The Book told of al the wrong things the fal en angels did, the fury of God at the angels’ creation of the Nephilim, and God’s decision to bind the fal en angels to earth until the day of judgment. It sounded like the story my dad had told me, just a lot longer and lot harder to comprehend.
Certain passages jumped out at me. For example, I kept noticing that the Book of Enoch sometimes cal ed the fal en angels “Watchers.” I remembered that my mom had cal ed Michael’s mom a “former watcher.” Were Michael’s parents fal en angels too?
But I stil wasn’t sure what I was. The Book of Enoch bolstered my parents’ statements that I wasn’t a fal en angel; after al , they were fixed in number and listed right there in the text. The book also rejected the notion that I was a Nephilim; they’d al been kil ed in Noah’s flood from what I could tel . So the book hadn’t answered my core question. Maybe there was a whole other category of biblical creatures that I’d overlooked.
I stopped by the carrel of the nice student who’d helped me. We chatted for a few minutes about the density of the ancient texts, and I thanked him again. I nearly reached the stairway when I thought of one last question and turned back.
“Assuming that the creatures described in the Bible real y exist, would the Nephilim be around today? Or were they al kil ed in the flood?”
He paused for a moment, and then said, “Actual y, at least one biblical expert maintains that a Nephilim wil return at a critical point in mankind’s existence—the end days.”
“The end days?”
“Yeah, the end days—or Judgment Day, as the concept is sometimes cal ed. They’re a turbulent time preceding the return of a Messianic figure who’l judge al earthbound creatures and shepherd in a heavenly reign. Al three of the Abrahamic religions—Christianity, Judaism, and Islam—
contain this notion in some form.” He talked as if he were reading from a textbook.
“And this expert thinks at least one Nephilim wil emerge around these end days?”
“Yes. In fact, he believes the Nephilim is the creature referred to in the Book of Enoch as the ‘Elect One.’”
Suddenly I remembered the predominance of that phrase throughout the book. And I also recal ed one of the last lines of the Book of Enoch. It stated that the Elect One wil lead at the end of time.
I felt goose bumps on my arms.
“Can you tel me the name of the expert who believes that the Nephilim wil return?”
“Sure. His name is Professor Barr, and he’s a professor of Biblical Studies at Oxford University in England.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
The campus was growing dark, surprisingly dark for the time of day and the time of year. Almost as if the mere specter of Ezekiel cast a shadow on the whole of Harvard, blackening out any remaining daylight or the glow of the sunset. Or maybe it was just an il usion performed by Ezekiel for my benefit, like a storm cloud fol owing me wherever I went.
As I approached Professor McMaster’s building, I scanned it and determined that it was largely empty. Classes were over for the day, so I guessed the malingerers were stray students and obsessed professors. I found the same staircase I’d taken that morning and walked up the two flights to the professor’s floor.
Pushing open the heavy staircase door, I stepped out into the darkened hal way. The secretaries’ desk lights were off, and most of the professors’ offices were closed for the day. The walk down the corridor to Professor McMaster’s office seemed long, and I was relieved to see light peering out from under his closed door.
I knocked on the door, al too aware of the tangle of locks that lay on the other side and al too cognizant of the unpleasantness of my earlier greeting. I got no response.
The lights were on, but it was silent. I waited what seemed like an eternity. Had the professor had second thoughts?
Bracing myself to knock again, I final y heard the unfastening of locks accompanied by an unexpectedly cheerful reception: “Please come in, Miss Faneuil.”
The door creaked open, and Professor McMaster’s grinning face welcomed me in. His expression restored my hope. The thought fortified me. I smiled back and fol owed him inside.
But what I saw when I stepped inside wiped the smile off my face. In the battered wooden guest chair sat a man with white-blond hair and piercing blue eyes: Ezekiel.
No matter my horrified expression, Professor McMaster had smiles to spare. “Miss Faneuil, I have just been having the most intriguing conversation with your friend, Mister Ezekiel.”
So, it was “my friend, Mister Ezekiel” now, was it? I had sensed him and Michael in Harvard Square, but I didn’t expect to see him here. After al , he had instructed Michael to wait until I came to them. Why I had any faith in the assurances of evil itself, I don’t know.
Ezekiel gave me his sickening smile. Using his most polite tone, he said, “Hel o, El speth. We’ve been looking forward to your arrival.”
“I wish I could say the same.”
Ezekiel ignored my snide remark, and the professor seemed not to hear it at al . He was too fixated on Ezekiel, who said, “I’ve been tel ing Professor McMaster al about the interesting link between the fal en angels mentioned in Genesis and the birth of the vampire mythology.”
Turning away from Ezekiel in disgust and fear, I caught a glimpse of the professor’s face. His eyes positively shined with excitement at the prospect of studying the true origins of the vampire legend and sharing his discovery with the world; it would be the pinnacle of his life’s work. At that moment, I saw in the professor the same unquenchable thirst for knowledge that I’d seen in the young Istvan Laszlof’s face, a thirst that caused him to take enormous risks then with his life. And now, he was unwittingly risking his soul, as Ezekiel was determined to turn him toward the darkness.
I stared over at Ezekiel, who smirked knowingly behind the professor’s back. He had no intention of ever al
