Demon Night

of his neck prickle, his gut twist, just thinking of it.
    And there were some it had hit worse than others.
    He found Alice standing motionless in a long aisle of gleaming marble shelves, her arms crossed and her head tilted back as if she was looking for something on one of the higher rows. There wasn’t a bit about the archivist that wasn’t sharp—not her brown hair in its severe braid or the tall, thin figure that she’d wreathed in black. Her appearance hadn’t changed any since the Ascension, but her manner had. Whereas once Alice had moved with the elegance of a dancer, now she reminded Ethan of a many-jointed spider—and he could easily imagine her creeping around inside the Archives. And he didn’t know if she was aware that the novices had taken to calling her the Black Widow, but he figured she was—and that she didn’t care much.
    He was just glad to find her there; she disappeared from Caelum for irregular stretches of time. But excepting those absences, he didn’t figure she’d stepped out of the temple since the Ascension, with only the Scrolls, books, and the occasional visitor for company.
    Though she must have heard him coming, Ethan opened his shields and projected a warm greeting. He and Alice had been transformed around the same time, trained by the same Guardians—and she was one of the few who hadn’t ever taken to calling him Drifter.
    “Ethan.” Her eyes thawed slightly at his approach. “You look well. Considering what I’ve heard of your brother, I hope your appearance is not deceptive.”
    “It ain’t.” He grinned when her mouth turned down with her disapproval. She’d never been a schoolmarm, but he figured if she had been, she’d have used the ruler well and often. “Is yours?”
    Her frown disappeared, smoothing into a tiny smile. “No. Is this your usual social call, or are you looking for something?”
    “Looking for something. You got anything on the nephilim? The offspring of humans and demons—it may have been recorded as a myth.”
    She tilted her head, almost birdlike. “I seem to recall coming across a mention of them about thirty or forty years ago. I believe I can locate it, if you have some time to wait.”
    “I do. I’ll be in my quarters three, maybe four hours. If you find anything, it’ll need to be transcribed.”
    Only Michael could vanish the Scrolls, or carry them through a Gate. Nor could they be photocopied or scanned; if a copy was to be made, it had to be written out by hand.
    “Would you like me to translate it, as well?” Alice asked with a teasing lift of her brow.
    Ethan shook his head. “I’ll be taking it to Hugh.” Castleford could easily read the Latin; Ethan still stumbled over his.
    Alice nodded. “Very well.”
    “I’m much obliged.”
    She gave his arm a poke with her bony elbow. “Are you so obliged that when you pick these up, you’ll tell me a little about this vampire I’ve been hearing about?”
    Ethan figured he might just talk her ear off; but for now, he dropped a kiss to her cheek and walked away to a sound that was eerily like a cackle.

    Ethan’s quarters were halfway up a large spire at the edge of the city. There weren’t any doors; just an arch that opened to a view of the silent, waveless sea surrounding Caelum. Looking out, it was near impossible to tell where sky and water met at the horizon—the sea reflected an image of pure, dizzying blue.
    Inside, it was just dizzying white. Ethan had broken it up some with items he’d collected—from other Guardians before he’d gone active duty, and in his own travels after he’d returned to Earth.
    Still, it wasn’t much to look at. He’d never had much of a hand at decorating, and most everything he needed he kept with him in his cache. It was certainly nothing like Charlie’s brightly colored and cozy space.
    Thinking of her room, he reckoned maybe he’d take his bed with him this time. He didn’t much relish the idea of having his loving interrupted every time his feet became caught between the slats in her footboard.
    He vanished his clothes, laid faceup on the mattress. No breeze to tickle his skin. No sound or smell. He closed his eyes, got rid of the white, and let himself drift into the emptiness.
    It was vast, and more than capable of taking everything he had to throw into it…until he brushed up against something that was Charlie’s. Then she tugged at him, pulled him back in.
    Less than ten minutes after he’d lain down, Ethan