Return Of the Fallen. Rita Vetere
drove through other neighborhoods, although none as pleasant as the one with the park and fountain, until they left the city behind them. A short time later, Asher turned the car down an unpaved road flanked by towering oaks, their gnarly branches meeting at the top to form a tunnel of green. No houses came into view until the road ended. There, Asher pulled the car to a stop in front of a pair of ironwork gates set into a stone wall that seemed to go on forever. Gaslights flanked the entrance, shimmering in the thin morning light. Behind the gates, a stuccoed three-story mansion rose. The top two floors sported tall, louvered windows and wrought-iron balconies. The walls of the mansion were tinged pink, as if the bricks had bled through the stucco. A stone stairway led to a portico at the front entrance, supported by four colossal pillars.
Apprehension filled her at the sight of the place. How would she ever fit in here? She had earlier noticed the fine clothes Asher wore, and anxiously looked down at her threadbare shift, scraped legs and dirt-streaked arms, acutely aware of her unkempt appearance. There was no time to dwell on such thoughts. Asher had already exited the car and opened the passenger door for her.
She remained frozen in her seat. “Is this where you live?”
“Yes. And now it’s your home too,” he said evenly.
She hesitated another moment then stepped out of the car. He led her by the hand through the large iron gates, which squeaked in protest when he opened them.
As they mounted the stairs to the grand entrance, the front door opened. Several people huddled inside, awaiting their arrival.
Asher must have sensed her anxiety, because he bent down and whispered to her before they reached the door, “Remember, there’s nothing to be afraid of here. These people are my friends. They’re looking forward to meeting you.”
Israfel gripped his hand tightly and stepped over the threshold to enter her new home.
Two men and a woman stood in the large vestibule. Israfel’s attention was immediately drawn to the woman. She appeared slightly older than Asher, slim and immaculately attired in a simple black dress, a string of pearls at her neck. She wore her hair, blonde with tiny streaks of silver, in an upswept hairdo, which showed off the fine bone structure of her face. Asher introduced her as Madison.
“Hello, Israfel.” Madison crouched to get at eye level with her. “Welcome to our home. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, you have only to ask. We’re very happy you’re here.” She smiled.
Israfel managed to mutter a shy “Thank you,” while she gawked at the beautiful dress the woman wore and the pearls glowing around her neck. She caught the fresh scent of perfume when Madison moved close to give her a small hug.
“And this is Jackson.” Asher indicated the man to his right.
His round face and open expression appeared pleasant to Israfel. Jackson looked to be about the same age as Asher. He had reddish-gold hair and a friendly smile. He wore neatly pressed pants and a crisp white shirt.
“Jackson and Madison share the house with me, and are like family,” said Asher. “I’m sure you’ll come to feel the same way about them.”
Jackson greeted her warmly, and she mumbled a timid “Hello” in return.
Another man stood behind Jackson and Madison, and when he spoke they parted. “Let’s have a look at you then.”
Israfel stared up at the tall man. His hair was startlingly black and his lean, sinuous build and sleek appearance made Israfel think of a cat. He had on a fine dark suit. As he took a step in her direction, she saw there was something wrong with his left eye. What looked like a floating grape appeared where his eye should have been. An involuntary shudder ran through her at the sight of it, and Israfel cringed against Asher’s side as the man approached.
“This is Jared Crow,” said Asher in a soft voice. “Jared is the man who sent me to help you.”
Israfel relaxed a little when Jared’s austere face broke into a smile, distracting her from his sightless eye.
“I’m glad you have arrived safely, Israfel,” he said. “I hope you will find your new home comfortable. You will be in good hands with Asher, Jackson or Madison, and I’ll always be available if any problem arises. Perhaps you’d like to freshen up a bit after your long drive. I’m sure Madison will be happy to show you to your room and help you find everything you need.”
“Thank you, sir,” Israfel said in a small voice, intuiting she must defer to this man. Asher said it had been Jared who’d sent him to help her, after all. Reluctantly, she let go of Asher’s hand and took Madison’s. Israfel felt very small indeed as they walked through a vaulted two-story foyer toward a sweeping brass-inlaid staircase.
Madison said, “After you clean up and rest a little, I’ll show you around the house. You’ll be used to it in no time.”
As they mounted the staircase, Asher and the man named Jared Crow whispered in hushed tones behind her and she purposely slowed her pace, straining to hear. Something jumped inside her when she caught a snatch of their conversation.
“The mother...my sources have just informed me she has been found dead...seems she hung herself shortly after you left with the girl.”
She stopped on the staircase, stiffening, and let go of Madison’s hand. Mamma was dead. The thought sent sadness and guilt running through her, mingled with a sense of relief. She glanced up to find Madison staring at her with a sorrowful expression. She had heard too.
Without saying a word, Madison gathered her in her arms and hugged her tightly as they made their way upstairs.
Chapter 8
Like a chrysalis, Justine hung suspended in the past, cocooned within a forgotten life as she inched her way forward through the maze of memory. She shifted in bed, her thoughts floating in that gray area between sleep and awareness, as she was transported to her twelfth year...
* * * *
On the day Asher rescued her from her mother’s murderous rage, he had promised to welcome her as family, to take care of her and educate her. Asher had kept all of his promises, including his promise to explain why her mother had tried to kill her.
He had waited almost six years after her arrival to tell her who, and what, she was. It was a revelation that might have left another child’s soul deeply scarred, but the same could not be said of Israfel. Apparently, she did not possess a soul. The Nephilim, Asher explained, the genetically altered race to which she belonged, were believed to be soulless. He had shown her some of the bible passages that referred to her race, and she had read them so often she could recite them from memory. There was Genesis, which stated in chapter six that the sons of God came into the daughters of man and bore children to them.
There was also Isaiah, chapter twenty-six, which contained a passage Asher believed had motivated her mother’s attempt to kill her. It set out that her kind were dead, that they would neither live nor rise, and for that reason, God destroyed them, perishing their memory.
That passage had haunted her for years.
What was written in the Book of Enoch, however, had affected her most deeply.
Israfel had looked up at Asher in astonishment. “You mean the big flood came to get rid of everyone who was like me?”
“That’s basically what was recorded there, that the flood was sent to rid the world of the Nephilim.”
That thought invoked a deep sense of melancholy in her. Her kind had not asked to be born. They were blameless. Yet they had been persecuted, had suffered terrible deaths at the hand of those who deemed them unfit to live.
Asher must have guessed her thoughts, for he was about to close the text when she said, “No, I want to know more. Please.”
He left the text open, but did not read from it. Instead, he said, “You know, there are other stories about the Nephilim aside