Persephone

Chapter 11: Paparazzi of Nephilims

Chapter 11: Paparazzi of the Nephilims

"Evander Gregori James Hernes, where have you been!?" The gaunt voice of his sister echoed shrilly through the hall. Evander groaned and ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back. Stomp, stomp, and more stomps, and his sister, Derideas La'Vyonne Anastasia Hernes made such an entrance, the light bouncing off her brunette waves, curving her reddening face. She was wearing her steel grey Chanel None dress and black strappy zip-front Jimmy Choos, plus heavy mascara and a light red lipstick, looking like she had just left a formal party.

Evander and Derideas were twins, both attractive, quick-witted, quiet, the tip of a fifty-foot ice-berg. Both had each other's features too similarly that it was impossible for them not to be called solidly identical twins. Except that Derideas was more into books than looks, though Evander strongly opposed this fact about her. His sister was stunning, and so was he.

"My dear, sweet sister, what a pleasant surprise!" Evander twirled and made a fancy bow. "I didn't know you were supposed to escort me!"

"Escort?! Escort my bloody ass!" she yelled at him. "You've been out the whole bloody day! You were supposed to come with me to the Haunt, you bloody gob of shite! And you turn up here, looking as rat arsed as you can ever be, blood on your clothes and a ruined shirt! I ironed that for you! With love! "

Evander chuckled and then his feet left the ground, black sand swirling around his body as he re-materialized behind his sister. "Dee-dee, you always do everything with love," he whispered almost seductively, teasing, in his sister's ear, while his right arm circled her torso, his mouth near her ear-lobe.

Derideas pushed him away, a scowl folding her delicate features. "And you are an annoying, perverted twat."

"I love you too, dear sister."

"Just get out of your clothes already. You smell." With a flip of her hair and the bright click-clacking of her heels, she went back up the stairs, leaving Evander staring back at her with a slightly troubled look on his face.

Then he sniffed his torn sleeve. Warlock... and Percy.

Evander took off to his own room, wondering about the girl whom he saved not very long ago. Damn that Warlock, he thought as he unbuttoned his jacket and then his torn up shirt, streaked and smelling of foul dead blood.

And the Haunt... He sighed quietly on the white sheets, his chest bare and hair tousled. The Haunt was where he and his sister would always communicate in twice a month, never in the same place, to Necromancers and Witches mainly. The witches would dance naked, and then the Necromancers would call up dead things just to serve them a glittering assemblage of assorted and rare food. He and his sister would be seated on thrones overlooking the grim and otherworldly festivities, dining on the best parts, given gifts, treated like they were a king and a queen, like Gods. Both of them.

Why not? They were a mix of a God and of a pure-blood Nephilim. They were next to being the most godly creatures to ever walk on Earth. Except that they were the last ones to walk on it. Last of a Pure Line, and his sister insists that they keep to themselves. It wasn't fun for Evander. They always had to run and hide since they have lost their parents in the second World War. Evander felt torn, both on the loss of loved ones, and the loss of all his fame and their wealth, all their grandeur and possessions. Gone, like their parents were, ashes in the wind.

Blood was eternal, as he learned from each Haunting he and his sister has ever been to.

But this time, this one time, it's different. Evander didn't feel the indifference, even though he knew that he should always be there whenever his sister offered her blood, and his, in a cup to the necromancers. This blood offering was payment for keeping them anonymously in the mundane world. Nephilim blood, very powerful indeed.

What was he to do now? Wait? Evander was always the impatient one. He wanted everything to be fast-forward and done in a blink of an eye. There wasn't any waiting here available for him.

Sleep, he thought and then closed his eyes.

×○×○×○

"He's asleep," Derideas whispered as she entered their parent's room. Two silhouettes were standing by the half-draped window, a candle flickering to show only the hem of an ancient dress... to dried up sinews, blue black veins and the broken wing tendons of a long-dead and burned angel. The other one was seated down, a top hat only showing in the light. "He didn't come with me. A few beings were disappointed."

"Where did he go?" Their mother asked, her voice as thin and crackly as a burning paper. "That's unusual for him just to drop the Haunt. It's not like him to do so."

"I know, mother," Deas sighed and sat on their four-postered bed. "Complications will soon follow. Brother's blood is very unique and yet... they will not be able to protect, no more no less even track him, without his blood."

"Do you know why he left?" Their father countered this time.

"I don't know, father. He didn't tell me. He just disappeared without a trace, and came back as bedraggled as he can ever be."

"Evander's actions can be your downfall, and his, daughter. Do something," her mother hissed. "I need not to remind you again that you are the last of an amazing race imbecillic humans have ever and have seen."

Deas rolled her eyes as she bent her head low. Their mother had always exaggerated their appearance, and she was getting tired of this constant twitter about being great. "Yes, mother. I understand." She stood up and then walked to the door, hearing nothing as she closed it behind her.

The new smell remained, though. It was what Evander brought with him when he arrived. It had a curious tang about it, something...not human. Flowery, but not perfume. Indeed blood, but not the usual.

She sniffed and then headed down the staircase where she caught her brother sneaking in. Deas viewed the whole stairs and hallway, and her eyes zeroed on the small speck of blood on the door knob. With quick, striding steps, she went to the door and ran a delicate finger on the smear--

A scream cutting through the air. The smell of blood. Dying moans. Silver fangs glinting in the moonlight. A flower glowing in the middle of a bloodstained field. A girl standing in the midst of a thousand corpses.

Deas snatched her finger back with a small scream, wings suddenly sprouting out of her back and crashing on both walls of the hallway. Her breathing laboured, and her metallic blue wings were trembling as they folded around her sides as if to protect her. Oh brother, what have you done this time?