“And did anyone notice your arrival?”

Aaron tapped the remainder of the ice cubes in his glass into his open mouth and began to crunch noisily. “Nope,” he said between crunches. “I didn’t want anybody to see me—so they didn’t.”

Belphegor turned away and strolled back toward his plants and vegetables, leaving Aaron alone by the table. Absently he began to harvest some ripened cucumbers. The boy was advancing far more quickly than any Nephilim he had ever encountered. But the next phase of training was crucial, and the most dangerous. Despite his affinity, Belphegor wasn’t sure if Aaron was ready.

“So what now?” he heard Aaron ask behind him.

Belphegor stopped and turned, cucumbers momentarily forgotten. “We’re done for the day,” he said dismissively.

“But it’s still early,” the Nephilim said, genuine eagerness in his voice. “Isn’t there something more you can show me before—”

“The next phase of development is the investigation of your inner self,” the angel interrupted.

“Okay,” Aaron responded easily. “Let’s do it.”

“Do you think you’re ready for a trip inside here?” Belphegor tapped Aaron’s chest. “It’s going to be a lot harder than a jaunt to Beijing.”

Aaron’s expression became more serious, as if the angel’s cautioning words had stirred something—some shaded information hidden in the back of Aaron’s mind, about to be dragged out into the light.

“If you think you’re ready, prepared to find out who you are … what you are,” Belphegor said cryptically, holding the boy in an unwavering gaze, “then, we’ll begin. But I’m not entirely sure you’ll be happy with what you learn.”

Verchiel gazed upon the unconscious female who had been laid on the floor before him. “Can you sense it as I can?” he asked the prisoner in the hanging cage across the room. “Like a newly emerging hatchling, fighting against the shell of its humanity. It wants so desperately to be free of its confines, to blossom and transform its fragile human vessel into the horror it is destined to be.”

The leader of the Powers shifted his weight uncomfortably in the high-backed wooden chair. Though finally healing, the burns that he had received in his first confrontation with the Nephilim still caused him a great deal of discomfort. “It sickens me,” Verchiel spat, his eyes riveted to the girl at his feet. “I should kill the wretched thing now.”

“But you won’t,” wheezed the prisoner, still weak. “You took the trouble to bring her here, I gather she’s going to play a part in whatever new trick you have up your sleeve. Maybe bait, to lure the Nephilim into a trap?”

Verchiel turned his attention from the girl to the prisoner. “Are you learning to think like me?” he asked with a humorless smile. “Or am I starting to think like you?”

The prisoner raised himself to a sitting position. “I’m not sure that even in my darkest days I could muster such disregard for innocent life.”

“Innocent life?” the leader of the Powers asked as he studied the creature before him. “So simple—so defenseless—one can almost see why the Creator was so taken with them.”

The female moaned softly in the grip of oblivion.

“But looks can be deceiving, can they not?” He nudged the girl with his foot. “There is a monster inside you just waiting to come out, isn’t there, girl?”

The captive gripped the bars of his cage, hands pink with a fresh layer of skin. “A little bit of the pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think, Verchiel?” he asked. “After all you’ve done of late, do you really believe she deserves the title of monster?”

Verchiel tilted his head in thought as he studied the girl lying before him. “I am not without a certain measure of pity for the misfortune of her birth. She cannot help what she is, but it does not change the fact that the likes of her kind should not exist.”

“And who exactly provided you with this information?” the captive asked. “ ‘Cause it looks as though I might have missed the announcement.”

“It was never intended for our kind to lay with animals,” Verchiel growled, the concept flooding him with feelings of revulsion. “The proof is in these monstrosities—animals with the power of the divine. I cannot imagine it was ever a part of the Creator’s plan.”

“And you being so close to God and all, you’ve taken it upon yourself to clear up the problem.”

“As impudent as ever,” Verchiel said, sliding from the chair to kneel beside the unconscious girl. “One would think that after all this time you would have learned some modicum of respect for the One you so horribly wronged.”

“This has nothing to do with Him, Verchiel,” the prisoner stressed, “and everything to do with your twisted perception of right and wrong.”

Verchiel stifled the urge to lash out at his captive, focusing instead on the task at hand. “Right and wrong,” he hissed, as he pushed up the girl’s shirt to reveal the dark, delicate skin of her young stomach. “What is coming to fruition inside this poor creature is wrong.”

The fingers of Verchiel’s hand began to glow, and he lightly touched her stomach, burning her flesh in five places. Even within the hold of unconsciousness the female cried out, writhing in agony as her flesh sizzled and wisps of oily smoke curled up from the burns.

“I know what I do is right,” he said. “There is a bond between the Nephilim and this female, a bond that will only be made stronger with the realization that they are of the same kind.”

Verchiel could sense the essence of angel coiled inside the young woman, still not fully awake. The pain would draw it closer, forcing it to blossom sooner. He again reached down and touched her stomach, leaving his fingertips upon the fragile flesh just a bit longer. The fluids within the skin sputtered, crackled, and popped with his hellish caress.

The girl was moaning and crying now, still not fully awake, but the power inside her was growing stronger, calling out to others of its ilk for help.

“That’s it,” Verchiel cooed, inhaling the acrid aroma of burning skin. “Summon the great hero to your side so that I may destroy him and the dreams he inspires.”

It was like the dreams… No, nightmares, he had been having before the change.

But Aaron was not asleep.

Belphegor had done this. He had taken Aaron into his home, telling him he had to learn the origins of the angelic essence that had become a part of him. He had made him drink a mug of some awful-tasting concoction from a boiling pot on the stove. It tasted like garbage and smelled even worse, but the old fallen angel had said that it would help Aaron to travel inside himself, to experience the genesis of the power that wanted so desperately to reshape him.

Aaron had choked down the foul liquid and sat upon the living-room floor, while Belphegor took his place in the recliner and began to read The People’s Daily. At first Aaron was concerned that nothing was happening, but the old fallen angel had looked over the top of the paper and told him to wait for the poison to take effect.

Poison?

Yes, Belphegor had indeed given him poison—the impending death of his human aspect would allow his angelic nature to assume control, Belphegor explained before going back to the news of China.

A stabbing pain had begun in the pit of his stomach. An unnatural warmth radiated from the center of the intense agony and spread through his extremities, numbing them. Aaron found that he could no longer sit up and fell to his side on the cold wooden floor.

He was finding it hard to stay conscious, but could still hear Belphegor encouraging him to hold on, warning him not to succumb fully to the poison coursing through his body. Aaron had to find the source of his essence’s power; then wrest control away from the strengthening angelic might, and use it to complete the unification of the dual natures that existed within him.