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recovered lost ground. Now, however, I’m growing worried. Our strength is diminishing. Death

camps overflow with our kind. The Nephilim have scored a major victory with the Germans. They

have been waiting for quite a while for this kind of platform.”

I found that I had the opportunity to ask a question that had been at the back of my mind for some

time. “You believe the Nazis are Nephilistic?”

“Not exactly,” Dr. Raphael said. “Nephilim are parasitic, feeding off human society. They are

mixed, after all—part angel, part human. This gives them a certain flexibility to move in and out of

civilizations. Through history they have attached themselves to groups like the Nazis, promoted them,

assisted them financially and militarily, and made way for their successes. It is a very old, and very

successful, practice. Once they find victory, the Nephilim absorb the rewards, quietly dividing the

spoils, and go back to their private existences.”

“But they are called the Famous Ones,” I said.

“Yes, and many of them are famous. But their riches buy them protection and privacy.” Dr.

Raphael continued, “There are a number of them here. As a matter of fact, there is one very influential

gentleman I should like to introduce you to.”

Dr. Raphael stood and shook hands with a tall, blond gentleman in a gorgeous silk tuxedo, who—

although I could not say how—was exceedingly familiar to me. Perhaps we had met before, because

he examined me with equal interest, eyeing my dress with care.

“Herr Reimer,” the man said. The familiarity of his address, coupled with Dr. Raphael’s false

name, signaled to me that the man had no idea who we really were. Indeed, he spoke to Dr. Raphael

as if they were colleagues. “Haven’t seen you about Paris much this month—the war biting into your

leisure?”

Dr. Raphael laughed, his voice measured. “No,” he said, “just spending time with this lovely young

lady. This is my niece, Christina. Christina,” Dr. Raphael said, “this is Percival Grigori.”

I stood and offered my hand to the man. He kissed it, his freezing lips pressing my warm skin.

“Lovely girl,” the man said, although he had hardly glanced at me, so taken was he with my dress.

With that he removed a cigarette case from his pocket, offered one to Dr. Raphael, and, to my

astonishment, lifted the very lighter that Gabriella had carried in her possession four years before. In

an instant of horrid recognition, the man’s identity was revealed to me. Percival Grigori was

Gabriella’s lover, the man I had found in her arms. I watched, stunned, as Dr. Raphael spoke lightly

of politics and theater, touching upon the most noteworthy events of the war. Then, with a nod,

Percival Grigori left us.

I sat in my chair, unable to understand how Dr. Raphael might know this man, or how Gabriella

had come to be involved with him. In my confusion I chose the more prudent course: I remained

silent.

“Are you feeling better?” Dr. Raphael asked.

“Better?”

“You were ill on the journey.”

“Yes,” I said, looking over my arms, which were redder than ever, as if I had been severely

sunburned. “I believe I will be fine. My skin is fair. It will need some days to heal.” Wishing to

change the subject, I said, “But you didn’t finish telling me about the Nazis. Are they completely

under Nephilistic control? If so, how could we possibly win against them?”

“The Nephilim are very strong, but when they are defeated—and until now they have always been

defeated—they disappear quickly, leaving their human hosts to face punishment alone, as if the evil

actions were their own. The Nazi Party is rife with Nephilim, but those in power are one hundred

percent human. That is why they are so hard to exterminate. Humanity understands, even desires, evil.

There is something in our nature that is seduced by evil. We are easily convinced.”

“Manipulated,” I said.

“Yes, perhaps ‘manipulated’ is the better word. It is the more generous word.”

I sank into my velvet chair, the soft fabric soothing the skin on my back. It seemed to me that I had

not felt so warm in years. Music began to play in the hall, and couples began to dance, filling the

floor.

“Dr. Raphael,” I asked, the champagne making me feel bold, “can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he replied.

“Why did you ask if my eyes were blue?”

Dr. Raphael looked at me, and for a moment I thought that he might tell me something about himself,

something that would reveal the inner life he kept hidden from his students. His voice softened as he