The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(93)

“I see. But tremors can be also caused by volcanic activity, can they not?”

“That is very true,” Dr. Grant-Barclay allowed. “There are more than sixty active volcanoes in Europe. The Icelandic volcanoes—most notably Eyjafjallaj?kull and Bárearbunga—are extremely active on the boundary of the Eurasian and North American plates. A large volcanic system also exists beneath the Cheb Basin on the German-Czech border, which has, in recent years, seen clusters of quakes and evidence of magma moving toward the surface.”

“No hint of such activity was detected in Wales?”

Dr. Grant-Barclay gave a terse shake of her head. “No. It was not. The Carmarthen eruption has, in a word, astounded the scientific world.”

“The eruption has been going on for more than two days,” the reporter continued. “Can you—”

“What?” Arthur jerked his head toward Cybele. “Two days? Is that true?”

“—an idea as to how long it will last?”

“Unfortunately, no,” the geologist said. “These events are difficult to predict. It may be days, weeks, or perhaps even months before the eruption subsides.”

The reporter received this prognosis with a grave expression. “Thank you, Dr. Grant-Barclay, for your insight. We go now to Glangwili General Hospital in Carmarthen, for a report on casualties. We’ve received word that the hospital, which lies just two miles from the eruption, is in the process of evacuating all its patients to Swansea—”

“Enough babble.” Luc pointed the remote at the TV. The sound cut off, though the picture played on.

“Two days.” Arthur eyed the silent screen where a new reporter was attempting an interview with a harried doctor amid a panicked stream of gurneys and wheelchairs. “Two fucking days.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’ve really been out that long?”

“More like a two and a half days,” Cybele said.

From the dark circles under Cybele’s eyes, he guessed she’d been awake much of that time. “No wonder I’m so goddamned thirsty,” he muttered.

Luc disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with water. Arthur drained the glass and set it down on the coffee table. He hoped his stomach wouldn’t heave it out again.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Do you want more?” Cybele asked.

“Not right now.” He rose, swaying dangerously. Cybele jumped up to help him. He waved her off and made his way to the window. He peered skyward through the glass.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He turned and sagged against the wall. “There must be millions of those things up there. Because of me.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Where the hell are we, anyway?”

“London,” Cybele said.

“How?”

Cybele and Luc exchanged glances. Neither looked particularly anxious to answer. Arthur’s attention sharpened. “What’s going on?”

“Go ahead,” Luc told his sister, “tell him. See if he can make any more sense of it than I can.”

Cybele sighed and did as her brother asked. When she’d finished, Arthur regarded her with frank incredulity. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “While I was fighting Raphael, the Archangel Michael saved you from Dusek? And then threw me and Luc into the bargain just because you asked him to?”

“That’s what I said,” Cybele said irritably. “Because that’s what happened.”

“I don’t doubt that. You could hardly make up something so ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Cybele’s tone took on a sharp edge. “What’s so ridiculous about you not being dead?” She crossed her arms. “You know, he said you wouldn’t be grateful.”

“He was right,” Arthur said. “This whole business is dodgy. No archangel doles out free favors to Nephilim. Michael must have some kind of agenda.”

“That’s just what I told her,” Luc said.

“I have no idea why he did it,” Cybele said, her eyes sliding momentarily away. She fiddled with the end of her braid, and then flipped the long rope over her shoulder. “I was too busy worrying about both your asses to ask him.”

“The archangel didn’t stop with saving our lives,” Luc said. “He left us Merlin’s staff.”

Arthur went still. “The staff? It’s here?”

“Yes. Luc left it in the kitchen.” Cybele unfolded her legs and rose from the couch. A moment later she returned, carrying the two halves of Merlin’s staff.

Arthur stood as she approached. “It’s broken?”

“Michael said Raphael cracked it in half with his sword.” Cybele handed him the pieces. “Don’t you remember?”

“No. Not really.”

“Michael also said you might be able to mend it.”

“Fucking Michael again,” Arthur muttered, ignoring Cybele’s scowl as he examined the broken staff. He ran his hand along the twisted wood but felt nothing. The crystal, which he’d last seen brilliant with Merlin’s magic, was dark.

“Luc’s right. Why would Michael give this to me? His brother nearly killed me over it.”

“He thinks that if you can make it whole, you may be able to drive the hellfiends back into Hell. Like Merlin did.”