by L F Seitz
“Poking around in my business. Have you ever been in a relationship?” I turned the spotlight onto him, and he nodded as he smirked, before touching his lips to the edge of his cup.
“Guess it didn’t turn out well,” I said, raising my eyebrows.
“It interfered with our work,” said Micah. My mind ran away with the possibilities. “We’re still friends. We work together.”
He took the hair band from his wrist and pulled up his hair, revealing the rest of his face and features. In the light, the contrast of his skin and the midnight blue markings splayed across his neck were like night and day. I tried not to stare, but it was hard with Micah. Images from last night came to mind, and my face burned crimson. With Asmodeus’s lustful, demonic blood in my system, there was no way to avoid those thoughts. They raged in my head, and no, I don’t think I’ll ever be rid of them.
“Why are you so red?” Micah asked. I panicked as I scrambled for a lie.
“Y-your hair looks so soft, and I want to touch it. Hence,” I said, gesturing to my face. I instantly turned away, realizing what I had just said, and began furiously tapping my mug with my nail. I didn’t want to gawk like an idiot, but it turned out I couldn’t get away from that.
He scooted closer to me and pulled out his ponytail, his hair fell across his shoulders, and then he turned his face away.
“I don’t do this for anyone. Ever. You have 30 seconds.”
I didn’t waste a single moment. I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair. It was as soft as I’d imagined. Silky and somehow magically knot-free. Boys always have it easy, I thought, as I let my hands fall back to petting Nox in my lap. I couldn’t remember a day when I didn’t have tangles or greasy hair; my hair rarely ever cooperated. Micah scooted back to where he was sat originally and pulled his hair back into a perfect ponytail. I told myself not to stare anymore but Micah pulled up his sleeves, and revealed large burns on his arms. Only partially healed, looking irritated and swollen.
“Oh my – Micah,” I gasped as I jumped up and gripped his arm. Nox tumbled to the floor and ran off. Micah stiffened with my touch as I examined the wound on his arm closest to me.
“What the hell did you do? Why didn’t you heal this?”
He seemed to relax slightly as I held his arm, though I don’t know if it was me who made him uncomfortable or the burns. They were in desperate need of a salve or cream and maybe some ice to cool it.
“It took quite a bit of energy for me to get them this far improved. Healing isn’t as miraculous as you think; injuries this severe take time, quicker than humans, but still. Usually you need a Nephilim medical professional.”
“How ...” I started, barely above a whisper.
“It’s from you, last night. Digesting specific kinds of demonic blood can be like a drug; it can give you a high. There can be side effects, horrible ones. The way you spoke last night, I assumed Asmodeus forced his blood on you and you were in its thrall. I’d never seen demon blood affect someone with Nephilim blood until last night. It was ... intense, to say the least,” he said. He explained how his mentor, Jimiah, once told him that if he was ever under the influence of demonic blood and need to get out, awakening his angel blood would burn it away. With the blood trail that he followed home and the amount in the bathroom, Micah assumed I wouldn’t have enough to make it work. Having me drink his seemed like the quickest way.
I was astounded at how I’d harmed him. “I’m so sorry, Micah.”
He’d saved my life and given me his blood to do it. Micah could be cold and cruel, but then he did things like this, and it made me not want to give up hope on him. Or on our friendship.
“I could heal them –”
“You don’t have the strength right now,” Micah said, dismissing me. “I’m fine right now. They don’t hurt.”
It was hard to swallow the longer I ogled the wounds, knowing he had to be lying: they looked painful. I might still have some healing cream under the sink in the bathroom he could us, but I doubt Micah would let me use it on him. I realized then that I was still holding his arm, staring at it. Micah’s hand was over mine, patting it gently before pulling it from his forearm.
“Really, it’s OK.” His hand placed mine back on my lap, the skin of his fingers rough but warm.
I looked around the quiet apartment, comfortable in noiselessness. I would probably be getting ready for work right now, but something told me that wasn’t in the plans today.
“What now?” I asked.
Micah grabbed his coffee and took a sip. Our eyes locked on one another in the quiet.
“Now you sleep. You need it.” He pulled out his phone and started dialing a number. “Tonight ... tonight you meet the Nephilim.”
Eighteen.
WE WALKED SIDE BY SIDE to the Nephilim compound, about 30 minutes at a normal pace. I wondered if maybe this time, I would meet my demise. Though meeting his people felt comparable to meeting Micah’s family, I couldn’t help the fear that grew in me with every step. Would they see me as Micah sees me now? As a friend? As someone to be trusted? Having our relationship change and knowing that Micah trusted me enough to meet his people should make me happy – if not for the worry that I basically had to bargain safe passage for information they needed. I understood what Micah meant when he said that we couldn’t continue meeting like we were if I wasn’t apart of his people, but that didn’t mean I was OK with it. This was dangerous, and not only was I risking my life, but Micah was risking everything else.
Micah told me we were meeting Jimiah, his old mentor, first. His name was unique, and being that Jimiah and the others made Micah the man he was today, I assumed he’d be intimidating. Someone who doesn’t mess around. I just hoped he trusted Micah enough to have an open mind with me.
We walked an alternate route to the compound this time, toward the main gate where everyone entered and exited. The buildings to the right looked like apartments – which I assumed they were, for Nephilim. There were at least a hundred windows out of the two five-story buildings, a dozen or so of them illuminated with pale yellow light. Farther to the right of them looked to be other smaller assorted buildings. Across a large open space to the left of the compound was a wide building with a glass dome atop it. Behind it, another large, four-story building. Behind all of these there were trees in the distance hiding a few other buildings and what looked like a building the size of MedTech on the far back right of the compound. I wondered what they did in there. This place was massive: twenty acres seemed smaller in my head.
“So how do we do this again?” I asked in a whisper. Micah must have not heard me because he didn’t reply. We’d gone over the plan several times, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel as completely confident in it as Micah had. Or maybe he, too, was pretending to be braver than he was.
Micah said we were meeting Jimiah alone and away from others because apparently he was bad with surprises. Micah would tell him about me and hope he didn’t freak out, then tell him I had information about The Rising. With that, hopefully he would call a meeting with the Arch Counsel, and I could give them the information in exchange for recruitment into the Nephilim. It didn’t sound easy.
As we came around the corner, two figures with their arms crossed stood before a gate, watching us as soon as we appeared. The entrance was large, wider than the average vehicle, and the gate had wheels in which to move with ease. They were armored in black with large swords attached to their backs and large knives, like Micah’s, at their sides. I felt sick as we approached. I wanted to hide behind Micah and pray they didn’t look at me, but it was too late. We were already coming up to the gate, and they were stepping toward us.
“Jack, Michael,” Micah greeted the two men with a nod of his head. They bowed their heads as well, but their faces didn’t change. I looked up from my feet to find them both staring at me.
“Who is she? She’s not authorized,” the man closest to Micah barked. I thought Micah had said most of the Nep
hilim held him in high regard. I focused on the ground. I don’t know if they could smell out what I was, but I wasn’t going to risk it by drawing attention to myself.
“This is a friend of mine. We’re going to see Jimiah. He’s expecting us,” Micah said, remaining aloof.
“He didn’t tell us about that,” the man said.
“Why would he?” Micah retorted, impatient now. Guess he, too, didn’t like being grilled with questions. Micah pulled out his cell phone and began tapping the screen. After another moment, he held it out to one of the guys, who took it and put it to his ear.
“This Jimiah?” The man asked a few questions over the phone and looked slightly irritated as he hung up.
“Sorry, you know we’re just doing our job.” They stepped aside and opened the long gate. I followed Micah closely as we walked inside.
“Next time, don’t put your head down. That’s why they were suspicious,” Micah clipped, once we were out of earshot. My face scrunched in frustration. “You never committed a crime,” he said more gently. “You have nothing to be guilty for.”
“I don’t think everyone will see it as black and white as you do,” I said while we walked toward the closest apartment building to the gates.
“They have to see it that way; it’s the law.” He was so confident in his words, in what he believed to be true, and I hope he was right.
The all-brick apartment building was dilapidated and faded with metal doors. The windows were covered with film. Micah opened the door, and as soon as I walked through, my head began spinning. I set my hand against the wall to steady myself as Micah continued walking through the hall. My vision doubled as I watched him change from one person into two and back again. What is wrong with me? Micah worked too hard for me to be getting sick now. It was probably nerves, all the fear finally getting to me. I was still tired and weak from yesterday’s trip to see Asmodeus; maybe it’s that. Regardless, Micah and I have to stand as a united front. I stood up straight and followed the blurred Micah until he stopped in front of a door nearly halfway into the building.
“Stop looking down,” Micah snipped again.
This time, I was doing it to keep from falling. It felt like the summer I was taken on a field trip to the zoo, when I was seven, and I didn’t drink water all day. I was so dehydrated and my head pounded so hard I couldn’t hear my own voice. I ended up passing out in front of the monkey exhibit, which scared the hell out of the teacher. I woke up with ice packs everywhere and an IV in my arm. They were all so worried, but I was pissed: I’d missed seeing the hippos.
The door opened, though I didn’t recall Micah even knocking. The shadowed figure stood in the doorway for a moment, then he was gone, and Micah stepped inside. I followed into the apartment, and a lamp in the corner illuminated the figure.
His skin was dark, matching his deep brown eyes and hair. He was tall and brawny, square face and sharp cheekbones. His gaze followed me as I walked behind Micah toward the window. I felt the need to be close to an exit in this room. I was so out-skilled – very out-skilled. It was also darker near the window, outside the lamp’s spotlight. The light hurt, and I wouldn’t have to struggle so hard to blink. It hurt just to blink.
I looked out the window at the compound. All the way across, I could see the small building where they’d held Asmodeus. No one guarded it now. If I had to get out, I would run there, toward the fence opening Micah showed me.
“This is the girl?” Jimiah’s voice was deep and stern, someone who could easily intimidate. I looked back from the window to the two men standing across the room, talking with one another. It was coming in waves now. I leaned against the wall, positioned away from them, though I knew it probably looked suspicious.
“Yes, this is Lamia,” Micah said. Jimiah took in my appearance. I know it was rude to be cross-armed and leaning against a wall, but I couldn’t help it with this head pain. “The unique Nephilim I discovered.”
I gave Jimiah a small wave and smiled. Moving from this wall would be impossible.
“What makes her unique?” Jimiah asked.
I snapped my head toward Micah. He’d told Jimiah I was Nephilim but nothing else. My markings were concealed by the soap Micah gave me. Jimiah couldn’t see that my markings were black. I felt nausea with the heavy secret that hung in the room.
“Her circumstances and her blood,” he said to Jimiah. I could fell tension building as Micah spoke slowly, like he was aiming to lighten the blow. “She has crucial information on The Rising as well.”
My eyes found Jimiah’s, and though I always thought Micah’s were to be feared, they was nothing compared to Jimiah’s. He knew something was off, information that was being left out. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade, his shoulders so tight the muscles could break stone. My head pounded so hard it was nearly impossible to keep my sights straight as I stared at Jimiah. Waiting for him to make his move.
“What do you mean, her blood?” he asked, still calm, which wouldn’t last long. Micah looked to me, and I gave a reassuring glance. He stepped closer to Jimiah as he took a deep breath in.
“At the age of 18, Lamia has never committed a crime, nor has she any negative infractions marked on her governmental files as a foster child,” Micah said quickly. I forgot Micah didn’t know it was my birthday today. I was 19. Now didn’t seem like a good time to correct him though. He was stating facts and building a wall between me and any legal action Jimiah might take against me. Though I feared, looking at Jimiah, that he would find a way despite what Micah told him.
Beads of sweat dripped from my hair to my neck. Something wasn't right, something about this place was making me sick. If Micah didn’t hurry up, I would probably vomit and pass out before we had a chance to prove anything.
“She has done some uncomfortable things for me to get the information I had about Orias and the information we have tonight. She is devoted to the Nephilim.”
Seeing Micah become my advocate like this brought out a side of him I wasn’t used to seeing. I wasn’t used to having someone defend me so fiercely. The action only scared me, because it meant we were in deep water – with a shark lurking nearby, waiting for a drop of blood. A wave of nausea came again, and saliva pooled in my mouth.
“Your words worry me, Micah; something is wrong here,” Jimiah said, observing me. “If there wasn’t, you’d have given me the information already, and we’d be moving forward into welcoming Ms. Lamia. You hesitate. This is not like you.”
Micah ran his fingers through his hair as he grumbled. He was growing more stressed the longer we stood here, and I was growing weak. I locked my jaw shut, for fear I’d spill bile all over Jimiah’s floor. This headache descended my spine, pounding at my bones and blood. I was drenched with sweat and using the wall to hold me up. I wouldn’t last much longer.
“I am guilty of judgment and of hatred toward her when we first met. After everything I have been through and that I have seen from her – her dedication, her sacrifice – I want to save her from the hatred. That’s why I have come to you first, because you are open-minded, more so than the other Council members.”
I could barely hear Micah talking now over the pounding that moved through my entire body. His words only made me realize how fearful his people were of my kind. Of me. The pain only started when I stepped inside this building, a Nephilim building. There must be warding or spells against Cambions. It reminded me of the bookstore Micah and I went to, and how he couldn’t get inside until I broke the Nephilim ward. It probably could have killed him. Now they are killing me.
“Micah, tell him, or I will,” I said loudly.
The wave started to subside again, but that only meant I had a minute before it came back, and I’d be unconscious by then.
“She is Nephilim. I have seen her change. She is also part Cambion. I have seen both surface on her skin.” Micah’s words echoed through the room and everything, even our breathing stopped.
“Impossible,” Jimiah said inst
antly. I feared for what would happen next and what they might do to me if I passed out. He had to know everything.
“One night, Micah grabbed me in an alleyway. He thought I was a Cambion because my markings are black –” I said.
Micah tried cutting me off. “Lamia-“
“He had a blade to my throat and planned on killing me,” I interrupted him. I didn’t have time to wait. It was coming, the wave of pain, and I was going to drown this time. “But when my demonic blood surfaced, he changed his mind. I was different; my eyes were unique. I have been orphaned all my life, have never known of this world, never committed a crime. I swear on my own life.” I felt I was rambling now.
My vision was too foggy, but I could see Micah looking to me, though I couldn’t read his face. Jimiah was a shadowed blur behind him, waiting to swallow me whole.
“Prove it.” Jimiah’s voice was deadpan. He wanted me to go red, to prove I was a Cambion. To kill me.
“Please, Jimiah –” Micah started.
Jimiah wouldn’t listen to words now, only action. The anger emanated through the room. He wanted a reason to kill me. I wasn’t about to give him one.
“In nomine Lucifer enim ostendis tu qui ad eum,” Micah started the angelic incantation for me, but I finished it.
Pain struck me as I staggered, shoving myself against the wall to keep from falling. Searing hot fire radiated through my torso and out into my limbs, making it impossible to breathe. So I held everything in: the pain, the cries, and the oxygen wanting to burst from my lungs. As soon as the pain tipped over its climax, I gasped, like I’d finally reached the surface after drowning. Drowning in fire.
Opening my eyes I could make out two blue figures in the room, both facing in my direction. There was no way Jimiah could kill me now, not without guilt or regret for killing his own kind. Micah had said it was against the law to kill a Cambion if they hadn’t committed a crime, but I had a feeling the punishment for killing one of your own for no reason was far worse.