The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(67)

“I...I don’t know,” Arthur admitted. “I guess I’ll just—”

“Wait,” Cybele said suddenly. “What happened to Jack?”

Arthur looked up sharply. He’d all but forgotten the lad. “He’s got to be somewhere about.”

“I don’t see him.” Cybele scanned the cave. “Where the hell could he have gone?”

A maze of rock formations, punctuated by nooks and twisting paths, rose and fell around the pool. “Could be anywhere,” Arthur said.

“But why would he hide?”

“Good question.”

They moved around the pool, peering into the shadows at the perimeter of the cave. They found a half-dozen or more tunnels like the one they’d come through, but no Jack.

“Damn,” Arthur said. “He could be hiding anywhere.” He paused. “Or anyone else could be.”

“Like whoever told Jack to bring us here.”

“Exactly.”

They rounded a column encased in ripples of milky crystal. A dark form lay crumpled behind it.

“Jack.” Cybele dropped to her knees and pressed two fingers under his jaw.

Arthur stood over her, every sense alert. No movement, no sound, other than the constant drip of water. “Alive?”

“Yes,” she said. “He’s just unconscious.”

He expelled a breath. “What happened? Did he fall? Hit his head?”

Cybele probed his skull. “No. At least, I don’t feel a lump or anything.” She leaned close, and gave him a little shake. “Jack? Can you hear me?”

A deep voice, cold and amused, answered. “He has no need to hear you. The boy has served his purpose.”

Arthur spun about, hellfire crackling on his fingertips. The speaker remained hidden. “Show yourself,” he shouted.

“As you wish.”

A figure, clad in black, stepped from the shadows.





SIXTEEN


“Lucky, Lucky, Lucky! You’re back!”

Yes, Maweth’s foolish friend was back, and he was a mess. He’d burst through the mirror unannounced, tumbled head over heels, and landed in a heap.

“It was so terrrrrrible,” he sobbed. “So b-b-bad of meeee.”

The little guy’s halo was askew and, Maweth thought, a duller shade of gold than it had been. He felt awful. “You shouldn’t have done it,” he said. “Not for me. I’m not worth it.”

Lucky’s head popped up. “But you are. You’re my friend.”

“I’m Death itself. I’m no one’s friend.”

Lucky rubbed his eyes and blew his nose on the edge of his swaddling clothes. “I’d do it again. For you. But oh, I shouldn’t have done it.”

“That makes no sense,” Maweth pointed out.

“It was...so strange...being inside a human,” Lucky said, blue eyes blinking rapidly. “Even one as nice as Jack. I didn’t want to hurt him, but every time he got near one of those Nephilim...” Lucky shuddered. “He hated it as much as I did.”

“So you’re out now,” Maweth said. “It’s over. Try to forget about it.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to do that,” Lucky said doubtfully. “Jack’s still in trouble.”

“He’ll be all right,” Maweth said.

“You think so?”

“I do,” Maweth lied. He really, really didn’t believe that. Not one little bit. The kid was toast.

“But...what about Raphael?” Lucky said. “I don’t even wanna think about how furious he’s gonna be when he finds out I pulled three Nephilim—and poor Jack—through his celestial seal.”

Maweth shrugged. “Who says he’s got to find out? I’m certainly not going to tell him. And I doubt old Dusek’s gonna get chummy with him, either.”

“That just leaves me,” Lucky said miserably. “And I can’t keep a secret for anything.”

***

A figure stepped from the shadows.

Nephil magic pulsed in waves. The power was so strong, Arthur wondered how he could have been unaware of the adept’s presence until that very moment. The newcomer was wiry and tall, clad entirely in black save for the crimson lining of his cloak. The garment billowed gently as he moved.

Arthur experienced a sick jolt of recognition.

“You.” The face before him—pale and gauntly beautiful—lived in his nightmares. “You killed my parents.”

The Nephil advanced slowly, as if stalking prey. Perhaps he was. A shower of light glinted on an ornament hanging from a chain around his neck. A quicksilver mirror. Arthur had seen a drawing of such a disc in an old history of the Nephilim he’d found in his father’s library. The liquid mercury swirled and bubbled, yet somehow retained a solid shape. Strong magic. Alchemy.

He raised his left hand. The middle finger bore a heavy gold ring, bearing a disturbingly lifelike replica of the Nephil’s own face. Its eyes held a glint of amusement. The expression was identical to the one on its wearer’s countenance.

“Why, little Arthur. All grown up. Do you know, you resemble Alwen most strongly.”

A hot wave of rage broke over Arthur. “Do not utter her name.”