Then, she wondered what Lucifer was like. Her dad had been his best friend, did they pal around? Or was Lucifer a malicious demon-thing that would eat her dad for dinner? She wondered if Lucifer looked human, or if he was some sort of creature… She knew how sick people could be. How would Satan torture his enemies?
She resolved within herself to find him, and bring him back. She had no idea where to start looking, or how to save him, if she did find him. As she added the hotel shampoo to the running water, she pushed thoughts of her father from her mind, again; this was becoming a bit of a habit for her.
As the tub filled, and she shut off the tap, she noticed for the first time how quiet her room was. Achaia sat relishing the heat, and the electricity; she scrubbed her hair and under her fingernails and slowly started to feel truly clean for the first time in weeks.
Shael lay on his bed, staring at the reflections of light on the ice ceiling above him, feeling a little like he was frozen into a gigantic fish tank; the world’s most depressing aquarium exhibit. The reflections danced on the surface of the ice, twisting, and flickering.
No matter how many layers of blankets Shael had piled on top of himself, there was no warmth to be found. The chill here was bone deep. He watched his breath rise like smoke, and distracted himself by plotting his course of action. He hoped if he thought long and hard enough he would exhaust himself into sleep.
He hadn’t gotten a single good night’s rest since he had arrived. He had never before been so exhausted. It took a toll on his mood, his mindset, his ability to think. In his dazed state, he felt he almost understood Luc. The living conditions (if you could call them that) in Hell, would drive anyone to desperate measures, if not insanity.
Shael had an edge that Luc did not, though. He had chosen this. He had been the power that had placed himself here. He would not grow bitter or desperate; instead, he would use his position. He hadn’t initially sold his soul to Luc to gain placement behind enemy lines, but if Shael could be of use while stuck here for eternity, he would make it his mission to be as useful as possible.
Shael knew that in order to do that, he would need to gain entry into Luc’s inner circle. He would have to climb the ranks, and earn Luc’s trust; not that Luc really trusted anyone…
That would be step one, Shael thought; he would fight his way up the ranks. In the meantime, he would remind Luc of the way they had been, carefree, radical, and reckless. Lucifer may be the father of lies, but Shael was no novice at manipulation. He would curb Luc’s anger, make him enjoy his company again… Shael would learn his plans and do everything he could to foil them from within. “If You can hear me here, give me strength.” Shael prayed.
Shael knew he had to make Luc believe he had lost hope, and embraced Hell. He turned onto his side, shutting his eyes against the cold, against the dancing reflections, against the threat of there always being a tomorrow here. He sighed at how easy it would be to fake losing hope, because he was barely holding onto it. But Shael knew that as long as he had purpose, as long as he could strive toward love in spite of hate, he could keep grasping at straws. He could hold out. He sighed. Whether an answer to his prayer, or his body finally giving in, Shael fell asleep. He slept restlessly, and had many nightmares, but he slept.
Noland stood watching the news. Emile and Amelia were sitting at the foot of one of the beds with their mouths open as they watched. Yellaina sat on the floor with tears in her eyes, leaning against Olivier’s legs, who looked like a stone statue. While they had been isolated in their cabin in the woods, the rest of Europe had become a war zone. There had been terrorist attacks in almost every country. Paris, especially, had been hit hard, and the back lash was ugly.
As it turned out, it had been an act of God their plane hadn’t made it to Paris to land the day it was supposed to. The airport had been the scene of multiple bomb detonations. The terminal building itself had nearly been reduced to rubble.
“So we’re not flying to Moscow.” Emile said shutting off the TV. Noland could tell by the shallowness of his cheeks that he had had enough.
“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” Olivier asked. “Do you think this is it?”
“Mom and dad said the council has lost more Charges over the last month than we have in the last decade. It’s not getting any better.” Emile looked grim. “It’s a sobering reminder of how short life is for them.” Emile said, nodding toward the outside, to humans.
“Not always just for them.” Noland reminded him.
“Right. Of course.” Emile nodded. “Sorry.”
Noland waved the apology aside. “No, Olivier, I don’t think this is it. I think this is just the beginning.”
It was easy for most Nephilim to think of Humans as an “us” and “them”— Noland was the only Nephilim who could really relate to loss the way humans experienced it. Emile could feel his pain now. But he hadn’t been there when Noland’s parents had died. He never felt that shock, disbelief, denial, and the pain of realization. He could feel the scar, but he never had to see the fresh wound.
“So how are we going to get to Moscow?” Yellaina asked.
“Security is going to be heightened now. People are going to be too nervous to travel, but this might actually give us an advantage. The humans are going to have their eyes peeled, and extra precautions are going to be taken by all major transit lines. Flying is obviously out, so it’ll have to be the train.” Noland looked around the room. Everyone was watching him, and nodding. They looked at him like his word was law. Their lives were in his hands, as well as Achaia’s.
“You locked your door, right?” he said in a low voice to Yellaina.
“Yes, she’s safe. No one saw us come in, save for the concierge.” She smiled at him reassuringly.
“As for tomorrow,” Noland went on, “the train for Moscow doesn’t usually leave until later in the evening. So in the morning, we need to take care of some necessities.”
“We got directions to the nearest laundromat,” Amelia said. “It’s not far from here.”
“We can wash what we’ve got, that isn’t basically destroyed from the last couple of weeks, but we’ll need to buy warmer clothes for Russia. Those layers are too thin,” he said looking around at what each of them was wearing. Most of their clothes were worn thin, and had holes in them.
“Yellaina and Amelia, you’ll go and get the winter clothes. Emile and Olivier, you’ll go get the train tickets and do a preliminary sweep of the station. See if anything looks suspicious. Achaia and I will go wash what is salvageable. We’ll meet at Le Saint Régis for lunch, then we’ll refresh our weapons before going to the station.” Noland looked to Emile. “I’d say get a four-berth share for us, and a two-berth share for you and Amelia. I know you two probably need a break from company.” Amelia smiled with a sigh, and Emile nodded in appreciation.
“Alright, for now, get some showers and some rest. Tomorrow, you can sleep in a little. The train that runs to Moscow won’t leave until almost seven tomorrow night. We’ve got time.”
Yellaina clapped her hands with excitement, Amelia mumbled something sarcastic under her breath, and Olivier and Emile smiled with relief. As the girls left for their own room, Olivier called first shower, and Noland collapsed onto the bed across from Emile’s.
“You looked like you had something else on your mind when you first walked in,” Emile said, turning to face him completely.
Noland shook away his thoughts about the next day. He knew Emile was talking about Noland’s bafflement when he had come back from Achaia’s room. “You know that empathy that comes and goes when you know?” he asked staring up at the ceiling.
Emile nodded. “That’s how we found you in the woods when that hunter was possessed. Achaia knew you were in danger.”
“But if she doesn’t know—” Noland cocked his head to the side. “Why is she getting the side effects if she doesn’t know? Unless-” Noland’s eyes widened, and he sat up, looking at Emile. “Does she know?”
>
“No she doesn’t.” Emile smiled as Noland’s face relaxed back to angst. “I don’t know, I mean, her mom was human. She has human blood. Maybe she just writes it off as conflicting emotions.” Emile pulled off his shoes, and laid down on his side, propping his head up on his arm. “Maybe she gets more of a say in it than you do.” Emile wondered aloud.
“Olivier told Yellaina before she knew. Do you think I should tell Achaia?” Noland asked. He didn’t know what he wanted Emile to say. He was so torn himself, he just wanted someone else to decide. He wanted to be with her, at least to an extent. The emotions hadn’t really come in to full play yet. But, he didn’t want to talk to her about it either. That would be awkward. Nephilim weren’t supposed to have to talk about their feelings. Noland took off his shoes too, and leaned back against the headboard of his bed.
“I don’t know man, it’s up to you.” Emile was having one of his ‘Figure it out on your own, my young padawan,’ moments, which always annoyed Noland.
“If God wanted her to know, she’d know—,” Noland decided. “I’m just gunna leave it for now, I think.” Noland pulled at the hem of his shirt, pulling it off over his head. He tossed the shirt to the floor, and slid down, laying on his back staring at the ceiling again.
Emile slid under his covers, and was silent. Noland thought about Achaia, she had almost opened up to him, but Noland sucked at talking to people about worries or anxiety. He was a plow-through-it sort of person with himself, and felt like most people probably took that as cold and heartless.
“Am I hard to talk to?” Noland asked.
“What?” Emile asked.
“Do I suck with people?” Noland turned his head to the side, Emile’s face was thoughtful. It helped having a best friend that knew your every emotion and could interpret your words accordingly. Noland wondered if he took that for granted, and if everyone else only saw half of what he was trying to convey.
“I don’t think you’re the warm and fuzzy kind of person that people can easily chat with, no,” Emile said finally. “But I think that the people who know you, know what to expect from you.”
“And what is that?” Noland huffed, disappointed.
“Steady.”
“What?” Noland gave Emile a squinted quizzical look.
“You’re steady. You’re not an emotional rollercoaster, and you don’t fly off the handle. You’re just calm, and when necessary determined. It’s reassuring in times of distress to have someone like you around,” Emile assured him. “Even if you aren’t super compassionate.”
“And what about people who don’t know me?” Noland asked, wondering about Achaia. They were still getting to that point.
“It could go two ways.” Emile nodded. “You’re probably really intimidating,” Emile listed.
Noland huffed, that wasn’t good. “Or what?”
“Or they probably think you’re a douche.” Emile smirked.
Noland sighed. “Thanks.”
“I’m here for you brother.”
Achaia was already asleep when Yellaina and Amelia came quietly back into the room. “She looks so young,” Amelia said, leaning over Achaia, whose breathing was soft and steady.
“Oh hush.” Yellaina whispered ushering Amelia away from her, so she wouldn’t wake her. Yellaina looked down. Achaia was so small. She was relatively short and petite. If you didn’t look at her face, you might think she was a child under the covers. But her face was mature. Her jaw line was tight and sharp. Her nose was thin and rounded. And her eyebrows were rather severe looking for her to be so young. “I think she looks like a little warrior,” Yellaina smiled.
“Yeah, like one of those little Army men toys,” Amelia smirked.
“You can joke. You’re trained!” Yellaina whispered grabbing her shower bag. “She’s already capable of more than I could ever dream of.”
Amelia smiled sadly. “Your gifts just lay elsewhere.”
“I know,” Yellaina said with a weak smile. “But I think she’s fierce. That’s why God painted her hair red.” Yellaina stared down at the red curls crowding Achaia’s face. “That’s a warning. This one isn’t to be tampered with. Just you watch.”
“Yeah, okay,” Amelia laughed, “Go take your shower.”
12
Eye of the Beholder
“It takes a great deal of courage
to see the world in all its tainted glory,
and still to love it.”
-Oscar Wilde
Achaia’s eyes shot open. A crippling crick in her neck hindered her from sitting up too fast. She had dreamt that she was late for school. After glancing around the hotel room, she remembered that school was no longer a top priority.
She slumped back into her bed and attempted to slow her heart back down. The sun came through the window, warming her skin. She stood slowly, a little dizzy, and pulled back the blinds. The street below looked pretty average, significantly less impressive than it had the night before. It was a busy city street, crowded with vendors and pedestrians, but the night before it had seemed magical.
She ran her fingers through her hair. As she did, she tugged her head down and pulled out a chunk of curls.
“Owe.” She looked at the hair in her hands, she must have slept pretty restlessly. She walked over to the desk where she left her brush, and sat in the chair. She watched herself in the mirror as she combed.
She barely recognized herself. A new sternness lined her face. She reminded herself of her father. Her freckles no longer made her look childish, but they accentuated the angels of her jaw and cheek bones, along with all her cuts and scrapes. Her eyes were piercing in her reflection. Her skin seemed to glow, which seemed strange with all the cold.
She hadn’t thought about it, but she hadn’t seen herself in weeks. She put her brush down on the desk again and looked at her hands. Her fingers were long and skinny like a pianist, and undeniably strong. She stood and lifted the hem of her shirt; she had abs! Her arms had toned as well…
She felt like she was having a Tobey Maguire-Spider-Man moment. All the training with Emile had transformed her. Achaia looked down at herself. This is who you are now.
She glanced at the clock, and noticed with surprise that it was after nine, and Noland hadn’t come to wake them up.
Achaia quietly unzipped her bag and grabbed her toothbrush, and headed into the bathroom. After brushing her teeth, Achaia put on a pair of jeans and a plain fitted gray v-neck t-shirt. She scrunched her hair in her hands with some water, accentuating her curls. Looking in the mirror again she knew who she looked like– her mother. For the first time in her life she truly wished she had her to talk to. She wished she had a mother to tell her this change was okay.
Someone knocked lightly at the door. Achaia crossed the room and answered it to see Noland standing in the hall.
“Are the others awake?” He asked quietly.
“Not yet.” Achaia looked back over her shoulder at the mounds under the blankets, breathing steadily.
“Want to grab breakfast?” He asked in an almost whisper, so as not to wake the others.
“Yeah,” Achaia said grabbing a room key off the desk, and closing the door silently behind her.
The two walked on tip toe down the hall, as if they were still trying not to wake anyone up. Either that, or they both felt like they had to walk on egg shells with each other. “I was surprised you let us sleep in.” Achaia said finally as they reached the staircase.
“I thought everyone could use it, and the train doesn’t leave until almost seven tonight,” he said gesturing for her to go ahead of him down the stairs.
“So we’re taking the train?” Achaia asked.
“Yeah. We are going to split up and run some errands first, and then we’ll meet up for lunch before heading to the station.”
“How long of a train ride is it to Moscow from here?” Achaia asked as they reached the lobby. Noland led the way to a room off of the main check-in area, where a table had been lai
d out with coffee and pastries.
“We should get there mid-morning on Sunday.”
“Sunday? It’s Friday.” Achaia said shocked. “I thought everything in Europe was close.”
“Trains make stops, Achaia,” Noland said with the tone of it having been the most obvious thing in the world.
“I know they make stops. But if we flew we’d be there in a few hours,” Achaia said with a twinge of attitude which dissipated when she saw a shadow pass over Noland’s expression. “What?”
“We can’t take a plane,” he said shaking his head.
“Because of what happened in the Alps?”
Noland nodded. “Turns out that was God saving us from something worse.” Noland grabbed a plate and a croissant.
“Worse?” Achaia asked feeling her stomach flip.
He lowered his voice as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “The Paris airport was attacked by terrorists. The place is rubble. The train is pretty much the only way we can go.”
“What?” Achaia asked shocked. The hand holding her plate dropped to the table with a loud clank. She startled at her own noise. “Sorry,” she said looking at Noland, who had flinched at the sound, as well. “Terrorists?”
“They bombed it, several bombs went off simultaneously.”
“But how? What about airport security?”
“Chances are, Luc had several people on the inside, demons,” Noland shrugged. “The humans never saw it coming. With all the security since terrorism has been on the rise, people expect such public places to be safe. I’m hoping that after this, that might actually be true.” Noland chose a table for them and sat down. “Emile talked to his parents last night. They said the Nephilim in the East have lost more charges than ever, and that Europe is becoming just as bad. They haven’t heard anything from the Institutions in the Americas in a week. It’s just static.”
“What do they think is going on?” Achaia asked, pinching her croissant into pieces, without actually eating any of it.
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