Knowledge Quickening (The Nememiah Chronicles Book 2)

by D. S. Williams

  “That might be helpful,” Conal said, with a heavy edge of sarcasm.

  Epimetheus ignored him. “There is a legend, as old as time itself. Thousands of years ago, the Angel Nememiah mixed his blood with the blood of men and created a superior race of humans. They were created to rid the world of demons, to provide the supernatural creatures of this world with rules and conventions, which would keep the peace and prevent them from destroying themselves. The humans that Nememiah created kept the world peaceful and demon free for hundreds of years. But as time went on, Nememiah's Angels destroyed themselves through infighting and excessive pride. They began to believe they were the most important men on earth and grew arrogant. It's a long story, but ultimately, the Angel's children destroyed themselves through their loss of humility. Where once there had been unity, now there was discord. Where once they worked together in harmony, now brother fought brother and many abandoned the group, disenchanted with the changes. The blood of the Angel Nememiah was diluted and weakened, until there was nothing left of the powers bestowed upon Nememiah's race. They disappeared, more than a thousand years ago.”

  “While I'm sure that's a very interesting story, I don't see what it has to do with Charlotte,” Conal stated mulishly.

  “If you would let me finish.” Epimetheus glared at Conal, his eyes blazing. “I would have told you that for many years, I have been studying the history of Nememiah's Angel children. There is a further legend, which suggests if one of the supernatural groups gains too much supremacy; the children of Nememiah will re-emerge to return the world to balance.” He turned to me, his expression sincere. “Nonny seems to think you may be one of those children of Nememiah.”

  “Me? Why would you think that?”

  “Because you have a very extraordinary gift. A gift that has grown in strength and power in recent months. A gift which allowed you to singlehandedly beat back vampires, giving them injuries such as we never thought possible.” He leaned forward, his eyes boring into mine. “And because you couldn't reach my ancestors. The history of Nememiah's children states that traditionally, they couldn't reach a warlock's spirits. You couldn't read mine.”

  “I still don't get it,” I responded. In fact, I had no idea what the point of the story was. Was this strange old man suggesting I had something to do with these Angel children? The idea was completely ludicrous.

  “Warlock's have demon blood. In fact, out of all supernatural creatures, our blood is more than fifty percent demon. Not being able to contact the spirits was one way in which Nememiah's children could detect demons. Demons took many shapes and forms and could hide behind the façade of normality, especially as demons learned to take on human characteristics. But with the touch of a shoulder, a hand, the demon blood could be recognized. So could other enemies.” Epimetheus tapped on the table with his fingers, staring at me for another long moment. “I presume there have been some that you couldn't read?”

  “I… yes, there are some. Usually people who are trying to… hurt me.” Eyeing him curiously, I asked the question uppermost in my mind. “You think I'm somehow linked to these Angel children?”

  “Let's not be hasty,” the old man said, waffling his hand carelessly through the air in front of him. “We have merely revealed there is a possibility. There are many other things to discuss and establish before that conclusion could be made.”

  “What sort of things?” Conal asked. He seemed more relaxed now, squeezing my fingers gently as he watched the old man attentively.

  “I want Charlotte to tell me exactly when this ability presented itself and how it manifested.” Epimetheus waved his hand towards the kettle, which immediately started boiling with steam pouring from the spout. “But first, let me offer you a hot drink. Where are my manners?”

  Chapter 27: Epimetheus Vander

  Epimetheus questioned me for hours, wanting to know every little facet of my abilities, when they had presented themselves, how they had manifested, what changes were occurring. He asked about my family history, any psychic ability within the family, and spent a considerable period drawing a timeline on a sheet of paper. From time to time, he would leap from his chair, running back and forth around the room, selecting volumes from the bookcases seemingly at random. Bringing them back to the table, we sat in silence whilst he looked up various passages. There was a great deal of grunting, humming and haaing, as he pored over the books, his glasses perched on the very end of his bulbous nose and his bony fingers following lines of archaic writing on the parchment.

  My stomach rumbled alarmingly during this interrogation and Epimetheus glanced up from his books. “My dear, I keep forgetting about the human need to eat.”

  “Not to mention a werewolf's,” Conal muttered.

  Epimetheus idly waved his hand and a plate appeared in the center of the table, piled high with sandwiches. Another plate appeared with cakes and cookies and I tentatively reached forward to pick up a sandwich, hardly believing they were real until I touched the soft bread and smelled the delicious aroma of chicken and mayonnaise. I took a bite of one and found it delightfully tasty.

  On through the afternoon we talked, with the stack of books piled on the table beginning to rise alarmingly. The sky outside was darkening when Epimetheus pushed back his chair, standing up agilely to walk to the long table where an altar had once stood. He shuffled things, searching for something - eventually he came back carrying a small box as though it was the most important item he owned.

  "My dear, I believe you may be one of Nememiah's Angel children. All the signs are there. However, I think this artifact – which came into my possession many, many years ago – will prove this, one way or the other. He placed the simple wooden box on the table and opened it with a flourish. I looked inside, disappointed by what I saw. Laying in the bottom of the box lay a small piece of driftwood. On closer examination, I realized it wasn't driftwood, it was much darker, the wood shiny and smooth as if it had been touch and rubbed over a long period of time. It was about five inches long and perhaps two inches around. It was twisted and curled, with one end tapered to a point, rather like a pen. I stared at it for a long time before I returned my attention to the old man.

  “What is it?”

  “One of the wonders of the Angel children's world. I wonder, very much, if you would pick it up?”

  I reached forward to take hold of it, but Conal gripped my wrist firmly. “What is it, old man? And how do I know it's not going to hurt her?”

  “It will not hurt her if she is merely a normal human with psychic powers. Nor will it hurt her if she is one of the Angel children. But the difference will be whether it operates, or not.” He gazed at the object with a certain amount of adoration in his eyes. “But if you are worried, I will allow you to touch it first. I warn you though; the effects will not be pleasant.”

  Before Nonny or I could object, Conal reached into the box, gripping his hand around the object. I shrieked when he was flung away from the table, soaring through the air and landing in a heap on the floor beside a bookcase. It was much too similar to what I'd done in Puckhaber, and I threw my chair back, running to him. When I reached Conal's side, he had pulled himself upright and was rubbing the back of his head cautiously. “Shit,” he growled. “What the hell was that?”

  “The power of the Hjördis. It was the item used by the Angel children to mark their skin, protecting them from demons and enhancing their powers. It is designed specifically to be used by Angel children. It cannot be used,” he grinned a little maliciously, “or touched, by the supernatural or demons.”

  Conal hauled himself to his feet and we walked back to the table, where he slumped onto the chair, still rubbing his head gingerly. He eyed the Hjördis warily. “That thing. It threw me across the room.”

  “Because you are not meant to use it, wolf.”

  “You should have warned him,” Nonny grumbled at Epimetheus.

  “I did.” Epi was nonchalant about the events of the last few minutes and
smiled smugly. “It is not my fault he didn't ask further questions before he acted.”

  “Try picking it up,” Nonny suggested softly to me. “You're human. It won't hurt you.”

  I glanced at Conal uneasily and saw his almost imperceptible nod. My hand trembled as I reached towards the nondescript piece of wood. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to wrap my fingers around it. Nothing happened. I lifted it carefully from the box and it started to vibrate against my fingers. The wood grew warm, hotter than it should have been and I dropped it to the table, staring at it suspiciously.

  “What did you feel, child?” Epimetheus sounded breathless and excited. Leaning forward in his chair, his eyes focused on the object lying harmlessly on the table.

  “I don't know.” I'd been unnerved when I touched it and chills crawled up and down my spine.

  “Pick it up again.”

  “No.”

  “Pick it up again, child.” Epimetheus's voice was firm, filled with determination.

  “No!”

  Conal stood up, his eyes flashing with anger. “Leave her alone, Vander. I don't know what you're playing at, but it's over. I've had enough.” I could feel the tension roiling of his body in waves, felt his power washing over me. It wasn't making me feel any better.

  Nonny stood up, rubbing her hands across my shoulders and back before she leaned forward and snuggled her face against mine. “You're both frightening Charlotte. Stop it now.” The two men continued to glare at one another, while Nonny kept rubbing her cheek against mine and I began to calm again. I'd seen some of Conal's pack doing something similar at the party, almost as if they were marking one another with their scent. Whatever it was, it helped to settle my nervous outburst and I found the touch of her soft skin calming. “What happened, Charlotte, when you held the Hjördis?” she asked quietly.

  “It vibrated,” I admitted slowly. “And it felt, kind of warm, almost hot. Hotter than it should have been.”

  Nonny's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with disbelief. “It's true! You are one of the Angel children! I knew it!”

  “Now, Nonny, not so fast. It is true she can hold the Hjördis. That is not proof that she is strong enough to be an Angel child,” Epimetheus said sternly. He pushed the piles of books and papers away, leaving a bare patch on the table in front of me. “Draw something, child.”

  I met his eyes, completely bewildered. “Excuse me?”

  “Draw something. Place the Hjördis in your hand; let your thoughts focus on it. Use it like a pen, a paintbrush. Don't over think. Draw something, using the Hjördis as a tool.”

  I stared at him for a minute, seeing the exhilaration in his eyes. I picked up the Hjördis tentatively, less startled this time when it began to vibrate softly. The wood heated, not hot enough to burn, but certainly warmer than should be normal. I had no idea what he meant by drawing something. I could draw people, places, and things. What did he want me to draw? And how could I draw something with an old fragment of wood?

  “I said, don't over think!”

  I scowled at the old man, before turning my attention to the battered table. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply and let the breath escape slowly through my lips, trying to release everything from my mind, concentrating on the wood in my hand. It buzzed louder against my palm, warming ever so slightly and I held it as I would a pencil or a brush. An image formed in the recesses of my mind and I drew it, aware of the smell of burning wood reaching my nostrils as I worked. When I opened my eyes, I found Nonny, Conal and Epimetheus staring at the table. An intricate symbol was burnt into the wood, but the lines weren't blackened and charred as I had assumed they would be – they were luminous, the color of indigo.

  “What the hell is that?” Conal breathed quietly. He was staring with undisguised surprise at the symbol I'd drawn.

  “Let's see if Charlotte knows,” Epimetheus suggested smugly. “It has a meaning. And watch your language, wolf. You are in church.”

  I ignored their bickering and stared at the carved symbol. Deep in the recesses of my mind, there was a familiarity – a feeling that somehow, I did know what it meant. I closed my eyes, seeing the symbol emblazoned against my eyelids.

  “Courage,” I murmured. “It means courage.” I knew this was the meaning, without doubt. There was no reasoning for the knowledge – I just knew.

  Epimetheus leapt to his feet, running towards the long table on the altar. He scrambled around the many books, until he found a small one, bringing it back to the table with him. This book was ancient; the leather cover faded so its original color couldn't be distinguished. He laid the book reverently on the table and began carefully turning the fragile pages. He stopped all of a sudden and pushed the book towards me, pointing at a drawing.

  It was identical to what I'd drawn.

  “She is an Angel Child,” Nonny breathed in awe.

  “There is one more test. Charlotte, do you have any scars, birthmarks? Anything unusual?” Epimetheus asked eagerly. “It may be something incongruous, something you've never given thought to, but has been there since childhood.”

  I stared at him, wondering how he knew all this information, wondering whether I could believe what he was saying. I lifted my hair from my shoulders and pointed to a spot behind my left ear.

  Conal, Epimetheus and Nonny congregated behind me to examine the spot I'd pointed out. It was a mark I'd had since childhood; my mom had said it was caused by the forceps when I was born. I'd never thought anything of it until now. Mom called it my lucky mark, telling me it was special as no one else had one. It was a small pale blemish on my neck, in the shape of a wing.

  “An Angel wing,” Epimetheus announced, sounding somewhat breathless. “She is one of Nememiah's Children.”

  ≈†◊◊†◊◊†◊◊†≈

  “So you're suggesting everything that's happened in the past few months – Ambrose's attack, his Kiss returning to the house, the kidnapping— they were all tied to this Angel child thing?” I questioned skeptically.

  It was late in the evening and the sole topic of conversation throughout the long day and into the night had been me. Epimetheus Vander had grilled me like an FBI interrogator, asking a myriad of questions. As time wore on, even Conal seemed to agree with him and Nonny – that I was indeed one of Nememiah's Children. What perturbed Epimetheus greatly was the amount of contact I'd had with supernatural beings in the past few months, and the number of disasters that had befallen me. He had suggested someone – who knew about Nememiah's Children – wanted me and the events of the past few months were linked.

  “I believe so,” Epimetheus agreed. “Whilst the initial vampire attack was probably an unfortunate coincidence – I believe the other incidents are related to your role as Nememiah's Child.”

  “If that's so,” Conal asked slowly, “Why has it happened now? Why not when Charlotte was younger?”

  Epimetheus responded to Conal, as though he were speaking to a small child. “Because you said so yourself – Charlotte had not embraced the ability. She had, to all intents and purposes, some psychic ability – which she admits herself she ignored as much as possible. But for those of us seeking the return of Nememiah's Children, her true nature would not be revealed until she began to accept it herself. And use it.”

  “Which means,” Nonny added, “that someone else knows about Nememiah's Children and is searching for her.”

  “Yes,” Epimetheus agreed. “We need to teach her how to use her powers and we need to instruct her on how to defend herself. We must keep her safe. The history of Nememiah's Children says they reach full maturity at twenty-one. Once past the age of twenty-one, they cannot be turned to any other supernatural force. Before that time, she is capable of being turned. Her powers could be harnessed by someone wanting to gain power for themselves.”

  I felt sick. I was only just beginning to comprehend what they were suggesting and hardly believed it. And now I was going to have to learn how to defend myself? Needed to be protected?<
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  “Charlotte, when do you turn twenty one?” Conal asked.

  “September second.”

  “That doesn't give us much time,” Nonny calculated. “Less than three months.”

  “The pack will protect her,” Conal announced.

  “But they must be told what they are protecting, what's at stake,” Nonny responded. “Conal, the pack must be advised of what has gone on here this day.” Her dark eyes were firm, the set of her jaw determined.

  They exchanged an uneasy glance, Conal frowning. “Nonny, do you think that's wise? You more than anyone know how suspicious some of the pack members are.”

  “We have no choice, Conal. This is much too big to keep secret. We must go back to the pack, call a meeting with your father and the elders. It must be tonight.”

  Conal sighed. “You're right. But I'm taking Charlotte back to my apartment first. I don't want her anywhere near the pack until we know how much support we're going to get.”

  “You think the pack won't like this?” I questioned.

  Conal squeezed my fingers softly. “If this is all true—”

  “Which it is,” Epimetheus interrupted, glancing up from the book he'd been flicking through.

  Conal glared at him. “As I said, if this is true, it means there's trouble in the wind. If Vander's right, Nememiah's Children are being resurrected because of some imminent danger. We don't know what it is and the pack might not believe an ancient warlock and my elderly grandmother. No offense, Nonny,” he finished with a weak smile for Nonny.

  “None taken,” she responded cheerfully.

  Conal continued. “The pack is exceedingly superstitious. They may think your emergence is a bad omen. They might believe it's the ramblings of two senile old people…”

  Epimetheus harrumphed loudly.