I walk by one of the ruined buildings, and a man nailing a floorboard stops and stares at me. "Nightfall." He kneels and kisses the leviathan cross hanging around his neck. "Please, grant me your blessing, Darkness."
I stand still. "Why do you bow to me?"
"I'm a Nephilyte, Darkness."
He calls me Darkness. Like I'm a Queen. Like I'm a God. The thought sickens me. "What is your name?"
"Allen." He doesn't make eye contact. He runs a hand through his short black hair highlighted with a silver streak. Does he dye it to be like mine?
"Why do your people worship Nephilim, Allen?"
"You are the children of angels, Darkness. There is a reason you possess abilities greater than us, a reason you are here on earth."
I wish he would look at me. "What reason?"
"To lead us, Darkness."
"So you follow simply because I am stronger than you."
"Because you exist, Darkness. The Almighty would not have created beings as you, if you were not meant to guide us. Just as he would not have created animals, if they were not meant to be our food." He believes in a hierarchy, a pyramid of power. I do not. He appears to note my silence, and bows lower. "If I have offended—"
"You have not."
He bows lower still and holds out his hand. "A blessing, Darkness."
I do not believe I am a God, but I believe in hope, and so I touch his hand with mine. "My blessings upon you, Allen." The words are the best I can come up with. They seem to be enough.
Allen smiles and returns to work, driving nails into wood faster than before. I walk inside the Cathedral which has been painted the colors of the Twilight Court: one half gold, the other black. I take the stairs toward voices that grow louder as I approach. I let myself into the room we've set aside as our meeting place. Inside, Zorin, TR and Trix sit at a large round table made of one solid piece of wood. A fire roars beside them, filling the space with the scent of pine. They've added a red carpet to the room, to cut down the draft of stone floors, but there's more work to do. Spider webs still hang in the corners and old paintings, covered in layers of dust, still hang on the walls.
Zorin taps his pale fingers on the table. Unlike me, he wears no mask. His entire life is devoted to The Dark Templars. "We need more Nephilim."
TR snickers. His dark blonde hair is messy and a growth of stubble on his chin proves he hasn't shaved in days. "How will you control them? What if one of them goes out on their own and creates an army?"
"Without Nephilim," Zorin says, "we don't stand a chance against the Orders."
TR glares across the table. "I've fought the Orders for years."
Zorin raises his voice, scowling. "And look how much you've accomplished."
TR jumps out of his chair and slams his fist on the table. "If you create more Nephilim, you'll be the death of this rebellion."
"The death of this rebellion?" Zorin laughs. "The death of this rebellion will be the men and women you're letting move in outside the Cathedral. They're fixing houses, putting up fences. Is this our base of operations or a summer retreat?"
Trix sighs, swiping the red hair from her face. "We're only allowing a few dozen trusted people to move in. None of them will leak our location."
"When they are tortured, they will talk," Zorin says softly.
"Some of them have been tortured before, I can assure you—"
"Enough." I don't say it loudly, but they freeze and stare at me. I march up to the table and face Zorin. I'm tired of this bickering. "The people stay. If we are to inspire hope, we need to be seen. The Nephilim have returned. The people need to know we fight for them." I study the papers on the table. Maps of New York City, maps of Italy. "And TR is right. We can't create more Nephilim. Not while we're still organizing."
Zorin shakes his head, pushing back his black hair. "When the Orders come for you, and they will come, you will want Nephilim to stand beside you. Not a few humans and Zeniths."
I step forward, towering over him as I stand. "No new Nephilim."
He grits his jaw, his blue eyes fierce, but then bows his head, resigned.
I turn to Trix. "Have you received any messages from the other rebel groups?"
She nods and sips from a gold cup. The drink is red, smells like wine. "We've received messages all right, but they aren't good, N. No one wants to meet with you."
I expected some to decline, but not all. I thought a few would appreciate how I destroyed the aircraft when I confronted Ragathon. I'd hoped others would at least be curious to meet a Nephilim. "Did they give a reason?"
"'If Jaxton Lux declined her offer, then why shouldn't I?' I told them you secured my escape. It didn't help."
If Jax had come with me that day, so much would be different. He would be here, helping us plan. He would know my identity, and we would… no, I can't think of what may have happened. I can only think of what must happen next.
"Contact them again," I say. "Tell them I have outsmarted Ragathon, Grandmaster of the Inquisition, twice. And when I do so for the third time, with their help, it will be to end the Inquisition."
Trix whistles. "Big words, N."
"Too big," says TR. "The Red Eagles and Sons of Eden will think you're bluffing."