by L F Seitz
I wanted to leave, to shut myself behind my bedroom door so I could be away from Micah’s spotlight. I understood why he asked, and the curiosity, but I couldn’t relive something like that. I killed someone – not by accident, not with the shot of a gun. I ripped out an organ with my own hand. I will never be the same. I had to keep telling myself it was a demon, that he was a Prince of Hell, worse than anyone aside from the Devil, but that didn’t make it any easier. Talking about it only made it worse.
“Killing someone, demon or not, it changes you, you know that,” I said in a whisper. “I don’t know if I can accept what I did, but I did it for the right reasons.”
Micah said nothing. He focused on the white ceramic cup in his hands. He wore a gray hoodie and dark blue jeans, and for the first time, he wasn’t wearing his boots. I looked over to the door and found them there, beside mine. I took in the edges of his face, the hollowness of his cheeks and how they deepened whenever he lacked sleep. He wanted the information to protect his people, to save them by any means necessary. He knew the risks of going against the Nephilim and even making an enemy out of me by forcing me into it, but he did it anyway, for the sake of everyone, humans and Nephilim alike. I thought he didn’t care about me, about what I was going through, but he did, he was just doing too much at once: helping me and finding the answer to what could possibly be many people’s demise. Micah had been struggling to balance the fates of hundreds of people on his shoulders. I was too focused on my problems to see it. He said the Nephilim were good people but weren’t realizing the danger he’d heard about firsthand. Despite the possibility of losing everything, he risked it to save others. He did this behind everyone’s back – the Nephilim, people he trusted – and he did it with me. He asked me and I refused because I was too afraid, too selfish to look at the bigger picture, to see what he was seeing. This was never just about me, and Micah knew that. Micah did many wrong things, but he was doing them for the right reasons.
I did kill someone, a demon, but I did it for him, for his people. Asmodeus was a Prince, one with enough demonic power to keep his promise and kill the person I cared about most in this world. He had to be killed.
“It gets better,” Micah said quietly. I knew he was processing what I had said and what I had left out. It was shameful to think all of this was about me, that yes, I was going through something very life-altering, but people could die without the information Micah pushed me to get. Now they could prepare for the fight, thanks to Micah. After the lengths he’d gone to for the information he most likely thought was lost now, he deserved to be happy. Maybe giving him some good news would get him off the subject.
“Miller Baseball Park. December 11th, at the rise of the new moon.” I gave the date and time of The Rising, according to Asmodeus. Micah gaped at me in shock. “You think I would have killed him before I got the uprising information we needed? Thanks for the load of confidence.” I gave a smug smirk as I sipped my coffee.
“That’s the date of the – you got it,” he said, his mouth dropping open. “Lamia, I can’t believe it.”
“I guess I didn’t almost die for nothing,” I said with a shrug. Micah’s hand was on mine, his fingers sliding across my palm before gripping it tight.
“Your life is more important than information, Lamia. I get so focused on what’s at hand and what’s at stake – I’m sorry. I know things have been rough and we are still figuring out what you really are, but just know I haven’t forgotten and I’m still working on it.” He sounded sincere, and it didn’t hurt that the apartment light made his blue orbs sparkle. And he was touching me. The sensation of his touch nearly paralyzed me. Of course I forgave him.
“Friends help friends, right?” I said. Micah smiled, his hand slowly letting go as he leaned back again.
I stood and made my way to the window, standing in a patch of sunlight. I was still cold from being wet. The floor where the light settled was warm, and the heat from it made my chilled skin tingle. I wish I could make a blanket of sunshine and carry it with me everywhere. If only I had the ability to create fire, I’d never be cold again.
“We have the information we need. I want you to meet my people,” Micah said softly.
I snapped my head around toward him, thinking he might be pulling my leg, but his face showed no signs of amusement.
“Now? After that?” I asked as I shook my head. “They will definitely suspect me then. How would we even explain how we came across the information? How will you explain working with a Cambion?”
“We’ll figure out how we got the information later,” he shrugged, brushing it off in typical Micah fashion. “I know we discovered your Cambion traits first, and looking back it was wrong to focus solely on that. A true Cambion would have never helped me as you have. You have angel blood in you; you wouldn’t glow blue if you didn’t. You are part Nephilim; I see that, they will see that, so it’s time you meet them. After getting this information, I feel we have a good shot at coming out on top on this.”
“Micah, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I said. Truthfully, I wasn’t ready to meet so many people, so many demon hunters. I understood he wanted to repay me, that he thought with this information, they’d be more keen on trusting me, but I didn’t think it would work. They weren’t stupid. They would be prejudiced against me before I even stepped into the room. I turned from him back toward the window. Scenarios of all the bad things that could result from me going to the compound flooded my mind.
“You helped the Nephilim with vital information; you deserve to be recognized for it,” he urged, beside me now. His arms were crossed as he leaned against the sill, his gaze on me. “Let me thank you by having you become one of my people, become Nephilim.”
Raw emotion emanated from his words. I didn’t think becoming Nephilim with my formalities would be that simple. Someone would suspect me in Asmodeus’s death. If they chose execution, there would be no way to fight them. It would be me against hundreds of half angels. If they came after me, Micah wouldn’t turn against them. I’d be risking my freedom, my life – again – to make Micah happy. He got too determined, so focused on what he wanted that everything else became miniscule. He didn’t see the danger in front of him. One of these times, a request of his was really going to kill me.
“I didn’t want you to meet the Nephilim at first because I was sure how they would react.” Micah rubbed his hands together, trying to generate some warmth in his fingers. He said they would have killed me or held me in a cell until I died. I have no family, so they didn’t know how powerful I was, which made me a threat, and I had no advocates to speak on my behalf. He also said he wouldn’t stand against them and their wishes if that’s what they wanted. My skin flushed as I pressed my hands to my eyes, rubbing away the pain those words made me feel.
“But last night changed things for me, and I – realized some things.” He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. He set his mug on the TV tray and faced me fully. “You’re my friend, and there is more goodness in you than there ever was bad. I will be your advocate, because despite the short time we’ve spent together, I feel I know you. I want to train you, and I want you to be a part of this, and I don’t think that can happen unless you are a part of my people. Unless you become Nephilim. With your spotless record, they won’t have any choice but to either put you on probation or put you in a cell until later.”
I stared at his hands while listening to his words. This was the most Micah had ever said about his feeling toward me, the closest he’d ever come to compassion. He wanted to be my advocate and speak on my behalf? My lips parted as I rubbed my bottom lip in thought, taking in every word he said over again in my head. Probation or cell – those seemed like two opposite outcomes, one very good and the other bad. Maybe like he had said once before, he couldn’t kill me because of my record, so maybe they wouldn’t be able to, either.
“If you can give me a solid backstory they will believe, I’ll meet your people,” I said, defeated.
He gave a crooked smile before turning toward the sunlight. I did it all for that: that small smile, one that I gave him. He smiled at me. I did that; I put that smile there.
“Why don’t we just tell them the truth?” Micah asked.
The truth was that despite my angelic abilities, I also had demonic genetics. I had a demonic father out there somewhere who knew who I as. I had abilities Micah could not even seek out in ancient texts, and a future a seer has already seen the end of. I’d lied to Micah about my purple light, whatever it was, and I was involved in the killing of one of his people days ago at the Boys and Girls Club. I helped lure a demon and housed his torture, and I trespassed onto Nephilim property and killed one of their prisoners. Half of that, I hadn’t even told Micah, but I couldn’t help but think it would all come out and I’d be left to die alone because of it. Part of me knew the truth was the only way, but some of the things we’d done, that I’d done – they would kill me for sure. I could already see Micah’s people judging me, hearing what I’d done and calling for my execution.
He looked thoughtful. After going through a few scenarios about how we’d come by the information, we decided on a somewhat realistic one: I’d say I went to go get my jacket at the Aria Lounge the day after Orias was captured, and a Cambion approached me. He asked if I worked for Orias. I agreed out of fear, and he told me he had a message for Orias. He gave me the message, which I thought nothing of. The next morning, I’d say, I found Micah upset and saying someone with important information was killed, and that it was for something called The Rising. Making the connection, I’d then give Micah the information. It sounded like a decent explanation, but would they believe it? Would they know better, and what would happen to Micah if they discovered our lie? I felt self-conscious about going in front of people and having them stare at me like a mutant. I’m neither Nephilim or Cambion, because I have the ability of both. There is no name for what I am. My defect alone might make them unwilling to trust my information, but Micah said we couldn’t keep that part of me from the Nephilim. My unique ability for both will surface eventually, and the more they know about that, the better.
They’ll never know how hard I worked to get that information, so they might not see it as valid. We’re basically saying it fell into my lap. Micah said they gave him light punishment for going rogue and Orias’s death, but I can’t imagine what they will do to him for this, for me. He’s kept them in the dark about a weird creature to whom he has been telling Nephilim information.
“I have a lot of people who hold me in high regard,” he told me. Pale purple bags sat beneath his lower lids. “I’ve never done this before, broken the rules, so I think they will give me the benefit of the doubt on this one.”
Enough to accept his deception? He could stress that he wanted to make sure I wasn’t a dangerous Cambion to be killed before he decided to bring me to them. Would they really take his word for it?
“And if they don’t side with you?” I asked.
He couldn’t tell me what they would or might do to us if they don’t agree to trust me. I couldn’t let myself think about it. This was Micah’s strategy, and I agreed to go along with it. I had to trust him. Though I’ve nearly died before because of a plan of Micah’s, now he’s in the line of fire as well.
“You have angel blood in you,” he said. “Surely they will not overlook that.”
The Devil was an angel once.
“Don’t worry,” I said lightly, trying not to think too much about living the rest of my life in a cell. “If they don’t accept me, not much of a loss.”
There were still about two weeks until The Rising. They could have waited to interrogate Asmodeus and missed it completely. Though Micah was right: Asmodeus wouldn’t have given up anything. By some miracle, I had the ability to reach into his brain and grab the information I wanted. I didn’t know how I came across the ability, or how I was even able to use it that quickly, but anything was possible when I was in that state. Using the purple light. They don’t know I helped with that because they also don’t know it was a coup. Though I could see what Micah meant when he said I should be recognized for helping him, I didn’t mind letting him have the credit. I didn’t care much for praise.
“Who’s your favorite poet?” Micah’s question caught me off guard. He walked back over to the coffee pot to refill his mug.
“Why?” I'd hoped he’d forgotten about all those questions I’d asked him days ago.
“I want to know,” he said.
I swallowed hard, and my shoulders tensed with the question. He was being courteous to pass the time. “Edgar Allan Poe,” I said. It was such a simple question, though I found it hard to answer. It’d been a long time since anyone had asked me anything personal like this.
“And why do you like him?”
“I can relate to him sometimes,” I said, searching for the words. “I found a book of his when I started high school at the school library and never returned it. I read it whenever I felt ... isolated.” Isolated was a harsh word. It was true, though: none of my foster parents were engaged with me, and it left me alone more then I wanted to be. Drawing helped, but when I found Poe, I related to some of his words, and his writing became a sort of companion.
There were times, when I first began staying with Phil and Dorothy, which weren’t necessarily mean, but painful. During the first month, when I would step into a room or come through the front door after school, Dorothy would yelp in fear. Then she would say, “I’m sorry, I forgot you were here,” or “I forgot you were coming home.” It happened quite a bit. I always told her it was fine, but deep down, it killed me to know how easily I was forgotten. Most of Poe’s words were melancholy, and when I read his poetry, I could feel it and relate without having to say it was OK or pretend I was fine. There was quite a bit I didn’t understand, but sometimes sadness couldn’t be understood. I kept reading until I found something that spoke to me. Thy soul shall find itself alone, ‘mid dark thoughts of the gray tomb-stone. Not one, of all the crowd, to pry into thine hour of secrecy. I’d read his words over and over to myself.
I closed my eyes as I recited aloud my favorite lines from his poem “Alone.” “As others saw, I could not bring my passions from a common spring. From the same source, I have not taken my sorrow. I could not awaken my heart to joy at the same tone. And all I lov’d, I lov’d alone.”
“Very deep,” he said, and I snorted. I turned around and leaned against the sill as I studied him across the room. He was smiling.
“If you went to college, what would you study?” Micah asked, touching his chin with his pointer finger.
“I don’t know. I never thought about it.”
“Everyone has thought about it,” he said.
“I haven’t.”
“Liar.”
“I haven’t thought about it in a long time, after someone squashed those dreams for me,” I said, thoughts of Phil floated to the front of my mind. My last foster father told me they wouldn’t visit me in college or be available for me to visit them. They wanted nothing to do with me once I graduated high school. That killed me. I was decently happy there, and after that I felt like I’d been living a lie while there. “When I was probably about eight, I was in a placement facility called The Napoleon House waiting to be taken somewhere else. I was there quite a bit, actually. There were kids ages five to twelve there, sleeping in designated rooms, but this particular time, I was no more than 10. There were kids I talked to, but none I particularly liked, because they liked to get into trouble. They liked talking back. The only company I trusted was my stuffed hippo, Nathan. My bed was near the window. On the nights when I couldn’t sleep, I’d lift the curtain to look out at the sky. The house was near the lake, so I could see all the stars so clearly.” I paused, thinking of all the nights I spent trying to count them before falling asleep. “I named them, like they were my pretend family. Mom, dad, sister, brother, dog, and Rico, my first crush.”
I found Micah still wa
tching me, steady and cautious. There was something more behind his calculated expression, but Micah was too good at hiding it for me to ever know.
“If I went to college, I would learn about the stars,” I said, smiling dreamily. My gut told me I should be guarded, fearful of revealing so much, but in this moment I didn't want to hide.
“Astrologist. Sounds very sophisticated,” he replied.
“Don’t poke fun. You wanted to know,” I said, grabbing a small towel off the side of the couch and throwing it at him. Micah caught it before it could mess up his precious hair.
“Have a boyfriend?” He asked mockingly.
“How could I have a boyfriend with all the time I spend around you?”
I moved back to the couch as the cats appeared. Lux went for the food instantly. Nox saw me and jumped up to say good morning. He curled up in my lap, and I began to pet him softly as he purred.
“Could have met him at your work. That Ben guy looked interested,” he said with a shrug.
I couldn’t hold back the obnoxious laughter. Not Ben. Never Ben.
“What’s wrong with Ben? He was a nice guy,” Micah demanded, his laugh echoed mine.
“Nice, yes, but he’s a huge pervert. You should see the pictures he has taped in his locker: Playboy girls with their junk hanging out! No thanks,” I sighed after catching my breath from laughing so hard.
“He seemed to like you, though, that night we saw him on the street,” Micah retorted. What was he getting at?
I rejected his observations. “Ben doesn’t see me like that. We’re just coworkers.”
“Believe me, I know. I’m a guy. He was constantly giving you that look,” he said, moving his finger up and down at me.
Ben checks me out? No. The thought gave me goose bumps. Those pictures in his locker would give any girl enough motivation to stay the hell away from him. Displaying pictures like that told me he viewed woman as objects rather than people. I mean, sure, it’s a magazine and they are models, but taping them in your locker at a job where other women work is pretty inappropriate. Especially nude photos with their breasts and butts hanging out. I didn’t think I could date a guy who did something like that.