The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(59)

He took a backward step, peering at the anomaly from a different angle. He could, if he concentrated in just the right way, see the dark slash of the crevice through the rippling gold light. The inhuman moaning pierced his eardrums. Could he get through to its source? He could only try.

He called hellfire into his hands and blasted it into the light. The stone shook at the impact. Encouraged, Arthur sent volley after volley into the fissure. Bits of spalled stone spewed out. On the next blast, a loud crack split the air. Blinding brilliance flashed.

The moaning suddenly ceased. The normal sounds of the night seemed louder in its absence. Arthur approached the stone warily, shading his eyes. The crevice had widened, perhaps even enough for him to pass through. But when he turned sideways and tried to insinuate his body into the space, the light leapt in a scorching flame.

“Bollocks.” He jumped back. After a brief hesitation, he tried again with the same result. Frustrated, he took three steps backward and blasted the stone with hellfire. The boulder exploded. Arthur dove to the ground as shards sprayed over his head.

After a moment, he looked up. The boulder was gone, but damn if the light didn’t look stronger and brighter than ever. His assault hadn’t weakened the magic one bit. He got to his feet and lifted his hands to try again.

“Oh Heavenly angels above. What an idiot!”

Arthur froze. Behind him, very close, someone was laughing. Chuckling and snorting with glee. Cautiously, he turned, sparks sputtering on his fingertips.

He couldn’t, at first, pinpoint the location of the laughter. Then he spotted something. A new smudge of light. Not golden, this time. Silver. An unpleasant sensation skittered across his nerves. He took a step toward it. The light promptly vanished. But he knew damn well it wasn’t gone.

He felt invisible eyes upon him. He was being watched. Well. Two could play at that game. He called an invisibility glamour, hoping to Hell and back that this time it would work.

Stealthily, cloaked by the glamour, he circled the place where he’d last seen the silver light. At the same time, he projected an image of himself standing in the place where he’d been. It was a tricky bit of illusion, probably the most complicated he’d attempted so far. It seemed to work—at least, he saw no evidence that his unseen watcher was aware of the deception.

As he stalked closer, the silver light shimmered back into his perception. A transparent, pulsing of magic, rising and rippling like heat waves. He narrowed his eyes, and concentrated on seeing its source. Abruptly, a figure melted into view. To Arthur’s vast surprise, it was a man. Or rather, a being in the form of a man.

With his back to Arthur, his posture was one of utter ease. Idiot. He was staring intently at the illusion Arthur had planted as a diversion. Arthur moved to one side, far enough to catch the amused look on the stranger’s face. His very, very pale face.

His hair was like snow, his skin milk-white. His clothing was just as pale. He wore a white linen suit, white shirt, white bow tie, white shoes. Diamond earrings glinted in his lobes. His white-gloved hands rested on the silver handle of a white gentleman’s cane. His magic swirled and buzzed about his shoulders in a cloud of tiny, silver sparks.

Arthur walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

The bloke all but jumped out of his pale skin. He whirled about, jaw agape, eyes wide. Those eyes, oddly, were the same shade of silver as the sparks whipping around his head. He looked at Arthur then back at the illusion. With a flick of Arthur’s finger, the glamour dissolved.

Silver Eyes spun about, jaw agape. “You...you...you can see me?”

Arthur crossed his arms. “What do you think?”

“But...but...but...” The pale man waved his walking stick. “You shouldn’t be able to.”

“Why not? Who are you?”

Lowering the tip of his stick to the ground, he placed one hand atop the other on its handle. “Who do you think I am?”

Arthur considered the question. Truth to tell, there weren’t a lot of options. “Not a demon.”

A huff of disbelief. “I should say not.”

“Or a human.”

He rolled his eyes skyward. “Only a lackwit would think that.”

“And definitely not a Nephil. So you’re an angel,” Arthur concluded with disgust. “A goddamned fucking angel.”

“Certainly not.” Graceful silver wings unfurled from the angel’s back. “Angels are blessed, not damned. As for the other, impossible. My kind does not engage in carnality.”

“No? Why not?”

“What?” The angel appeared taken aback. “Why, because it’s not allowed.”

“Too bad,” Arthur said. “There aren’t many things better than fucking.”

The angel gave a huff of disapproval, and then adjusted his cuffs and smoothed his hair. “Really. So crass. Pity your race wasn’t wiped out in the Flood as it was meant to be.”

“If I’m so objectionable,” Arthur countered, “why are you talking to me?”

“Well, I’m not supposed to be talking to you, am I?” the angel snapped. “I’m merely supposed to be watching you.”

He was under angelic surveillance? This was getting weirder by the second. Arthur crossed his arms. “Under whose authority?”

Silver Eyes let out a long-suffering sigh. “Raphael’s.”