"No... no... it's not a problem..."
Naturally Roman chose that moment to make an appearance, coming down the hall from my bedroom in only boxers. "So what's—oh hey, how's it going? Seth, right?"
"Right," said Seth flatly, looking from me to Roman and then back to me. In the wake of that gaze, I didn't care about nephilim, immortals, or saving Carter. All I could think of was how this must look to Seth. Poor Seth, who had done nothing but be nice to me since I'd met him, yet who nonetheless managed to get hurt over and over by my insensitivity—not to mention an unfortunate set of circumstances. I didn't know what to say; I felt as mortified as he apparently did. I did not want him to see me like this, all of my lies and inconsistent signals coming to light.
"Is that breakfast?" the nephilim asked cheerfully. He was the only one of us at ease.
"Huh?" Seth still looked stunned beyond words. "Oh yeah." He set the box down on my coffee table. "Keep it. It's a coffee cake. Maple pecan. As for me... I'm going to... I'm just going to leave now. I'm sorry to bother you. Really sorry. I knew it was your day off and just thought we could... I don't know. You'd said yesterday... well. It was stupid. I should have called. It was stupid. I'm sorry."
He started to turn, but the damage was done. Of all the possible scenarios, this would be the one in which short-spoken Seth chose to ramble. I knew it was your day off. Shit. Roman turned on me, the incredulity on his face transforming to fury before my eyes.
"Who," he gasped, voice barely coming out in his anger, "who did you call? Who the fuck did you call?"
I stepped backward. "Seth, get out of—"
Too late. A wave of power, not unlike the one Jerome had used on me, slammed against both Seth and me, thrusting us against my living room wall.
Roman strode up to us, glaring at me, his eyes like blue flame. "Who did you call?" he roared. I didn't answer. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Turning from us, he grabbed my phone and dialed. "I need you to get over here right now....yes, yes, I don't fucking care. Leave it." He recited my address and disconnected. I didn't need to ask who he had called. I knew. The other nephilim. His sister.
Running a hand through his hair, Roman paced frantically around my living room. "Shit. Shit. You may have ruined everything!" he yelled at me. "Do you realize that? Do you realize that, you lying bitch? How could you do this to me?"
I didn't respond. I couldn't. Movement, even talking, was too hard in that psychic net. I couldn't even look at Seth. God only knew what he must think of all of this.
Ten minutes later, I heard another knock. If I had any sort of divine favor left, it would be Jerome and Carter, ready to come to my rescue. Surely even a succubus deserved a break now and then, I thought as I watched Roman open the door.
Helena walked in. Oh, man.
"About time," Roman snapped, slamming the door behind her.
"What's going—" She cut her words off, eyes widening at the sight of Seth and me. Turning back to Roman, she gave him and his boxers a once-over. "For crying out loud, what have you done now?"
"Someone's coming," he hissed, ignoring her question. "Right now."
"Who?" she demanded, hands on hips. There was no rasp in her voice now, and she looked amazingly competent. If I hadn't already been rendered speechless, the sight of her would have done it.
"I don't know," he admitted. "Probably our exalted sire. She called someone."
Helena turned and approached me, making terror sink into my bones as I realized my danger. Helena was the other nephilim. Crazy, swindling Helena. Helena, whom I had insulted on a number of occasions, mocked behind her back, and stolen employees from. The look on her face informed me she was considering all of those things as she stared me down.
"Drop the field," she snapped to Roman, and a moment later, Seth and I slumped forward, gasping, as the power released us. "Is he right? Did you call our father?"
"I... didn't call... anyone..."
"She's lying," Roman observed mildly. "Who did you call, Georgina?"
When I didn't answer, she walked over and slapped me hard, the impact making a loud crack. There was something oddly familiar about it, but then, there would be. Helena was the one who had beat me up that night on the street. I realized then she must have known it was me when I went to Krystal Starz, in spite of my disguise. Recognizing my signature, she had chosen to play with me, feeding me the lines about having a great future as she pushed titles and workshops on me.
"Always difficult, aren't you?" she scoffed. "For years, I've put up with you and others like you, those who mock my lifestyle and teachings. I should have done something about you a long time ago."
"Why?" I wondered aloud, gaining control of my voice again. "Why do you do it? You, of all people, who know about angels and demons... why do you tout the New Age bullshit?"
She eyed me scathingly. "Is it really? Is it bullshit to encourage people to seize control of their own lives, to view themselves as sources of power instead of getting caught up in all the guilt of what's right and what's wrong?" When I didn't answer, she continued, "I teach people to empower themselves. I teach them to let go of sin and salvation, to learn how to find happiness now—in this world. True, some of it is... embellished for the sake of creating wonder and awe, but what does that matter, if the ends are achieved? People walk away from my classes feeling like gods and goddesses. They find that within themselves, rather than selling out to some cold, hypocritical institution."
I couldn't even begin to formulate a response, and it occurred to me that Helena and Roman thought exactly alike, both of them dissatisfied with the system that had spawned them, each of them rebelling against it in different ways.
"I know what you think of me. I've heard what you say about me. I saw you throw away the materials I gave you that night, no doubt thinking I was just some crazy, babbling New Age crackpot. And yet... for someone so smugly confident, so critically self-righteous, you are one of the most unhappy people I've ever met. You hate the game, and yet you play it. You play it, and you defend it because you don't have the courage to do anything else." She shook her head, chuckling dryly. "I didn't have to be psychic to give you any of those predictions. You are gifted, but you waste it. You are wasting your life, and you will spend it miserable and alone."
"I can't change what I am," I told her hotly, stung by her words.
"Spoken like a slave to the system."
"Fuck you," I shot back. Having one's pride and self-identity shattered will often make a person irrationally angry, regardless if the point was well made. "Better a comfortable slave than some freakish divine bastard. It's no wonder your kind is being hunted to extinction."
She hit me again, this time packing nephilim power with the punch, not unlike that night in the alley. It hurt—a lot.
"You little whore. You have no idea what you're talking about."
She moved to hit me again but was stopped as Seth suddenly pushed himself in front of me. "Stop it," he exclaimed. "Stop it, all of—"
A blast of power—from Roman or Helena, I didn't know—pushed Seth across the room, to the other wall. I flinched. "How dare you—" began Helena, her blue eyes flashing angrily. "You, a mortal, who have no idea what you're—"
I was already moving before the words could even come out of her mouth. Seeing Seth abused sparked something in me, an angry response I knew to be hopeless but which I couldn't really prevent. I sprang at Helena, taking on the first shape that came to mind, no doubt thanks to seeing Aubrey earlier: a tiger.