The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(97)

“Not without killing me.”

Arthur nodded and tugged Cybele out of the path to the door. Luc strode past them out of the flat. The door closed behind him with the finality of a lid coming down on a coffin. Arthur’s hand, warm and strong, came to rest on the back of Cybele’s neck. She made no protest as he propelled her toward the couch and tugged her down to sit beside her.

He didn’t speak. She was grateful for that. Anything he could say to make her feel better would be a lie, and they both knew it.

“We need to leave too,” he said after a few minutes. “Sooner rather than later.”

“T?’r Cythraul?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“How?” She was glad to turn her thoughts to logistics. “The trains might not be running, at least not reliably. We could probably steal a car, but who knows what the roads are like?”

“I’ll shift,” Arthur said. “And we’ll fly.”

She regarded him gravely. “Are you sure? You didn’t want to do that before.”

“I...understand my magic a bit more now,” he said. “The debacle with the staff notwithstanding. My ancestral memories—even with Merlin’s missing—will help me focus. And we need to get to T?’r Cythraul as quickly as possible. I don’t know how long I’ll have to prepare before Mab shows up.”

“What about the hellfiends?” Cybele asked. “The sky is black with them.”

“A few blasts of hellfire will get us through them,” he said, standing. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

The TV was still on, muted, a silent aerial of the so-called volcanic eruption scrolling across the screen. “Wait,” Cybele said as Arthur headed toward the door. “Let me turn this off first.” She grabbed the remote off the table.

At that moment, the broadcast shifted from the aerial to a split screen. The left screen showed a reporter. On the right...

Cybele’s fingers froze on the remote. “Arthur,” she said in a strangled voice. “Look.”

“I see the bloody bastard.” Angry footsteps crossed the room. He halted by her side. “Dusek.”

The sound of the Alchemist’s name made Cybele feel dirty. She repressed a shudder. “What’s he doing on TV? I thought...I hoped...he’d been killed.” Her fumbling finger found the volume control.

The reporter was speaking. “—and now, for a very different perspective on the volcanic eruption in Wales, BBC takes you to Prague. We’re speaking now with Professor Vaclav Dusek, Founder and Director of the Prague Institute for the Study of Man. Professor, thank you for speaking with the BBC.”

The pallor of the Nephil’s complexion was stark against the high neck of his black sweater. He inclined his head slightly. “Thank you, Reginald. I am honored.”

“Professor, you’ve put forth a shocking alternate theory concerning the eruption in Wales. Will you elaborate for our viewers?”

“Yes, of course. I—”

“Just to clarify, Professor. You are not, yourself, a geologist or volcanologist.”

“Far from it,” Dusek replied. “I am a scholar. A student of Man and his origins. I have devoted my life to the discovery and interpretation of Earth’s oldest artifacts.”

“How can ancient history possibly speak to today’s volcanic eruption?” Reginald asked.

“History speaks, as always, with absolute authority,” Dusek replied. “This unexpected event in Wales has stunned geologists and volcanologists for a very good reason.”

“Which is?”

The Alchemist looked straight into the camera. “This so-called Welsh volcano is no volcano at all.”

“What the fuck?” Arthur muttered.

Twin lines appeared between the reporter’s eyebrows. “With all due respect, Professor. I’ve watched extensive aerial footage of the disaster. I have only to look into the sky to see the ash plume. How could this be anything but a volcanic eruption?”

“Ah, but that is because a volcano is what the denizens of the underworld wish you to see. The truth, however, cannot hide from those with clear sight. That is not volcanic ash spewing into the sky. It is an army of demonic fiends sprung from the bowels of Hell.”

Arthur swore again. Cybele could only manage a gasp.

The reporter appeared no less stunned. “Just to clarify, Professor. Are you saying Earth is under attack? By an army of demons?”

Dusek nodded. “Precisely.”

“But...but...that’s absurd.”

“Is it, Reginald?” Dusek leaned toward the camera. “How can you be sure?”

A half-laugh burst from the reporter’s lips. “Because...demons aren’t real. They’re a myth. Creatures created by human fear and imagination.”

“Oh, no,” the Alchemist replied. “I assure you, demons are very real. They have roamed the Earth since the dawn of human existence. They have ravaged men, raped women, drunk the blood of infants. Their numbers, however, have been limited. Until now. Mark my words, Reginald. The barrier between Heaven and Hell has been breached. A horde of hellfiends is streaming unimpeded into the Earthly realm. These demons will invade human minds on every continent. They will influence and possess billions. Horrible depravities will occur.”