The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)

by Joy Nash

  Excitement surged. He knew this place. He’d seen it in Merlin’s memory. The vegetation was different. A wild wood had given way to cultivated fields. But this was the place. He was sure of it. This was the entrance to Merlin’s cave. The resting place of Merlin’s staff. The key to Arthur’s victory over Mab.

  Heart pounding, he dove toward it.

  And that’s when things got weird.

  ***

  Cybele paced circles in the small clearing, trying to put her finger on why she felt so odd. The moment Arthur had flown off, the atmosphere surrounding the ruined stable had changed. She wasn’t quite sure how it’d changed, or why. It simply felt...off. Much like the Spencers’ dining room.

  She eyed the tumbled-down building. Without Arthur’s light to illuminate the darkness, the place took on a sinister aura. The unsettling vibe wasn’t in her head. It emanated from the shadows within.

  Inhaling deeply, she slipped her hand into her jeans pocket and drew out her touchstone. The braided alder shoots and the peridot within it was hardly any larger than a walnut. But it was big enough to provide a focus for her magic, and a block for her worries.

  There is nothing in there, she told herself firmly. Nothing. We looked everywhere.

  A finger tapped her shoulder.

  She cried out and spun about, scrambling backwards at the same time. She caught a glimpse of soft light. Then her foot caught on a stone and she went sprawling. She only just managed not to drop her touchstone.

  “Sorry! Oh, sorry!”

  She blinked up at the young man looming over her, wringing his hands. “Jack? Is that you?”

  The odd aura she’d noticed around Jack’s head and shoulders at dinner had brightened. It now cast his entire face in an otherworldly light. He stood, looking down at her with an uncertain expression, hands opening and closing at his sides. His blue eyes revealed fear, apology, and distaste.

  Cybele stood slowly, not daring to take her eyes off him. “Jack,” she said. “What are you doing here? Where did you come from?”

  There was no way he’d been inside the stable. She and Arthur had looked in every corner. Had they missed seeing Jack on the road? Or in one of the fields? That didn’t seem likely.

  “Come. We must go.” He extended his hand to her.

  She didn’t take it. “Go? Go where?”

  He gestured toward the stable’s sagging doorway. “Inside.” He moved closer.

  Cybele resisted the urge to take a step back. “There’s nothing in there.”

  “Come,” Jack said again. His hand closed on her wrist.

  Hell. She circled her hand, trying to break his hold. His grip held. He was stronger than he looked. She felt a surge of irrational panic.

  “Jack,” she said sharply. “Let me go.”

  “Go,” he said. “Yes.”

  He turned and began a slow trudge toward the stable. Cybele set her heels in the dirt and resisted. To no avail. No amount of tugging, pulling, kicking, or cursing slowed Jack’s forward motion.

  Slowly, inexorably, he dragged her after him.

  FOURTEEN

  Arthur landed near the cracked boulder. As he touched down, the stone blurred and smeared as if it were nothing more than paint running down a canvas. A different kind of barrier came into view. It looked like golden, sparkling gauze.

  He’d never seen anything like it. He tried to move closer. With every step, the stone seemed to move farther away. Strong magic. Merlin’s? Arthur discarded that theory almost immediately. This light didn’t feel like Nephil magic.

  For one thing, there was no hint of death about it. The force was cooler and sweeter than any power a demon could manage. But for all its brightness, it was no less lethal. Its delicacy was like a spider’s silk: fragile and deadly.

  Heavenly magic? Arthur had no experience with that. As he tried to puzzle out who or what might have conjured such a barrier, a sudden gust buffeted his wings. The gauzy light responded with a ripple. The movement spilled light past the boundary of the stone, past Arthur and down the hillside. The leading edge stopped just short of the ruined stable.

  He eyed the glittering blanket uneasily. Whatever it was, he didn’t want Cybele facing it alone. He lifted his wings, intending to fly back to her. And then froze as a mournful wail filled the air around him.

  The sound seemed to seep from the very stones beneath his feet. It began as a bare whisper, but quickly escalated in volume. The gauzy light pulsed with the eerie melody, as if breathing in tandem with a despairing spirit.

  Stranger and stranger. He stepped closer to the pulsating light. This time, it didn’t retreat. He extended a hand. The air in front of the disturbance was hot, though not uncomfortably so. He took another step. He was almost touching it now.

  He did touch it. His hand met no resistance. It sank into the luminescence. His arm and shoulder quickly followed. His fingertips brushed something solid. Stone. He spread his palm on the rough surface. Whatever this light was, it hadn’t dissolved the boulder itself. He probed the stone with his hand. The crack was no wider than two of his fingers.

  He took a backward step, peering at the anomaly from a different angle. He could, if he concentrated in just the right way, see the dark slash of the crevice through the rippling gold light. The inhuman moaning pierced his eardrums. Could he get through to its source? He could only try.

  He called hellfire into his hands and blasted it into the light. The stone shook at the impact. Encouraged, Arthur sent volley after volley into the fissure. Bits of spalled stone spewed out. On the next blast, a loud crack split the air. Blinding brilliance flashed.

  The moaning suddenly ceased. The normal sounds of the night seemed louder in its absence. Arthur approached the stone warily, shading his eyes. The crevice had widened, perhaps even enough for him to pass through. But when he turned sideways and tried to insinuate his body into the space, the light leapt in a scorching flame.

  “Bollocks.” He jumped back. After a brief hesitation, he tried again with the same result. Frustrated, he took three steps backward and blasted the stone with hellfire. The boulder exploded. Arthur dove to the ground as shards sprayed over his head.

  After a moment, he looked up. The boulder was gone, but damn if the light didn’t look stronger and brighter than ever. His assault hadn’t weakened the magic one bit. He got to his feet and lifted his hands to try again.

  “Oh Heavenly angels above. What an idiot!”

  Arthur froze. Behind him, very close, someone was laughing. Chuckling and snorting with glee. Cautiously, he turned, sparks sputtering on his fingertips.

  He couldn’t, at first, pinpoint the location of the laughter. Then he spotted something. A new smudge of light. Not golden, this time. Silver. An unpleasant sensation skittered across his nerves. He took a step toward it. The light promptly vanished. But he knew damn well it wasn’t gone.

  He felt invisible eyes upon him. He was being watched. Well. Two could play at that game. He called an invisibility glamour, hoping to Hell and back that this time it would work.

  Stealthily, cloaked by the glamour, he circled the place where he’d last seen the silver light. At the same time, he projected an image of himself standing in the place where he’d been. It was a tricky bit of illusion, probably the most complicated he’d attempted so far. It seemed to work—at least, he saw no evidence that his unseen watcher was aware of the deception.

  As he stalked closer, the silver light shimmered back into his perception. A transparent, pulsing of magic, rising and rippling like heat waves. He narrowed his eyes, and concentrated on seeing its source. Abruptly, a figure melted into view. To Arthur’s vast surprise, it was a man. Or rather, a being in the form of a man.

  With his back to Arthur, his posture was one of utter ease. Idiot. He was staring intently at the illusion Arthur had planted as a diversion. Arthur moved to one side, far enough to catch the amused look on the stranger’s face. His very, very pale face.

  His hair was like snow,
his skin milk-white. His clothing was just as pale. He wore a white linen suit, white shirt, white bow tie, white shoes. Diamond earrings glinted in his lobes. His white-gloved hands rested on the silver handle of a white gentleman’s cane. His magic swirled and buzzed about his shoulders in a cloud of tiny, silver sparks.

  Arthur walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

  The bloke all but jumped out of his pale skin. He whirled about, jaw agape, eyes wide. Those eyes, oddly, were the same shade of silver as the sparks whipping around his head. He looked at Arthur then back at the illusion. With a flick of Arthur’s finger, the glamour dissolved.

  Silver Eyes spun about, jaw agape. “You...you...you can see me?”

  Arthur crossed his arms. “What do you think?”

  “But...but...but...” The pale man waved his walking stick. “You shouldn’t be able to.”

  “Why not? Who are you?”

  Lowering the tip of his stick to the ground, he placed one hand atop the other on its handle. “Who do you think I am?”

  Arthur considered the question. Truth to tell, there weren’t a lot of options. “Not a demon.”

  A huff of disbelief. “I should say not.”

  “Or a human.”

  He rolled his eyes skyward. “Only a lackwit would think that.”

  “And definitely not a Nephil. So you’re an angel,” Arthur concluded with disgust. “A goddamned fucking angel.”

  “Certainly not.” Graceful silver wings unfurled from the angel’s back. “Angels are blessed, not damned. As for the other, impossible. My kind does not engage in carnality.”

  “No? Why not?”

  “What?” The angel appeared taken aback. “Why, because it’s not allowed.”

  “Too bad,” Arthur said. “There aren’t many things better than fucking.”

  The angel gave a huff of disapproval, and then adjusted his cuffs and smoothed his hair. “Really. So crass. Pity your race wasn’t wiped out in the Flood as it was meant to be.”

  “If I’m so objectionable,” Arthur countered, “why are you talking to me?”

  “Well, I’m not supposed to be talking to you, am I?” the angel snapped. “I’m merely supposed to be watching you.”

  He was under angelic surveillance? This was getting weirder by the second. Arthur crossed his arms. “Under whose authority?”

  Silver Eyes let out a long-suffering sigh. “Raphael’s.”

  Arthur blinked. “Raphael? You mean the archangel Raphael?”

  “Just how many other Raphaels do you know?” The angel tugged the hem of his coat, adjusted his tie, and winced. “Oh, botheration. He’s going to be furious when he finds out I’ve let myself been seen.”

  “So don’t tell him,” Arthur suggested.

  “If only that were an option.” The angel gave him a pitying look. “Honestly, don’t you know anything? You seem remarkably uninformed about celestial matters.”

  “Maybe I was raised under a rock,” Arthur said. “Why don’t you provide a little enlightenment? Starting with your name. Who the hell are you?”

  Silver Eyes harrumphed. “If you must know, I’m Gabriel, archangel and deliverer of celestial messages.” He raised a hand. “You know, as in, ‘Hail Arthur, full of sin.’”

  “Very funny. You’ve got a message for me?”

  “Um...no,” Gabriel said, lowering his hand. “No, I do not.”

  “Then why the fuck—”

  “Tsk, tsk. Language.”

  “—are you stalking me?”

  “That information,” Gabriel replied testily, “is available on a strict need-to-know basis. You, I am delighted to inform you, have no need to know.”

  “Like hell I don’t. Listen, Gabe—”

  Gabriel’s chin jerked. “Do not,” he said, “call me that. It’s Gabriel. Ga-bri-el.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Why is Raphael so interested in me?”

  “As I’ve said, that information is—”

  Arthur had just about had enough of the twit. “Cut the crap, Ga-bri-el. Or do I need to blast the answer out of you?”

  The archangel laughed at that. “I’d like to see you try.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  “Consider yourself tempted.” Gabriel drew a mocking circle with the tip of his walking stick. “Go ahead, miscreant, do your worst.” He grinned. “You know, I’ve always wanted to say that.”

  Arthur hesitated.

  “I’m waaaaaaiting,” the angel sang. His arms dropped. “Unless you’re too much the coward, of course.”

  Annoying prat. With a growl, Arthur blasted a stream of spark and flame at his white head. About a foot before the hellfire found its mark, it bent an abrupt ninety degrees downward. The stream splattered harmlessly into the ground.

  Frowning, Arthur tried a second, larger blast. Gabriel easily blocked it with his walking stick. Hellfire ricocheted back at Arthur’s head. He barely managed to duck before it exploded in his face. The blaze evaporated, leaving behind a trail of sulfur-tinged smoke.

  Arthur swore.

  Gabriel chuckled. “Don’t feel bad. Don’t you know a Nephil cannot harm an archangel?”

  “What kind of bollocks rule is that?”

  “Why, a celestial one, of course. My, my. Your education is truly lacking. But then, I suppose that’s the sort of thing a guide teaches a new adept. And you, my dear enemy, have no guide.”

  “You know about that?” Arthur asked in surprise. How the hell long had Heaven been watching him, anyway?

  “Oh, yes, I know all about your sorry situation. Half-mad and all that. More to the point, Raphael knows. And he is not happy, let me tell you. He would’ve much preferred you to die during your Ordeal.”

  “Is that why he sent you? To kill me?”

  Gabriel’s chin went back. “I should say not. I told you, I’m a simple messenger. Not an avenger. Or an assassin.” He tugged the sleeves of his suit jacket, first one side, then the other. “And anyway, celestial retribution requires just cause. So far, you haven’t given Raphael an excuse to exterminate you.”

  “But he expects me to.”

  “Well, yes,” Gabriel admitted. “We’re all very hopeful.”

  “Am I so dangerous?”

  “Heaven help me, yes! Just look at you.” He circled the tip of his cane. “You fairly crackle with power and you can’t control a tenth of it. You’re a grave threat.”

  “To what?”

  “Why, to nothing less than the equilibrium of the human realm. The balance is delicate.” Palm up, he evaluated an imaginary weight. “A little good, a little evil; a lot of good, a lot of evil. Neither enough to tip the scales one way or the other. Everyone muddles on until the final trumpet.”

  “You believe I’m a danger to that balance?”

  “Well, who’s to know? Merlin certainly proved to be a threat. Will you be as destructive as your infamous ancestor? I have no idea—even archangels can’t see into the future. But I’ll give you a bit of advice, free of charge. Abandon this quest you’ve conceived of finding Merlin’s staff.”

  “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you know about that too,” Arthur said. “If you’re so concerned, I must be close.” He gestured toward the boulder. “This is the entrance to Merlin’s cave, isn’t it?”

  “One of them,” Gabriel agreed. “I can admit it freely, because there’s no way you can get in. The cave is blocked by a celestial seal set by Raphael himself. Only Heavenly creatures can pass through.”

  “Like you?”

  “Yes. I suppose so.”

  “Get me in.”

  Gabriel uttered an exasperated huff. “Have you heard nothing I’ve said? You are a threat to humanity. There is no way I’m going to help you enter your ancestor’s cave.”

  “No? We’ll see about—” Arthur broke off as, across the field to the south, the old stable lit up like a beacon. “Holy crap. What’s that?”

  The angel’s pale complexion went whiter than white. “Why...that
’s impossible, that’s what it is. The cave’s second entrance is inside that old stable.” His silver eyes showed something like panic. “Someone has breached the seal.”

  An icy chill spread through Arthur’s veins. Holy fucking hell. Cybele. He was in the air, diving for the stable, before he even drew his next breath.

  Gabriel flew close behind, muttering under his breath. “Loopholes. Blasted, wretched, perishing loopholes!”

  ***

  Luc woke to his skull bouncing down a flight of stairs. When his head finally smacked the concrete floor, Rand released his hold on Luc’s ankles and kicked his body toward the center of the cellar. Luc rolled once, coming to rest on his stomach. He pressed his forehead to the floor. His thrallstone burned like a hot poker thrust through his throat. Pain filled his head so completely, there was no room left for any thought of resistance. There’d be no point to it, anyway.

  Rand bent to manacle Luc’s wrists behind his back. He locked a cuff around one ankle and secured it to an iron ring embedded in the floor. “Cybele was a fool, tryin’ to escape,” he said. “Mab’ll find her, faster than fast. And then she’ll give her to me.” He leaned close, hissing into Luc’s ear. “I’ll enjoy fucking your sister. I’ll turn her into a pathetic thrall, like her twin brother. What do you think of that?”

  Luc pressed his lips together.

  “Answer me.”

  He closed his eyes.

  “Answer me, thrall.” Rand’s boot connected with Luc’s ribs.

  “You’re...as much a thrall as...I am,” Luc gasped. “At least...I have...some pride.”

  “That’ll be gone, soon enough,” Rand snarled. His fist slammed into Luc’s ear. Luc nearly fainted from the explosion of pain. He tried to roll away. A hand covered the back of his head, stopping his momentum and grinding his nose and mouth into some unspeakable muck on the floor. Luc choked and flailed.