Heather Terrell - Eternity (v5)

The spot looked so inviting. A wrought-iron bench sat in one corner, under a weeping wil ow tree. I hadn’t slept the night before, and nothing in the world looked more enticing than that courtyard and that bench. I slowed my pace even more, strol ed over to the bench, and sat down.

For the first few minutes, I just breathed in the calmness of the place and watched the students trickle into class. They reminded me of the feeling of belonging I’d experienced just before I’d glimpsed the possible Ezekiel or Michael, the brief fantasy I’d had about actual y being a Harvard student. I realized that the fleeting playacting might be the closest I would ever come to being a col ege student. How could someone like me—

whatever I was—hope to move past al this drama and strangeness and go to col ege?

I started crying. Pretty quickly, the trickle of tears turned into a torrent, and I was sobbing. Al I wanted was a normal life—a high school boyfriend, a good col ege, supportive parents, and nice friends. Instead, here I was, a sixteen-year-old girl, total y on my own—no parents or friends that I could contact, and certainly no boyfriend to speak of—trying to figure out what I was.

Out of nowhere, a sweet-looking blond girl wearing a Harvard sweatshirt stood before me. She asked, “Are you al right? Can I get you anything?”

Through my tears, I answered. “No, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

Before I could offer her a seat, she sat down beside me. She didn’t actual y touch me, but her presence felt comforting. Almost as if she’d hugged me.

“You know, when you are looking for answers, it is always best to start with the questions.”

“Pardon me?” Her advice seemed an odd choice to offer a sobbing stranger on a col ege campus, even though her demeanor was otherwise soothing.

She laughed a delightful, tinkly-sounding giggle. “I’m sorry. My friends are always accusing me of being obscure. Al I meant was that you look like you are struggling with some big issues. I always return to the questions when looking for answers to a tough problem. Then I start my research.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

The girl smiled serenely and then handed me a tissue. Abruptly, she stood up and said, “Wel , I better run. I’m real y late for class.”

After wiping away the rest of my tears so I appeared somewhat presentable, I looked up to thank her. But the girl had disappeared into the thicket of sidewalks and buildings surrounding the courtyard.

Her words lingered, as did her pervading sense of calm. Maybe she was right. Maybe the answers lay in the questions themselves—in part, anyway. And maybe I should start researching the answers to those questions. After al , I was at Harvard, one of the research capitals of the world.

I stopped the pity party, and real y homed in on my questions, the ones I’d scribbled down on the train ride. More than anything, I wanted to know who I was. I didn’t know whether I was a fal en angel, one of these Nephilim beings, or some creature related to the biblical stories. But I did know that I was important enough that two “good” fal en angels sacrificed their own immortality to raise me as their own daughter. I also knew that one of the “bad” fal en angels—Ezekiel—said that I was destined to rule at his side. I didn’t think his words were mere flattery; given his advanced gifts, Ezekiel could lure any number of people to join his ranks without hyperbole. Whatever I was, the stakes were high. And I needed to find out, to deal with Ezekiel.

Only six hours left until I met Professor McMaster again. I would use the time to prepare—even arm myself—for the coming days.

I left my peaceful little courtyard with reluctance, even though I welcomed the safety of the student crowds. When I final y reached the throngs in Harvard Square, I felt like I’d been tossed a life preserver.

But then I saw that distinctive flash of platinum again. And I knew that evil lurked in the masses as wel as on deserted streets. Ezekiel was here, and he was taunting me.

Chapter Thirty-eight

After consulting a guidebook, I decided to visit the Andover-Harvard Theological Library, on the northeast part of the campus. The guide described the library as containing a preeminent col ection of biblical research materials, one of the largest in the United States. If I was going to find helpful information on angels or other biblical creatures, I guessed the Andover-Harvard Theological Library would be the place.

The directions from Harvard Square to the library were a little complicated, and I was more than a little distracted by any blond passersby. So it took me half an hour to get there, rather than the estimated fifteen minutes. I got more and more anxious with each step; the clock was ticking.

Final y, I spotted the stone gothic building described in the guide: Andover Hal . The hal connected to a building of more modern design, and the library nestled between the two. Fol owing the map, I entered the hal through a center entrance under the gothic tower. I then started down a long hal way cal ed the cloister walk, which was lined in old stones and what looked like discarded church pews.

At the very end of the cloister walk waited a closed door—the library entrance. I opened it with a deafening creak, and then busied myself with a lobby display while I waited for the circulation desk to become busy so I could sneak in. I had read that the library was used primarily by masters’

and doctoral students and, while I might pass as a col ege freshman, posing as a graduate student was a major stretch.

After skirting past the circulation desk and racing up a flight of stairs, I headed into the Houghton Reference Room. I sat at a computer dedicated to searching the library col ections, and placed my fingers on the keyboard. Where should I even begin? I typed in “fal en angels,” but got thousands of hits. So I narrowed my search to the unusual word my dad mentioned: Nephilim.

A few matches flashed on the screen. Other than the Book of Genesis from the Bible—which I had expected—I saw entries for the Book of Enoch. What was that?

I quickly scribbled down the reference number for the Book of Enoch and headed into the stacks. Along the way, I grabbed a copy of the Bible—

an easy matter in a theological library—so I could look at that Genesis quote again. But finding the Book of Enoch was another matter altogether.

The stacks were endless. And overwhelming. How would I ever find this crazy book and read it in my dwindling time?

I must have looked lost, because a nice, but seriously nerdy-looking, student approached me. “Do you need some help?”

I almost said no, but the passing of time nagged at me. I smiled at the bespectacled student, and said, “Thanks so much. I’m looking for a copy of the Book of Enoch. Do you have any idea where one might be?”

“Al too wel . Fol ow me.”

Silently, he led me down two flights of stairs. We entered the labyrinth of a different, larger set of stacks. Fol owing his lead, I turned right and left and right again. Until he came to dead halt. He reached up to a high shelf, plucked down a book, and handed it to me.

The guy knew the book’s location so wel that I figured he must know something about its content. So I thanked him and whispered, “You certainly seem familiar with the Book of Enoch.”

“I better be. Apocryphal Gospels are my area of focus.”

“Apocryphal Gospels?”

He looked at me a bit askance but answered cordial y enough. “Biblical books that were considered for inclusion in the Old or New Testament, but that never made it, never became part of the accepted canon. You’re not a divinity student, are you?”

“No. Is it that obvious?”