The priest’s eyes grew wide, and I felt mine mirror his. I gripped Jared’s shirt. “What are you saying? That I’m a descendant of demons?”
“That’s not what I said. We’re talking thousands of years ago, Nina. Many things were different back then.”
“Rebellious angels were cast out, Jared.”
Jared cupped my arms. “My mother is a descendant of Celts. They were savages, Nina. They drank the blood of their dead. I don’t personalize it. That’s not what I am.”
“Then why did you leave that part out?” I covered my face with my hands, ashamed to even look at Jared. He was half angel, and I was carrying around the genes of Hell. No wonder our child was so rare. “Did you know that before?” I asked, my eyes filling with tears.
“No.”
My cheeks felt as if they had caught fire. I was hesitant to ask the question that had come to my mind, but I would anyway. I always did, no matter how horrible I thought the answer would be. “Does it change the way you feel about me?”
Jared took my jaws gently into his hands, and he looked straight into my eyes. “Nina, of course not. How could you even think that?”
“Because I don’t know how I feel about me, now.”
Jared put his lips on mine, and then he pulled me to him. It was my father’s last secret, the last thing Jared had tried to keep from hurting me. But, now that it was in the open, everything made perfect sense. I could never quite fit the pieces together until now.
Still, I felt…the only way to describe it was that I felt dirty. After all of that, we were no closer to an answer than when we’d arrived. “Is that what Uriel meant when he said ‘monsters’? What will the baby be?”
“Our baby. Bean will be our baby, nothing more. You know what you need?” he said with a small smile.
“What’s that?” I said, wiping the delicate skin under my eyes.
“The comfort of experience.” Jared tugged on my hand. “Let’s invite Lillian to dinner.”
Father Francis held out his hand. “We’re not finished, are we?”
Jared frowned. “The answers aren’t in those books. I don’t know what else to do.”
“The answer is always in this book,” Father Francis said, holding his Bible in his hands. He held it to his chest. “We’ve just missed something.”
“We haven’t missed anything. I had hoped He would lead you to the answer, Father, but He hasn’t so much as whispered in your ear.”
Jared’s words sent my mind spinning. Had we missed something? Had the answer been in front of us all along? I clicked through each idea and passage of scripture I’d heard them discuss like channels in my mind. I kept coming back to Shax’s book, and returning it to Jerusalem.
“Maybe it’s not in my ear he’s whispering?” The priest said.
Jared waved him away. “Nina’s exhausted and hungry. It’s clouding my thoughts. All I can think about is that damn book and returning it so Shax can’t get to it and we can concentrate on keeping Nina safe.”
“Wait, what?” I said, stunned.
“I have the Jerusalem trip on my mind. I can’t focus on anything else. It’s maddening.”
“He’s whispering,” I said.
Jared raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Father Francis nodded, and hobbled to where we stood. “She’s right.”
I gripped Jared’s shirt. “The Sepulchre. The only place they aren’t allowed to desecrate. The one place the book is safe from Hell’s hands.”
Jared’s eyes lit up like twin fires. “We can keep you safe there.”
Chapter Nine
Due
Bex finished the last place setting, and then returned to the kitchen. Lillian sat happily at one end of my mother’s long, imported table, Cynthia not so happily at the other. I waited anxiously with them, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. Almost to a beat, Cynthia would shoot me glances of disapproval. She hated it when I fidgeted, but now that I was married, she felt it impolite to mother me. Bex and Jared worked furiously in the kitchen, their laughter and conversation filtering to the formal dining room along with the delicious smells of savory herbs.
Bex appeared again with a basket of hot dinner rolls and a butter dish. His eyes darted to the empty doorway, and then back to the table. “It’s about time.”
The front door opened, and then I heard Claire grumbling under her breath. She and Ryan made their way to the table like summer and winter—Ryan was all smiles, and Claire sported her usual scowl.
Bex brought in a pot of steamed vegetables in one hand, and a bowl of rice in the other. Ryan pulled out Claire’s chair and then clapped his hands, rubbing them together.
“I can help,” he said.
Bex nodded once toward the kitchen. “Just pick something and bring it out to the table.” He pulled off his apron and took a seat next to his mother.
“I think you should leave it on,” Claire said. “Pink pinstripes look good on you.”