The Fire God

Chapter Eight

"Mri," the little nephilim called after practice, "want to go—"

"If you'd like," I said.

She stopped in her tracks, her curly hair swinging around her face. She tossed a tress over her shoulder. "Milkshakes. The diner offers milkshakes half off on Tuesday."

"If you wish," I said, ambling toward the house.

Tiffany had actually smiled at me during our spar. When I grabbed her arm, she tore fabric then asked me where I wanted to go. I howled, "Home." Back we went to Syllie's mansion. "Wrong home," I whispered in her ear and she sniggered at me.

The little nephilim only came up to my chin. She was average height, but I would have expected her breed to be taller. She hovered near me.

Perhaps because she was near, it gave Syllie confidence. "Mricul, my P.I. couldn't figure out what language you guys were speaking at the Yukon site."

"No."

I went to the kitchen. Though it was much more sophisticated than mine, all of us moved freely in this room, taking as we pleased, preparing snacks or meals. I was brewing suutei tsai. Tea in some water, boil. Then milk. Boil again. The little nephilim crowded me and I edged away.

"We thought maybe it was an Arcadian language, since you were all speaking it, but Beef Dirky said—"

"No."

A few minutes passed. I splashed some back as tradition, but stirring was just as well. Lastly, I added a bit of salt and sifted.

"Can I have some?" the little nephilim said. She rested her fingers on my arms. I marshaled my power to shield myself from the connection.

I ladled some into a teacup for her.

Syllie was short and his zits were mounds all over his face. He stood on tiptoe to peer over my shoulder. So I poured a glass for him too. He winced, but took it.

"Disgusting," he yowled after one sip.

I took it back, finished it for him, poured my own cup.

The girl nephilim sipped and kept her eyes down. She tried to take my hand, but I drew away. She talked frequently on the sojourn to the diner. The milkshake was cold and sweet. She told me she was a student and worked at the library. She rambled about Aunt Ancient, who had raised her and her brother. She was a wild teen after Aunt Ancient died.

She spoke of growing up with the news media following her brother everywhere, how ignored she was. If they talked to her, it was to question her about her brother. On another occasion, she spoke of dropping out of school and becoming a stripper, just to make Maxey mad.

"Stripping was easy and I made a lot of money doing it. I mean a lot."

The little nephilim spoke of the roles of everyone in the group.

Syllie started it. A child millionaire, twelve when his parents were murdered, he hired numerous private detectives and researchers to shed light on his parents' slaying. Syllie frequently called himself an overweight Bruce Wayne.

When the surface had only been scratched after a year of searching, he approached the Great Light, her brother. The Great Light was an infamous healer. And his vision was extraordinary.

The little nephilim did an impression of Maxey going through piles of photos and files. "I see," she said, "I see," her voice withering. He started spouting about The Original Three. She had one hand to her brow, the other reaching out.

Syllie turned his researchers and investigators onto The Original Three. Asperia was the name that came up time and again. Asperia was so in love with herself, she couldn't stand to change her name. Vintage photos were located. Documents traced. She was at least a thousand years old. If it was the same woman. The Great Light assured him it was.