Shimmer: The Rephaim Book 3 Page 11

  The light eases enough for me to peer through my fingers. Nathaniel’s wings are unfurled, radiating light. They are breathtaking. Luminous. Massive. Every feather perfect. The tip of each wing touches the bookshelves either side of the library. Almost like the symbol in the iron room, except those wings weren’t attached to a fallen angel. I can’t take my eyes from Nathaniel, not even to check on Dani and Maria. I’ve seen his wings before—for a blinding moment on the mountain when he drove back the Gatekeepers—but not up close like this.

  The light fades but the wings stay outstretched. Jude is so distracted he lets go of Daniel’s throat. Daniel pushes past him, straightens his shirt and walks over to Nathaniel. It’s only then I see Jason has Maggie in the corner, shielding her with his body.

  ‘It is remarkable,’ Nathaniel says. ‘This child is worthy to be in my presence. As is her mother.’

  It takes me a second to grasp the significance of his words and when it does, it’s like a kick in the chest. ‘You arsehole.’

  ‘Gabe,’ Daniel snaps. ‘Watch your mouth.’

  ‘That could’ve killed them, couldn’t it?’

  Nathaniel doesn’t blink. ‘You brought unsanctified humans into our Sanctuary. Did you not think I would test their worthiness?’

  It never occurred to me Nathaniel might show his true form to Dani and Maria. They’re probably only still alive because of their fallen angel heritage. Does he now suspect that connection? And what would’ve happened to Maggie if Jason hadn’t been so quick on his feet? He’s still covering her protectively, whispering reassurances. ‘Is my friend safe?’ I ask. It’s a struggle to keep my voice steady.

  Nathaniel glances over at Maggie, almost as if he’d forgotten there was another human in the room. ‘Of course.’

  Jason glares at him and then helps Maggie to her feet. She’s shaking and a little wobbly, but she stands on her own. ‘I’m okay.’

  Dani is still staring at Nathaniel. ‘Your wings are beautiful,’ she whispers. ‘Would you flap them?’

  ‘Baby, no.’ Maria holds her daughter tight, every muscle rigid.

  ‘Please?’ Dani asks, tentative.

  Nathaniel’s eyebrows lift a fraction. And then he beats his wings, slowly. Once, twice. Cool air rushes over me, the smell of dry leather and old paper. The gust lifts my hair from my forehead, stirs dust and cobwebs along the bookshelves. And then Nathaniel folds his wings behind him until they disappear completely. His irises flicker, slower now.

  Dani’s eyes widen. ‘Where do they go?’

  ‘They are still with me. They exist on a lower plane until I manifest in glory in this one.’ Vaguely, I wonder if that plane is like the one we’re dragged through when we shift.

  The tension in the room eases a fraction. Calista touches her head where I hit her. My eyes drop to the cuff of her trackpants. The fabric is back in place but I know what I saw: a titanium prosthesis where her shin and ankle should’ve been.

  ‘Lose the pity. It’s been gone a long time.’

  ‘How?’ The question’s out before I realise I have no right to ask.

  ‘Zarael.’ Calista makes a chopping motion in the middle of her right thigh. ‘He put his sword clean through the bone. He took what he cut as a trophy.’

  ‘But…’ I frown. ‘What about shifting?’

  ‘It doesn’t regrow limbs.’

  Oh.

  ‘Does Mya know about this girl?’ Daniel asks.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Nobody else does.’

  ‘What about Rafa?’

  ‘Yeah, okay. But only because he throttled it out of Jason.’

  A short, unimpressed noise escapes Daniel. ‘And you are critical of our methods.’

  ‘We shall return to the child in a moment.’ Nathaniel walks over to Jason.

  Jason stiffens, positions Maggie so she’s behind him.

  ‘For the moment, let us talk about you, and why you have hidden from me all these years.’

  THE ITALIAN INQUISITION

  The pulse in Jason’s throat jumps. He’s not ready for this moment; not ready for Nathaniel. After a lifetime of knowing the fallen angel killed his aunt—my mother. After decades of hearing propaganda from the women in Iowa. After seeing what happened to me here last week. He’s heard about the Fallen, but until today he’s never been near one of them.

  ‘I understand this is not your first visit to our Sanctuary.’

  Jason is not short, but he has to crane his neck to hold Nathaniel’s gaze. ‘I didn’t want to be here last week and I certainly don’t want to be here now.’

  Nathaniel waits for him to elaborate. He doesn’t.

  ‘Did you know what you were before the women from Iowa found you?’

  The fallen angel sounds calm but the air around him is charged.

  ‘I knew I was the bastard child of a fallen angel.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘How does a child learn anything? There were stories in my village about my mother being seduced by a “shining one”, an old wives tale that I assumed was village gossip. And then one day two cousins came to the village and told me the truth: that my father was a fallen angel.’

  It’s a clever half-truth.

  ‘How did these cousins know?’

  ‘Our mothers were close; they kept no secrets from each other.’

  Nathaniel shifts his weight. It’s such a human thing to do. Is he uncomfortable or uncertain?

  ‘And what did your mother tell you?’

  ‘My mother died giving birth. I was raised by my grandfather.’

  A lie.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Sidi Bou Said.’

  Another lie, delivered flawlessly.

  Nathaniel frowns. ‘There were no signs in Tunisia.’

  ‘Signs?’ I ask. The word hangs in the silence somewhere around the second storey of shelves.

  ‘The Garrison led me to each child.’

  ‘Archangels showed you where to find us?’ I try to hide my surprise. I find it hard to believe members of the Angelic Garrison helped him find and slaughter women and steal their babies.

  ‘Yes.’ Nathaniel says. ‘By the heavens.’

  ‘Like the virgin birth.’

  ‘It was nothing like the virgin birth.’ It’s the first time Nathaniel’s voice has been as cold as his eyes. He takes a moment to settle himself. ‘Constellations aligned with the waxing and waning crescent moon to guide me to the villages and cities where the children of the Fallen entered the world. I am sure you understand the significance of the symbol.’

  I have to stop myself reaching under my hair. Maybe if I still had the crescent moon on my neck instead of a thick scar I might feel more like one of the Rephaim. Even with his scars, Jude’s Rephaite mark is still recognisable. Like everything else so far, he’s just that little bit more Rephaite than me.

  Nathaniel walks over to the shelves. He runs a finger along a row of books, selects a slim volume bound in cracked brown leather, and turns back to Jason.

  ‘How did you know about Gabriella and Judah? Who told you they were missing?’

  ‘Virginia.’

  Another lie. But he’s hardly going to tell Nathaniel he was there when Dani came back alone from wherever she went with Jude and me last year.

  ‘When Gabe and Jude disappeared, Virginia said it was a sign the days of the Rephaim were numbered. She’s been preoccupied with the twins for years. She’s not the first in the family to believe they’re more important than the rest of us.’

  Is that true or another lie to keep Nathaniel off balance? And if it’s true, why am I only hearing about it now? I try to catch his eye but Jason’s not looking my way right now.

  ‘Did Virginia tell you about the trap?’ Nathaniel asks.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I shall assume you will not permit me to access your thoughts and memories?’

  ‘You assume right.’

  Nathaniel takes a long, measured breath. He’s lived for thousands of years. He acts like
there are no secrets in the world from him. But in the past week he’s discovered two of his protégés are back from the dead with no memory of their angelic heritage; a family exists with the knowledge to build a trap for Rephaim—using symbols once used to imprison him before he was sent to hell—and another half-angel bastard has survived for nearly a hundred and forty years hidden from him. And now here’s Dani. He’s not as calm as he seems. He can’t be.

  ‘Do you know who your father is?’

  Jason isn’t prepared for the question. His resolve slips and for a second I see how much the answer means to him.

  ‘No. Do you?’

  ‘Child, I did not know you existed until yesterday.’

  ‘But you know the Fallen. You know Semyaza and every one of the Two Hundred. You served with them in heaven and suffered with them in hell. There must be something you see in their children to give you a clue who belongs to whom?’

  Jason’s words take all the oxygen out of the chilly air. I steal a glance at Daniel and I know nobody has ever asked this. But from the unguarded expression on Daniel’s face, he’s thought it.

  We wait.

  Nathaniel turns the book over in his hands. I catch the word Apocrypha in gold letters along its spine. Is he holding a collection that includes the Book of Enoch—the ancient text that recounts the original fall of Semyaza and the Two Hundred? Of all the books from this library, why is he holding that one for this conversation? Does he need a reminder of why we exist?

  ‘I know my brothers-in-arms as well as I know myself. Knowing who your father is will not change your fate. Or his.’

  ‘We have a right to be told.’

  ‘You are the bastard child of a fallen angel. You have no rights.’

  ‘You don’t believe that. You’ve spent the last hundred and thirty-nine years protecting those same bastard children, giving them rights—and a violent destiny.’

  Nathaniel’s eyes flare so bright they are almost white. ‘And what other destiny would you have me give them? One that sees them obliterated from the face of the earth? You know nothing of sacrifice and loss. Nothing. You should fall on your face and weep at my feet that you exist at all.’

  Jason draws breath, loading the bullets that will shred the foundations of the Sanctuary if he fires them. I grab his arm, dig my fingers into his tanned flesh. ‘Let it go.’

  He turns his fury on me.

  ‘Not now,’ I say before he speaks.

  ‘Then when, Gaby?’

  ‘When Rafa and Taya are safe.’

  Jason’s cheeks are flushed, his neck mottled. I’ve never seen him like this. So much rage. He’s been waiting his whole life to confront Nathaniel, but how can I get Rafa back if the Sanctuary falls apart now?

  ‘Please,’ I say. ‘You’re scaring Mags.’

  He glances at her, sees her breath hitch, the uncertain downturn of her mouth. Jude has moved closer now too. He catches my eye, knows how close Jason is to losing it.

  ‘Buddy, think.’

  Nathaniel’s eyes have already returned to their normal icy blue, but his fingers are tight around the apocryphal collection. ‘Do you have something you wish to say?’

  Jason’s hands are fists, his breathing shallow. He doesn’t answer.

  ‘Gabriella?’ Nathaniel looks at me, waiting. Cold fingers wrap around my heart. He knows. Nathaniel knows Jason is different from the rest of the Rephaim; that he understands things they don’t.

  Finally Jason looks at me. I try to convey that it’s okay, that his time will come. It takes another few seconds before he unclenches his fingers and turns away. Maggie takes his hand in both of hers.

  In the quiet, I hear voices in the piazza outside, indistinct. The doors we came through are thick; whoever’s out there is talking loudly. Or shouting. Daniel turns his head a fraction, like he’s trying to work it out as well. There’s a loud thump on the door. Then another.

  Jude’s eyes lock on mine. ‘That sounds like a brawl.’

  EVERYBODY WAS KUNG FU FIGHTING

  The piazza is in chaos. It seethes with more Rephaim than I’ve seen in one place: punching, kicking and wrestling each other with blinding speed. Shouting, swearing. Grunting.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Jude says.

  ‘At least they’re not armed.’

  ‘They don’t need to be.’

  We jump up on a windowsill, scan the roiling mass of bodies. I spot Ez and Zak, Daisy and Micah—not fighting each other, thankfully—Jones, Seth, Malachi. All swinging and striking with focused fury. The Outcasts are outnumbered, but in the confined space of the piazza they’re holding their own.

  I glance through the window behind me. Maggie, Dani, Maria and Jason are in the portico. I barely make eye contact with Jason before my attention is pulled back to the frenetic fighting. This isn’t helping my case that we can keep Dani safe.

  ‘Where’s Mya?’ Jude asks.

  I expect to find her sitting out the fight, watching passively from the sidelines. But no, there she is, fending off a barrage of blows from a guy twice her size, not far from us. I haven’t seen him before so he’s obviously one of Daniel’s guys. He lands a heavy uppercut to her jaw, snapping her head back.

  ‘Prick,’ Jude says.

  ‘Don’t—’

  Too late, he’s launched himself into the fray, pushing against twisting bodies to get to Mya. He takes out the big guy’s knees, elbows him in the side of the head. Mya ducks a punch from another assailant, spots Jude. The look she gives him is all relief, her lip already split. Wordlessly, they put their backs to each other and keep fighting. I know he’s reacting on instinct but seeing them like that, united, hollows me out a little.

  If Rafa were here he’d already be throwing punches, yelling at me to get involved. But even if I jumped in, who would I help? Ez and Zak? Daisy and Micah? Either choice betrays someone. And what if I’m helping out Ez and Daisy attacks her?

  When does this get any easier?

  A movement catches my eye. Nathaniel is in the cloister with Daniel and Calista. He says something and Daniel gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head—a rare sign of frustration. Calista scans the brawl, fidgets. Shifts her weight to her good leg. She wants to be out there. It’s hard to tell what Nathaniel’s thinking. He can order his Rephaim out of the square whenever he wants. But maybe he understands that if he stops the fight now, it will only erupt somewhere else.

  I can see it on the faces of the Rephaim closest to me as they duck, block, lash out: they need this. They need what I felt after my session with Malachi in the ring: pain, exhaustion, release. Maybe it will defuse the tension long enough for them to work together. Long enough to get Rafa and Taya back.

  The piazza is filled with the dull smacks of fists on flesh. A mist of red. So much violence. And this is my idea of a solution now. When did I become this person? But I know the answer: somewhere between killing a hell-beast and watching Rafa be impaled by a demon blade.

  Did I really think I was going to go back to my old life, working in the library and hanging out at Rick’s? Who am I kidding—this is my old life.

  Jude takes a kick to his chest, stumbles into Uri. The redhead falters for a split second and then he and Jude are swinging at each other. Jude’s blocks and strikes are quicker now.

  Nathaniel lets the melee continue for a few more minutes. I spend those long moments agitated, torn. I try to keep an eye on Jude. The Rephaim inflict a lot of damage on each other in that time.

  ‘Enough,’ Nathaniel says finally.

  The fighting continues.

  ‘Rephaim.’ Firmer now, louder. ‘Fall back.’

  A split second later, the number of fighters on the lawn has dropped by two-thirds. The Outcasts look around, disoriented, surrounded by nothing but churned-up grass. Daisy, Micah, Malachi and the rest of Daniel’s soldiers have shifted to the other end of the square, fanned out along the cloister, catching their breath. A mass of discoloured skin, puffy faces, torn clothes.

 
Jude and Zak start in their direction. Jude is favouring his left ankle. Hasn’t he had enough?

  I leap down from the window, ready to get between him and more bloodshed, but Nathaniel materialises on the grass and blocks our path. Everyone stops.

  ‘No more.’ The angel stands between the two groups of Rephaim. He seems taller. He checks he has the attention of his Rephaim and the Outcasts. ‘The next time you fight, it will not be against each other. It will be against our enemy. This is over. Am I clear?’

  I wait for Mya to argue but she’s too busy gulping in air, sitting on the ground, cross-legged. Nobody from the Sanctuary has anything to say. No surprises there.

  ‘You will heal each other. No—’ he says, as the Sanctuary Rephaim start to move into pairs. ‘You will heal each other.’

  The command sinks in. He wants his Rephaim and the Outcasts to tend to each other.

  ‘It is not a suggestion.’

  There are low mutterings, a few sideways glances. I look from one side of the piazza to the other. Who’s going to make the first move?

  It takes three more seconds before a figure steps out from the cloisters: Malachi. His knuckles are split and he’s limping, but he walks with purpose. It’s obvious who he’s heading for.

  Mya gets to her feet, lifts her chin, defiant. Daring him. Malachi stops a few steps away and I hold my breath. I’m not the only one. This is the moment we find out if the splintered Rephaim can cooperate without an immediate threat to unite them. Mya and Malachi eye each other. Still no love lost there. She only has to take a swing at him and this will all be on again.

  ‘Taya and Rafa are in trouble.’ Malachi’s voice carries in the quiet afternoon. Now he’s closer I can see a fresh bruise on his jaw, blood in his goatee. He can take punishment, I’ll give him that. ‘So this’—he points to his face and then hers—‘has to stop.’

  Mya watches him, hair dishevelled, kohl smudged around her eyes. ‘For now.’

  Malachi nods. ‘Gym?’ They grip each other by the forearm and disappear.

  Daisy and Jones meet halfway across the piazza, offer each other tired half-smiles. Slowly, cautiously, the Outcasts and Sanctuary Rephaim close the space between them. Jude comes over to me. His cheek is grazed and both forearms are mottled purple from blocking punches and kicks.