At the next stop, the Central Square Station, most of the students got off. A bench opened up. We grabbed it and settled in for the fifteen-minute ride to South Station, where we’d transfer to the bus for Logan.
We rode in silence. I became acutely aware of al that we hadn’t talked about: the overheard conversations of our parents, my discussions with Professor McMaster, Michael’s time alone with Ezekiel. The unspoken words hung between us, like a screen separating us. I didn’t want to feel so detached from Michael, but I didn’t know where to start. Or how to break through the divide.
Final y, Michael tried. He looked at me, with a serious and sad expression, and asked, “El ie, what are we?”
I hesitated. I wasn’t certain of my conclusion at al , but he deserved to know the most logical assumption. “I think we’re something cal ed Nephilim.
But I’m not real y sure what that means.”
Michael’s lips formed the first of many questions, but my eyes suddenly grew heavy. I hadn’t slept for nearly two days. He whispered, “It’s al right, El ie. Go to sleep. We have plenty of time to figure this al out. I’l stay awake so we don’t miss our stop.”
His arms enfolded me, and I returned the gesture. I hadn’t hugged him since he returned to himself. And it felt good.
For the first time since I met Michael on Ransom Beach, I relaxed and closed my eyes. His arms and his reassurances that we would uncover the mysteries of our beings together soothed me. I wanted to thank him, so I forced my eyes open a little.
My drowsy vision settled on a sweet-faced blond girl wearing a Harvard sweatshirt walking down the train car aisle. She resembled the helpful girl from the peaceful brick courtyard, the one who advised me to think about the questions. I thought she smiled at me. I started to smile back, but then a disturbing question crossed my mind. It wiped away al thoughts of sleep. With al the thousands of col ege students in Cambridge, what were the odds that I’d run into the same person twice within a few hours? Slim, very slim.
Chapter Forty-three
My eyes flew open, and I looked at her a little closer. It was the girl from the Harvard courtyard. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
I nudged Michael to watch the girl as she continued down the aisle in our direction. The train hurtled down the tracks, plunging the car deeper and deeper into the warren of underground T tunnels and making any immediate escape impossible. But the girl seemed impervious to the jolting of the train; she just walked serenely toward us.
As she approached our seat, the older man on the bench facing us got up. Even though the train hadn’t slowed and we were nowhere near a station. She settled into the vacated seat and beamed that sweet smile at me.
“Hel o, El speth.”
I didn’t think I’d told her my name during our brief discussion in the courtyard. And I certainly wouldn’t have cal ed myself El speth even if I had.
“How do you know my name?”
“Your parents sent me.” From the conversation Michael had overheard, I knew that my parents had mentioned sending a “friend” to watch over me. But how did I know she wasn’t a “friend” of Ezekiel’s instead?
As if she knew I needed reassurance, the girl said, “Your mother asked me to give you this, as a sign of my loyalty to you. And to Michael, of course.” Although she referred to Michael as if he was an afterthought.
She put an object in my hand, and then closed my fist around it. I opened my fingers one by one, and discovered my mother’s locket inside. I had never seen my mom without it. How had this girl gotten it from her? I guessed she could have taken it from my mom by force, even though my intuition told me otherwise.
To answer my unspoken question, the girl placed her hand over mine. I received a precise, vivid flash, as if she explicitly sent the image to me. It was a very different sensation than retrieving information from people’s minds.
In the image, my mom and the girl stood in the entryway of our house. My mom unfastened her locket and gingerly placed it in the girl’s waiting palm.
“Take care of El speth for me, and bring her home. Give her this for me if she resists your good intentions.” My mom smiled, and continued. “And knowing my strong-wil ed daughter, she may wel resist.”
“I wil , Hananel.”
The girl turned to leave, but my mom grabbed her by the arm before she went out the door. My mom gazed into the girl’s eyes, as if she was speaking through them to me. “Please make El speth understand that, by not rushing to her side, I’m not abandoning her. I’m trying to help her. And please tel her that there were reasons— vital reasons—why we didn’t tel her who she is, or prepare her for what’s to come.”
“I promise, Hananel.”
The image faded. I found myself back in the train car, clutching on to Michael’s arm and staring into the face of an angel. For surely that is what she was. Her face had the same exquisite, timeless quality as did my parents. Or as my parents used to have, anyway.
I placed the locket around my neck. Sensing that her message was successful y received, the girl stretched out her hand to me. “Please come with me. We wil get off at the next stop and fly somewhere safe.”
I looked to Michael for agreement. He gave me a quick nod, so I took her hand and stood up. As did Michael. “Who are you?” I asked.
“I am Tamiel,” she answered as we started walking through the car. “I am also one of the fal en, trying for grace. Like both sets of your parents.”
We fol owed Tamiel to the closed train doors. As we listened to the train hurtle down the tracks, I whispered, “I have so many questions.”
