The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(18)

“To cover their tracks. They ate some stupid apple and death was created. The next thing you know, they invented me, the personification of death, and blamed me for the whole sorry episode.” Maweth made a sound of derision. “And you know what? They’ve treated me like bull crap ever since. They curse me, defy me, avoid me, run from me, and fight me. Oh, sure, some of them actually come looking for me, but only because they think I can solve all their problems. As if I could.” He turned and slammed his fist against the wall.

“Ouch.” He shook his hand. “It’s so unfair. Humanity pulled the whole Grim Reaper mythos out of its collective behind. And now, because of them, I’m stuck here in this blasted mirror.”

Lucky blinked three times, his long eyelashes fluttering. Otherwise, he seemed unfazed by Maweth’s outburst. “Um...how?”

“How what?”

“How is it because of humans that you’re stuck in a mirror?”

Maweth slumped against the wall. “Because of the rotten reputation they’ve pinned on me. That’s why the Nephil wanted me.”

“A Nephil?” Lucky blinked. “I know about Nephilim.”

“Do you?” Maweth snorted. “Then you should know to stay away from them, for crying out loud. Soulless beings with no hope of an afterlife tend to get crazy ideas. The one who caught me—Dusek—wants to live forever. He thought imprisoning me would do the trick.” Maweth snorted. “Idiot. Doesn’t work that way.”

“The Nephilim are bad people,” Lucky said. “Very bad.”

“Well, I don’t know if all of them are bad.” As a victim of prejudice himself, Maweth always strove to give the other guy the benefit of the doubt. “I only know the one. And yes, he’s a rotten bastard. Dusek is the Alchemist clan alpha. His ancestor is the Watcher Azazel.”

Lucky nodded vigorously. “I know about Azazel, too. He’s the fallen angel who invented war. Raphael banished him from Earth. Forever.”

“Too bad he didn’t banish all Azazel’s descendants while he was at it. Dusek’s a creep. And don’t get me started on that ring he wears.”

“What’s wrong with his ring?”

“It’s made of alchemic gold. It focuses his magic. It’s got a face instead of a stone. A face that looks just like him.”

“That sounds creepy.”

“Creepy doesn’t begin to describe it. The face moves. Blinks its eyes and opens its mouth. It’s like the thing’s alive.” He shuddered. “Maybe it is.”

Maweth pushed off the wall and onto his feet. “So. Delightful as it’s been chatting with you, you probably should be going.”

Blink. Blink. Sparkle. “Oh, really? Why?”

“Are you serious? Because of Dusek. He can’t see into the mirror, but even so, you don’t want to be here when he shows up.”

“Oh.” Lucky looked around doubtfully. “But...are you sure? I hate to leave you here all alone.”

“I’ll manage,” Maweth told him. “Just go.”

“Well...all right. If you really insist.”

“I really do.”

Lucky zipped into the air. For a moment, he hovered. Were those tears in his blue eyes? Ridiculous. “Good-bye.”

Maweth’s eyes felt funny, too. He made a shooing motion with his hands. “Go.”

The cherub nodded. With a buzz of iridescent wings, he sped toward the surface of the mirror. The quicksilver bent like a trampoline, then, with a pop! Lucky went through.

Maweth sighed and flopped down on his back. Strangely, he was already missing the little—

The quicksilver bowed inward. Pop! The cherub reappeared. He swooped down to the bottom of the mirror and flopped down on his chubby butt.

“Hi again,” he said.

Maweth couldn’t believe it. “What are you doing?” he exclaimed. “Why are you back?”

“Well,” Lucky said. “About that. I decided I don’t want to go yet. You’re too lonely.”

“But...I’m used to being lonely,” Maweth said, more than a little nonplussed. Lucky was worried about his feelings? How unspeakably sweet. A warm glow expanded in his chest.

He squelched the heat. “Look, you have to go.”

Lucky crossed his arms. “No. I don’t think I do.”

“Of course you do!” Maweth exclaimed. “You can’t possibly stay with me.”

The angel blinked his innocent baby blues. “Oh, yes, I can.”

***

It might’ve been a damn sight better, Lucas Herne thought, if he hadn’t survived his Ordeal. And he’d tried to not survive it. He wasn’t sure which was more humiliating—that he’d attempted to die, or that he’d failed.

Or that he wasn’t—most days—sorry he’d taken the coward’s way out.

Even after all he’d been through, during his Ordeal and after, Luc didn’t quite want to be dead. It was, he supposed, only natural. A Nephil’s survival instinct was incredibly strong. When no afterlife waited on the other side of death, a person tended to cling to the few years on Earth he’d been given. Much as Luc fantasized about Oblivion—its peace, its beauty, its goddamned nothingness—he couldn’t honestly wish himself there.