The Magic Number

by Natalie Gibson

  Camilla had only seen him kill two but didn’t ask about the others. “You had to. They made you.” The tide of pain washed over her, the wave washing away any coherent thought. She panted, willing the hurt away. She heard scuffling on the porch behind Izzy, and then a shadow engulfed them both.

  Nanae, in all his natural glory, stood over them, his wings shielding them from prying eyes. He reached down and pulled the knife from Izzy’s back. Izzy flinched but didn’t cry out. Nanae slipped one arm around Israel’s chest and lifted him off the ground. He licked Israel’s wound, and when that was closed, he bit into Izzy’s neck. He offered his Lilitu his wrist, and Israel quickly grew fangs and bit through the thin skin there. Camilla watched as they exchanged blood and felt jealous. She wanted that.

  She now knew Nanae’s blood was heaven to taste because that bastard had made her drink it after she passed out. It was delicious. She shook her head. He hit her, shot her, and killed any chance she could have children. “Shit!” was all she said before another contraction rocked her body. She was losing her baby—the only one she’d ever have. She clutched her stomach. “No.”

  Nanae flipped Izzy over his shoulder and leaned over to pick Camilla up. The world blurred again, but now, more wind accompanied the blurred surroundings. Nanae flew. He carried Camilla in his arms like an infant, and Izzy, hands wrapped around Nanae’s neck, lay on the Nephilim’s back. She tucked her head into Nanae’s chest.

  He smelled so good. She rubbed her face over his pectoral. She kissed the skin over his heart, and when the tiny, masculine nipple at her chin hardened into a peak, she took it in her mouth. She could hear his heartbeat. Her next contraction was totally overshadowed by her hunger. She’d never felt anything like this. The world was gone; she didn’t even know who she was. The need was all there was.

  She scraped her teeth over every inch of tan skin she could reach. Nanae stiffened but said, “Feed, my beauty, for your baby.”

  “Our baby,” she muttered against his flesh. Camilla ran her hand up his chest to his neck. Israel grabbed her hand. A heaviness in her pussy brought on by touching both her men at the same time made her forget everything. She wanted sex. She wanted blood. She wanted life.

  Camilla bit Nanae’s chest with her flat, human teeth. His blood, warm and spicy sweet, poured into her mouth, setting off a rolling ecstasy that radiated through her body and made her cunt throb. Her orgasm—fueled by slaking her bloodlust only—rocked her, and she tumbled into oblivion, wanting more.

  Nanae set them down in the courtyard of the Daughters’ Austin compound. The sun had set while they flew, and the children were all being tucked in by their parents. Izzy jumped off Nanae’s back and ran around to help him lay Camilla on the thick grass. She was unconscious.

  “Is it normal for her to be out this long? How long did I take to change?” He smoothed Camilla’s hair away from her sweating face.

  “She cannot change like this. Her body is stuck in perpetual labor. It is unable to progress further.” Nanae carefully felt for the baby’s position.

  “She can’t give birth because she’s changing, and she can’t change because she’s pregnant?!” Izzy stood and paced a few steps, running his hand through his hair. “Nanae, we can’t lose them both. I can’t live without them.”

  “Neither can I, my beauty. Give me your knife. I will have to cut the baby out.” Israel took the knife, still bloody from being in his own back, and gave it, handle side out, to Nanae. “Go get the First and her mate.” Israel hesitated as Nanae lowered the knife to Camilla’s body. “I promise you—they will both live.”

  Izzy disappeared.

  Nanae was a healer and had helped perfect most of humanity’s lifesaving procedures over his many years. He was a surgeon—the world’s first—but now was not the time for delicate cuts. He needed speed. That was why he sent Israel away. He would not understand the violence. Camilla, in her current state, could live through anything except remaining pregnant.

  Nanae, grateful Camilla was still out in the throes of her change and unable to feel, callously cut through her stomach from one side to the other, going through her naval. He cut a perpendicular line, making her belly look like a bloody hot cross bun. Pulling the corners back, her abdomen blossomed. He hacked through skin, muscles and organs without caution. He threw the knife to the side when he reached the uterus. Using his nail as a scalpel, he cut through the last remaining layer between her baby and the air. He pulled the boy free of his liquid cocoon before it became his liquid grave.

  Nanae cleared the baby’s mouth with his finger and gave him a little slap on the back. He did the mandatory trimming of the umbilical cord and tied it off in a way that would give the child an acceptable belly button. He laid his son face down on Camilla’s chest, wishing she could see her Istu Maru—first son—take his first breaths, but grateful she was not awake to experience the violence of his entrance into the world.

  She was already healing herself, but if her body closed up like this, she would suffer constant trouble and pain. Unceremoniously, he gripped the cord and used it to rip the placenta out. He tossed it back and to one side.

  Her womb clenched and contracted, trying to shrink to its original size. Nanae used the fingers of his right hand to hold the cut he’d made open as he tore the skin of his wrist. In his rush, he bit more deeply than he’d planned, and blood gushed out onto his face and chin. He held it over her and allowed his healing blood to flow into her uterus. He worked his way out, spilling blood between every layer, wanting her as near perfect as possible when she made her conversion.

  The wound on his wrist closed. Nanae bit through his tongue and dipped his head down. He smoothed her shredded muscles with lick after lick. The taste of their mixed blood was more than intoxicating. He became lost in the sensations, forgetting himself. “Oh, my Sinnis.” He sank down into relaxation. The Beast rose and took control. Never had it tasted such a delight.

  TANK HAD seen the Guardian hack open the pregnant woman’s belly from a distance. As he got closer, he’d seen the creature yank out organs and toss them aside. Then, in horror, he watched as the monster ate her from the inside out. He couldn’t run fast enough. His gun—the only weapon capable of doing damage from this distance—was useless against the Nephilim. He pulled his secret weapon from his pocket. The tiny sliver fit perfectly between his thumb and forefinger. He knew even the tiniest of cuts with this would kill.

  Tank had been in the sanctuary last year when the Guardians battled over the weapon. Nathalia had come back from the grave to show her true colors. He watched her kill man and creature alike that day until a huge pile of bodies lay at her feet. He watched as she drank the blood of a Guardian. He saw her kill one of the immortal monsters, and so he knew the weapon, even shattered, could kill the godlike Nephilim.

  Tank reached the kneeling monster. He reached out and nicked the giant’s shoulder where its wings attached to its muscular back just as Israel led Nathalia and Kafziel out into the courtyard. Nanae’s Hunger Beast howled, and while still crouched down, it spun to face its attacker.

  Nathalia leaped. She hit Tank squarely in the chest and rode him to the ground. The impact sent him back and his DakuAhu shard flying. It landed on the ground between them and the bloody scene. She punched Tank’s lights out and then turned to watch Nanae’s impending death. The silver thread of life, its two ends protruding from the slice in his shoulder, began to search. Nathalia was glad the DakuAhu was closer to Nanae than she. It would gather his life force.

  The Beast roared as the thread tore from the places it was sewn throughout its body. Nanae came unseamed as the stitches were ripped, and only Nathalia could see the thread being gathered by the DakuAhu. It wound around the tiny shard until the last snapped from Nanae’s body with a pop and Nanae collapsed. Collapsed, not crumbled. He should’ve been a pile of earth and water, with a flash of fire consuming the air where his body had been.

  Puzzled that his body had not returned to the elem
ents it was made of, Nathalia ran to him. Like the Akhkharu she’d killed, he should’ve been completely without life. She flipped him on his back and saw his own thread of life tightly wound in his chest like a ball of yarn. As she watched the silver thread spread out, tentatively searching its way, like a magnet to metal, the thread stretched at his body’s boundaries to get close to Nathalia. She backed away.

  Nanae’s consciousness returned to him with a gasp. Nanae turned to face Camilla’s body. If this was his last moment, he wanted to spend it looking at his Sinnis. A loop of his silver thread found the open wound in his shoulder and began to unravel itself, stretching toward the birthmark in the hollow of the First’s neck.

  Israel held Camilla’s skin closed with both hands on her stomach. Their baby had started crying. A song came from her mouth, though her eyes were closed. It was the song that angered the Beast. It quietened the baby, and Nathalia watched as it healed the cut in Nanae’s skin.

  Camilla was the third sister. There was no doubt in Nathalia’s mind. Camilla would be the one to spin the thread of life, determining all births and survivals. It was fitting that Camilla be this sister.

  Israel removed his shirt and wrapped his son in it.

  Kafziel spoke softly. “How can any woman survive such a birth?” It was true there was more blood on the ground than was contained in one person.

  Israel held his child and answered, “No woman could. Camilla is made Lilitu.”

  No, she isn’t. Nathalia shocked them all. She could clearly see that Camilla was no Lilitu. She glowed with a different light—with life. She was not fully converted but would need to be to take her place with the Three Sister Fates. Camilla is Sinnis Ina Ummum Zumru to Nanae Raphael Maru.

  Nanae moved as if to stop her from speaking. His Beast should not know that Camilla was his Sinnis. He froze when nothing happened. A broad smile slowly took root on his face and grew to cover it. “Camilla Tharese Brewster Lovejoy is my Sinnis.” Still no reaction from his Beast. He searched the dark place where he imprisoned it and found a hollow spot. “My Hunger Beast is gone. How?”

  Healer, I do not know how you survived the DakuAhu. Your relationship with your Beast was unlike that of any Nephilim. You somehow separated yourself from it. By giving it a life of its own, you gave the DakuAhu an alternate thread to collect, leaving yours intact. But that is a discussion for another time. You must tabalu with Camilla to complete the conversion. When you reform her body, it will be the form she takes for all eternity. Go to the place where your birthmark is hidden and collect it. It is hers now.

  Nanae stood, stunned, with his Sinnis cradled in his arms. He looked questioningly at Israel. The Lilitu held their son. Izzy crossed to them. He kissed Camilla’s sleeping face and then Nanae. “You kept your promise. They’re both alive. He and I will be fine until you come back.”

  Without another moment’s delay, Nanae dissolved their cells and moved them through the great mother. It was pure bliss to be one with his Sinnis in this way. Their bodies mingled, and Nanae could hear Camilla’s song. It was as if she healed the very earth they traveled through.

  BRIAN SAT up, wiping the drool from the left side of his face. He’d fallen asleep at his desk. He listened. There was no sound around. Sure they were down by a number of men, but there were still enough living here that silence should be impossible. He turned on his monitor, scrolling through the various security camera views.

  Every view was the same—empty corridors, vacant rooms, men away from their stations. He switched to the more secret views. He wasn’t supposed to have cameras in his men’s rooms, but he did. These weren’t empty. Every bed had a body in it. More than one of them had dark liquid pooling under their cots.

  Brian stood. He pulled the slide back, chambering a round, wishing the clicking noise wasn’t a dead giveaway to his location. He held his pistol in his right hand and picked up his dart gun in his left. He held them straight out in front of his body as he moved around his desk toward the door. He didn’t have to make it out of the building. He just had to make it to the panic room. It was on the ground level, the same as his office, only two doors down. There was no camera inside, so he didn’t know if it was occupied or not.

  His trip down the hall took forever. His pounding heartbeat made it impossible to hear anything else. He was careful not to move fast enough for his boots to squeak. He breathed through an open mouth and tried not to imagine he could taste the death that blanketed this place.

  The panic room door was unsealed. Brian stood against the wall next to it, collecting himself. He spun in, arms out, guns ready to blaze. Every corner was empty, and he hit the giant red button with the back of his hand. The giant metal door slid closed. He sat on the cot with one gun on each thigh. He wanted a cigarette but couldn’t make himself relinquish his hold on his guns.

  He leaned his head back on the wall behind him. He closed his eyes for a second, calming his mind and heart. When he opened them, a woman in a metal-studded leather bodice and skirt sat in the chair across from where he sat. A Nephilim, in similar ancient battle attire, at full size with wings uncamouflaged knelt behind her chair. Kneeling, he was as tall as a normal human.

  Brian raised his guns and let them have it from both barrels. When both clips were empty, they remained unchanged. Only his wings had moved. They’d taken on a metallic sheen, and he had pulled them around front to shield them. Most of the bullets had ricocheted right off. The ones that had penetrated went right through, but the holes healed before Brian had finished shooting. Some of the darts stuck out of the membrane of his wings, but the Nephilim was still steady on his knees.

  “Those tranqs should have worked. They worked on the healer in Utah.”

  The Nephilim spoke. His voice was the stuff of nightmares. Two voices spoke through one mouth. “No, they did not. He pretended. He allowed himself to be taken to the compound so that he could destroy that place, much the same way we are here to destroy this one.”

  “He killed my man in Utah.” They had lost contact with Kyle hours ago, and Brian knew better than to hold out hope that the man was still alive.

  “The blood thief met an unfortunate accident while driving back after Raphael reclaimed the holy blood.”

  “You killed my men.”

  The woman spoke for the first time. Brian heard her voice inside his head instead of aloud, and it was beautifully mesmerizing. Only a few are dead. Most will die with you in the explosion. It will look like a gas line accident, and the natural gas company will pay large amounts to the families. Her mouth never moved.

  Brian was going to die. He had gambled it all and lost. Three times. There was no cavalry who would or could come charging in. He felt strangely calm about the whole thing. The Paion would speak his name in reverent tones. He had done what none had ever done. He had taken blood from the healer. Twice. He had what he thought was a perfected formula for the serum, though it would die with him. Why let some other man reap the rewards of what he’d sewn?

  He moved slowly, as not to startle them into action. He slipped his hand into his pocket and came out with a pack of cigarettes and lighter. As this would be the last he ever enjoyed, Brian savored every second of the habitual ritual. The hard pack lid opened easily with one hand, revealing three identical yellow circles filled with cotton. He selected the one in the middle, able to hear it sliding against the one on either side and the back of the box as he pulled it free. He ran its length under his nose, like it was a fine Cuban instead of the mundane Marlboro cigarette it was. He placed its filter end between his lips and pulled air through the unlit tube. He enjoyed the coarse feel of the ridged wheel of the igniter. He had to strike it twice before it lit. He breathed in the toxic smoke, and it filled him with joy. Brian was too intelligent, too highly educated, not to know that cigarettes were poison. He, like all smokers, knew but didn’t care. He pitied the nonsmoker. What would they do with their last few seconds of life that could come close to matching this level of satisfact
ion with so little effort?

  When Brian took his second drag and realized he wasn’t dead yet, he decided to push his luck. “I assume, since I’m still alive, you need somethin’ from me. Can I ask you somethin’ first?” The woman nodded, clearly in charge. “I thought we knew every—” Brian shook his head, then nodded at the woman. “What’n tha hell are you?”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed, and she considered him a moment before answering. This time, she did move her mouth, and it gave the impression of speech when her words found her way into his brain. I am the Sinnis Ina Ummum Zumru Warki Sessu Sessum-Esrum of this Nephilim—his woman from mother’s body after sixth six-ten generations. I am fully converted, with all the powers of the Nephilim but none of the weaknesses. I am Ereshkigal of the Kafziel family line, former Abbess Primo Nathalia to the Daughters of Women, the Chosen Warrior of the Shinar, the First of the Three Sister Fates, and the last that you and evildoers like you will ever see. She yelled—if the word yell could be used to describe mental communication—I am maker of the DakuAhu, and I would have back what your men took from me.

  Warmth dripped from his ears. She had hemorrhaged something in his brain, or maybe his eardrums had burst. Her voice had certainly sounded loud to him. He had no idea what the DakuAhu was. Hell, he didn’t know what half the words she’d just said were, but if she wanted it so badly, Brian didn’t want to give it back to her. He smiled and took another puff of his cigarette.

  He heard nothing. Maybe he was deaf now. Suddenly, the woman had him by the throat. She held him against the wall, his boots a foot off the ground. She roared in his head. I will have its location. You can speak, or I will tear it from you.

  She didn’t wait for him to speak. She didn’t allow him to breathe enough to tell her if he would. She just leaned in and licked the trail of blood from his jaw to his earlobe. He heard an unfamiliar language in his head. Her voice merged with two others, likely those coming from the Nephilim. Brian felt his mental shielding being torn away. He fought to keep the walls around his mind from crumbling, but they came down faster than he could repair it.