God's Gone AWOL

[2] The Nephilim

THUD!

Frances tossed a book onto the table.

It was a classic, monstrous, old tome. With crusty, water-stained, yellowing pages and a rough, filthy cover which read: 'History of Nephilim in Modern Times'. Although looking at it, Atticus figured it must have been a while since anything written on those pages could be considered anywhere close to 'modern'. He wanted to crack it open just to see what was written inside, but his angelic instincts saw the uncleanliness of the object, and therefore prevented him from physically interacting with it.

Frances, on the other hand, had no such restraint.

"This is the last record anyone ever bothered making of all of history's Nephilim. But it's not like there's been any born since, so it should be accurate to some degree,"

They quickly tossed it open and began flipping through page after page, scanning the words. After a moment of searching, their index finger found their target, poking the text aggressively. Bentley leaned over to glance at where their finger had landed.

"This is it?" She asked.

The 'this' she had referred to was a list containing the names of every Nephilim born since the beginning of humanity. And it wasn't very long. Atticus wondered what the point of the rest of the book was if these few little lines of words were the most important parts. But then again, such was the way of old scholars. All across history, the people who wrote a lot or talked a lot tended to use an exceptional amount of words to say exceptionally unimportant things. However, if there was one piece of useful information hidden within, it was usually worth the rest.

"What is the final name on this list?" Atticus pulled the book closer to himself, pretending not to see the suspicious side-glance from Bentley.

Frances scanned the page again.

"Isaiah Quinn," they said, "Born, 1793. Recorded human parent: a woman named Elizabeth Quinn. Angelic parent: Haniel, leader of the Principalities,"

Hearing the latter name, Bentley's face abruptly fell.

"So that's it then," she said, "All three of them are dead. I guess there's nothing I can do now but climb back into my grave and die—"

"Record all living descendants of Isaiah Quinn,"

As Bentley had been going off, Atticus had magically produced a notebook and pressed it against the pages of the old tome. When he spoke to it, his eyes flashed with golden light, and little neat letters began to trace themselves out between the blank lines. Soon enough, a name and address had already appeared.

Bentley huffed a sigh. Why was she sighing? That's what she was looking for, wasn't it??

"Come on, Halo Head, don't bother. there's going to be hundreds at this rate. I don't have time to sort through—"

The writing stopped before she could finish. And there was only one name.

Hazel Labonte. 363 Maple Street, Jericho WA.

"That was unexpected," said Frances.

"Jericho, Washington? Again?!" Bentley smacked her own forehead. "We were just there!"

She glanced at Atticus, who said nothing. He was still staring at the page.

Hazel Labonte.

Hazel?? Hazel was descended from angels??? Atticus had always thought there was something just a little different about her, but he had never expected it to be something like this. They'd been friends for a while. She was staying in his house right at this exact moment. How had he never caught on? How had Heaven never caught on?