Page 83

“Thousands,” Micah says, “but most were captured before they possessed anyone.”

“Back then, there was no internet,” Zeke adds, “and police departments didn’t cooperate with each other. That made it easy to deal with the possession. Surprisingly, in present day, it’s not that much harder. Humans are so self-absorbed, the top story on the news channels is who Taylor Swift is dating, not who just died. Nothing against Taylor Swift. It’s not her fault the news puts her story above others, and it works in our favor.”

They’re right, but it’s rather terrifying to hear it from those who some might call angels.

Much later, our bellies are full and cheeks tired from random laughter that has done much to soothe my frazzled nerves and battered spirit. We end up gathering in the living room, me on the couch sandwiched between Micah and Gabriella. Braylon sits in an oversized leather chair and produces a tall gold glass bottle with a crystal blue top. “Wine, anyone?” He begins filling glasses and handing them out.

I’m about to give it a try when Micah catches my hand. “Careful with that. It’s from Nephilim grapes. This you’ll feel. You might tell me all your secrets.”

“I already invited you into my mind, Micah,” I remind him, lowering my glass, “but just to be clear, there’s something called quid pro quo in the legal field. Turnabout is fair play. Give and take.”

“I’d rather hear your secrets from you.”

“I’m lucky I get to keep my name. I don’t know a secret to keep.” I sip from the glass, and there’s a fizz on my tongue that is almost lemony and yet sweet like honeysuckle. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted, and I have to fight the urge to slug it all down. “That’s incredible.”

“Is it the first time you’ve had anything from the motherland?” Silas asks, sitting on an ottoman on the opposite side of the coffee table.

I laugh. “The motherland?”

“That’s what Silas calls our homeland,” Gabriella says. “You’d love the food there, Ember. We have fruits and vegetables that Earth does not. I personally love evos, which is a sweet fruit. They taste like a mix of human cherries and peaches.”

“Better spices, too,” Braylon adds from a chair to the right of me and Gabriella, “but we’re not allowed to bring any of it outside the Kingdom of Nephilim.”

I glance at Micah for explanation.

“We must never risk being discovered,” he says. “It’s decreed by our king and a crime punishable by death.”

“Humans like to cage and kill what they do not understand,” Braylon interjects. “I’ve seen it happen.”

Understanding comes far too easily, and it’s not that I think poorly of mankind, but like me on that beach tonight, they are a people with a survival instinct. And while there are many kind humans, there are also those filled with greed and corruption.

Some would cage us and find ways to turn us into profit.

I sip from my glass again, and I feel a buzz forming in my head already, an unfamiliar sensation that loosens my tongue and broadens my curiosity. “How old is everyone? And how did you end up with Micah?”

Braylon goes first. “I’m exactly one hundred years old, born with the expectation of my family that I’d be Gilded, as my father’s a highly decorated officer. He was furious when I applied to be a Conscript.”

My brows furrow. “What is a Conscript?”

“The Gilded Army protects the Kingdom of Nephilim,” Zeke explains. “The Conscripts protect humanity under a Crystal Seer. Once you survive the Fray, you have the right to apply to be a Conscript.”

“The Fray is a brutal test of character and skills,” Gabriella adds gravely. “Many do not survive.”

“Brutal is an understatement,” Braylon argues but moves on. “You fight. You probably die. If you live, the king reviews your application to be Conscript, and he himself chooses which Seer you serve with.”

“And here you are,” I say, daring another sip of the Nephilim grapes.

“Which is why Braylon’s father hates me and barely tolerates the king,” Micah says, sipping his wine. “He’s never gotten over Braylon pledging Conscript.”

“What is your father’s name, Braylon?” I ask, deciding I need to catalogue potential enemies.

Braylon’s mouth flattens as if he cannot stand the man’s name on his lips, and I decide there is more to the story of him and his father.

“Evanger,” Micah supplies after a beat, lowering his voice to add, “And you’re smart to ask.” And then, as if intentionally shifting the attention off Braylon, Micah motions to Zeke. “Your turn.”

Zeke happily launches into his tale. “I’m one hundred and fifty, give or take a year or two. I don’t much like keeping up. As for the story, it’s pretty simple. My lady bedded another man while I was inside the Fray. I would have killed him and been sent to the Judgement Tree if I’d stayed. I chose to become a Conscript.”

“Two hundred for me,” Silas chimes in, and now I think he’s the one saving Zeke more details. I’m seeing a trend here. They fight like brothers. They protect each other like brothers. Silas continues, “Micah came to visit my Wing in the academy. That’s what they call the groups they place us in—Wings. Red Wing. Blue Wing. You get the idea. He trained us to survive the Fray. One of the tips he gave me saved my life, and I applied for Conscript for one reason: to serve with him. When the king tried to send me elsewhere, I pleaded my case. He didn’t listen, but the queen forced his hand.”