perfectly well which creatures—the ones you were serving me up to last time you kidnapped me. I never actually saw them, thank God, but—”
“The Nephilim.”
I shuddered, my memory still imperfect, my instinctive horror very real. “The what?”
“You heard me. They’re called the Nephilim. Creatures as old as time, angels who fell from heaven and went mad in the process. We have managed to wipe out most of them, but a few remain in Australia, others in Asia.”
“I don’t believe in angels.”
He kept walking ahead of me, but I somehow got the impression he was smiling. Which was flat-out impossible—Azazel didn’t smile. “Nevertheless,” he said in a neutral tone, “that is what they once were. Now they are simply abominations, feasting on human flesh.”
A shiver washed over me. “And who is this ‘we’?”
At that he did glance back at me, raising an eyebrow.
“You said, ‘We have managed to wipe out most of them,’” I said. “Who is ‘we’?”
“The rest of my kind.”
“And your kind is …?”
“None of your business.” He’d stopped outside a gray restaurant, the heavy drapes in the windows making it look like a café out of last-century Europe. He opened the door, his hand looking strange on the sepia knob, and gestured me inside.
This odd city might be devoid of color but the smells in the restaurant were rich and strong, spicy. The maître d’ who led us to a table was very old-school in shades of gray—he was dressed in formal wear, his manner punctilious as he held the chair for me. He glanced over at Azazel. “Will you be wanting to see him tonight, my lord?”
That managed to startle me. Why the hell was he calling Azazel “my lord”? A flash of annoyance crossed Azazel’s face. “I have yet to decide, Edgar. I will let you know.”
“Very good, my lord,” he said, bowing himself away from us. I watched with interest. I’d never seen someone actually try to move in thatposition, but clearly Edgar had a great deal of experience.
I turned back to … to Azazel. There were other guests in the restaurant, speaking in muted voices, but no one even glanced in our direction. I assumed that to them we looked as gray as they did; otherwise they would surely be staring at us. In fact, anytime other diners glanced our way, they quickly averted their gazes, as if they’d looked at something they weren’t supposed to see.
They all looked beaten down and depressed. Well, if I lived a monochromatic life in a place called the Dark City, I’d be depressed too. I wondered if they were here because they wanted to be, or if, like me, they’d been dragged here against their wills. Not that Azazel would tell me if I asked.
It couldn’t hurt to try. “What is this place?”
“A restaurant.”
I gave up. It was a waste of time to ask. I sat back, biting my lip in annoyance, and again an expression flitted across his austere face that in someone more human might almost be a smile. “That is much better,” he murmured. “I prefer not to have you yammering at me. Your questions will be answered when the time is right.”
“And I don’t give a good goddamn what youprefer,” I replied in my sweetest tones. Again he looked almost amused. “And what’s so damned funny?”
“Your phrasing.”
“Do you want to explain?”
“No.”
I contented myself with a low growl. I didn’t even ask if he was going to let me order for myself this time. I doubted it. It probably only made him feel superior to shut me down, and I was mortally tired of it. I could be just as taciturn as he could, even if it didn’t come naturally to me. Then again, I didn’t know what did come naturally to me.
“I am not convinced that mortally is the right word.”
I jumped. “Don’t tell me you read minds.”
“Occasionally.” He said it as if it were merely a boring incidental. “You are ridiculously easy to read.” Then he added, “You know you’re not mortal.”
I stared at
“The Nephilim.”
I shuddered, my memory still imperfect, my instinctive horror very real. “The what?”
“You heard me. They’re called the Nephilim. Creatures as old as time, angels who fell from heaven and went mad in the process. We have managed to wipe out most of them, but a few remain in Australia, others in Asia.”
“I don’t believe in angels.”
He kept walking ahead of me, but I somehow got the impression he was smiling. Which was flat-out impossible—Azazel didn’t smile. “Nevertheless,” he said in a neutral tone, “that is what they once were. Now they are simply abominations, feasting on human flesh.”
A shiver washed over me. “And who is this ‘we’?”
At that he did glance back at me, raising an eyebrow.
“You said, ‘We have managed to wipe out most of them,’” I said. “Who is ‘we’?”
“The rest of my kind.”
“And your kind is …?”
“None of your business.” He’d stopped outside a gray restaurant, the heavy drapes in the windows making it look like a café out of last-century Europe. He opened the door, his hand looking strange on the sepia knob, and gestured me inside.
This odd city might be devoid of color but the smells in the restaurant were rich and strong, spicy. The maître d’ who led us to a table was very old-school in shades of gray—he was dressed in formal wear, his manner punctilious as he held the chair for me. He glanced over at Azazel. “Will you be wanting to see him tonight, my lord?”
That managed to startle me. Why the hell was he calling Azazel “my lord”? A flash of annoyance crossed Azazel’s face. “I have yet to decide, Edgar. I will let you know.”
“Very good, my lord,” he said, bowing himself away from us. I watched with interest. I’d never seen someone actually try to move in thatposition, but clearly Edgar had a great deal of experience.
I turned back to … to Azazel. There were other guests in the restaurant, speaking in muted voices, but no one even glanced in our direction. I assumed that to them we looked as gray as they did; otherwise they would surely be staring at us. In fact, anytime other diners glanced our way, they quickly averted their gazes, as if they’d looked at something they weren’t supposed to see.
They all looked beaten down and depressed. Well, if I lived a monochromatic life in a place called the Dark City, I’d be depressed too. I wondered if they were here because they wanted to be, or if, like me, they’d been dragged here against their wills. Not that Azazel would tell me if I asked.
It couldn’t hurt to try. “What is this place?”
“A restaurant.”
I gave up. It was a waste of time to ask. I sat back, biting my lip in annoyance, and again an expression flitted across his austere face that in someone more human might almost be a smile. “That is much better,” he murmured. “I prefer not to have you yammering at me. Your questions will be answered when the time is right.”
“And I don’t give a good goddamn what youprefer,” I replied in my sweetest tones. Again he looked almost amused. “And what’s so damned funny?”
“Your phrasing.”
“Do you want to explain?”
“No.”
I contented myself with a low growl. I didn’t even ask if he was going to let me order for myself this time. I doubted it. It probably only made him feel superior to shut me down, and I was mortally tired of it. I could be just as taciturn as he could, even if it didn’t come naturally to me. Then again, I didn’t know what did come naturally to me.
“I am not convinced that mortally is the right word.”
I jumped. “Don’t tell me you read minds.”
“Occasionally.” He said it as if it were merely a boring incidental. “You are ridiculously easy to read.” Then he added, “You know you’re not mortal.”
I stared at
Similar Books
