Page 57

“Three hundred years,” he announces.

I gape quite literally. “Three hundred years?”

“Yes. Translation, I’m very good at staying alive, and I plan to make sure you are as well.”

I laugh without humor, with pure incredulity, pressing my hand to my face and then letting it fall. “I guess this means I can call you old man.”

“And I can call you kid.”

The mood between us shifts, the air thickening, and the realization that I seem to be alone with him in an unknown world, as in literally alone, and the only thing standing between me and the serpent is him. I trust him. My God, I want him. “Ember,” I amend softly. “Ember. Just Ember.”

The warmth in his eyes of moments ago simmers a degree hotter. “Ember,” he repeats, his voice husky in a way I’ve never heard until now. “You enjoy the books,” he adds. He holds out a hand, and a book appears in his grip. “This one. I think you’ll find it interesting. I’ll give you some time to look around without me standing over your shoulder.” He disappears.

I stare down at the ancient-looking, worn spine of the book resting in my palm and walk to a table near the fireplace, wondering why there are so many seats here. Does the library allow visitors? Are there Nephilim who live here? That doesn’t fit what Micah has told me up to this point, but I make a mental note to ask him later. For now, I focus on the book in front of me, running my hand over the gold seal on the front. I flip it open and read, And so, it began. I start reading, and it becomes clear this is the history of the Nephilim. I flip through the pages, noticing the blue page in the center. Turning to that page, it reads, Part Two: The Aza.

It is written that there is only one true Mordechai Angel, Aza, the one who has the power to protect or destroy but must choose either path. Choice is free will, and free will is a gift or a curse, determined by who yields its power. Influence and temptation are mighty swords, as is the pleasure of the flesh. This Mordechai must choose allies cautiously, must align with the true light, or darkness will fall. The direction this wind blows will be as mighty as the outcome that will frame all that humanity will know and all that it will be. Slaves, soldiers, friends. Enemies, life—or death. For without the one true Mordechai Angel, Aza, all shall perish who do not bow to the darkest knight of them all, the one true Mordechai Demon known as Sabon.

A cry will go out across the Nephilim nation so that all will know the Samyaza, known by many as the Aza, has been born. Bile rises in my throat for no good reason, and my hand trembles. The Aza. Who is the Aza? That’s when Micah appears in the seat across from me, and he’s brought two steaming hot mugs that now sit on the table.

He glances at the page I’m reading, his gaze lingering there for a whisper of a moment, the flutter of a butterfly’s wings, before it lifts to mine. “I see you skipped ahead.” There’s a casualness to his tone, but beneath the surface, I sense an undercurrent of something darker, harder. He lifts his cup to his lips and sips, setting the cup down and asking, “Do you read the last page of the book to decide if you’ll read the rest?”

“Why did you give me this book to read?”

A stack of books appears on the table next to him, and I’m acutely aware of him working to create comfort in me around magic. “You know the history of the human world, which is necessary since we’re their protectors. But you don’t know the history of your own world. You need to know it.”

I draw in a stunned breath and allow the air to trickle slowly from my lips, the words I resist with it. “You think I’m the Samyaza and Jeremy is the Sabon.”

“I don’t know where Jeremy fits into this, but as to you, the answer to your question is yes,” he surprises me by saying easily. “I believe you’re the Aza.”

The Sacred Book of Nephilim

The definition of dangerous is what creates vulnerability in you, what you cannot control. If you allow an enemy more control than you, you’re dead.

Chapter twenty-nine

He thinks I’m the Aza .

For just a moment, it’s as if I’m standing on that mental path between me and Micah again, only he’s not there. There is only darkness, not a firefly in sight, not a glimmer of light. It’s as if my mind is telling me that’s where I belong.

Alone.

With a forceful shove of my mind, I snap myself back to the physical, and with an unmistakable flutter of relief in the core of my chest, I blink Micah into focus. “I’m the Aza,” I repeat. “What does that even mean?”

“Read,” Micah presses, “then we’ll talk. And I mean, read it all. Don’t make assumptions off one line or one chapter.”

“Do we really have time for that? It’s a big book.”

“Time feels the same here, but it is not. For every full day here it’s mere minutes on Earth. And how do I tell you what is in the book when none of us fully understand it ourselves? Read it, and then we’ll talk as much as you want, and I’ll answer every question you ask me to the best of my ability.”

I grit my teeth. “I don’t understand the time thing. At all. And please, just tell me what you know.”

“I’m not going to do that, not yet. I don’t want to influence your opinion. What I surmise from that book and what you surmise may be two different things. This is your life, Ember. You deserve to interpret it your own way. And more importantly, you deserve a chance to create your own destiny.” A book appears in front of him, and he opens it, making it clear he intends to do a little reading himself. “I’ll be right here.”

There’s no pushing him. On that point, I’m clear, and I sigh with the inevitable. There’s a whole lot of reading in my future. For now, though, I sip the coffee with sweet cream and a chocolatey taste, perhaps delaying the inevitable dive into the pages, into my life—the real life I didn’t know even existed. But I remind myself knowledge really is power, and thankfully that saying came from a professor, not one of the people I called my parents, which is a topic I need to discuss with Micah sooner than later. For now, I glance back down at the book with a new perspective. I’m reading about me.

It’s hours later, and I’ve found the library bathroom twice, drank a second coffee that Micah has graciously conjured for me, and found myself wading through volumes of history that read much like the Bible, with ancient text and evasive language referencing the Aza. It’s impossible to find any real meaning to any of it, and I’m in need of food for brainpower. When my stomach grumbles its loud objection to being ignored, my eyes go wide and I press my hand to my belly.

Micah laughs, grinning ear to ear, apparently amused by my discomfort. “See what happens when you mock my gift of food? You’re left to starve in a library in a strange land known to your kind but not to you.”