"This looks promising," observed Cody as we turned in to an entertainment room.

 More leather seating surrounded a massive, absurdly thin plasma screen hanging on the wall. Sleek, beautiful speakers stood in strategic spots around us, and a substantial glass case displayed hundreds of DVDs. This room, like the others, had been sacked. Sighing, I threw myself on to one of the ripped chairs while Cody checked out the sound system.

 "What do you think of all this?" I asked him. "The new developments, I mean, not the entertainment setup."

 "What's to think? It seems straightforward to me. This nephilim character warms up with lesser immortals and now decides to take on the higher ones. Sick and twisted, but well, that's the way it is. On the bright side, maybe we're out of danger now—no offense to Jerome or Carter."

 "I don't know." I tipped my head back, thinking. "Something still isn't right to me. There's something we're missing. Listen to them in there. Why is Jerome being such an idiot about all of this? Why won't he listen to Carter?"

 The young vampire glanced up from his perusal of the movies and gave me a sly smile. "I never thought I'd see the day when you advocated for Carter. You must have gotten really chummy this last week."

 "Don't get any romantic delusions," I warned him. "God knows I have enough of that on my plate already. It's just that, I don't know. Carter's not as bad as I used to think."

 "He's an angel. He's not bad at all."

 "You know what I mean, and you've got to admit, he has a point. Jerome should be taking appropriate measures. This thing trashed his place and left warnings—even if they're obsolete charms or whatever. Why is Jerome so convinced he's safe?"

 "Because he thinks he's stronger than it is."

 "How would he know though? Neither of them have gotten a good feel for it—even Carter didn't the night he saved me."

 "Jerome doesn't seem like the type to dismiss things without a reason. If he says he's stronger, then I'd—holy shit. Check this out." His serious spiel melted into laughter.

 Getting up, I walked over and knelt beside him. "What?"

 He pointed to the bottom row of DVDs. I read the titles. High Fidelity. Better Off Dead. Say Anything. Grosse Pointe Blank. All John Cusack movies.

 "I knew it," I breathed, thinking of the demon's coincidental resemblance to the actor. "I knew he was a fan. He's always denied it."

 " Wait'll we tell Peter and Hugh," crowed Cody. He pulled Better Off Dead off the shelf. "This one's his best."

 I pulled out Being John Malkovich, my tense mood momentarily relaxed. "No way. This one is."

 "That one's too weird."

 I glanced up at the plasma screen, a huge gash slashing across its surface. "Normally I'd suggest we have a showdown to settle the point, but somehow I don't think there'll be any viewings for a while here."

 Cody followed my gaze and grimaced at the massacre. "What a waste. This nephilim's a real bastard."

 "No doubt," I agreed, standing up. "It's no wonder—"

 I froze. Everything froze. A real bastard.

 "Georgina?" asked Cody curiously. "You all right?"

 I closed my eyes, reeling. "Oh my God." A real bastard.

 I thought then about the entire trail of nephilim events, how from the very beginning Jerome had been warning us away. Ostensibly, his actions had been to keep us safe, but there had been no reason not to explain nephilim to us, no real danger to us in understanding the nature of our adversary. Yet Jerome had stayed tight-lipped about it, growing irrationally angry when any of us got too close. When Cody had first posited the "rogue angel" theory, I had written the secrecy off to embarrassment from the other side. Yet, it wasn't their side that had something to hide. It was ours.

 Click, click. Once started, the dominoes in my head tumbled forward in a rush. I thought about Harrington's book: the corrupted angels taught "charms and enchantments" to their wives while their offspring ran wild... Charms. Like the obsolete one on Jerome's wall. It's to remind me who we're dealing with — as if there was any possible way I could forget, he had explained offhandedly.

 Carter had told me demons generally get into hunting down nephilim. Nanette had wanted to come and help with this one, but Jerome wouldn't let her, thus minimizing those involved. Carter he had kept on hand for the kill, however. Wouldn't Jerome want to do it himself? I had wondered, but the angel had evaded answering.

 Still the dominoes fell. Nephilim inherit a lot more than half their parent's power, though they can never exceed it. Jerome's words to us last week, again spoken casually, just after my attack. Only minutes ago, I had wondered at his confidence at being stronger than the nephilim, questioning how he could be so certain. But of course he could be. Divine genetics had already dictated the parameters.

 "Georgina? Where are you going?" Cody exclaimed as I strode out of the room, back toward the still-roaring argument down the hallway.

 "Look," Carter was saying, "it won't hurt anything to just—"

 "It's yours," I cried to Jerome, attempting to stare him down—difficult, since he was taller than me. "The nephilim is yours."

 "My problem?"

 "No! You know what I mean. Your child. Your son... or daughter... or whatever."

 Silence descended, and Jerome stared at me with those piercing black eyes, boring right into my soul. I expected at any moment to be blasted across the room. Instead, all he asked was, "So?"

 Startled at his mild response, I swallowed. "So... so... why didn't you just tell us? From the beginning? Why such secrecy?"

 "As you can perhaps imagine, this is not a topic I enjoy bringing up. And contrary to popular belief, I do feel entitled to some privacy."

 "Yes, but..." Now that it was out, I didn't know what to say or think or do. "What will happen? What are you going to do?"

 "The same thing I've been planning on doing. We will find this creature and destroy it."

 "But it... he or she... is yours..."

 I, who had so jealously and longingly watched Paige's growing pregnancy and Seth's bevy of nieces, could not even begin to fathom calmly announcing the murder of one's offspring.

 "It doesn't matter," the demon said simply. "It's a liability, a danger to the rest of us. My connection to it is irrelevant."

 "You... you keep saying 'it.' Are you so detached that you can't even... you know, call it by name or gender? What is it anyway? A son or a daughter?"

 He hesitated a moment, and I detected a faint trace of unease in that cool mask. "I don't know."

 I stared. "What?"

 "I wasn't there when it was born. When I found out she... my wife... was pregnant, I left. I knew what would happen. I was neither the first—nor the last—to take a mortal wife. Plenty of nephilim had been born and destroyed by that point. We all knew what they were capable of. The right thing to do when it was born would have been to destroy it right then." He paused, once more perfectly expressionless. "I couldn't do it. I left, so I wouldn't have to deal with it, so I wouldn't have to make that choice. It was a coward's way out."

 "Did you... ever see her again? Your wife?"

 "No."

 Speechless, I wondered what she must have been like. I barely understood Jerome now as a demon, let alone before he fell. He hardly ever showed any sort of emotion or affection for anyone; I couldn't imagine what kind of a woman would have so overcome him that he would turn his back on all he held sacred. And yet, despite that love, he had still left, never to see her again. She would have been dead for millennia by now. He had left to save their child, only to once again be faced with holding its life in his hands. The whole thing was heartbreaking, and I wanted to do something—hug the demon, maybe—but I knew he wouldn't thank me for my sympathy. He was already too embarrassed at us finding out about all of this.