“Passports? Vatican? Who?” Achaia asked in a squeakier voice than she had hoped for, frozen in place as she noticed a silvery sling-blade in the corner which looked almost as if it were made out of water. The grim reaper shops here too, she thought to herself. She took note that all of the weapons were made out of the watery looking metal.
Olivier answered her, “our…trainer, mentor if you will, is in the Vatican. But we need to talk to him to see what we should do with you,” He stood next to her, rubbing her back reassuringly.
“What are these made of?” she asked more quietly, talking now only to Olivier.
“Oh,” he said picking up a sword and twirling it around in one hand. “They are made out of diemerillium: a mixture of steel, silver, emerald, and diamond.”
“Diamonds?” Achaia said studying the sword. It did have a greenish shimmer to it, so she could see the emerald. At first glance it looked like it was only silver and steel.
“Yeah. It’s what gives it the watery look. Molten diamond. It’s melted into the metal, and it also coats the blade. It’s Heaven’s adamantium. This stuff is the real deal, unbreakable.”
“You’re a comic fan?” Achaia smiled up at him.
“Yeah, I guess I can just relate to mutants, you know, with the spiritual gifts and all. Some of us pretty much are mutants.”
“Spiritual gifts?” Achaia asked her voice growing quieter involuntarily.
“Yeah, you know. Like a gift God gives you. Something you’re really good at, or do well.”
“Naphtali left that part out, I guess.” Achaia said looking around the room in awe. Her skin tingled here. Her fingers twitched, and every nerve in her body felt alive.
Olivier started loading up his own duffel bag that he grabbed from a bin by the stairs.
Achaia could feel herself starting to breathe in this room. Maybe this armory beneath a church convinced her a little more that this wasn’t a joke. Why else would someone feel so comfortable next to a broadsword made out of a metal science didn’t recognize?
Yellaina noticed Achaia looking at the broadsword and walked over. “Pretty, isn’t it?”
Amelia huffed across the room, annoyed. “Yeah, diemerillium is a girl’s best friend.”
After a few minutes of silent weapon packing, Noland rounded everyone up to leave. Achaia remained silent and resolved within herself to just do as she was told, especially seeing as how they were now armed.
They left the church through a discarded rock in the side of the building, crawling out into the courtyard. Passersby looked on, some with amusement and some with confusion or alarm. Probably thinking they were a bunch of hoodlums vandalizing church property.
However, no one bothered to stop them or ask questions; so, the six of them crammed into a cab, bound for the airport.
It was cold on the jet.
It was stunning to Achaia that a group of teenagers could stroll into an airport with duffel bags full of weaponry and load a private jet. It didn’t inspire much confidence in airport security. Then again, they were angels, or Nephilim, she reminded herself. She supposed there was some sort of magic or miracle behind it all. Maybe they had a majestic deception super power, or some kind of Jesus mind trick.
Waiting for takeoff, Achaia was starting to feel the weight of her emotional stress in her eyelids. She took the blanket off the back of her seat (which looked more like an overstuffed armchair) and draped it around herself. “So this is what the people’s church offerings pay for? Luxury jets?”
Noland smiled a sarcastic grin, but turned to speak to Emile instead of replying. Olivier patted her shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze as he passed her on the way to his seat.
Yellaina giggled before Amelia shot her a death glare. “What? It was funny!” She said lowly in her own defense. Amelia rolled her eyes.
Achaia closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of her seat. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, but her mind was still racing.
She and her father were Nephilim. Satan for some reason had a particular interest in her father, and now, he had him. Lucifer would more than likely be coming for her next; at least she assumed that, due to the fuss about her safety. That seemed like a logical conclusion, even though it appeared that no one wanted to come out and say it.
It would make sense then, that she was now on a private jet getting ready to hop on over to the Vatican to find a complete stranger who would be able to tell her what to do with her life. It was around this point that Achaia convinced herself that acceptance was better than understanding. At least it was if she was ever going to fall asleep.
The pilot got on the loud speaker, which on this plane wasn’t so loud. The plane was driving slowly to its take off position, they were next in line for the air.
Achaia could hear the others conversing quietly but didn’t feel compelled to strain her ears to hear. For the time being, she didn’t want to know any more. She just wanted to work through what she did know…and to sleep.
She buckled her seatbelt and opened her eyes to pull down her window shade, for a second her eyes lingered on the moon outside her window. The day had ended, and so had life as she knew it. The beginning of something much darker and more complex was in the works. She slammed the screen shut along with her eyes and dozed off into an uneasy slumber.
“I don’t want to wake her. She needs rest.”
“But we’ll be landing soon.” Achaia could hear the near silent debate taking place about a foot away from her. Emile petitioning to let her sleep longer, and Noland insisting that she needed to wake up to be alert for landing.
Achaia was awake, but she was interested to see who would win the argument, so she lay with her eyes closed and tried to keep her breathing steady.
“She can sleep more at the hotel. She’ll be fine. For now, she needs to be UP, UP, UP!” Noland chanted obnoxiously in her ear. Startled, Achaia shot up from her relaxed position and glared at him.
“Was that really necessary?” she seethed in the most menacing tone she could muster, which, to her surprise, was quite vicious.
“I’m not sure, but it was amusing,” Noland said, smiling at her with his cocky grin.
Achaia exhaled, threw the blanket over her head to avoid looking at him, and leaned back against her seat.
“Nope, none of that,” He said ripping the blanket, and her warmth, away from her. “We’ll be landing soon.”
“You say that like I care,” Achaia said running her fingers through her hair and wiping away the sleep from her eyes.
“You should care, Frenchy.” Olivier perked up from the seat across from her. “We get to have Italiano for dinner! Which actually might be more like breakfast…I’m not sure. The time change always gets me.”
“Ah, maybe that’s the problem. You haven’t eaten have you?” Noland asked.
Achaia’s stomach growled angrily. She hadn’t had a real lunch, or dinner last night. That couldn’t be helping her mood. “Nope.”
“Here.” Noland opened up his duffle bag as he buckled up for landing and tossed her a Snickers bar. “It’s not much, but I hear it’s a cure for hangry.”
Achaia caught it and gave Noland a sarcastic smirk before turning back around in her chair and gratefully opening the wrapper.
The plane began its descent and eventually landed. After getting off the plane, they made their way through the sluggish customs line. Apparently even God can’t make this line move any faster, Achaia thought bitterly as she hefted her book bag from one shoulder to the other, thinking back to the comfy arm chair on the plane.
Back in New York it’s four in the morning. Achaia calculated and sighed. She glared at the back of Noland’s head. He didn’t even need to know she was doing it; it was just cathartic to do. Noland dragged his duffel bag behind him by the shoulder strap, occasionally kicking it forward with his foot when the line would move more than one person.
After what seemed like ages, a middle-aged man with a thick mustache at a d
esk gestured for Noland to come forward. “And her. She is with you?” The man asked.
“Her?” Noland repeated looking behind him as if he had forgotten she was there. “Oh, yeah. We’re together.”
“God, you say that like we’re together—” Achaia said under her breath to him, disgusted. She had a tendency to be cranky when sleep deprived, but her current mood surprised even her. They moved forward and stood before the man, handing him the papers they filled out on the plane.
“And in the bags?” The man asked.
“Oh, well she’s got clothes, makeup, you know girl stuff.” Noland gave the man an awkward look. Achaia raised her eyebrows and glared at him.
The man forced a half smile.
Obviously I’m not the only one with a short temper, Achaia thought bitingly.
“And in your bag?” The man asked.
“Oh, I’ve just got clothes, a pair of sneakers…”
“And an extra box of tampons. Ya know just in case I run out. He’s such a sweet pea!” Achaia said with the widest smile she could muster. Noland’s face went red.
“You may go,” The man said, ready to be rid of them, his face turning a rosy shade of pink.
“Tampons?” Noland growled furiously as they walked forward toward the exit.
“Sneakers?” Achaia mocked, kicking the bag full of weapons. Noland snatched it up, out of her foot’s range.
“So does this ‘God guy’” Achaia said making air quotes, “condone lying? I always heard he was a moral being.”
“He may be, I however can find exceptions and am willing to—” Noland was cut short on his threat by the appearance of Emile with a glare on his face. Instead, he huffed a sigh and shot Achaia a look of his own out of the corner of his eye.
She silently congratulated herself on getting under his skin.
After everyone had met outside they loaded themselves again into a taxi. Yellaina spoke to the driver in perfect Italian, giving him the name of a hotel. Achaia looked at Yellaina, astonishment evident on her face. “How many languages do you speak?”
“All of them,” Yellaina stated simply. “It’s my gift.”
“Oh, right.” That makes a lot of sense, Achaia added to herself sarcastically. She nodded and tried to maneuver herself around to look out the window. Olivier’s elbow was in her ribs and her leg draped over one of Emile’s.
The city was beautiful. It was hard for her to process that the buildings she was admiring were older than the country she was raised in. Which inspired a new thought…how old were the people she was with? Did Nephilim age the same as humans? Did they die? Her father had potentially never been born…
Emile rubbed her arm, and she felt his calm rush through her. She wondered how he always knew when she needed it. She guessed he just figured she needed it all the time. In that, he would have been fairly right.
The cab driver pulled up to a curb outside of a tall, skinny building that Achaia took to be the hotel. They pushed and shoved their way out of the back seat while Noland tossed their bags from the trunk into a pile where they crowded the sidewalk.
Yellaina went inside to check into their rooms and get keys. The rest of them entered, soon after, through a narrow door that looked more like it should have been for employees only. They met Yellaina in the lobby, which was more along the lines of a maze of three small rooms.
The group walked through one of the rooms to find a narrow staircase hidden behind a half wall with a sculpture of a naked man on it. Achaia averted her eyes and tried to focus on the staircase; she could feel her cheeks flush.
“I knew it was only a matter of time before they sculpted a shrine for me,” Olivier joked in an attempt to lighten the awkwardness that had fallen over them.
Yellaina giggled to herself and the guys smirked, but Achaia was too rigid. Amelia, who was directly in front of her going up the stairs, seemed to have not heard the comment, or she just didn’t think it was that funny.
Achaia wished she could see Amelia’s face, and wondered if Amelia was always this unhappy or if it was just because she had joined their group. She then wondered what she could have done to piss her off so badly.
As they reached the top of the stairs, they entered a slightly wider hallway. They followed Yellaina slowly down the hall, checking the numbers on all the doors. Olivier, who had been behind her on the stairs, tripped when he underestimated the uneven top step. He fell, dropping his bags as he slid on his hands and knees on the carpet.
“Olivier!” Amelia called out a little too loudly, clasping her hands together and bending forward. Gritting her teeth together, she went on in a hushed scorn, “watch where you’re going.” With that being said, she limped down the hallway trying to stay off of one of her ankles.
Achaia reached down to help him up, meeting his eyes with utter confusion.
“Later,” he grunted getting to his feet, walking quite normally down the hall next to her.
“You alright?” She asked.
“I’m fine,” he assured her.
They caught up with the others who were fighting a battle with an ancient door knob and lock. Noland, getting impatient, lightly pushed Yellaina aside and got the lock on his first attempt.
They all managed to fit into the room, Yellaina and Amelia collapsing on one bed while Emile fell onto the other. Olivier and Achaia fell to the floor and let their bags pile into their laps. Noland, as the last one standing, looked to Yellaina. “Tell me you got us more than one room.”
Amelia then, also, looked to Yellaina.
“I thought they’d be bigger,” she shrugged with an apologetic look on her face. Everyone moaned and grunted, pushing their bags away from themselves.
Noland stood, still staring at her disbelievingly.
“Just kidding; I got three.”
Sighs of relief mixed with exclamations of appeasement tangled together in the air. “Okay, give me my key. I’m going to bed.” Amelia reached out her hand as she stood up. She couldn’t have appeared more eager to get out of the room. Achaia wondered if it could really be just her, or if she just hated people in general.
“Me too. I’m wiped,” Olivier said standing to his feet heavily. His entire body seemed as if it were about to fall through the floor as he followed his sister from the room.
Achaia hadn’t noticed how tired everyone else was.
“We need to find Jacob. Now,” Noland ordered, looking to Yellaina.
“I know,” she sighed.
“Who is Yah-cub?” Achaia asked looking up to Noland. It was time she addressed him politely and put this disdain behind them.
“Our mentor,” He answered shortly.
Achaia was beginning to notice that Nephilim get cranky when they’re tired too.
Achaia had moved to the bed where Yellaina and Amelia had been laying. For a few moments Emile lay on the other bed in silence. Achaia had thought he’d fallen asleep when she looked over to see him staring at the ceiling, wide awake. He turned to face her, feeling the weight of her stare. Rolling onto his side, his stomach growled.
She rolled over too, placing her hand to her face and sitting up on her elbow. “I’m hungry, too,” she smiled fighting an inner battle over which was more important, sleep or food.
“Want to go grab a bite?” Emile asked sitting up fully, grabbing one of the discarded room keys at the foot of the bed.
“Yeah, that sounds really good.” Achaia sat up and pulled her shirt back down from where it had ridden up over her jeans. “Where should we go?”
“I say we find a little pizzeria. You can’t go to Italy and not eat some pizza.” He smiled as he stood.
Emile locked the door behind them as they left and led her down the hall. They exited the hotel onto a cobble-stone street. It was about time for lunch. People, just as colorful as the buildings, were everywhere. Down every street they walked, Achaia could smell bread baking, along with espresso and car exhaust. Her stomach rumbled, and Emile smiled. “I know, it smells good.�
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They turned onto a less populated street and found a tiny restaurant with a couple of tables outside. Emile opened the door for her.
As she entered, she noticed the place was virtually empty. With the exception of one other table occupied by a middle-aged couple, they had the place to themselves. They must have beat the rush.
They took their seats, and a waiter appeared bringing them a basket of bread and a pitcher of water. Emile ordered the pizza in a combination of English and Italian. As the waiter left, he smiled at her. “I don’t think Yellaina understands how cool it is to have her gift.”
Achaia laughed, but after taking a sip of her water her face fell. Once again her mind was bombarding her with thoughts. She found it hard to smile with everything on her mind.
“What’s up?” Emile asked, looking at her through a hole he was picking in a piece of bread.
“There’s just so much I still don’t know or understand. I feel like I don’t have the luxury of giving myself time to process.” Achaia shrugged. She was trying to keep up. She attempted to stay analytical, rather than emotional. She had to approach the situation logically, otherwise she might lose her mind.
“Okay, so what are you trying to process that you feel like you don’t understand?” Emile asked, leaning forward against the table.
“Well, I guess this spiritual gifts thing. Everyone has one? Or is that a Nephilim trait? How many different kinds of angels are there?”
“Well there are several breeds of angels. Just like we have races on earth, and the lines get blurred occasionally. It’s the same with angels. Some other breeds have something like spiritual gifts, but it is typically a Nephilim trait. All Nephilim have them, some more than one.” Emile smiled.
Achaia nodded. “Okay—”
“Next?”
Achaia thought for a moment. “How do you all know Naphtali?”
“Ah,” Emile smiled and leaned back against his chair. “Naphtali is a Seraphim. The Seraphim are ranked just under the Nephilim in Heaven. So, when most of the Nephilim were exiled, the Seraphim became the ones God called on to do his bidding, namely to keep an eye on the Nephilim. They are something like—” Emile thought for a minute, “parole officers, and messengers. They deliver orders from God. Give us the name of our Charges…that sort of thing.” Emile took a sip of water. “As for Naphtali, he was your father’s close friend, and they had a very close working relationship as well. So when the Nephilim wanted to keep a close eye on your dad, they reached out to Naphtali. He is the one who requested that we keep an eye on you when things started going south with Luc.”
Transgression Page 10
