The Nephilim: Book One

by Bridgette Blackstone

  He looked back at her defeated, his arms weak at his sides, his flesh torn away from his face. He said nothing.

  “I always thought you were different.” Mona turned and raced toward the large windows at the front of the apartment. He called after her, but the sound of the shattering glass overpowered his words, and she disappeared into the city.

  Chapter 10

  Sophie rolled onto her side and blinked her eyes open. A heaviness settled upon her the moment she woke that she couldn’t place. She immediately felt restless and sat up from the bed, swinging her bare feet onto the wood floor. She faced the room’s only window and stared out at the unending mists beyond it, only this time something broke up the immeasurable field of haze.

  A roof sat out amongst the fog, brown and red, atop a salmony-painted, single-storied home. Though the mist climbed up it, she could see the windowed top of the brilliant white garage door on its right and the top of the big bay window to the left. Unlike the oddly familiar house she now sat in, she knew immediately that this house, sitting alone in the fog of this strange world, no matter how bizarre it seemed, was her home.

  She stood, pulling down the black sweater dress that she had traded to Mona for her own clothes and padded quietly out into the narrow hall. From one end she could hear Verrine and Adam’s soft voices, and at the other she saw the back door to the house. She would take a quick peek, just to be sure she hadn’t been seeing things, then return to the two. Of course, she would.

  With a steady, intent hand, she silently stepped out into the mists and went around to the side of the house. It was still there, the home she’d grown up in with her parents and brother. She hadn’t seen the place since, well, the fire. But then, had it existed at all? The way the others had spoken, this was all just something she’d made up. That family may not have even existed. But here the home stood, untouched by flames, preserved perfectly, and her feet were moving toward it. Whether she could have stopped herself, she didn’t know—she didn’t try—and before she realized, she had gone down the covered pathway leading to the front door. And her hand was on the knob.

  Thick, white sheets were draped over the furniture making the pieces appear colossal in the dim light that filtered through drawn blinds, and a looming silence hung in the air. The walls were bare, outlines of where portraits and family photos once hung a slightly lighter beige than the paint around them. The brick fireplace stood out against the colorless room, but its mantelpiece too was bare. The frames were, instead, piled in a far corner of the living room and Sophie went immediately to them. She hadn’t taken anything with her after the fire—the fire that had happened—and desperately wanted the photos.

  Her hands could not move fast enough as she knelt before the pile of frames and flipped through them, her family smiling back. There was Eric, a toddler in a Santa hat, and her mother and father on their wedding day, Eric’s first high school photo just after he’d had his braces off but still covered in acne, all three of them at the Grand Canyon. Their faces became blurred as tears formed in her eyes. She sniffed and tilted her head back, knowing if she rubbed at her face she’d fall into a sobbing fit. When the feeling passed, she looked back down at another of her parents and Eric at the beach then stopped, lifting the framed photo away from the others and standing. It was a far off memory like most she had since the fire, nothing specific about it stood out, but despite its bleariness she suddenly felt compelled to convince herself that it had indeed happened. She looked hard into the picture, gripping the frame tightly, trying to remember. Something about it was not right.

  Then a tiny voice emerged from the depths of the room. It was a like a song rising from the quiet, and Sophie slowly glanced over her shoulder to find it. A tiny, blonde girl, no more than six, kneeled against the raised hearth of the fireplace, a doll in hand, which she walked back and forth among a few bricks, singing to herself. She was completely intrigued with the doll, narrating its movements to herself in a childish lilt.

  Sophie watched the girl as if in a trance, until, from through the doorway to the kitchen, a little boy strolled. He held a bright yellow toy dump truck and, upon seeing the young girl, his eyes lit up and he ran over, immediately crashing down onto the doll crying out, "Demolition derby!"

  The tiny girl was stunned and the doll flew from her hands, smashing against the bricks: body in one spot and head in another. The girl burst into tears at the sight of her decapitated toy. Sophie was upset and took a step toward the two, forgetting the bizarreness of the situation, but stopped when the boy's face changed.

  He too appeared upset and grabbed the pieces. After inspecting them as the girl wailed beside him, he began to shove them together awkwardly, in a desperate attempt to fix what he had broken. After a few twists, the head was firmly back on and the boy thrust it at the girl with a toothy grin, "See? It's all better now, so stop crying."

  The girl's sobs came to a halt and she squeezed the doll to her chest, beaming. Sophie's hands flew to her face, covering her mouth as her eyes brimmed with tears, and this time she allowed them to spill onto her cheeks.

  "I thought I said stop crying."

  She hadn't heard his voice in so long, but knew right away it was him. He leaned against the kitchen doorway with his arms crossed, his hair falling in the same way, clean cut just above his eyes, and he still loomed nearly a foot above her. The crinkling of his long, leather coat sounded as he bent over and took up the doll, the two children now gone, and stared at its face. Sophie knew it was impossible, but couldn't bear to lose sight of him again like she had on the street. She took a quick step toward him and reached out, "Eric."

  His eyes darted back up to her, and she stopped abruptly with a gasp. Something was different. There was no lively shine to his once hazel eyes like before. In fact, only a large sphere of black shone back. His skin was paler, cheeks deeper. Even his hair was a shade darker.

  "I’m impressed," he motioned to the hearth, "but don't get the wrong idea," he lifted himself from the wall and moved toward her, his heavy footsteps filling the room, "your illusions still disgust me."

  Sophie pulled her hand and foot back, afraid to question him. She wanted to run, but the image of her brother held her to the spot, even as he came closer to her. He held the doll out to her, offering it. When she didn't take it he thrust it closer and lifted his eyebrows. She reached for it apprehensively, but it vanished. "They’re easy to conjure up when you left so many around." He grimaced, staring down. Tension hung between the two and Sophie wanted to cry out, but felt bound, gagged by her own fear. What was he talking about?

  With a disgusted grunt and a flick of his hand, something slammed into Sophie’s side, and she flew into the adjacent wall, tumbling onto the floor. His voice rang out into the room, "For someone like me, that is!"

  Sophie rolled herself over, the pain in her side reeling. Nothing had touched her and yet she was on the other side of the room. When she opened her eyes, the scene about her had changed. The walls were blackened with ash and flames licked at the covered furniture. She could just make out Eric’s smile through the smoky haze setting in before he shouted once more, "Someone who's dead!"

  Sophie was lifted by an unknown force and thrown into the room's center, landing on the covered coffee table, cracking it in two. She couldn't open her eyes from the pain in her back and choked on smoke as she took in a deep breath, but could hear his calm footsteps and the rustle of his coat as he move closer, coming to a stop just before her.

  She pried her eyes open. The grin was gone from his face, "Dead. Do you even know what that means?"

  She couldn't respond, but wouldn't have been able to find the words if she was still on her feet. She now knew angels and demons and vampires: death had taken on a whole new meaning, but she knew none of that would matter to him.

  "Of course, what do you care?" Eric shrugged, "It’s all your fault anyway."

  He raised his fist above her when she finally found her voice, "Eric, no, please!"r />
  He stopped, staring down at her as she held her hands in front of her face and tried to pull her knees up to her chest, “You’re so afraid now. Why?”

  She blew out a heavy breath, wasn’t it obvious?

  “Where’s the fiery rage of the demon that killed my family?”

  “What are you talking about?” she coughed and it sent a shock through her back, “You’re my family. You’re my brother.”

  His face contorted, and he growled, “Never. Call. Me. That!”

  Eric brought down his fist and Sophie, trapped on her back by the broken table, could only thrust her hands up toward him, open-palmed as she screamed. An intense, white light broke through the smoke, encapsulating her for an instant, reminiscent of the bright light from when she and Mona had encountered the strange men in the alley.

  It went as soon as it came and Eric was no longer standing above her. She pushed herself up and raised to her feet amidst the smoke and flames to see him across the room, doubled over on the floor, a hole smashed into the wall above him where he must have landed when he’d been thrown. He didn’t move. Around them, the house was crumbling and Sophie had just now begun to notice it. She could run, she knew, but then he would be left with the wreckage falling about him. He had said it was an illusion, but it felt real enough.

  She went to Eric and knelt before him. He looked calm then, eyes closed like he was sleeping, and his face was more like she remembered. She could only seem to remember looking at it from afar, that being this close was an anomaly, and she reached out a hand to brush his hair away.

  His eyes flew open, wholly black, and his hand shot out and gripped her throat, “Now that’s more like it.”

  He stood in a quick motion, taking her up as well, and she dangled on the end of his arm. She tried to pry his hand away, digging at his fingers with her own but it did no good. Her throat constricted, she could hardly take in a breath, and the smoke did nothing to help.

  “Come now,” he brought her in closer to him, “Show me something else.”

  There was a crash at the front of the house. Light poured in at the open door, and two silhouetted figures stepped inside.

  “Soph!” Verrine’s voice was unmistakable through the haze, but she couldn’t call back to them.

  Eric only glared at her, "Called in the cavalry I see."

  Adam strode to them, and Verrine was on his heels with both palms aflame.

  Eric glanced at them only a moment then looked back to Sophie, “Oops.” His figure dispersed into the haze, and Sophie fell to the floor. Both Adam and Verrine’s hands were on her in an instant, lifting her, and then they were all moving out of the house back into the mists.

  They cleared the doorway just as a crash sounded from behind them and were yards away before they stopped and looked back at the house. Flames licked upward as it fell in on itself, and in an instant it disappeared into the fog all at once.

  ***

  “So that was your...brother?” Verrine ventured cautiously as they sat around the little table in the brick house’s kitchen.

  Sophie sighed, “Yes. Well, I don’t know actually. You say my brother is someone else, and Eric...he wouldn’t let me…” she dropped her head down so that it rested on the table and closed her eyes. She thought this would be the time to cry, but no tears came. In fact, she felt more confused than anything. The pictures, she now realized, were strange to her because she was not in any of them. Eric and she were close in age, and her memories, like that of the beach, despite being fuzzy since the accident, clearly put her in those places with them. But the photos looked so complete without her. “I know it shouldn’t really surprise me,” Sophie spoke cautiously, not knowing how to phrase the question, “But Eric...he died. He even said he was dead, but he, well, he wasn’t.”

  “Souls are complicated,” Adam leaned against the kitchen’s counter, “The body, be it human or astral or anything in between, is just a vessel. Some are stronger, sustain longer, but they are nothing without the soul. Souls are big, eternal bundles of energy but need vessels to recharge and continue to be active. When the vessel fails, dies, innumerable things can happen to the soul, but typically it goes to rest in a place that those of us still attached to vessels cannot go. Some souls, however, use their last bits of energy in different ways.”

  “So you’re saying that’s Eric’s soul? Like a ghost?”

  Adam cocked his head and looked deep in thought, “That’s how you would see it, yes. Some souls hold out for another vessel, and on rare occasion can get one. They sometimes live like parasites off others, or just wreak havoc wherever they go. They’re not all bad, many don’t even realize what they’re doing, but there are plenty with ill intent. I think that is what we saw today.”

  “He was strong, Adam,” Verrine looked to him with anxiety in her gray eyes, “Couldn’t you feel it? It was a little scary.”

  Adam nodded, “I think he’s being fueled by something. An intense emotion, maybe, or a memory.”

  “And he found us. That’s not good.”

  “He found Sophie,” Adam corrected her, “This place is protected, so they must be linked, but I don’t know how.”

  “Well, he’s a threat,” Verrine sat back, pursing her lips, “until he peters out for good.”

  Sophie looked to her, “What do you mean?”

  “Souls without vessels can’t keep going on forever like that. He’ll eventually burn up that energy.” Verrine flicked her hand away at the thought.

  “And then what? He goes to rest finally?” Sophie gave Adam a hopeful look.

  He grit his teeth and looked away from her, “Ah, no. A soul can sustain for eternity in the resting places, but if he doesn’t make it there and expels everything here, he’ll cease to exist.”

  Sophie let the suggestion sink in. “But you said souls are eternal.”

  “They’re supposed to be, and none of us knows what happens to those who burn themselves up, but none have been recovered after, to my knowledge. I went on a few soul collecting missions in the past, and when they refuse to go to rest it is a terrible thing to see. The others say that the soul becomes stuck in that moment of death, trapped forever. They say if you visit the site where it happened, you can feel their pain going on for eternity.”

  “I don’t want that to happen to Eric.”

  “No,” Adam shook his head, “No one would.”

  A crash came from the front of the house, and both Sophie and Verrine were instantly on their feet. Adam rushed ahead of them into the room and Sophie followed close behind to see Mona stumbling in through the door. Sophie’s clothing was loose on her, making her look even more disheveled than she was, and blood painted her neck and hands. Her face, however, showed no signs of debilitation, “We have to go.”

  “Did they follow you?” Verrine ran past her and to the open door, thrusting her head out.

  “I don’t think so, it was only Michael, but he said they took it somewhere far away.” Her breathing slowed and she gathered herself, wiping her hands off on the jeans.

  Verrine came back inside, “To do what? Only Sophie is supposed to be able to read that book.”

  “You used it, didn’t you?” Mona spat out, then turned to Sophie and Adam, “I don’t really know what they plan to do, but I think they’ve taken it to Apollyon.”

  “Apollyon?” Adam thrust his hands out in front of him, “The angel Apollyon?”

  Mona opened her eyes wide at him and nodded curtly, “Yeah, that’s what I said. So it’d be wise if we got on with it. At best it will take them a little while to figure out how to use the book before they come for Sophie, and at worst they’ll resurrect Agrippa and we’ll have a whole new problem.”

  Adam peered upward and thought aloud, "Well, then, should we go to Meririm, and have a fleet set out for the book?"

  Verrine nodded solemnly, “I hoped we could return with the book and Sophie, but that doesn’t seem possible. I think we need to prepare for the worst.”

/>   Chapter 11

  Sophie stepped through the tear Verrine had made with her own dagger. Adam was close behind her, he always seemed to be, not that she minded, and Mona hopped through last just before the crack sealed itself. As her eyes adjusted, she rubbed at them, sure what she was seeing could not be real. She looked down at her bare feet, they hadn’t bothered to change before they left and Mona’s shoes hadn’t fit her, and wiggled her toes. They sunk pleasantly into the soft, red sand, and the grains sparkled. The beach went on, flat and unending to either side of them, only broken by scattered groupings of rocks. Behind them the sand continued for a few yards and then was enveloped by swirling gray mists like those on the Transcendental Plane. Ahead, it lead out to water that met the sky, both black as night, the horizon only distinguishable by lapping waves and a thin veil of mist. A crooked dock led off from the beach, serpentining into the water, at its end a long, thin boat and a pale, flickering light.

  Verrine was leading them to the dock, speaking over her shoulder, “We have to take the river, it’s the only way in or out of Hell. They used to use it to keep us out,” she chuckled lightly to herself, “Just don’t touch the water.”

  The others nodded, but Sophie questioned, “What happens when you touch the water?”

  “You will burst into flames and die and your soul will be trapped beneath the waves forever,” Verrine answered with a sweet lilt.

  Sophie shot a worried look at Adam. He shook his head, “No. I don’t think your soul gets trapped in there forever.” She sighed, placing a hand on her chest. “But you will burst into flames and die.”

  Sophie tiptoed down the dock after that, paying careful attention to the water that lapped at the edges of the crumbling wood. When they came to the end, they found a hooded figure sitting patiently in the boat. All that peaked out from his heavy, black cloak were withered hands with long, slender fingers and knobby knuckles, the skin gray and fading. It held out an open, cracked palm toward them.