Juliet Dark: The Angel Stone

Frank and I followed side by side—as Soheila had planned. She was always trying to arrange for us to be alone together. Since Soheila had renounced human contact, she wouldn’t allow herself to admit her feelings for Frank, and she also thought my attachment to the incubus was unhealthy. In her view, that made Frank and me the perfect match.

“What’s up?” I asked Frank.

“Soheila thinks that Duncan Laird was contacted today by the Seraphim Club in London. White Eagle, our informant in the mailroom—”

“You mean Earl?” I asked.

“Shh. The code names are to protect the network, McFay. White Eagle tells us that Laird received a package today from London.”

“I saw it!” I said. “He had a package on his desk when I was in his office. It had foreign stamps on it. He put it in his file cabinet when he saw me looking at it.”

“Good work, McFay. Soheila thinks it may have information about the nephilim’s plans. Now we just need to get into the office. That’s where you come in. Someone has to break through the wards—and who better than a doorkeeper?”

“I’ll do my best,” I assured him as we joined Soheila at the foot of a flight of stairs. She sat on the bottom step, holding Ralph in her hand. They appeared to be having a conversation.

“Ralph is going to go upstairs and make sure the building is clear. If he sees a security guard, he’ll distract him.”

“Are you sure that’s safe?” I asked. “Those guys are scary. Nicky said today that they look like trolls.”

“Trows, actually,” Frank said.

“A species of troll from the Orkney Islands,” Soheila explained. “They’ve made a compact with the nephilim in exchange for a supply of Aelvesgold. It’s very disappointing. The trows may not be the brightest of the fey, but they were essentially harmless creatures until the nephilim got ahold of them. Once they’ve pledged allegiance to a master, they’re unfailingly loyal. They haven’t a shred of initiative, though, and they’re not quick on their feet. Ralph should have no trouble staying ahead of them, will you, my brave little soldier?”

Ralph squeaked and fluffed out his fur, preening under Soheila’s praise. Apparently, magical doormice were not immune to succubi charm. She carried Ralph up the stairs, inched open the door at the top, and crouched down to let him through the crack. I knelt beside Soheila on the darkened stairwell, peering past her into the dim lobby of Main. I could make out a guard sitting on a chair, tipped back, eating Cheetos, and listening to a baseball game on a small portable radio.

“A Red Sox fan,” Frank muttered. “Figures!”

The guard was so mesmerized by the game that he didn’t see Ralph creeping across the floor until he was practically under his feet. Ralph sat up and squeaked.

“Oi!” The guard shouted, narrowly missing Ralph as he tipped forward in his chair and spilled his bag of Cheetos on the floor. Ralph dodged under his legs and ran a circle around the guard, who spun trying to keep up with him and then toppled dizzily over to one side. Soheila giggled at the sight, but I was too worried for Ralph’s safety to enjoy the spectacle. The trow might have been slow, but he was huge. One misstep and Ralph was mouse soup. But Ralph nimbly evaded the lumbering guard and took off across the floor away from us, with the guard in hot pursuit. We could hear his footsteps pounding toward the opposite side of the building.

“Come on,” Frank said, clamping Soheila on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

A tremor passed through Soheila at Frank’s touch. She pretended to need something from her backpack while Frank took the lead. Glancing at her, I saw a flush of crimson in her cheeks. She looked up at me, her eyes wide, her pupils dilated. “Hurry!” she commanded, expelling a gust of air that nearly knocked me over. I wanted to comfort her, but I knew that the last thing she wanted right now was to be touched by a human, so I followed Frank through the dimly lit lobby of Main Hall, past bulletin boards where the magenta Alpha flyers glowed in the dark with a malevolent radioactive sheen. Soheila caught up with us on the stairs. At the top, Frank held us back with a restraining arm while he checked that the hall was clear, then motioned for us to follow, backs against the wall, to the dean’s office. When we reached it, Soheila stepped in front of Frank and held her hand over the doorknob.

“It’s warded,” she said. “One touch and it will send an alarm signal to Duncan Laird.”

“Then we won’t touch it,” I said. I raised both hands and focused my attention on the door. As a doorkeeper, I could dissolve wards. Ironically, it was Duncan Laird who had commenced my education in wards this past summer. Since then I’d been studying Wheelock’s Spellcraft and had learned how to open warded doors. The trick was to fit the opening spell between the wards, like a skeleton key slipping into a lock.

“Adulterina clavis,” I murmured, sending the words into the spaces between the intricate labyrinth of wards Duncan had erected. I felt the words still tethered to me, navigating around the wards. Something clicked … and the door swung open.

“Brava, Callie!” Soheila whispered. “That was a very sophisticated spell.”

“Yeah,” Frank agreed, entering the office. “What was it? It sounded like adulterous key .”

“It’s a Latin expression for a skeleton key,” I said, beaming with pride.

“Well, if you don’t get tenure, you’ve got a brilliant future as a cat burglar ahead of you.”

Soheila tsked. “Of course Callie will get tenure—once we expel the nephilim, that is.”

“We’ll all be out of a job if we don’t get rid of them,” Frank said, looking around at the array of diplomas that hung over Laird’s desk. “Sheesh, this guy’s got more degrees than a thermometer.”

Soheila giggled. “That’s terrible, Frank.”

“Yeah, but you laughed, didn’t you?”

I was glad to see Frank and Soheila kidding around. I left them studying Duncan’s academic degrees and addressed myself to the filing cabinet where I had seen him put the foreign package. It was warded, as well, but far less elaborately than the door. I easily maneuvered an opening spell around the wards and opened the second drawer from the top. The package was stuck between two folders labeled in Greek letters.

“What’s with all the Greek?” I asked as I pulled out the package.

“It’s the preferred language of the nephilim,” Soheila replied, turning away from the framed diplomas to look at the documents I’d removed from the package. I’d studied Greek in college but never taken to it as well as to Latin. My Greek teacher was a crazy man with a pointy beard, who used to slam the Liddell and Scott lexicon on his desk if we mistranslated a passage of Homer. I passed the documents on to Soheila. “It’s rumored that one of Alexander the Great’s generals was a nephilim and that he used Alexander’s conquests to spread the rule of the nephilim.”

“We think they then held key positions in the Roman Empire,” Frank added, joining us at the desk. “And in the Roman Catholic Church after that. I think I may have had a few as priests when I was in Catholic school.”

“But I thought the nephilim were descended from elves, not angels.”

“They were,” Soheila replied, “but the nephilim weren’t happy with that origin story, so they created the story that they were descended from angels. They believed that when their fathers mated with human women, they created monsters, which the fathers then turned their backs on—the way God turns his back on the fallen angels. They say that when the last elf died, he shed a tear for his children and the tear turned into a stone.”