Narcariel had never felt so nervous. More had happened in the last week than in the entire previous year of his service. From the driver's seat of the filthy human truck he was being forced to drive to be inconspicuous, he glanced over at the apartment he had searched that morning, and shivered at the smell of Mandrake, or what he believed was Mandrake.
The man in the passenger's seat, his eyes obscured by a fedora, stared intently at the apartment.
Hoping to break the nearly tangible tension, Narcariel told him what he had found out. Reaching under his seat, he pulled out copies of paperwork, some of which had the girl's photograph on them.
"So I recovered some of her records, her mother kept their name, but they've been moving around for a bit, but they've been moving around for a bit...er....I told you this morning what I felt but-"
"You were right." said the man suddenly, not looking away from the apartment. His voice was like ice.
"What?" whispered Narcariel, out of surprise.
"It's Mandrake." said the man.
Narcariel was quiet for a moment, then he spoke again.
"Sir...that's impossible. Mandrake is dead. Lady Sidriel saw to it herself."
"Apparently not." said the man, quietly.
Narcariel let out a tense breath and glanced back at the apartment.
"Well things have just been complicated." he whispered.
"So it would seem." replied the man, turning back to face forward.
"Seen enough sir?" asked Narcariel, his hand already on the wheel.
"Yes." whispered the man, and Narcariel eased his foot onto the gas, and the two men drove away.
YOU ARE READING
The Lost Nephilim
FantasyThe sons of men were greatly attracted to the daughters of men. However, this attraction was not only limited to men. The offspring of angels and humans were brought into the world. They were called the Nephilim. Their existence was a symbol of th...
