• Chapter 5


    I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know, I'm being tapped on the shoulder repeatedly.

    “Kida,” Vincent said. I jerked up quickly, half in a daze, and wiped the slobber off my chin. Looking at the clock on the dashboard, I saw that it was already 12:00.

    “You got here in three hours?!” He must have been driving way over the speed limit to make it to Chicago in that short of time.

    He shrugged nonchalantly. When I looked outside, I noticed that we were parked in a very small parking area in between two large buildings, one with visibly broken windows and the other with a sign written in a language I wasn't quite familiar with.

    “Where are we,” I asked, my voice slightly slurred. Vincent opened the door and stepped out.

    “A friend-of-mine's house. It doesn't look like he's here yet, though.” I looked at him crookedly.

    “How can you tell,” I asked stepping outside.
    Vincent rolled his eyes and continued walking away. “His car isn't here.” Arching an eyebrow, I shut the car door with intended force and followed Vincent down the sidewalk.

    Chicago was exactly how I remembered it. There were a hundred different smells coming from all different directions: smoke, salt-water, and something a bit stale. Probably the air itself. And the sound of cars honking and people shouting pretty much blocked out anything Vincent tried telling me on the way to his friend's place. I hoped it wasn't anything too important.

    “Kida,” he shouted. “I said stay close to me!” My eyebrows scrunched together, leaving a crease between my eyes.

    “Sorry,” I said sarcastically. “It's not like I've never been here before.”
    Vincent shook his head and wrapped his hand around my wrist, causing my heart to miss a beat. Even now, knowing that he was my half-brother, I couldn't help but get flustered whenever he was this close to me, or when our eyes met, or when he smiled or when—

    I shook my head quickly. I remembered Vincent telling me that he couldn't read my mind, but the suspicion was still there.

    “Here we are,” he said stopping in front of a skinny, four story house, built snuggly against a tall building and separated from another house by a very narrow alley. The paint on the walls was chipping off significantly, and a couple of the windows looked like they could use some replacing, but other than that, there was a comfortable feel to the house. But there was something very nostalgic surrounding the abode, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. It was like I'd been here before.

    Vincent walked up the steps, and after shaking the door handle a few times uselessly, he sighed and started looking under rugs and in small crooks in the wall. “I know he's got a key somewhere.”

    My lips twisted in deep thought, and I couldn't keep myself from looking toward the small alley to the side. Something was drawing my attention to it, and unable to ignore my instincts, I began walking around the house and down the dark alley.

    There was a smelly dumpster on the side of the other house, and I pinched my nose with disgust. As I walked down the alley, something possessed me to run my hand along the side of the bricks. I even began counting subconsciously as my fingers rubbed against the outline of the indentations.

    One...two...three...
    When I got to fifteen, I stumbled sideways as my hand fell through the wall! The discovery shocked me to the point where I threw myself against the side of the other house.

    Did that seriously just happen? Did my hand seriously just go through that wall?
    Out of curiosity, I slowly poked my fingers into the wall until my hand was no longer visible. I shook my hand around a couple of times just to make sure it was safe. Without thinking to call Vincent over, I took a step into the wall, closing my eyes and bracing myself as if the wall might magically close in on me.

    When I opened my eyes, I gasped at the now visible room. The sunlight shining through the openings in the blinds dispersed throughout the room in visible rays of dust, perfectly outlining the excessive amount of objects and furniture scattered about. There were bookshelves everywhere, and some of the books were piled into tall towers on top of dusty tables. Strange and exotic paintings were hung carelessly on the walls, and statues from all over the world were placed randomly throughout the room.

    I coughed a couple of times after gasping in a breath of dirty air and waved away the dust particles with my hands. Despite the uncleanliness, everything about the room intrigued me to the point where I subconsciously took a step forward.

    “What do you think you're doing?”
    I froze in place as a familiar voice called coldly from behind. Turning around shamefully, I braced myself for an inevitable lecture. As I foreshadowed, Vincent was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a stark expression on his face.

    “Breaking and entering? I didn't know you were interested in a life of crime. You're lucky he didn't place any booby-traps,” he said sarcastically as he walked past me.

    I rolled my eyes and decided it would be best to bite my tongue. Something I don't do very often.

    “How did you find this, by the way,” he asked curiously.
    Shrugging, I said, “I don't know. I sort of just stumbled upon it, but for some reason I feel like I've been here before.”

    Vincent nodded understandingly and walked down a narrow hallway where he stopped in front of one of the many bookshelves.
    “That makes sense,” he said casually taking a book off a shelf.
    “It does?”

    He winked at me and opened the book. “You have been here before.” I arched an eyebrow, confused. “My friend and I brought you here through a portal about ten years ago. I'm surprised, though, that you knew about that glamoured spot on the side of the house. I didn't even know that was there.” Vincent narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously, and I suddenly felt like I needed to defend myself.

    “I told you! I just had a suspicion!”
    With a sigh, Vincent turned around and began browsing through books. I knew what Faerie Glamour was because I'd read about it in books and stuff, but it was still a bit shocking to hear. “So faeries really exist, then.”

    He didn't turn around, but I could see the corner of his lip turn up vaguely. “I’ve never seen one.” I arched an eyebrow.
    That’s not answering the question. Letting out a weary and exasperated breath, I walked over to an interesting shelf. It was strangely secluded from all the others. With my fingers, I brushed over the spines of the books, reading the titles to myself.

    Children of the Night...Encyclopedia of Faerie...Field Guide to Demons...
    Then I came across a thick, black, leather-bound book with golden letters stitched on the front: Nephilim: Glataður Sjálfur. I traced the outline of the letters with my fingertips like a blind man might trace Braille. The letters almost seemed to burn my fingertips. I hadn't noticed my hands were trembling until I went to open the book, dust falling off the cover onto the ground. Judging by how stiff and brittle the frayed pages were, it was apparent that the book hadn't been opened in a very long time.

    The text was written in a language I wasn't quite familiar with; however, there were detailed pictures on many of the pages that pulled me in like an insect drawn to light. One of the pages revealed an angel crying to the heavens, a distressed and agonizing expression on its face, its wings half-torn apart and bleeding onto the dead ground below it.

    My heart almost leaped out of my chest at the sight of it: so terrifying, almost nauseating. Holding back the bile in my throat, I hesitantly turned the page a couple of times, browsing through the strange text, until I came upon one picture after another.

    Some displaying a furious storm, creating massive and destructive waves; while others revealed a more triumphant and rebellious image of angels, with their beautiful, inhuman faces, and their extravagant armor, exalting before a group of fainting and pleading women.

    But then I came across the picture of a single woman, whose beauty was drawn so vividly that I thought it might have been an actual photo. She stood alone on a boulder at the edge of the ocean, the sun beaming around her, the waves crashing at her feet. Her hair fell loosely to the ground, and she held her hands up to the sky in a imploring manner. Her face, so angel-like yet so human, wore a mournful and sorrowful expression. A tear shimmered at the edge of her cheek.

    I couldn't read the text surrounding the picture, but I knew it told a tale of tragedy and misfortune. The tale of my ancestors. The tale of the Nephilim. I couldn't help but get choked up at the intenseness of the drawing, and the thought of my mother suddenly flooded my mind.

    “Vincent,” I said a bit depressed. Suddenly apprehensive due to the tone of my voice, Vincent closed his book and looked at me anxiously.

    “Yeah?”
    “What-What was my mother like?”
    For a moment, there was only silence. I was afraid to look at Vincent out of fear that he was scolding me, and I wasn't far from being right.

    When I glanced his way, I saw him staring back at me with an almost vacant expression. It was like he wasn't really looking at me but through me.

    “You're asking the wrong person,” he eventually said, returning his attention to the book shelf.

    My eyes lowered to the ground with disappointment, and I leaned against the wall listlessly. What was the point in persisting? Vincent wouldn't answer my question. It was fairly obvious that he hated my mother. Minutes passed by silently, without either one of us saying a word, but then—

    “You're mother,” he began with a sigh. I looked up quickly to see Vincent leaned with his back against the wall, keeping his gaze fixed to the ground. “was very beautiful.” My eyebrows shot up in surprise.

    There was something odd about the way he said that last statement, bitter and regrettable.

    “Without a doubt the most beautiful woman I'd ever laid eyes on. And although she was very kind and gentle, there was a strong and powerful demeanor about the way she spoke and the way she presented herself.” The image of the woman in my dreams suddenly passed before my eyes. “She was…someone to look up to.”

    My stomach began to knot up as I listened to him: the kind of feeling you get when you see your crush flirting with another girl. I wished more than anything I could see Vincent's face, but because he was looking down, his expression was covered by his hair. I twisted my lips curiously.

    “Whenever she spoke to the council, they all listened. And whenever she walked into a room, everyone stopped what they were doing to watch. She was”—He stopped suddenly and looked over toward me slowly, a shadow passing over his features as he turned.
    “But she was a traitor.” My jaw dropped to the floor.

    “My mother was not a traitor!” I shouted offensively.
    “You wouldn't remember,” Vincent scowled.

    I threw my hands up in the air in an exasperated gesture and stormed past him into what appeared to be a living room.

    “And how do you know what she was up to? Did she ever tell you!”
    I must have stumped him because his face relaxed, and he averted his eyes to the ground shamefully. “No. She didn't,” he said bitterly.

    Surprised by my own wit, I decided to leave the argument with me winning and plopped down on a nearby couch, coughing violently as I got smothered by a huge cloud of dust.

    Vincent sighed deeply and sat down in a love seat across from me, a jaded expression on his face. The exhaustion was apparent in his body language and in his eyes. He looked much older than when we first met.

    “Look, Kida,” he said. “I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry about your memory. I'm sorry about your mother. I just,” he sighed again and buried his face in his palms. “I just don't know how to make this any easier on you.” Although his voice was muffled, I could still hear the sincerity in his words.

    “Vincent.” He looked up at me with tired and dismal eyes, and for a moment I actually felt pity for him. “Vincent, all I ask from you is honesty. One hundred percent honesty.”
    His mouth moved like he was trying to speak, but no words came out. “Kida, I—”

    He was interrupted by the sound of a door opening and closing, followed by footsteps coming around the corner. We both looked as a young man, with striking features and short cropped brown hair walked into the room, an alarmed expression on his face.

    “Vincent?” he asked in a peculiar accent. Like old friends at a high school reunion, Vincent's face lit up, and he nearly jumped out of his seat.

    “Seth!” They laughed as they embraced each other in a tight bear hug and exchanged hits on the back.
    Seth

    So this was Vincent’s friend. I was amazed at how good looking Seth was. His almond shaped eyes and angular features gave the impression that he was of Oriental descent, but his accent sounded more European.

    Seth suddenly looked over at me with a strange expression on his face, something very close to a smirk, and began walking my way. My heart began beating rapidly in my chest nervously, and I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants.

    “Góðan dag,” he said smoothly as he picked up my hand and kissed it lightly with his soft lips.

    When I looked Seth in the eyes, I felt my senses dull all of a sudden, and everything other than him began to blur. I could feel the sweat fall in small droplets down my face, but I wasn’t hot. Without warning, an overwhelming desire came over me and my hands quickly found their way to Seth’s soft , fluffy hair. I don’t know why, but my heart was beating so fast, so irregularly. My breaths were becoming more and more uneven, and I could’ve swore I heard Seth chuckle.

    “Seth,” a familiar voice said. “That’s enough.”
    And just like that the desire subsided, replaced by an uncomfortable confusion.
    What just happened?

    Seth was no longer smiling, nor was he laughing. His face was twisted into what seemed like a snarl! Was he looking at me like that?! Now I was really nervous. It’s hard to explain exactly how hostile the atmosphere had become, but more than anything, I just wanted to get away. Not only that, but I was extremely embarrassed at how I’d acted.

    “Forgive me,” Seth said bitterly. “I couldn’t help myself.”
    My face felt suddenly hot with mortification. How did he do that to me?
    “Kida,” Vincent said apologetically. “This is Seth. My friend.”

    Seth smiled ominously and shook himself, causing what looked like glitter and powder flying all around him. When he finished, it was no longer the handsome brunette staring back at me, but an ashen-haired, purple-eyed, pointy-eared elfin boy giving me the cold-shoulder. He didn’t look any older than maybe fifteen or sixteen, and he had an abundance of silver piercings protruding from his pointy ears, eyebrows, nose, and lips.

    “Hi,” he said indignantly. “Nice to me you.”
    I swallowed tensely. Although this guy looked younger than me, there was a mature and frightening feeling about him. It was almost as if he had some sort of grudge against me.

    “Vincent,” I said carefully, without taking my eyes off of Seth. “I thought you said you’d never seen a faerie before.”

    With a mock-confused expression, Vincent looked over at Seth and asked sarcastically, “Are Elves faeries?”

    Without taking his eyes off of me, Seth replied, “Yes. Elves are considered among the Fey.” So he was a faerie. I’d always thought they’d be more playful like children, but Seth seemed so different from any preconceived notion I had about the Fair Folk.

    “Vincent,” Seth said tersely. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” He looked over at me with a sneer. “In private?”

    I pursed my lips, wounded.
    “Yeah,” Vincent replied unenthusiastically.

    The two walked together into a small room off to the side where there was no chance I could hear the conversation, and I hated knowing that the conversation was about me.

    After about five minutes, I started to get a little antsy. What were they talking about?
    Maybe if I concentrate hard enough. Summoning all the strength I could, I listened intently for any voices, when suddenly all other sounds around me ceased to exist, and I could hear Seth as if he were right in this room!

    “Vincent,” Seth said. “She can’t stay here.”
    “I know that,” Vincent sighed. “I’m not asking if she can.” There was silence for a moment. “I just need your help, Seth!” He sounded desperate.

    “I said I would help you, and I will. But you have to know that I’m taking a huge risk helping you.”
    “But you don’t work for the Order anymore.”
    So he worked for the Order?

    Seth made a sudden noise of annoyance. “I may not work for them anymore, but I’m still under their jurisdiction. Vincent I could be executed for helping you. And they’re already keeping a close watch on me because we were friends.”

    “Were friends?” Vincent asked, upset.
    Seth sighed, and I could tell that he was tired. Just like Vincent. When I imagined what all they’d probably been through, I felt really guilty. Wasn’t I just causing Vincent more trouble?

    “Hold on,” Seth said suddenly suspicious.
    My heart-rate sped up as I realized I might’ve been caught, and when I listened for footsteps, I didn’t hear a thing. No voices. No anything. I slouched down on the couch and crossed my arms, frustrated that they were talking about me behind my back.

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