29. Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
He thinks I’m the Aza .
For just a moment, it’s as if I’m standing on that mental path between me and Micah again, only he’s not there. There is only darkness, not a firefly in sight, not a glimmer of light. It’s as if my mind is telling me that’s where I belong.
Alone.
With a forceful shove of my mind, I snap myself back to the physical, and with an unmistakable flutter of relief in the core of my chest, I blink Micah into focus. “I’m the Aza,” I repeat. “What does that even mean?”
“Read,” Micah presses, “then we’ll talk. And I mean, read it all. Don’t make assumptions off one line or one chapter.”
“Do we really have time for that? It’s a big book.”
“Time feels the same here, but it is not. For every full day here it’s mere minutes on Earth.
And how do I tell you what is in the book when none of us fully understand it ourselves?
Read it, and then we’ll talk as much as you want, and I’ll answer every question you ask me to the best of my ability. ”
I grit my teeth. “I don’t understand the time thing. At all. And please, just tell me what you know.”
“I’m not going to do that, not yet. I don’t want to influence your opinion.
What I surmise from that book and what you surmise may be two different things.
This is your life, Ember. You deserve to interpret it your own way.
And more importantly, you deserve a chance to create your own destiny.
” A book appears in front of him, and he opens it, making it clear he intends to do a little reading himself. “I’ll be right here.”
There’s no pushing him. On that point, I’m clear, and I sigh with the inevitable.
There’s a whole lot of reading in my future.
For now, though, I sip the coffee with sweet cream and a chocolatey taste, perhaps delaying the inevitable dive into the pages, into my life—the real life I didn’t know even existed.
But I remind myself knowledge really is power, and thankfully that saying came from a professor, not one of the people I called my parents, which is a topic I need to discuss with Micah sooner than later.
For now, I glance back down at the book with a new perspective. I’m reading about me.
It’s hours later, and I’ve found the library bathroom twice, drank a second coffee that Micah has graciously conjured for me, and found myself wading through volumes of history that read much like the Bible, with ancient text and evasive language referencing the Aza.
It’s impossible to find any real meaning to any of it, and I’m in need of food for brainpower.
When my stomach grumbles its loud objection to being ignored, my eyes go wide and I press my hand to my belly.
Micah laughs, grinning ear to ear, apparently amused by my discomfort. “See what happens when you mock my gift of food? You’re left to starve in a library in a strange land known to your kind but not to you.”
“You’re a very dramatic storyteller. I don’t suppose you have an Olive Garden here in Elysium so I can get my fettuccine alfredo fix?”
He waves a hand, and a table appears a foot away from us, complete with an Olive Garden feast and two seats. “Does that work?”
The scent of hot bread and scrumptious food is too much to resist. “Yes, it does. Let’s eat.”
We switch seats, and it’s not long before I’m biting into a hot breadstick. “How is this even possible? Magic can literally make Olive Garden?”
“No, but the chef at Olive Garden can, and I claimed someone else’s meal.”
My eyes widen incredulously. “No, you did not.”
He shrugs. “They’ll make another.” He grabs a breadstick, then chuckles.
“Of course I didn’t grab someone’s meal.
Magic can do about anything. But that said, I don’t encourage using your magic so readily on a day-to-day basis.
It’s critical we blend in with the humans, and it’s easy to slip up and get caught.
You need to get comfortable with your assets, and that requires practice. You can provide dessert.”
“We’ll see about that,” I say, unwrapping the napkin from around my silverware and on a mission to learn more about him and this place, rather than me. “Does Elysium have grocery stores?”
“The house will anticipate your needs.” He digs into a bite of his pasta.
“Why are there so many seats here in the library? Do you allow public visitations? And are Nephilim living here in Elysium?”
“Each Overseer is free to use their world as they wish. They are the king. They are the law maker. They are the visionary. In my case, I want my world in its truest form, sheltered from the corruption of other beings and worlds. I allow only a few select people to visit and an even more select group to have hall passes to get in. And those who do not, do not know it exists.”
“Do other Overseers approach their worlds differently?”
“I do not know what they do with their worlds. I don’t ask. They don’t ask. Do not speak of this place to anyone. We don’t want to lose it. Ever.”
“No. Never.” I set my fork down, watching him swallow another bite—the act of eating so very human. I decide the humanity in sharing a meal is what I like about these moments with Micah.
“People, humans and Nephilim alike, have limits. Make sure you know what they are before you give them a chance to betray you.” He motions to my plate. “I slaved to make that meal. The least you can do is eat it.”
“Haha,” I say. “You are sort of funny, aren’t you?”
“Thank you,” he replies smartly, sipping his iced tea. “What else do you want to know?”
Everything about Celine, but I let it go, slightly agitated at my irrational interest in his love life. “Who gets a hall pass?”
“A few trusted warriors in my inner circle, and the only people you should trust other than me. You’ll meet them soon enough.”
I wrap pasta around my fork. “Are they old men, too?”
“Old enough to show me their characters.”
“Which is what you’re waiting for me to do, right?”
“Aren’t you doing the same with me?” he counters.
“That’s a yes,” I say, feeling the twist in my belly. “I hope you’re wrong about me.”
“I don’t,” he says. “Because I happen to believe you’re special, Ember.” His voice softens on my name, a rasp on the tip of the words I illogically feel low in my belly.
“Special, but not dangerous?”
“Oh, you’re dangerous, sweetheart, but that doesn’t make you less special.”
I’m intensely aware of the intimacy laced in the depth of those words, of the raspy way “sweetheart” has lingered on his lips.
I’m also acutely aware of the implications of him confirming I’m dangerous, and I don’t allow myself to focus on anything but how I make sure I direct the power within me toward demons, not angels or humans.
“The book reminds me of the Bible,” I say. “It’s hard to understand.”
“You’ll understand when you get to the right place.”
Still not really understanding his insistence on a labored, time-consuming process, I ask, “Why not just direct me to get there?”
“Because on the journey to get there, you learn things you don’t know you need to know, but you do.”
“You can’t know everything in all of these books by way of reading. Someone told you.”
“Three hundred years is a long time, Ember.” His tone is tight, his expression carved in sharp lines. “I could waste fifty of those and still have too much time on my hands.” He grabs a breadstick, as if ending the topic.
Three hundred years is a long time, I think, and as Overseer, I wonder at how secluded that has made him, how lonely, and I find myself more curious about him than ever. “Where is your family?”
“That’s a complicated question.”
My brow furrows at the evasive answer. “Does that mean it’s none of my business?”
His reply is no reply, at least not at first. He studies me for eternal beats, and I almost hear the clang of a clock announcing the top of the hour before he finally speaks. “Much like you, I was taken away from them at a young age.”
I blink in surprise. “Why?”
“Crystal Seers are a rare breed, to be trained and protected. I was sent to an elder in the Nephilim Mountains, where I was trained and educated.”
“Who is this elder?”
“Joseph is the most ancient Crystal Seer alive, a warrior who fought a battle in the underworld and survived.”
“Do you see your parents now?”
“My mother was killed by a demon the eve of my coming of age.”
“Oh my God. How?”
“It’s more about why. She was a Seer Sensory.”
“Like Ariella?”
“Yes, but my mother was more gifted than Ariella or any other Seer Sensory. And unlike the seclusion and safety of Elysium, The Kingdom of Nephilim is exposed to attacks. That’s why we have an army we call the Gilded.”
“Why are we safe here, but not there?”
“During the great war of Nephilim, there was damage done to borders, regions thrust into dark magic that cannot be spellcast into protection.”
I’ve just finished reading about this portion of Nephilim history, and with great interest. When the Fallen were cast to live amongst mankind, there was a great war and battle for control.
It raged only twenty human years before distraction allowed the demons to run free, and a choice between peace and destruction was forced upon the Nephilim.
They chose peace, and the first king sat on the Nephilim throne.
“If the borders are damaged, why not come here?”
“The lands gifted to the Overseers are small, far too small for the kingdom. A bit like islands off the coast of a bigger region.”
“I see. And so, these warriors protect the kingdom.” It’s not a question, but me working through the history in my mind.
Still, he confirms. “Yes. They’re our warrior class, highly elite fighters.”
I circle back to him. “Your mother…”
“She was stabbed to death at the front door of my parents’ home.”
I swallow the anguish I feel for him, that he must still feel at random moments of his life. “Did you find out who did it?”