The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(65)

“So? Nephilim are long-lived, and don’t tend to show their age past thirty years.”

“That’s just it. A Nephil’s maximum lifespan is one hundred twenty years. Somehow, Dusek’s been around a lot longer.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I don’t think so. More loopholes at work, I’m afraid.” Michael retrieved a second set of photos. “These are from the Czech National Library’s historical archives. The record is sparse, but I managed to connect the dots.”

“Connect dots? Why would you want to do that?”

“Not literal dots. It’s an Earth expression. It means to infer new truth by combining previously known information in a unique way.”

“Huh.” Raphael waved a hand. “Proceed.”

Michael swiped through photos and news articles, one by one. “Dusek’s been around for a very long time. The earliest photographic record dates from the 1880s, but I found a few illustrations from earlier periods that also look like him.”

“It can’t be the same man. The earlier records must refer to Dusek’s ancestors.”

“I don’t think so,” Michael said. “I think Dusek’s been alive much longer than should be possible. Four centuries, at least. Probably longer.” He paused. “He’s not native to Prague. Nor is Dusek his original name. He’s had several. I’ve found evidence he may have been alive as far back as the fifteenth century. In the Southern Carpathians. That’s a mountain range between Romania and Serbia.”

“Five hundred years?” Raphael stood so abruptly, his golden robes stirred up a whirlwind. Michael’s hair whipped around his head. “That’s preposterous. A Nephil could amass a disturbing amount of power in five hundred years.”

“That’s precisely my point,” Michael said grimly. “I suggest—whoa!”

A sudden explosion of the cloud beneath his feet tossed Michael backward. His phone went flying. He wheeled his arms frantically while the source of the disturbance—his brother, Gabriel—soared skyward. Droplets of fog rained down. Crazy rainbows sprayed in every direction.

Raphael grabbed his throne’s armrest, his robes whipping in the sudden tempest. Michael only just managed to unfurl his wings in time to prevent an ignoble sprawl on his own celestial ass.

Gabriel’s silver wings flapped furiously as he tried to halt his upward trajectory. A gale-force wind swept downward. It slammed into Michael just as he was getting his feet back under his body. His butt landed in wet, sloppy cloud mist after all.

“Oh, for the love of—”

Gabriel threw himself into a dive.

“Watch out!” Raphael shouted.

Michael rolled. Gabriel landed hard, barely a foot in front of him. Cloud mist sprayed. A solid wave of the stuff slapped Michael square in the face.

“What the f—” At Raphael’s ferocious frown, he swallowed the foul word. But holy crap, he was soaked. He got to his feet and glared at Gabe. Who had, Michael noted with some surprise, seemed to have left his beloved walking stick behind somewhere. Not a good sign.

“What in Heaven’s holy name is wrong?” he demanded.

Gabriel was bent double, hands on his thighs, panting as if he’d run a marathon. He looked up and raised a forefinger.

Raphael huffed. “Really, brother. Your penchant for drama is not appreciated.”

“No drama,” Gabriel gasped. “I came...as quickly...as I...could.” Finally, he straightened. “Though I fear...it may already be...too late.”

“Too late for what?” Raphael demanded.

“Too late to keep Merlin’s staff in place.”

“What!?” Raphael exclaimed.

“Merlin’s cave—” Gabriel panted, still breathless. “Your celestial seal...breached. Arthur Camulus...inside.”

Michael’s eldest brother, the Holy Steward of Heaven and Earth, looked like someone had struck him with a poleaxe. “But-but-but that’s impossible.”

“No, it’s not,” Gabriel said. “Remember? All things are possible. There are loop—”

“Don’t say it.” Raphael’s golden eyes snapped. “I tell you, if I hear that word one more time, I will not be held accountable for the consequences.”

***

Arthur shot Cybele an incredulous look. “Are you barmy? Angels don’t possess humans. Only demons do that.”

“I know, I know. It sounds crazy.” Cybele gazed down at Jack, still cowering on the ground. “But you heard what Mrs. Spencer said about Jack’s good nature. She even called him an angel.”

“Not a literal angel.”

“Still. His soul is pure. And he said he heard voices.”

“A human doesn’t have to be possessed to hear voices.” Arthur’s own voice was tight. “Just mentally ill.”

“You felt nauseous at dinner,” Cybele pointed out. “And you’re feeling sick again now. I can tell.”

“That was because of the prayers,” Arthur said. “And now this damn hymn singing. It’s not Jack himself.”

“I don’t know, Arthur. What else could’ve pulled two Nephilim through a celestial seal except an angel?”

“What angel would want to?” Arthur countered. “Gabriel nearly shit himself trying to stop me from passing through that seal. No. It’s got to be something else.”