touch them together I can call forth my staff when I’m in danger.”

  “You have a weapon?” Sophie hadn’t seen him wield anything as the others practiced, but then he had not been interacting with them much.

  He shrugged and stepped back through the archway onto the covered walk that surrounded the courtyard, “A hidden one. I may be a cleric, but that doesn’t stop me from being attacked.”

  She followed him, “So a name. The weapon’s name?”

  He nodded.

  “And a place?” They continued down the walkway, the sounds of the demons sparring muted.

  “Everything must exist somewhere.”

  She touched her own hands together as if in prayer, “So you just do that? I guess angels never applaud anyone, huh?”

  He laughed, deep and cheerful, and stopped behind a pillar, the courtyard blocked from their view, “Well, not every angel is like this. There’s an invocation too. It doesn’t have to be said aloud, but it bars misfires.”

  “Can’t someone just steal it, though? If they’ve seen the markings?”

  “This is Enochian,” he held out his right hand, “a language only an angel can read and reproduce. If, say, a human even had my hand in front of him and traced over the letters, it would still not read the same. So with that and the invocation, which is unique to each of us who have it, there’s little chance it will be stolen, but I guess not impossible.”

  Sophie timidly placed a finger on his outstretched palm and ran it over the line of symbols. When she reached the end, she found his other hand beside the first and continued on, carefully and unhurried. She wanted to be sure she traced every loop and bend of the letters, pressing firmly where the lines were bold and gently dragging just the very tip of her finger where they were narrow. At the line’s end she reluctantly pulled away, seeing his fingers curl in as if they might have taken her hand.

  “I had a dream,” she blurted out, finding his eyes with her own, “Well, maybe it was a dream, I’m not sure. But there was a woman, and I recognized her. She was the woman who promised to help make me human long ago.”

  Adam was stunned. He stuttered and looked around, eyes finally falling back on her, “So you are...uh...you’re remembering things?”

  “No,” Sophie frowned, “Just her face and the promise. I wanted to join Eric’s family. I had been watching them, I think, and I found her and she said she could make it happen. Only,” she felt her stomach flip, “it didn’t work out.”

  He scratched the back of his neck, “Do you remember anything else?”

  Sophie searched his eyes. She’d seen their pale blue many times now, but their familiarity rang back much further than her active memories would allow. He had answers. She moved closer to him, “Why did I want to be human, Adam?”

  “You, um,” his voice was throaty and low, and he leaned toward her, “You really cared for them.”

  Sophie could feel his breath as she tipped her face up to his, “Is that all?”

  She watched his throat as he swallowed, coming a little closer. “Sophie,” his nose brushed the tip of hers.

  “Yes?”

  Adam jerked his head away, and she fell forward into the space he left behind. He cleared his throat, “I’m not going to be around too much longer and—”

  “What? Why?” she questioned him more angrily than she intended, coming around to face him again.

  “I’m not really,” he waved his hand absently, fidgeting, “not really welcome around here.”

  “Yes you are!” Sophie felt her voice raising as she tried to stay in front of him, “Verrine, she doesn’t mind you being here and Mona too and, well, me too. I want you here.”

  He stopped, “You do?”

  “Yes!” she shouted then lowered her voice, “I mean, why wouldn’t I?”

  Adam thought a moment, “When the king and queen return they will want me gone.”

  “Because you’re an angel? That’s stupid,” she frowned.

  “Well, it is what it is.”

  He walked back out through an archway into the courtyard and she hurried behind him, “That’s it?”

  Adam gazed out at the demons before him. Without turning back to her, he sighed, “It’s for your own good.”

  She stared at the back of his head, waiting. When he did nothing, she turned on her heel and strode away from him, wishing she could run.

  ***

  Sophie was unsure how long she had sat and watched them before she could no longer take it. Buer had challenged a foreign demon to try and stab him with his sword, and the others goaded him on. Finally, the woman had done it, but instead of defend, Buer simply turned into the oncoming blade, the sword sliding into the girth of his belly. The wielder immediately released the weapon and Sophie had jumped up, clasping her hands over her mouth, but before she could go to him, Buer burst out into an unrestrained cackle followed quickly by his companions. He turned to Reym to remove the sword for him as the hilt extended beyond his own reach and announced, “You didn’t think I had all this for show, did you?” It had made Sophie’s stomach twist in on itself. It was fine he had the ability, in fact she was glad for it, but it made her realize that others did
n’t. The wet sound of flesh against metal was something she never wanted to hear again.

  Mona had been a wealth of knowledge for them on the strigori and shared as much as she could, but it was in her actions that Sophie became nervous. She allowed Verrine and Ose to cast fire at her as she sprinted about. “Speed is everything to some strigori,” she told them and flitted around the courtyard. But she’d been doing so for a while and subsisting off of animal’s blood had put a slight damper on her abilities. One of Ose’s flames nearly caught her and she fell to the ground mid jump. Her arm was slightly singed, nothing that would be permanent all assured her, but Sophie insisted they stop the exercise. She was irritable, she knew, from her discussion with Adam, but she used the anger to keep from backing down even when the others said it would be safe.

  Shortly after, she went inside. The sparring came to an end later and the troops that had massed, departed for the separate quarters they were keeping. Both Verrine and Mona tried speaking with her, but she insisted she was tired. In reality, a million voices were screaming in her brain and she could not quiet them. They warned her, probed her to act in some way, but she had no idea what to do.

  And then she found herself here, again in the courtyard, but this time surrounded by quiet and shadow. She could try again, she thought, away from the stares of those expecting something of her, those who were immensely more skilled than she. She closed her eyes and thought of fire.

  “You're afraid they'll all die.”

  The masculine voice came suddenly from the gated end of the yard, and she thought it perhaps Reym or Ose, but as the figure it belonged to emerged from the dark cloaked in a hooded robe, a stranger seemed more likely.

  Again he spoke, “You value their lives above your own.”

  “Who are you?” Without hesitation, Sophie began down the field, taking long, angry strides toward the man. It was all too much. She could feel it, rage, fear, whatever it was, bubbling in the pit of her stomach despite that she couldn’t place the feeling, and it propelled her.