Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
I cross to the table. “You don’t believe the answer is in those books, or you wouldn’t insist we leave.”
He plops a loaf of bread and a package of lunch meat on the table. “We both need to eat. It’s been a long time since breakfast.”
“It’s been a few hours. Talk to me.”
I’m offered his back in reply as he wrangles two plates, mustard, a knife, and bottled water before he sits down at the table. “Micah,” I plead, excruciatingly aware of him knowing more than he’s telling me.
His brow inches upward, and he simply looks at me, the glint in his eyes telling me I’m losing this battle, maybe more than I know. I sit down. He opens the loaf of bread. For ten minutes, we sit there and go through the motions of making sandwiches and eating them while I remain ridiculously aware of his every move, and not simply because he is the Overseer and the man who appears to hold the understanding of my very self in his hands.
And this damn familiarity between us is somehow connected to whatever is happening to me.
I feel that in my bones. We’re connected. I know it. He knows it. Maybe Celine hates me because she knows it, too.
The Sacred Book of Nephilim
Your mind is both your strength and your weakness. It is the center of all that you are, the source of your magic, the source of potential mayhem. Your mental guard becomes the most important skill you possess. Learn to wear it as a second skin. Fail to do so, and you may very well cease to exist.
Chapter eighteen
The excess attention we both place on the act of eating sandwiches would be comical if not for the degree of awkwardness thickening the air. My nerves are frazzled, the idea of a snake slithering about inside me, or wherever it is supposed to be, scratches about like an itch that cannot be tamed.
Micah reaches for my notebook, scanning my scribbled notes. “You’re thorough, that’s for sure.”
“I’m an attorney. One embarrassingly good enough to get a demon off on the crime of murder. And according to you and that book, I should have known Jeremy to be a demon.”
He glances up at me, his expression indecipherable, several beats passing. I think…he’s considering saying something to me. Clearly thinking better of the idea, he simply flips the page he’s been studying and returns his attention to my notes. Utterly frustrated, I want to scream at him for answers. Instead, I reach for my bottle of water as if a cool drink of nothing will wash away ash and demons, which, technically, it might, should ash land in one’s mouth, as it did mine back in Breckenridge. I consider asking him how much ash one must ingest to die, but I’m not sure that topic plays well with sandwiches.
He taps a page of my notes, indicating something I’ve written. “This here, your question about vampires and sunlight. Vampires are weaker in sunlight, but it won’t kill them. You’ll need to dispose of the fables you’ve heard in the human world. And they don’t turn to ash.” His blue eyes pierce me where I sit. “How do you kill them?”
“You’re drilling me as if I didn’t flip a few pages and look that up. You cut off their head, which I assume requires extreme strength I won’t possess, and isn’t it quite messy?”
“You’re stronger than you think, and no. They don’t bleed. You wrote that down.”
“Do you just leave the beheaded body lying where it falls?”
“You spellcast it away.”
“And even if I had that ability, is there some grand swampland where vampire bodies all float about until magical alligators eat them?”
“Aren’t you funny?” His tone is dry and unamused.
“So funny, I’d say I sound as if I’m drinking, only, according to you, I can’t get drunk.”
“Not on human alcohol.”
“So, there’s non-human alcohol? Are there magical elves creating it? And is there Nephilim money I would use to purchase it? You have to know this all sounds insane to me, and I feel as if that’s exactly what’s happening. I’m losing my mind.”
His expression softens, understanding flitting across his brutally handsome features. “I know this must be a lot to take in. You’ve lived as a human, and humans live in ignorance.”
“Why do you let them live that way? Isn’t knowledge protection?”
“Ignorance is a gift. Why would you want them to live in fear of what they cannot fight? That’s our job.” He lifts the pad with my notes. “And judging from what you’ve written down—the depth and detail—you like knowing the truth, the facts.”
He’s right. I do, and I’m terrifyingly ignorant right now. My throat is thick as I dare seek answers part of me doesn’t want to know. “He spoke to me the way you did. In my head.”