Fallen Angel Part 15

"Well, it's an apocryphal gospel that was written between 300 B.C. and the first century B.C. It is not part of the canon for most Christian churches, except the Ethiopian Christian Church. But many of the New Testament writers were familiar with it, and it is quoted in the New Testament Letter of Jude. These facts have given it some credence in certain experts' minds."

"What's it about?"

"It's about many things."

"Anything in particular?"

"The Book elaborates on a pa.s.sage from Genesis that deals with angels and Noah's flood. It discusses the creation of the Nephilim, as they are sometimes called-half angel and half man-and their destruction at the hands of a very angry G.o.d. Some say that their destruction was the impetus for Noah's flood." He pointed to a carrel jam-packed with books nearby. "I'm sitting just over there. Once you've read it, I'd be happy to try to answer any questions you have."

After thanking him profusely, I sat down in an empty carrel not too far away. I opened up the Bible and read the section of Genesis that my father had summarized. Although the language was dense, it told basically the same story as my dad. I was just about to close the Bible up and open the Book of Enoch when I noticed a footnote at the end of the relevant Genesis section. It read, "The Nephilim were thought to have been a race of giants, whose superhuman strength was attributed to semi-divine origin. They were the legendary worthies of ancient mythology." That sounded eerily familiar.

Then I started on the Book of Enoch. Although most of the language was old-fas.h.i.+oned and really hard to follow, one line toward the beginning was very clear: The fallen angels were in all two hundred, who descended... and these are the names of their leaders: Samyaza, Arakiba, Sariel, Rameel, Armaros, Kokabiel, Tamiel, Ramiel, Baraqijal, Azael, Daniel, Hananel, and Ezekiel.

I froze at the sight of my parents' names-and Ezekiel's. This ancient biblical story was becoming more and more real.

Tearing my eyes away from the list of fallen angels, I turned back to the story. In time, I got its archaic rhythm and began to pa.r.s.e together its tale. The Book told of all the wrong things the fallen angels did, the fury of G.o.d at the angels' creation of the Nephilim, and G.o.d's decision to bind the fallen angels to earth until the day of judgment. It sounded like the story my dad had told me, just a lot longer and lot harder to comprehend.

Certain pa.s.sages jumped out at me. For example, I kept noticing that the Book of Enoch sometimes called the fallen angels "Watchers." I remembered that my mom had called Michael's mom a "former watcher." Were Michael's parents fallen angels too?

But I still wasn't sure what I was. The Book of Enoch bolstered my parents' statements that I wasn't a fallen angel; after all, they were fixed in number and listed right there in the text. The book also rejected the notion that I was a Nephilim; they'd all been killed in Noah's flood from what I could tell. So the book hadn't answered my core question. Maybe there was a whole other category of biblical creatures that I'd overlooked.

I stopped by the carrel of the nice student who'd helped me. We chatted for a few minutes about the density of the ancient texts, and I thanked him again. I nearly reached the stairway when I thought of one last question and turned back.

"a.s.suming that the creatures described in the Bible really exist, would the Nephilim be around today? Or were they all killed in the flood?"

He paused for a moment, and then said, "Actually, at least one biblical expert maintains that a Nephilim will return at a critical point in mankind's existence-the end days."

"The end days?"

"Yeah, the end days-or Judgment Day, as the concept is sometimes called. They're a turbulent time preceding the return of a Messianic figure who'll judge all earthbound creatures and shepherd in a heavenly reign. All three of the Abrahamic religions-Christianity, Judaism, and Islam-contain this notion in some form." He talked as if he were reading from a textbook.

"And this expert thinks at least one Nephilim will emerge around these end days?"

"Yes. In fact, he believes the Nephilim is the creature referred to in the Book of Enoch as the 'Elect One.'"

Suddenly I remembered the predominance of that phrase throughout the book. And I also recalled one of the last lines of the Book of Enoch. It stated that the Elect One will lead at the end of time.

I felt goose b.u.mps on my arms.

"Can you tell me the name of the expert who believes that the Nephilim will return?"

"Sure. His name is Professor Barr, and he's a professor of Biblical Studies at Oxford University in England."

Chapter Thirty-nine.

The campus was growing dark, surprisingly dark for the time of day and the time of year. Almost as if the mere specter of Ezekiel cast a shadow on the whole of Harvard, blackening out any remaining daylight or the glow of the sunset. Or maybe it was just an illusion performed by Ezekiel for my benefit, like a storm cloud following me wherever I went.

As I approached Professor McMaster's building, I scanned it and determined that it was largely empty. Cla.s.ses were over for the day, so I guessed the malingerers were stray students and obsessed professors. I found the same staircase I'd taken that morning and walked up the two flights to the professor's floor.

Pus.h.i.+ng open the heavy staircase door, I stepped out into the darkened hallway. The secretaries' desk lights were off, and most of the professors' offices were closed for the day. The walk down the corridor to Professor McMaster's office seemed long, and I was relieved to see light peering out from under his closed door.

I knocked on the door, all too aware of the tangle of locks that lay on the other side and all too cognizant of the unpleasantness of my earlier greeting. I got no response.

The lights were on, but it was silent. I waited what seemed like an eternity. Had the professor had second thoughts?

Bracing myself to knock again, I finally heard the unfastening of locks accompanied by an unexpectedly cheerful reception: "Please come in, Miss Faneuil."

The door creaked open, and Professor McMaster's grinning face welcomed me in. His expression restored my hope. The thought fortified me. I smiled back and followed him inside.

But what I saw when I stepped inside wiped the smile off my face. In the battered wooden guest chair sat a man with white-blond hair and piercing blue eyes: Ezekiel.

No matter my horrified expression, Professor McMaster had smiles to spare. "Miss Faneuil, I have just been having the most intriguing conversation with your friend, Mister Ezekiel."

So, it was "my friend, Mister Ezekiel" now, was it? I had sensed him and Michael in Harvard Square, but I didn't expect to see him here. After all, he had instructed Michael to wait until I came to them. Why I had any faith in the a.s.surances of evil itself, I don't know.

Ezekiel gave me his sickening smile. Using his most polite tone, he said, "h.e.l.lo, Ellspeth. We've been looking forward to your arrival."

"I wish I could say the same."

Ezekiel ignored my snide remark, and the professor seemed not to hear it at all. He was too fixated on Ezekiel, who said, "I've been telling Professor McMaster all about the interesting link between the fallen angels mentioned in Genesis and the birth of the vampire mythology."

Turning away from Ezekiel in disgust and fear, I caught a glimpse of the professor's face. His eyes positively s.h.i.+ned with excitement at the prospect of studying the true origins of the vampire legend and sharing his discovery with the world; it would be the pinnacle of his life's work. At that moment, I saw in the professor the same unquenchable thirst for knowledge that I'd seen in the young Istvan Laszlof's face, a thirst that caused him to take enormous risks then with his life. And now, he was unwittingly risking his soul, as Ezekiel was determined to turn him toward the darkness.

I stared over at Ezekiel, who smirked knowingly behind the professor's back. He had no intention of ever allowing the professor to divulge the truth behind the vampire legends; keeping the myth alive was one of his most useful weapons. But Ezekiel needed the professor, and he knew that this link between vampires and angels-paired with his formidable powers of persuasion-would sway Professor McMaster toward the darkness. And away from the light of helping me.

As I stood by helplessly, Ezekiel continued with his campaign to procure the professor.

"As I was saying, a most fascinating case presented itself in Tillinghast, Maine. One winter in the late 1800s, five of the fourteen children of a prominent farming family, the Stuckleys, suffered from tuberculosis. The family patriarch, Ezra, witnessed strange beings hovering around the first four of these five children on the eves of their deaths. So he watched over his pitiable fifth child, determined that these beings would not torment his sweet Honour. Unfortunately, one evening, he fell asleep during his vigil. He awoke to the horrific sight of a winged being drinking from the neck of his poor dying Honour-drinking her blood, that is. The creature fled when Ezra discovered him, but it was too late for Honour. You see, Professor, the creature was no vampire. It was one of the fallen angels I mentioned, called Daniel. But even angels have an insatiable thirst for blood. Hence, the legend."

I felt sick. My parents had mentioned an earlier visit to Tillinghast. Could they have been involved in this Stuckley incident? I knew firsthand the powerful lure of blood. Or was Ezekiel just baiting me? More than likely, my parents had been there, trying to help bring the dying over to G.o.d.

As Professor McMaster listened to this nugget of history, his expression changed from mere excitement to utter devotion, and I knew Ezekiel had him. Watching as Ezekiel utilized his skills on the professor made me unexpectedly sympathetic to Michael. Ezekiel's talents were almost irresistible-to anyone but me, it seemed. Maybe Michael was more susceptible than I. Maybe his betrayal of me wasn't a matter of free will.

Witnessing this sick, soul-sucking process, a critical question formed in my mind. Why would Ezekiel go to all this trouble of turning the professor? Why wouldn't he just persuade me-or, better yet, force me-to join his ranks? Suddenly the words of the girl from the courtyard came to me, and I realized that the answer lay in the question itself. Ezekiel went to all this trouble because he couldn't force me to align with him. Unlike Michael, I had to choose Ezekiel.

This compelled Ezekiel to take desperate measures. He had to close down all avenues of escape-my parents and Ruth-and all pathways to information about my ident.i.ty. He had to remind me constantly of his presence and power by using the tricks I witnessed over the past day. He had to leave me with one choice only: him.

Yet Ezekiel unwittingly tipped his hand through these actions. By trying to shut down my access to information about my nature, he told me just how important this information was to my salvation. Why else would he go to such lengths to keep it from me? For about the millionth time, I wished that my parents had told me everything.

But they hadn't. I would have to keep seeking out answers about my ident.i.ty and purpose on my own-although I knew that Ezekiel would follow me wherever I went. Yet somehow, his actions didn't scare me off my quest-as he undoubtedly intended-but made me more determined than ever to embark on it. Even if it meant daring to use Ezekiel's own games against him to gain time and knowledge.

So I mustered up my courage and said, "Professor McMaster, Mr. Ezekiel, I'm so sorry to interrupt this captivating conversation. But I have to go."

"So soon?" Ezekiel asked with that ever-present sneer. As if he knew what I was up to.

"Unfortunately, yes." I turned to the professor. "Would you mind walking me to the door? It looks a bit like Fort Knox."

Professor McMaster tore his eyes away from Ezekiel reluctantly and said, "Yes, yes, Miss Faneuil."

I followed the now-spellbound professor to the door. Although I could feel Ezekiel's eyes boring into my back, I didn't risk a final glance at him.

But Ezekiel wouldn't let me leave without a good-bye. And more. "Farewell, Ellspeth. Give my best to Hananel and Daniel. If you risk a visit home, that is."

I needed to get out of that room. I could feel the tentacles of Ezekiel's evil start to wrap around me.

Slowly, so slowly I thought I would scream, the professor painstakingly undid each lock. When he finished, I touched him on the hand, seemingly out of grat.i.tude. As I did, I looked at him directly in the eyes, and willed him to forget about any information he might have gathered for me. Particularly anything he might know about this Professor Barr from Oxford that the Harvard student had mentioned. I prayed that the professor hadn't told Ezekiel anything already.

I said, "Thank you so much for your help, Professor McMaster. It's unfortunate that you didn't know more about my situation. Or anyone who could a.s.sist me."

When Professor McMaster answered, his voice sounded dazed from Ezekiel's efforts. "Yes, it is unfortunate, Miss Faneuil. But you are a smart young woman, and I am certain you will find your way."

Brus.h.i.+ng up against his hand one last time, I scanned his thoughts and saw that the professor's mind was curiously blank. Had Ezekiel wiped it clean? Had I?

Racing down the hall away from the horror of Ezekiel, I heard Professor McMaster close his office door and then bolt all his locks. I wondered why he bothered. The professor had installed all those locks to keep out the malevolent creatures he studied, but now he had locked himself in with evil itself.

Chapter Forty.

I ran as fast as I could down the two flights of stairs to the building's exit. Only fear of detection by the remaining students or teachers prevented me from actually flying down. Once I reached the main floor, I thrust open the heavy wooden doors and breathed the cold nighttime air, as if I'd been saved from drowning.

The evening sky had turned from dark to pitch-black. The neighboring buildings and businesses had closed, eliminating a major source of light. I couldn't see a streetlamp anywhere. Even with my unusually sharp eyesight, I found the odd, shadowy landscape hard to make out.

Still, I was pretty sure of the route back to Harvard Square, where I could pick up the T to Logan Airport. It seemed that my next step must be meeting with this Professor Barr in London. I didn't think I could just phone the scholar up and ask my questions without being considered a kook or a crank. Anyway, where else could I go?

If my experiment had worked on Professor McMaster, I needed to take advantage of my small lead on Ezekiel and get the next flight to London. I had checked the schedule already and knew that a British Airways flight took off at eight P.M. P.M. If I really hustled, I might make it. If I really hustled, I might make it.

I followed a serpentine pathway leading away from the professor's building, then made a sharp left and right. By my calculations, I should have spotted Harvard Square in the distance, but I didn't. Instead, I found myself in a quadrangle of nearly deserted science buildings. I backtracked a little and tried out another right turn I'd considered. It led me right back to that science quadrangle. How could I be so lost? Desperate, I asked one of the few students I pa.s.sed, and then diligently followed her directions. But I found myself in the science quadrangle once again. Was this another of Ezekiel's games? Or just another unfortunate turn of events in my nightmarish life?

I heard footsteps behind me, but didn't make much of them at first. Then I started to notice that the footsteps were matching my stride. So I took an unexpected sharp left turn as a test. The person followed.

I was scared. What if it was Ezekiel or Michael? I could handle pretty much anyone else. I pivoted and started running in the other direction. I could hear the person gaining on me. I had no choice. I had to fly.

Almost instantaneously, my back expanded, and my body streamlined for flight. My feet had just started to levitate, when I felt a hand pull at my foot. I struggled to kick it off, but the person was strong. I fell down to the ground on top of my pursuer.

"Ellie, it's me. It's Michael," he said, as if that was supposed to be a comfort.

I shoved away his outstretched hand, and pushed myself off him and onto the hard concrete of the pathway. "I can see that. Why would I want to see you?"

"You have every right to be furious with me, Ellie. But it's me-the real Michael." He looked at me with those familiar green eyes, and it did seem as though my Michael stared out through them. But how could I be sure?

"I thought I went to Ransom Beach with the real Michael. But unfortunately, it was Ezekiel's underling."

Very, very gently, he reached for me. Even though it seemed a gesture of comfort, I pulled away. It would take a lot more convincing before I'd let him touch me. "I understand, Ellie. I didn't like what I became either. Do you know how scary it is to watch yourself say and do things you'd never imagine, and be unable to stop?"

From witnessing the transformation of Professor McMaster, I knew that Michael's words were entirely possible. I wanted it to be true. But I still didn't trust him. After all, he'd seemed like my Michael when we flew down the cliff to Ransom Beach-right into Ezekiel's waiting arms. Ezekiel must have turned him the night before.

I crossed my arms, and gave him a thorough once-over. No glazed eyes, no deadened speech, but still, I wasn't certain. "How did you change back to yourself?"

"Last night, your parents came over to my house-to talk to my parents. It was really late, and they didn't know I was still awake. So I eavesdropped on them. For some reason, hearing them talk about you snapped the connection between me and Ezekiel."

I wanted to know what my parents had said, but a.s.sessing Michael's truthfulness was far more critical just now.

"If you aren't aligned with Ezekiel anymore, why are you here in Boston with him?" I asked the obvious question.

"I knew Ezekiel would find you. So I snuck out of the house and called to him-pretending that I was still in his sway. Though it was quite a trick making sure I didn't come into physical contact with him, so he wouldn't discover the truth. He kept saying we should hold off until you reached out to us, but I knew that he'd try to find you. He just couldn't stay away from you."

"Why aren't you with him right now?"

"I knew Ezekiel wanted to meet with that professor you found-to find out what he knew and what he told you. When he went into the professor's office, I told him that I would meet him outside afterward; Ezekiel didn't want me in there anyway. That was my opportunity to break from him and track you down."

"Why did he let me leave the professor's office?"

"Ezekiel probably wanted to finish what he started-either getting information from the professor or turning him into one of his minions. I think he liked the irony of having a vampire scholar in his ranks. Anyway, he can find us again whenever he wants us."

"How does he track us?" This question figured prominently on my big list. I needed to know how Ezekiel could find me, so I could figure out to hide from him.

"Once I started using my powers, I became like a blip on a radar screen to him, as he described it. He and I are somehow linked through our blood. That's what he told me, anyway."

Michael had only answered one-half of my question-the part about him. "But that doesn't explain how he tracks me."

He averted his eyes before responding. "You have my blood in your veins. So he can track you, too."

I felt sick. There was nowhere to hide from Ezekiel because I'd tasted Michael's blood and now it ran in my veins? No wonder Michael didn't want to look me in the face when he delivered that piece of news. "Great."

Michael paused and then pleaded with me. "Please, Ellie. Give me another chance."

I hesitated. I wanted to believe Michael, and it sickened me to think that Ezekiel had put him up to this little reunion. I didn't want to go on this crazy, scary journey all by myself. But after everything I'd been through, I couldn't believe him. Not without proof.

I tightened my crossed arms. "How can I be sure you're telling the truth, Michael?"

"There is only one way to know for certain," he said.

Michael was right. There was only one way.

This was no gentle kiss. This was no soft exchange of tongue and teeth. Michael didn't deserve any tenderness or affection. I was mad at him for his betrayal, whether or not it was consciously done. I leaned over and bit him. Hard. Like a vampire.