"Don't underestimate the power of visualization," she whispered. "You can control your own destiny, set your own paths, rules, and stakes. I can sense great potential in you, but following these principles can help you unlock more—all the things you'd want for a happy and fulfilling life. Career, home, husband, children."
An image of Seth's niece curled in my lap suddenly came unbidden to me, and I hastily turned away from Helena. Succubi bore no children. No such future waited for me, book or no.
"I need to go. Thanks for your help."
"Of course," she responded demurely, handing me a list she'd conveniently written the titles—and prices—upon. "And let me give you some brochures for our upcoming programs and events."
It didn't end. She finally released me once I was sufficiently laden with paper, all of which I dumped into the trash bin in the parking lot. Lord, I hated that woman. I supposed Helena the schmoozing con artist was better than Helena the raving lunatic who had been at Emerald City, but really, it was a tough call. At least I'd obtained the book, which was all that mattered.
I pulled off at one of my favorite Chinese places on the way home, back in my normal shape. Carrying Harrington's book in, I ate General Tso's chicken while reading the entry on nephilim :
Nephilim are first referenced in Genesis 6:4, where they are sometimes referred to as "giants " or "fallen ones." Regardless of the word's translation, the nephilim's origin is clear from this passage: they are the semi-divine offspring of angels and human women. Genesis 6:4 refers to them as "mighty" and "men of renown." The rest of the Bible makes little reference to the nephilim's angelic siring, but encounters with giants and men of "great stature" are frequently recorded in other books, such as Numbers, Deuteronomy, and Joshua. Some have speculated that the "great wickedness" prompting the flood in Genesis 6 was actually a result of the nephilim's corrupting influence on mankind. Further apocryphal readings, such as 1 Enoch, elaborate on the plight of the fallen angels and their families, describing how the corrupted angels taught "charms and enchantments" to their wives while their offspring ran wild throughout the earth, slaughtering and causing strife among humans. The nephilim, gifted with great abilities much like those of the ancient Greek heroes, were nonetheless cursed by God and neglected by their parents, consigned to wander the earth all their days without peace until eventually destroyed for the sake of mankind.
I looked up, feeling breathless. I had never heard of anything like this. I had been right in telling Erik practitioners were the worst to ask about their own histories; surely this was something someone should have told me about before. Angelic offspring. Were nephilim real? Were they still around? Or was I really just chasing a dead end here, following a distracting lead when I should have restricted my search to immortals of my caliber or above, like Carter? After all, these nephilim were half-human; they couldn't be all that powerful.
After paying the bill, I walked out to my car, opening my fortune cookie as I went. It was empty. Charming. A light rain misted around me, and fatigue crept in around my edges, not surprising considering the last twenty-four hours.
I couldn't find a parking spot when I arrived in Queen Anne, which indicated some sort of sporting event or show going on nearby. Grumbling, I parked seven blocks away from home, vowing to never again lease an apartment that only had street spots. The wind Seth and I had felt earlier was fading, normal since Seattle was not a wind-prone city. The rain picked up in intensity, however, further darkening my mood.
I was halfway home when I heard footsteps behind me. Pausing, I turned to look back but saw nothing save slick pavement, blearily reflecting streetlights. No one was there. I turned back around, starting to pick up my pace until I did a mental head slap and simply turned invisible. Jerome was right; I did think like a human too much.
Still, I didn't like the street I'd chosen back; it was too deserted. I needed to cut over and walk the rest of the distance on Queen Anne Avenue itself.
I had just turned the corner when something impacted me hard on my back, knocking me forward six feet, startling me so much that I shifted back to visible.
I tried to turn around, flailing at my attacker, but another blow hit me in the head hard, knocking me to my knees. The sense I had was of being struck by something hand and arm shaped, but it packed a punch, more like a baseball bat. Again, my attacker hit me, this time across one of my shoulder blades, and I cried out, hoping someone would hear me. Another strike swiped the side of my head, the force pushing me over onto my back. I squinted up, trying to catch sight of who was doing this, but all I could dimly discern was a dark, amorphous shape, bearing down on me fast and hard as another blow made contact with my jaw. I could not get up from that onslaught, could not fight against the pain descending on me harder and thicker than the rain around me.
Suddenly, brilliant light filled my vision—light so brilliant it hurt. I was not alone in my assessment. My attacker recoiled, letting me go, and I heard a strange high-pitched scream emitted above me. Attracted by some irresistible lure, I looked toward the light. A white-hot pain seared my brain as I did, my eyes taking in the figure moving toward us: beautiful and terrible, all colors and none, white light and darkness, winged and armed with a sword, features shifting and indiscernible. The next scream I heard was my own, the agony and ecstasy of what I had seen scorching my senses, even though I could no longer see it. My vision had gone white-whiter-whitest until all was black, and I could see nothing at all.
Then, silence fell.
I sat there sobbing, hurting physically and spiritually. Footsteps came, and I felt someone kneel beside me. Somehow, despite my blindness, I knew it was not my attacker. That person had long since fled.
"Georgina?" a familiar voice asked me.
"Carter," I gasped out, throwing my arms around him.
CHAPTER 17
I woke to the sound of Aubrey purring in my ear. Sensing my consciousness, she moved closer and licked the part of my cheek near my earlobe, her whiskers gently rubbing against my skin. It tickled. Squirming slightly, I opened my eyes. To my astonishment, light, color, and shapes came through to me—albeit in a blurred, distorted manner.
"I can see," I muttered to Aubrey, trying to sit up. Immediately, myriad aches and pains screamed all over my body, making the motion difficult. I lay stretched out on my couch, an old afghan tossed over me.
"Of course you can see," Jerome's cold voice informed me. Aubrey fled. "Though it'd serve you right if you couldn't. What were you thinking, looking at an angel in full form?"
"I wasn't," I told him, squinting at his dark-clad shape pacing in front of me. "Thinking, that was."
"Obviously."
"Lay off," came Carter's laconic voice from somewhere behind me.
Straightening up and peering around, I made out his fuzzy form leaning against a wall. Peter, Cody, and Hugh also stood nearby in the room. It was a regular, dysfunctional family reunion. I couldn't help but laugh.
"And you were there, and you were there..."
Cody sat down beside me, his features materializing into sharp focus as he leaned in to study my face closer. Gently, he ran a finger along one of my cheekbones, frowning. "What happened?"
I sobered up. "Is it that bad?"
"No," he lied. "Hugh was worse." The imp made a nondistinct noise across the room.
"I already know what happened," snapped Jerome. I didn't need to see the demon's face in detail to know he was glaring at me. "What I don't understand is why it happened. Did you actually try to come up with the most dangerous situation possible? 'Hmm, let's see... dark alley, no one around... ' That sort of thing?"