Tears of Blood

by Simone Beaudelaire

  For today, at least, she was safe.

  Chapter 10

  "Father," Josiah said softly, entering the dormitory where nephilim stayed when they were at the compound. The soft colors of the bedspread on which Lucien sat – red fading through the shades of orange and rose to gold – seemed mean something to the half-angel. His obsidian eyes were far away as he ran his fingers over a band of delicate shell pink. Perhaps he, like his son, felt the Montana winter leeched all the color out of the world. Beyond the small, high window, snow swirled in a chill wind which could be felt even though the cinder block walls of the compound.

  "Josiah?" Lucien looked up, his expression returning to the present, to his thirteen-year-old son standing in front of him.

  "Father, you don’t have to live here, do you? Can’t you live anywhere and just stop in here to get orders and be debriefed and stuff?"

  "That’s right, son. Why do you ask?"

  "Well..." Josiah looked down at the toe of his sneaker. While the other boys his age were outgrowing clothes and shoes faster than any of the ladies could keep up with, he was still the same size he’d been when he was ten. Tiny. Annie towered over him now, close as she was to her adult height.

  "Well what, son? What’s wrong?" Lucien rose from his seat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on Josiah’s shoulder. The boy looked up the huge line of his father’s frame to his face and wondered if he’d ever be tall like an average human, let alone like a naphil.

  "I don’t want to live here anymore. I don’t like this place. Mr. Smith has never liked me, and he’s in charge of all the trainees. He thinks I’m useless."

  "You’re not useless, son."

  "Are you sure, Father? I’m small. I don’t think I’ll ever grow. I’m too small to handle even the smallest gun. I can’t even lift a broadsword. The only weapon I’m good with is a throwing star. What’s the point of that?"

  Lucien’s dark brows drew together. "And so? Who said you needed to grow like a human? I’m not surprised you’re taking your time. In fact, I’d be shocked if you grew at human pace. You’re part angel. We develop more slowly. I was child-sized until I was nearly forty."

  "Why don’t the elders know that?"

  "I’ll explain it to them. Be patient, son. They’re fully human. Though we call them ‘elders’, they live human life spans. The last naphil was born around the time of the Great Flood. No one alive remembers us as children."

  "I see, sir." Josiah met his father’s eyes and saw the warrior react, as he always did. A wave of grief like a tsunami rolled over the chiseled face. It just killed Josiah that something about him made his father so sad. Weren’t fathers supposed to be proud of their sons? To be happy about them? Yes, Lucien had been punished, but that had ended three years ago. Shouldn’t he be over it by now?

  "Rest easy. You are normal, as far as I can tell. I will let them know you might need extra time to grow up, because of your unusual nature."

  Josiah nodded. "Thanks, Father, but I still don’t like it here. Apart from Annie, no one really cares for me. They think I’m strange. I wish I could go somewhere else, somewhere with people who don’t know there are half-angels, who will think I’m just a kid, and treat me like I’m normal."

  "From what I’ve seen, no thirteen-year-old gets to feel that way. They all struggle to fit in, not realizing it’s impossible. I think you’ll just need to ride out these transitional years. Hold on, son. There’s life on the other side."

  "Yes, but, Father, what will I be when I’m done? I keep hearing things like ‘weak naphil’. Is that what I am?"

  "I wish I could answer that. I don’t know, and I won’t until you gain more maturity, what traits you have inherited from me, from humanity, and from your mother."

  Mother. He’d actually mentioned her. Josiah leaped on the opportunity. "Father, what was Mother like? Who was she?"

  The obsidian eyes drifted far away again. "Your mother was... is... the most beautiful, brave, amazing creature who ever existed, apart from you. She..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "There are no words. She had... the most beautiful soul, the most shining pink aura. It was clean like the sky at dawn. I was blessed to know her."

  "If she’s so perfect," Josiah said, hearing the hard bitterness in his own voice, "then why did she give me away? Is there something so wrong with me that my own mother doesn’t want me?"

  Black fire flashed in his father’s eyes and Josiah took a step back. "Never say that again. It killed her to part with you. She loved you so much, she didn’t dare expose you to the danger she lives in every day. She sent you away to protect you, to keep you safe. And that is why you’re here. Being what you are, there is no better place. I will not nullify her sacrifice by putting you in danger. Not for adolescent angst. You’re staying. Go back to your training."

  Stung, Josiah sulked out of the room. His father wouldn’t listen to him. No one would. It was so unfair.

  ***

  That night, Josiah had his favorite dream. In it, his underdeveloped, childlike body was drawn into a warm embrace, onto a soft lap. A haunting fragrance enveloped him.

  "Josiah," a soft voice murmured in his ear, "I love you, my son."

  In the dream, he’d known who addressed him, and responded without reservation.

  "I love you too, Mother. I miss you. Where are you?"

  "I am always with you, my love. I will never leave you. Darling Josiah. Be brave. Learn all you can. I will come to you when I am able. But no matter what, I have always loved you."

  The hazy image resolved into the shape of a woman, but instead of the peach skin and red hair he knew she should have, she was entirely pink, like a sparkling rose-colored gem, though she was soft where she touched him. She stroked his face and pressed a soft, tingling kiss to his forehead.

  "I love you, Mother," he whispered. "Do you have to leave?"

  "Not yet," she replied. "Let me hold you a little longer. You’re getting so big."

  He smiled.

  ***

  The good mood Josiah’s favorite dream brought only lasted until mid-morning. At first, practice had gone well. He’d been working out and running, and he finally had gained enough strength to fire some of the guns without being knocked over by the recoil. For the first time, he’d actually managed to hold the shotgun steady enough to hit the corner of the target, a feat he equated with winning a marathon. Goodness knew it had taken him long enough to get there.

  "Well done!" Annie said, hugging him around the shoulders. "Try again."

  Josiah lifted the shotgun to his shoulder. This time, Annie stood behind him, lending the strength of her almost adult sized body to his. Though thirteen, he still looked no more than ten. The others boys’ voices were breaking, and they were comparing the fuzz which had begun to appear on their chins and under their arms. He was still smooth-skinned, his voice a pure alto. Would he ever grow up?

  But in one way he was maturing. The warmth of Annie’s arms around him, the sweet girl-scent of perfume and shampoo, caused reactions he blushed to describe, but felt nonetheless.

  Trying to dispel images he knew would get him hit if he dared hint at them aloud, he concentrated on the target and fired. With Annie’s support, the shot fanned out from a perfect spot just to the left of the bull’s-eye.

  "Wonderful!" she exclaimed, squeezing his waist and leaning around him to press a kiss on his cheek. His skin burned at the moist touch. Someday, if he ever managed to grow up, he knew exactly which girl he wanted to marry. Quick as thought he dropped the empty shotgun in the grass and turned. He wrapped his arms around Annie’s neck and tugged her down, kissing her lips before she could wriggle away.

  "Josiah!" she half-laughed, half-protested.

  "I’m not sorry," he told her, his childish voice intense. "Some day, Annie, you’ll be mine."

  She laughed out loud this time. "You have some growing to do first, Joe."

  "I know," he replied, "but when I do, be ready. Promise me, Annie. Promise yo
u’ll wait for me."

  She considered him. Then she nodded. "Okay, Josiah. I’ll wait."

  He beamed. Then his grin turned to a scowl as Peter, two years his senior and almost twice his size, strode across the courtyard and wrapped an arm around Annie’s neck.

  "Get off me," she hissed, elbowing him in the ribs.

  "What? I saw you kissing this little shrimp. Wouldn’t you rather have a real man?"

  Annie’s laugh this time dripped scorn. "You? A real man? Ha. I’d take Josiah over ten of you."

  Peter took instant offense. Of course he did. "Freak," he told her, releasing her with a little shove which sent her sprawling on the grass. "What about it, shrimp? You man enough to fight for your girl?"

  Josiah considered his opponent. It would be great to knock this big bully on his ass, but Josiah wasn’t certain he could manage it.

  "Remember what I told you."

  Had Annie spoken? He shook his head. She hadn’t. Peter wasn’t looking at her. But he’d heard her voice clearly in his mind. What had she told him? Don’t fuss about your size. Use it to your advantage. Then she’d taught him all kinds of girly fighting tricks.

  Josiah looked at Peter again. He could take him down using Annie’s techniques, but while he might win the battle, he would lose the war. This fight was man to man, and he had to fight like a man.

  Josiah narrowed his eyes and charged. Peter sidestepped him and stuck a foot out. What had just happened? One minute he’d been running, and the next... he was staring at a line of ants making their slow way though the grass as he gasped for breath. The sound of loud brays of laughter rang in his pounding ears. Then a female voice screaming unintelligible words. Josiah caught his breath and tried to use his arms to push himself to a sitting position. Agony wracked him and he screamed.

  "Josiah?" Annie’s soft sweet voice sounded in his ear. "What’s wrong?"

  He couldn’t answer, could only moan. Then he screamed again as she rolled him to his side.

  "You asshole!" she shrieked. "Look what you did! His arm is broken!"

  Josiah got a hazy image of Peter shrugging nonchalantly. "He fell on it. He broke his own arm."

  "You tripped him!"

  "He charged. If he hasn’t learned to fight better than that by now, there’s no hope for him." The bully strolled away.

  As Peter’s bulky frame withdrew from his field of vision, he saw a crowd of adult women headed his direction. In the lead was Pearl, Annie’s mother and head nurse. They would fix him. Josiah waved his good hand in front of his face, trying to dispel a cloud of black gnats which seemed to have come out of nowhere. He could hear them buzzing.

  "Josiah, why didn’t you use your techniques?"

  "Had to be man to man," he choked.

  "Fool. Bullies don’t fight like men."

  "I’m better than he is."

  "Maybe so, but you’re still a fool."

  He wanted to say more, to argue with her, to ask how she’d managed to speak inside his head, but the gnats crowded closer until they became flies, and then bees. Their buzzing drowned out his words and total blackness fell.

  ***

  In some ways, Annie mused to herself, the six weeks Josiah had spent in a cast had been good for him. Being forced to use his non-dominant hand had strengthened him overall. His handwriting was worse than ever, but his aim with a handgun had improved, as had his accuracy with throwing stars. Once the cast came off, he’d have to retrain his left hand. She grinned. Left handed in Latin was sinistra. If only Josiah could act sinister, his size would be less of a detriment. But alas, the boy was open-hearted and sensitive. That made him a great friend. Maybe even a boyfriend someday, if he’d ever grow. But as the warrior all young men wanted to be, he came up short.

  "Hannah, are you listening?"

  Sorry, Grandfather," Annie said, her cheeks tingling with heat. "But please call me Annie."

  "I did. Three times. Are you finally paying attention?"

  "Yes, Grandfather," she replied, making a show of meekness.

  "Good. Tell me the origin of the nephilim."

  Annie opened the Bible on her desk and turned to Genesis. She found the passage and began to read.

  Chapter 11

  "Medic! Medic!" Mr. Smith raced into the compound, clutching a bundle of limp, dangling limbs close to his chest. One foot hung at a strange angle and little drops of blood sprinkled the hallway floor behind him.

  Lucien, who had just been meandering past the front door, nearly got bowled over by the rushing cleric. He jumped out of the way.

  "Smith, what happened," he shouted. Then his mind pieced together what he was seeing. Frizzy brown hair. Long denim skirt. "What happened to Annie?"

  Mr. Smith didn’t even slow down. Lucien trailed him to the clinic. Smith set the girl gently on the bed.

  Lucien was no medic, but he could see the girl had been through something. Her right ankle was clearly broken. There was a deep gash across her belly, another at her hairline. Blood flowed freely from the two wounds.

  "What happened?" he asked again.

  "Medic! Nurse! Someone, come on!"

  At the sound of Smith’s shouting, two women and a man rushed into the room. They took in the sight of the battered girl ,whose blood stained the white sheets redder with every passing moment.

  "What happened?" the medic asked, hurrying to the sink embedded along the exterior wall of the white cinder block room. Beside him, the nurses pulled on gloves and scooped up cloths. One raced to Annie and pressed down hard on the abdominal laceration. "It’s not that deep," she murmured.

  "Smith, why is Annie here? Isn’t she out of town with her parents?"

  "She was. I don’t know what happened. One minute I was in my study, and the next, that boy appeared, holding her. I have no idea what went on."

  Lucien’s head shot up. His eyes widened. Josiah. He’d been on vacation with Annie and her parents in Virginia. How on earth had they appeared here, suddenly? Josiah didn’t know how to relocate, did he? Was he even capable of it?

  And if he’d appeared suddenly, clutching a wounded and bleeding Annie, something terrible must have happened!

  Lucien didn’t waste time running through the compound. He simply relocated to Mr. Smith’s study.

  At first, the room appeared empty. No one was sitting in the leather recliner by the window, or the blue rolling chair at the scarred mahogany desk. He was about to leave when a small sound captured his attention.

  He followed the quiet sob to the corner, where his fourteen-year-old son was huddled, arms around his knees, tears streaming down his face. He wasn’t just crying, he could barely breathe with the force of his sobs as he slowly rocked back and forth.

  "Josiah?"

  The boy looked up. Blood was smeared on his face.

  "Father!" He leaped from his curled up position and threw himself against Lucien’s chest. Lucien embraced him.

  "What happened, son? Are you hurt? What happened to Annie?"

  "They came. In the night. Don’t know why. Killed... oh God... killed them all."

  Lucien’s alarm grew. He grasped Josiah’s arms in his hands and gently set him back a bit, looking into his eyes. "Who was killed?"

  "Everyone! Annie’s mom and dad, Jake. The succubae... they came."

  A sensation of dread flared in the pit of Lucien’s stomach. "Did they hurt you?"

  Josiah shook his head. "We..." he gasped. Sobbed again. "We were outside. Annie and I. We were looking at con... con... at the stars. Heard a sound... ran inside... There were four of them. They were... oh God. Their claws... they were laughing... ‘one less cleric and his spawn,’ they said.... I was frozen..." He broke into more shattered sobs. This time it took several minutes for him to calm down enough to speak. "Annie rushed them, and they cut her up. Knocked her down. They... I... I don’t know what happened then. I just... I just ran after her. Pushed one away. Grabbed her. I heard one say, ‘demon eyes!’ Then I was here."

  "Oh no!"
Lucien hugged his son tight again.

  "Is Annie okay?"

  "Yes, son. She’s okay. The belly wound isn’t that bad, and the others are fixable. You saved her, Josiah."

  Josiah, it was clear, had no interest in being congratulated. He let go of his attempts to speak and just dissolved into hysterics. And rightly so. He’d just seen a whole family murdered. And now they had a worse problem. Those succubae knew there was a boy with demon eyes somewhere out there in the world. Josiah would not be a secret for much longer.

  ***

  Clash! Clang! Scrape! The sound of sword on sword rang through the courtyard. Josiah met Peter’s thrust with his sword, and then turned rapidly, sliding his blade out from underneath before the brute strength of his eighteen-year-old opponent could crush him down. It had taken years, but Josiah had finally accepted he had to use stealth and dexterity against Peter. Though at sixteen, he had finally grown, and was experiencing puberty, he was still small for his age, much slighter than the other boys. But once he made peace with his size, he’d found ways to use it to his advantage. At least he’d finally caught up with Annie, who apparently was done growing. As he whirled to avoid another slash with the blunted practice sword, he caught sight of her, standing by the wall, watching.