Chapter Seventy One

Agitatedly, Ariel paces the room. Her wings twitch and jerk upon her back rather than the rapid folding and unfolding of both Raffe and Audiat. The cunning eyes of her cherubs watch her pace from all corners of the room, their babyish heads suspended on their sleek catlike necks, turning, watching, stone-faced.

A cold stone is settled in my stomach. Despite myself, I can't help but selfishly think back to the moment where Lucius had stolen a kiss – a cold, clammy kiss. The awful taste of his poison tangs against my tongue at the memory. How closely had I brushed death? How easily could he have killed me?

"I don't understand it," Ariel growls for the millionth time, pulling to an abrupt halt and glaring at her reflection in our mirror. "Why? Why did he kill Lucifer? Why now, of all times?"

"He probably didn't have a reason," Hugo sighs, glancing up from his laptop screen, the clicking of keys not even stammering. "Keeping Lucifer around was really more of a convenience to him. He surpassed Old Satan's power long ago. Probably wanted to stay out of politics, maybe sheer laziness. Only Lucifer pissed him off. And now there's Theobella and the Tyab'la. Stakes are higher."

"We don't know if he's actually King, either," I add. Ariel looks up, looking astonished to hear me speaking. "Jane speculated that. He never confirmed it. There's probably as much political turmoil down there as there is over Gabriel."

Raffe glances up and flashes me a proud smile, but his face almost instantly moves into its former anxiety.

"Penryn raises a valid point," Hugo hums, clicking obnoxiously on something. "However, I don't think we should be worrying about him at all."

Ariel swirls around, her magnificent gown billowing outwards. "At all?" she repeats, eyes wide, lips twisted foully.

"No." Hugo's eyes fleetingly meet hers. "Worrying about the inevitable will get us nowhere. No, what I'm saying is that we close onto a little piece of information Jane forked over to us."

Raffe barks out a sharp laugh. "She gave us a lot of information, monkey. No way we can take out one little snippet of it."

"She gave us a whole lot of bullshit," Hugo corrects, rolling his eyes. "Whole, heaping tons of it. Didn't you see? She was biding her time. Feeding over useless information, none of it untrue, but none of it really mattering. Lucius and Jane are two extraordinarily powerful telepaths – it'd be so simple for them to communicate while they were both out, for him to tell her to bide her time. There was only one thing she let slip that's really interesting to me."

Audiat lifts her head, baffled. "I only got a small run-through of everything she said and I can think of a few more."

"The inevitability of death, the cruel fate of our universe, good versus evil doesn't exist, blah, blah, blah." Hugo releases a heavy sigh. "You're all so bland. We can't do anything about that. She's just meaninglessly stressing us out. I'm more interested in the fact that Theobella is the one running the show."

"Is there a difference?" I inquire softly. "The… the one with Bryon called herself Theobella, too. And… and I don't want to meet that one again."

"Nor I," Hugo amends, "but there's a difference, a definite difference, between the Tyab'la and Theobella, even if she doesn't call herself Tyab'la. Theobella was the one that you protected from Pigeon-Bat that one night. It wouldn't surprise me if she's protecting you now from her malevolent counterpart."

Slowly, Ariel nods, comprehension dawning in her eyes. "Yes… yes! That'd explain why Ogden has yet to make an appearance, if he truly is the Tyab'la's new puppet."

"You want to befriend Theobella," Raffe says flatly. "No."

"Oh, please," Hugo snorts.

"That is a terrible idea!" he shouts, curling his hands into fists. "The last thing we need is another monster on the loose!"

"Like you could stop me," Hugo sings, lifting his gaze from the laptop to grin nastily at Raffe.

"She's already on the way, isn't she?" Ariel sighs, raking a hand crossly through her hair.

On the contrary, I never really left.

I jump backwards, eyes flailing about the room until I spot her glowing blue eye, peeking through the slim leaves of a houseplant atop a wardrobe. Body like a bronze coil, she slinks from out of behind it, twirling down the wooden doors to land gracefully on the floor. Audiat squeaks and darts backwards, being the closest to the little dragon.

"Ah, yes, thank you for meeting us," Hugo says, shutting the lid of his laptop and shoving it aside. He pops his knuckles and stands, the wicked grin not yet wiped from his features. "I figured you'd be watching over Penryn after that display downstairs, correct?"

Theobella's eyes skate from Hugo to me then back again. Correct. She shall not be harmed.

"Good, good," Hugo says, nodding. "We'll just add your name to the chart of supernatural beings looking after Penryn. Now, since she's on our side, would you think of maybe –"

I will be your ally. Her eyes narrow, and her tail twitches irritably. No need to sugarcoat it.

"Ah – good!" Hugo nods some more, grin fading, replaced by a more reserved expression.

"So tell me, Theobella." Ariel crosses her arms over her chest, glaring with narrowed eyes down at the dragon. "Who truly owns this aerie – me or you?"

Michael. Theobella cocks her head towards Ariel. A sparrow's and a wolf's territory can overlap without error. However, the sparrow's will always be overwhelmed by an eagle.

Ariel's lips twitch into a smile. "Clever."

"Excuse me, but, um." Audiat shifts forward again. "You made it seem like you never left. What… happened with you and the other one?"

Ah, yes. Reaching forward, she stretches like a cat, the scales along her spine rattling. I am a younger version of her. If she killed me, she herself would've ceased to exist. However, I can kill her without fear of time's wrath. Once idle curiosity wore off, it was child's play to drive her off this patch of land.

"How much will it take for us to boot you off?" Raffe snarls distrustfully, positioning himself not very subtly between me and her.

She whistles playfully, almost as if laughing, and my gut pangs with the nostalgia of it. More guns than you've got. I think Lucius himself would have to kick me off of these grounds.

"Which he won't do," I say slowly, meeting her gaze and watching it soften. "Right? Because…?"

Because I am protecting one of his precious wives.

Raffe growls in the pit of his throat at that.

"How is that thing going between Lucius and the Tyab'la?" Ariel muses. "I know I shouldn't be one to worry about it, but I'm curious. Those poor girls were my girls."

The Tyab'la is struggling to get ahold of the situation. She is failing. She has lost her only secure pegs, both at her own cause. Lucius has moved into a tier of power.

"So…" I tilt my head to one side. "Is Lucius catching up to her, then? In their war thing?"

Both Theobella and Hugo turn to stare at me. "Penryn," Hugo laughs breathily, "why would you ever think Lucius wasn't in the lead?"

Not only in the lead, but blazing ahead. Nervously, Theobella opens and closes her wings. On planes of existence we cannot see, cannot feel, cannot even sense, but that is what makes him so powerful.

"The Tyab'la is frightened," Hugo continues, cracking a wry smile. "Hell, she's terrified. Remember what Jane said? She pulls things apart to see how they tick? She pulled apart two of her best assets, Gabriel and Bryon, and she's no closer. Penryn, she was trying to understand the third 'dimension'. How far behind is she if Lucius is on the fifth?"

The other me has only died a dozen, give or take a few, times in her lifetime. Theobella shudders, getting smaller, staring at her feet. I cannot even fathom how many times Lucius has been beat to death. Raped to death. Starved to death. Hell was not a kind place for a beautiful young boy.

"They get more powerful every time they're killed." Pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead, Hugo sighs. "Lucius is… he is without a doubt a trump card. Not only is he powerful enough to make us quiver in our boots, but he's got all of Hell's bitter armies behind him. He was always popular with the Fallen. Sympathetic. Bay liked him. They'll rally behind him."

And the rest will follow. She lifts her head and meets my eyes again, scales lain flat with fear. Like I've said. The only reason I'm allowed to make a miserable life eating field mice in these walls is because I protect you. Lucius is undeniably the most powerful piece on the board.

"I don't like it," Ariel harrumphs, glaring into the corner of the room. "Hell's armies have always had a lot of muscle. That's why Michael was trying to negotiate with Lucifer before this mess began in the first place. But this? How can we be sure that he'll leave us alone?"

"Us meaning the she-angels?" Raffe challenges, glaring at Ariel. "Have you ever considered what devastation that bastard might wreck over the rest of your species?"

"Yeah," I pipe up despite myself. "Hell, it might even be as bad as the havoc wrecked on our cities by both of you bitches."

Ariel has the good-naturedness to look ashamed, one arm going to clutch at the other, eyes downcast. Raffe, however, glares at me hotly, his eyes channeling a "you're not helping" vibe if I've ever seen one.

Hugo clears his throat. "Moving on," he says, turning to face his computer, "do you know what happened to Jane? She went poof and I'm not sure where the poof went to."

Theobella smiles slightly. She's with Scruffy currently. I didn't get too close. She dislikes my presence.

"I don't blame her," I mumble.

Seeming stricken, Theobella rapidly scales the wardrobe again, puffing out with alarm. Do you dislike my presence, Penryn? Do you?

"Um." I stare at her dubiously. "I don't really know who you are anymore. Sorry?"

"Let's focus," Hugo says. "Okay, I'm going to contact Luther. Him and Bay were acquaintances, I'll begin a conversation that way, and fish for information. Raffe, scurry off and console Michael – get on his good side while he's weak and while Uriel is contemplating the universe."

"That seems a bit…" Audiat shakes her head. "Okay, I suppose it'll work. What do you want me to do?"

"Raise morale," Ariel purrs, stepping forward. "You're beloved by the she-angels and coveted by the hes. Keep the spirits high. Console the grieving. Remember what Bryon used to say, little flower?"

Her eyes light up. "'The best fed army wins,'" she recites, nodding. "Keep an army happy with full bellies and they'll take you to victory. Good idea. I'll get on that right away."

She dashes off in a flash, leaving the door open. Raffe prowls after her, glaring at Theobella where she perches. When at last he disappears through the doorway, I heave a sigh of relief – I don't need Raffe pissing a God-dragon off.

"Should I speak with Lord Makiel?" Ariel inquires, blinking repeatedly. Glancing quickly at me, she adds, "I can input the will of the rightful heir of the Nephilim throne, if you wish, Penryn, and try to hammer out a deal."

"Good idea!" Hugo regales. "I mean, if it's okay with you, Penny Poo – you want Ariel to deal with Seraphim politics while we deal with Nephilim politics."

I shrug. "Sure."

"Excellent." Hugo strides towards me, linking our arms together. "Ariel, finalize nothing until we have inspected every inch of it, alright?"

"I shall," Ariel concedes, nodding elegantly, sparing me a graceful smile. "Good luck, you two."

And I? Theobella shifts her weight from side to side. Is there any particular reason you called me here?

"Oh, right!" Hugo grins nastily. "Kill off those angel girls, will you? The ones Jane was using? I want the trail to go cold for ol' Michael, and, well, you're the best weapon to do that with. 'Kay?"

Consider it done.

"Lucius." Ariel pauses by the balcony window, at the doors thrown open. Her heart stumbles nervously for a few pulses, but then calms. "It isn't wise to stay much longer around these parts. Word will spread. You will be hunted here."

He takes a while to respond. A long while. Ariel frowns, staring at the tense creases in the back of his usually immaculately ironed suit, eyeing the dirt at the bottom hems of his slacks. Her mouth peeks open with shock at the stray string flying free from the stitch line where the arm meets the shoulder.

What she feels is not worry, she convinces herself. There is no reason for her to be worried about this terrible creature. But just as Raphael butters up to the weak Michael, perhaps…

"Is everything alright, Lucius?" she asks, politely but not stiffly. "You seem… not yourself."

"We all have dry spells." Lucius's fingers trail along the silver-trimmed railing. "This balcony is disgusting, by the way. Do you ever clean it?"

"I don't." Ariel cautiously steps forward, and does so again, and again, until she is standing over Lucius's shoulder. "Something is decidedly the matter with you, and, seeing as there is a bit of a manhunt out for you, perhaps this isn't the best place for you to sulk."

He sighs irritably through his nose. "Oh, bother. What are the pigeons going to do to me? Kill me? Good luck with that. I should know, I've tried."

And to that, Ariel has no answer.

He interprets his silence as something other than horror and sympathy, something other than worry, and stands stiff as a board, face still turned away. "You raise a valid point, Ariel. Forgive me for being rude. Good day."

"No, wait," she insists, stepping forward and catching his arm. "You are sad because of Bryon, correct?"

It is Lucius's turn to be silent, a silence that says more than words ever could.

"He always did have a soft spot for you," Ariel recalls, her eyes moistening slightly with the memories. "Do you remember the first angelic ball he took you to? When you were little more than a boy?"

"I had the most massive crush ever on Maion," Lucius says with a gruff chuckle. "It's painful to think about, really."

"Really?" Ariel lifts both eyebrows. In her memory, the pale child had been bashful, but she'd never read into it as anything more than a child's oddities. "Well, I don't believe that went anywhere."

Lucius laughs, less gravelly this time, and it's a strange sound to Ariel's ears, but not a wholly unpleasant one. "Yes, well. She's happy now. That's what matters, isn't it?"

"Hmm." Ariel's eyebrows lifting further. A slow smile spreads over her face. "Lucius? Come along with me, why don't you? I need to take care of some business with the seraphic leaders, and then perhaps we can forge out a treaty between my she-angels and yours."

He pauses for half a second. "I do not believe I am officially yet able to do anything long-lasting, but I can promise you my word."

"That will suffice." Ariel turns heel. "Come along. I'll lead the way."

And, as Lucius turns, his spine straightening and posture correcting into its usual cocky stance, Ariel catches the slight swipe of his pale fingers wiping beneath his eyes over her shoulder. Knowingly, she smiles where he cannot see, her heart heavy with sympathy.

Ariel does not like Lucius. She likes nothing of him. However, she has grieved alone too many times to let him go through the same ordeal.

"Alrighty." Gently, Hugo shoves me down into his plush armchair. "Penryn, I'm gonna click away on this laptop on the bed for a while, okay? While I'm doing that, I need you to look through this."

"This?" I repeat, confused, a moment before he shoves a giant notebook into my arms. With an oof, I cradle it on my lap, squinting at the name. "What the hell?"

"It's a book of all the notable Nephilim leaders," Hugo explains, snuggling up on his bed, laptop lid swinging open. "If you're going to win their favor, you're going to need to know who they are."

"That… makes sense." My fingers clench around the edges of the cracked cover of the notebook. "How does this government work again? I'm so confused."

"Hmm." Hugo frowns, tipping his head back and forth. "To be honest, there weren't really set rules, which is for sure going to be a downfall. Basically, Bryon was the headman and his word was law, but he had little minions and little chiefs to help carry out his will. He hand-selected each of them and allowed them to do whatever they wanted for the most part, but he was almost a god to these people – they would've thrown down anybody for him. Never any danger of rebellion."

"What about succession?" I wonder, tracing a finger down the cover.

"Well," Hugo says, frowning, "he did choose successors throughout the years, but they all died. With all that's been going on, he didn't have the time to name you as an official successor. Most of those people in there are likely candidates for alternate leaders."

"Memorize them to crush them?"

"Precisely." He winks at me. "You're picking up quickly. Now, listen here – these Nephilim have varying assets and negatives, and I'll give you a brief rundown of what you're looking for. Usually, the more powerful the angel, the more powerful the offspring – for example, Sariel, an angel that had a high standing in the hierarchy and was quite powerful even for his level, fathered arguably the best Nephilim in history, Bryon. That's why fathers and their powers are listed next to their names."

I flip the book open to the first page, opening it up to a Alkaev, Natasha. "Okay, this lady is a daughter of Ezekiel, he's… a commander of a legion of heaven. Good?"

"Very good." Cracking a smile, Hugo shakes his head. "Ezekiel is here, actually. He's that sharp angel with the maroon wings. Now, look at Natasha's age – it is Natasha, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's Natasha." Beneath her parentage is indeed a number, but it's not quite one I can comprehend. "Um, Hugo? Says here she's 2,349 years old."

"Nephilim live long lives," he reminds naggingly, rolling his eyes.

"Right, right." I frown. "Let me guess – the older, the more powerful?"

"As a rule of thumb," Hugo amends, tilting his head back and forth and pursing his lips indecisively. "Really, it depends on their strength. Nephilim grow their whole lives, y'know, and not all of them have slow growth rates like Bryon and Ogden. Both of the titans had enough time to develop bone density to carry themselves and muscle systems, nervous systems, brain systems to adapt as well. Once you start getting into six digits, you've got to be careful and check their beastly attributes."

"Alright." Quickly, I scan the rest of the page – it has scrawled notes about backstory and stature, abilities and lacks of ability, weaknesses and strengths. In the margin, there's a few handwritten notes about how she likes this cake or how she enjoys her hair to be complimented, and there's a spot just behind her ear in her Nephilim form she loves to be scratched, but there's nothing on the Nephilim form itself.

"Hey, Hugo?"

"Next page."

"Oh." Blushing, I flip the page to find a few rough sketches, one of her entire body from the side predominantly sprawled across the page. The woman looks like a leopard, lean and lithe, with a short tail and plates like armor along her spine. A few figures of height and weight are listed. She's twenty-seven feet long but only eighteen high. I try not to think about it too much.

"See, that's the gist of it." Hugo chews on his lip. "All those notes that Bryon scribbled all over on that last page? That's everything you have to know about her persona, her political agenda, and how to win her favor. I tell you, Bryon was a sneaky dog."

I hesitate, fingers ghosting over the date in the corner of the page. 2006. "Hugo? Is my dad in this book?"

Hugo's brow furrows, and he glances up at me, curious. "You know what your dad looked like, Penryn. And it's not like he's got many political agendas from beyond the grave."

"No, I…" I hesitate, tucking my chin a bit. "I just want to know what his Nephilim thing would've looked like. There's… an entire chunk of his life I have no clue about."

The boy is silent for a moment, and, when he lifts his head, I can see the acute sparkle of pity in his eyes. "Of course. It's organized in alphabetical order. Just go to the Y's."

I comply, and, sure as hell, after sifting through the pages, there my father's face is – it's done with gentler lines than the Russian's had, his eyes seeming much more lively, perhaps because of closer acquaintance. There's not much jotted down beneath his name – I suppose I wouldn't need to take many notes on Paige, either.

One note reads that he doesn't work well with people, with a pen of a different color marking several question marks and my mother's name beside that. Another says that he can't swim real well in his Nephilim form. A third suggests that Bryon not bring him to any important peaceful meetings, given a "feisty, asocial" personality.

I crack a smile. Sounds like dad.

Fingers quivering slightly, I flip the page.

He was built a lot like a wolf, I realize. His wings were long and mottled like a hawk's, grey and silvery. Around his neck was a magnificent ruff, almost like a mane. Bryon's notes say that it made it impossible for the fangs of rival Nephilim to reach his live-giving veins in the neck. From behind his ears grew two of the horns I've begun to take as a Young family signature, though his are longer, more slender than Bryon's had been, and a jet black color. His paws had been huge with reinforced padding, excellent for running long distances over rough terrain.

I trail my fingers along his picture longingly. As much as I'm glad I had that separate life away from this chaos as much as possible, I do wonder what it'd been like if he'd raised us with Bryon. How close would I have been with my uncle then? Would I have been able to ride on my dad's back like Bryon says you're able to in his notes?

Reluctantly, I turn to the front of the book, and start again.

I notice a few things while flipping through pages – most of Bryon's officers seem to be female, for one. Most of them seem angelic parents high in the hierarchy, too – like Hugo'd said, more powerful angels create more powerful babies. Most of them fade into a blur of names and features, but a few stand out in my mind.

Anoushka Chada, a woman from India that fought off an entire legion of angels in her youth but took no credit for it, instead becoming a hermit and meditating for thirteen years before Bryon found her and enlisted her. Lin Zhang, a fearsome golden serpent responsible for creating most of the dragon imagery in Chinese culture. Jersey Leeds, one of my own bodyguards and a good friend of Emilio's, the New Jersey Devil.

I'm in the middle of reading about the fierce Scottish Nephilim that occupies the Loch Ness and his furious outbursts if he's called anything remotely similar to the nickname "Nessie" and his son living in lake Champlain when I'm interrupted.

"Hey, you got a special message from Luther," Hugo says, plopping down next to me on the couch, holding out an earbud. "Apparently, he got some demon dude from downstairs to do some digging into Lucius's past wives. This is what he found. Wanna listen to the audios?"

Immediately interested, I turn my eyes to the screen, waiting anxiously as it loads. "Sure. What's it from?"

Hugo shrugs, "Asylums, I think, but I'm not certain."

"Oh."

And, just like that, the recording begins – it's not the best quality, but it's not terrible, either. I listen intently, hoping to figure something out about my future, and Mom's past. A woman speaks in a jittering, nervous tone, responding to questions from a calm, nasally-voiced male.

"Ma'am, do you remember what attacked you that night?" the man asks genteelly.

"Oh, no," the woman trills anxiously. "It wasn't an attack. He approached – he – he stalked – approached me in the middle of a bad situation. My mother – she cheated on my father, and was going to abort. He offered a better way. He told me he could save the baby."

"What did he tell you exactly, ma'am?"

"That he could save the baby and their marriage."

The man pauses, and I hear the rustle of a pen scribbling notes on a paper. "…His exact words?"

"Silly, I can't remember such things!" The woman releases a high peal of nervous laughter. "Actually, I don't remember much more… not thoughts, at least. Just the strangest emotions."

"Oh? What else do you remember, Ms. Kilby?"

"I remember – I remember hearing a little boy screaming. Which is strange, because my mother was going to have a girl. I remember feeling… so angry, so depressed, so desperate. Sir, you have to believe me. The Devil made do it. I know that sounds crazy, I know that I'm probably slightly crazy, but –"

"Calm down, Ms. Kilby!" he warns sternly.

"No!" she shrieks, collapsing into sobs. "It was going to be my sister, why would I do that? I would never attack my mother! Never! It wasn't me! It wasn't me! He moved me like a puppeteer, he whispered in my ears, sir, whispered things of sorrow. The Devil told me what a world I was going to give to the child. He made me – he made me relieve it of this cruel world!"

The sound of something hitting a wall or the floor thuds over the sound of her voice, followed instantly by a shriek of pain. The man's voice calls out for help, and the first recording ends.

"Hmm." Hugo begins to load the second audio clip. "That was… strange."

"I remember her," I recall, a shudder going down my spine. "She was one of the women that my mom had newspaper clippings about. …I think she clawed the fetus from her mother's stomach after knocking her unconscious. Jesus."

"She needs him," Hugo agrees grimly. "Oh, wait, shut up, the next one's loaded."

"Mrs. Cynthia Jones, do you remember the first time you met the Devil?" the same man asks, sounding sufficiently more patient this time.

"Oh, he isn't the Devil." Instead of a harried, frightened little girl, this one has a strong voice, the vocals you'd expect on an actor or maybe a queen. "The Devil is an idea. The Devil is the physical incarnation of evil. However, since there is no such thing as pure evil, there is no such thing as a Devil."

"Well, then, what do you call him?" the man asks, intrigued. "Does this demon have a name?"

"Careful, now," the woman cautions, "or else they'll throw you into a ward too. He has never told me of any name. If you want my opinion, you can't name something like him. I'm sure civilizations past have titled him many things, many different godlike names, but it seems disrespectful to me, giving something like that a puny mortal name."

"Hmm." The man scribbles something down. "Tell me, Mrs. Jones, what did you feel when you looked into this demon's eyes?"

"Well, it wasn't so much what I felt, but what I saw." Cynthia's strong voice quavers. "It was… agony. I heard a little boy screaming, screaming for his mother. I saw a woman with a face as white as snow, as white as his skin, bleeding terribly. I heard her heartbeat pounding in my ears, listening as it grew louder instead of softer until it faded. The pain was… it was unlike anything I've ever felt before."

"Can you elaborate any further? Did you see anything else?"

"Quit interrupting me, codger! …Yes, actually, I did, though. That agony turned to hatred and a thirst for vengeance. Immensely powerful – maddeningly so. I remember my gaze lifting, and seeing – seeing this dark shape. There were these – these two awful eyes, framed against the moon, both glowing like they held their own light. The terror returned then, and then… well, I suppose it drove me mad. That's why I'm here, correct? I'm mad?"

"Yes, Mrs. Jones, I'm afraid so. Can you tell me anything else about the demon?"

"He's not all that tall, rather short, actually, and is pale as snow. Don't ever, ever look into his eyes. Beware the King of Hearts." The woman chuckles gravely. "Dearie me, sir, but you truly are in over your head on this one. I was the CEO of a successful business, doing great in life, raising three children to be the best children, both athletically and academically. You? You're a sad, old man with nothing but his work. He's going to use that."

"Right." A slight venom enters his words. "Before I go, Mrs. Jones, can you tell me why you murdered your children?"

"Honestly, I'm frankly surprised you didn't start with that question." I can hear the smirk in her voice. "I don't regret it, sir. After feeling that poor little boy's emotions coursing through me… no, I couldn't bear to let my children live. I would rather let them die than feel that way. To think that they would be subject to such terror, such pain, drove me mad, as they say. I would go back in an instant's time and do it again.

"Because that blue-eyed man is still out there, you know. That's why the demon's still searching. He promised to save my children from him. I only had to deliver them into his arms. Now, I advise you leave this place, and quite quickly."

"…Why, Mrs. Jones?"

"Beware the King of Hearts, sir."

And, with a noise like a blade being drawn, the audio cuts off.

"Damn, now that woman was crazier than the first," Hugo chuckles. "Who the flying fuck is so proud of their children, then goes and murders them? Who the flying fuck would do it again? Some of Lucius's bitches are just the best."

"Hey!" I jab him in the arm.

"Well, yeah, no offense to you. You know…" He gnaws thoughtfully at his knuckles, staring broodingly at the screen. "I've never really paid much attention to Lucius's wives. They've all seemed like nutjobs. But I think… maybe these nutjobs are the key to unlocking Lucius's past. After all, what do we know? We know that Lucius's mother was a Nephilim, and that Bryon felt personally responsible for the boy's turning. Which blue-eyed bastard do we know that would kill a Nephilim mother and invoke Bryon's sympathy?"

I turn to him, eyes wide. "You don't mean…?"

"Oh, I mean." Hugo grins. "This King of Hearts business, too. Wonder what the hell that means? Oh – listen. Oh – oh."

"Mrs. Young," the man asks calmly, "would you like to tell me what you experienced?"

"No," she snaps churlishly, sounding suspicious and spiteful. "I wouldn't. Where are my children? Where are my daughters? What have you done with them? Return them to me! Right now!"

"We'll gladly reunite you with your family as soon as you answer a few questions of mine. Now, tell me, Mrs. Young, were you visited by a demon dressed in all white?"

"Who isn't?"

A small, startled laugh escapes the man's throat. "Me, for one. Did the demon offer you anything, Mrs. Young? Did you agree to do anything for him, or did he agree to do anything for you?"

"A hell-beast killed my husband," my mother answers sincerely, "and he brought him back to life. I swore myself to him in return. And my daughters – he graciously offered to save them. He told me of a great war on its way, and of terrible destinies. He said that he might not be able to save them, but that he would try with all his heart, should I allow him too."

"…I take you did allow him to?"

My mother giggles. "Of course! If you could save your heart from the pits of hell, wouldn't you?"

"Frankly, Mrs. Young," the man sighs, "I think you delivered your daughters into the palms of the Devil. But my opinions don't matter. Tell me, was it the demon that forced you to mangle your daughter's legs? Was it a vision from a glance in his eyes that made you feel obligated to do that to your child?"

"Oh, no," my mother chuckles. "I looked in his eyes years ago. No, it was only when I realized that the demon's father turned his eyes upon her that I did it."

I lurch forward and slam my shaking hand against the pause button.

"No," I whisper, shaking my head slowly. "You did it because you didn't want Lucius raping her. That's… that's what he told me."

"Maybe… not," Hugo says slowly, giving me a squeeze, fingers inching across the keyboard until he unpauses it again.

"Tell me," the man continues, his interest fluctuating in and out of focus, "who is the demon's father?"

"The father of all demons. Your father."

"…Are you referring to the Devil, Mrs. Young?" He pauses. "You're saying that the Devil was lusting after your six, seven year old daughter?"

"That's correct. How many times do you want me to clarify?"

"I see." The man's voice is queer, strained. "So, then, the white demon had nothing to do with your daughter's ailment? He had no part in her crippling – there wasn't a bird that whispered in your ear. It was your idea to save her from the Devil, and your idea only."

"Well, of course that's not true." My mother sighs. "Honestly, do I have to spell this out for you? He had to tell me about it – how else would I know? I wanted to kill my poor Paige, of course. Damned demon shot me down. He told me to leave her be, and that he would take care of it – but I couldn't do that! Leave my daughter's life in the hands of some demon with parental problems? No!"

"So you crippled her."

"I never said that."

The man sighs, sounding like he's growing weary of my mother's games. "Tell me, Young, when you met his gaze, did you see anything? Feel anything?"

"He showed me that sometimes, death is more merciful than life. He showed me that if someone had murdered that child, thousands more would survive today, and his own happiness would've been insured. After all, the innocent would've risen to heaven, and our lives would've played out without tampering, without misery. The knowledge was satisfying, but it had a high price. I understand that you're not willing to pay it."

"Oh? And what makes you think that?"

"Because he's here." My mom's pleasant, matter-of-fact tone sends shivers down my spine. "I'm afraid I've said too much. I'm afraid you've pried too much. You've been digging for answers, doctor, but answers have a price – and I don't think you're willing to pay that price. Tell me. Are you?"

"Mrs. Young, I'm not going to go crazy."

My mother's last words are a whisper, soft and lilting. "Aren't you?"

A quiet, awkward silence spreads over the area once the audio clicks and then shuts off. I stare, uncomprehending, at the screen before me, shaking my head slowly, and Hugo tilts his head up and closes his eyes, murmuring to himself in another language.

"Jesus Christ, I loved your dad, and I love you," Hugo sighs, groaning softly, "but he sure could pick 'em. What. A. Nutjob."

"There's one more," I whisper hoarsely, jabbing a finger at the screen. "Let's… listen to that."

"You sure you don't want to talk…?"

"What is there to talk about?" Slowly, I shake my head, swallowing thickly. "Nothing. Just another twisted version of my mom's story with Lucius. Just another reason to stay the hell away from him."

"Alright." Hugo loops an arm over my shoulder and presses his face into my hair affectionately, giving me a quick squeeze. "Lemme know if this becomes too much, okay?"

"Okay." I cuddle closer to his chest, seeking out his calm heartbeat. "Play it."

"This is Dr. Carlsberg, logging the first conversation with…" The doctor, a new man, stutters, taking a shaky breath. "…Dr. Hank Baldwin, previous leader of this operation. Dr. Baldwin, can you hear me?"

A silence hisses through the earbud. The longer it lasts, the more my hackles stand on end. I tense up in the chair, curling my fingers, glaring down at the floor, terrified of what may come and yet waiting eagerly for it.

"Nooooooooooo," rasps a voice through the earbud, rattling through my bones with a tone that is not a growl or a hiss or a moan, but somewhere in between. "Not you. Not you."

"Not me?" Carlsberg sounds uncertain. "Hank, what are you talking about? I'm going to ask you a few questions, alright?"

A sound like someone puffing out a heavy breath into the mic puffs through the earbud, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

"You need to leave," Hank whines. "Bury the program. Bury it. He knows. He knows. He knows… everything."

"No, Hank, we're not abandoning the program," Carlsberg sighs. "Tell me what you saw when you saw the demon. Tell me what he looked like. Tell me what his eyes looked like."

"He… looked like the beginning and end of everything," Hank whispers softly. "I was expecting a monster that was terrible. But he was beautiful. His eyes held the world and the universe and it was too much. Too much for me. But that doesn't mean he wasn't terrible."

He breathes onto the mic again.

"Noooooooooo." Hank growls like a wild creature. "He is terrible. And he will hunt you. He is a merciless predator as steadfast and swift as the Devil himself. Running will not help you. Submit to his divine will. He will save us. He will pry open Heaven's vault and let the souls run free unto the land again."

"Hank, I'm sorry, I don't understand. What is the demon's purpose in doing this to all of these women?"

"He doesn't know himself. He's lost. He's searching for a star. Or he was. He was. He's found her now."

"Found who? Who has he found?"

"He will treasure her and care for her and take her under his wing. He shall protect her and love her as she once and will love him. Perhaps it is sad. Perhaps it is unbecoming. He does not care. His love now flows."

"Who, Hank? Dammit, who?"

An eerie silence. Hank breathes into the mic again, but this time, it's shuddering, frightened.

"He's behind you, John," the mad doctor whispers. "Oh, my friend, stay so impeccably still. Stay so –"

There's the sound of fumbling, a muffled shout, and then the click of the audio tape ending. I stare listlessly at the screen, wishing that another message could load. Questions play through my mind in answerless circuits: Why had my mother lied about Paige? Why is Lucius collecting Wives? Who is this person he's found now? Am I doomed to go mad, mad like these women?

"Whoa." Hugo takes in a sharp breath. "He… attached a few photos to his email. Do you want to look at those, maybe, before we…?"

"Sure. Sure, yeah… let's do that." I shake my head to clear it, but it doesn't really work.

The first picture is of a grand, beautiful mosaic type thing, upon a stone wall. It reminds me of the Chaza Bryon had took us to in order to escape Ariel's cherubs. Instead of anything beautiful, however, it had an image of a woman with brilliantly bronze metallic wings cradling a tiny boy Lucius's head in her hands, her expression anguished and contorted. Lucius's eyes are huge and black, and a tear seems to be travelling down his cheek. I notice that Lucius seems to be in his current form, forked tongue peeking between his teeth, and that the woman's eyes aren't locked onto his.

"Stripped of his title." Hugo points towards text at the bottom of the mosiac. "That's what it says. I wonder what title it could be."

"Is that the lady he was looking for, I wonder?" I ask quietly.

"That's the Clockwork Angel, actually," he says, pointing towards her wings and then towards two brooches on her chest I had failed to notice. "Symbology's all in check."

"Maybe… the Clockwork Angel is the lady he was looking for."

Hugo turns to me, his eyes curious.

Events pour back to me, each fitting in its individual puzzle. "When the Tyab'la… took over Bryon…" I swallow, the memory still tainted with sadness and horror in my mind. "She said that they had to be united. Her parents. Her parents… is it possible that they're Black Wolf and the Clockwork Angel?"

Yes, it's possible. I know that. But he doesn't.

Hugo nods slowly. "And that'd mean that Lucius's beloved is the Clockwork Angel. Because he knows how it ends? And he wants to save her?"

"That'd tick off Black Wolf for sure," I mutter darkly.

"That makes a lot of sense." Hugo gnaws on his knuckles again. "But before we come to a conclusion, let me check out the other photos."

This time, I'm greeted by an odd trio – in the middle stands Bryon, full and broad and with all of his glory, painted in varying shadows of brown and bronze. On his right is Lucius, all but swallowed with a beautiful black garb, his eyes wide and gorgeously deep, his face holding regal, perhaps the way it would've been without his curse. On his left is a man I have never seen before, one with piercing blue eyes the color of my father's and a pair of sleek black wings. His horns crown him as a member of the Young family, curling up from his thick hair, black and sharp as razors.

"There's no title on this one," Hugo hums, his tone more careful. "Only names. Bryon…" He taps a tiny scroll wrapped around my uncle's feet. "Bertholdt…" A small strip of paper curls around one of the blue-eyed man's legs. "And Bryon Jr." His finger lands on small script beside Lucius's open hand.

"Bryon Jr.?" I repeat with a yelp.

"It was a common thing to do, name your child after Bryon," Hugo soothes. "Still is, in some cultures. Let's not freak out too much, okay?"

"…Okay. Who's Bertholdt?"

"I have no idea, to be perfectly honest." Hugo shrugs. "But this picture honestly gives us nothing. Onto the next one?"

Reluctantly, I nod.

The third is a cryptic photo. It's less a painting as it is a crest – a regal crest, with two wolves on either side and snakes entwining around their hind legs, fangs buried in their knees. Clenched in their muzzles and flying above the crest is a scroll, holding small words dashed with symbols.

"That's the Young family crest, the one they used back in the medieval times when those were a thing." Hugo frowns, hovering the mouse over the banner. "That's in a demonic language – sometimes Bay would speak it – right after he'd just banged me so hard his brain wasn't working right – or vice versa, depending on the night – I can't quite…"

"What do the wolves mean?" I trace my fingers over the jagged lines of their manes, of their furious, bulging eyes. "They're not the Clockwork Angel's wolves, are they?"

"No, they're not. Could be a different link of the Young line, one that I've never heard about – apparently, before my time, Sariel and Thea got at it a few more times, but the kids all died. I think I read something once about how the creatures that looked like dragons received more of Sariel's genes and those that looked more like canines were Thea's – your dad, remember? This could be a crest for the wolf half of the family, but there weren't any alive when this crest was active."

"What does it say?"

"Well…" He sighs, frustrated. "I think it says… 'Never forget the broken –' chain? Link? Strain? Something like that. 'They wait to reget' – no, that's 'regain' – 'their former glory.'"

"That sounds like it's talking about… the Young family." I frown. "Bitterly. Bitterly talking about the Young family. Like… an outcast."

"An outcast." Hugo nods slowly. "One last photo. Let's wait to analyze until after that."

I nod. For some reason, a sense of dread fills the pit of my stomach, heavying with every passing second. And then…

"Oh, fuck. Fuck."

"That's…" I shake my head slowly. "How is that possible?"

It's a picture of Nephilim, caught mid-stride from the side as it sprints over a bed of snow. It's form is remarkably wolfish in demeanor, but with a large, fluffy ruff, almost like a mane around its neck, perhaps to protect its life-giving veins. Long, delicate wings are half-unfurled by its size, as if the creature is about to take flight. From behind its ears, black horns grow, less thick than my uncle's, more slender and less curling.

"Jesus Christ, is that Lucius?" I whisper, my throat filling up.

"I think so," Hugo says. "I think so. God, Penryn, he's the spitting image of your dad."

And he is, in his wild, feral appeal – scrawnier, for certain, and his coat, though white, seems much dirtier, but he is almost exactly alike. The more I think, the more I wonder – what would his face have looked like if it hadn't been so angular, not quite as sharp? And had his eyes as a child not been bronze?

The truth stills my heart. A mesh of fear, uncertainty, and the strangest pang of hope ache in my gut.

"Bryon Jr," I repeat quietly. "Bryon Jr. Young?"

"I –" Hugo falters. "I think so. God. A link severed from the chain or whatever… Lucius is part of the Young family. A forgotten cousin. An… outcast. And I've never known it. Bryon never told me."

Every family has their dark little secrets. Hugo and I both whip around to see Theobella perched on the railing of the balcony, staring in through the window with narrowed eyes. Lucius is yours. Bryon kept his lips sealed, Hugo never bothered to learn, and you, Penryn, never even wondered. Now? Now it's coming back to bite you in the ass.

OOOOOOOO. OOOOOOoooooooooOOOOOOOOOO.

Bryon Jr Young. Lucius Young.

Could it be?

POLL: Um I have no idea honestly. It's late. Write something for me in the comments idk

EDIT: One of you bastards on Guest got it. You got it, congratulations. However, I deleted the comment so others wouldn't see the glory. So. Like. Check. See if it was you.

Ciao,

~wolfluvermh