with a soft click.
Percival maneuvered himself onto a stuffed armchair, swirling the scotch in its cut-crystal glass.
He straightened his legs—slowly, gently—onto an ottoman. He thought of his mother and her
complete disregard for his efforts in getting them this far. That he had obtained definite information
about St. Rose Convent should have given her faith in him. Instead Sneja had instructed Otterley to
oversee the creatures she’d sent upstate.
Taking a sip of scotch, Percival tried to telephone his sister. When Otterley did not pick up, he
checked his watch, annoyed. She should have called by now.
For all her faults, Otterley was like their father—punctual, methodical, and utterly reliable under
pressure. If Percival knew her, she had consulted with their father in London and had drawn up a plan
to contain and eliminate Verlaine. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise him if his father had outlined the plan
from his office, giving Otterley whatever she needed to execute his wishes. Otterley was his father’s
favorite. In his eyes she could do nothing wrong.
Looking at his watch again, Percival saw that only two minutes had passed. Perhaps something had
happened to warrant Otterley’s silence. Perhaps their efforts had been thwarted. It wouldn’t be the
first time they had been lured into a seemingly innocuous situation only to be cornered.
He felt his legs pulsing and shaking, as if the muscles rebelled against repose. He took another sip
of scotch, willing it to calm him, but nothing worked when he was in such a state. Leaving his cane
behind, Percival drew himself up from the chair and hobbled to a bookshelf, where he removed a
calf-bound volume and placed it gently upon the billiard table. The spine creaked when he pressed
the cover open, as if the binding might pop apart. Percival had not opened The Book of Generations
in many, many years, not since the marriage of one of his cousins had sent him searching for family
connections on the bride’s side—it was always awkward to arrive at a wedding and be at a loss for
who mattered and who did not, especially when the bride was a member of the Danish royal family.
The Book of Generations was an amalgamation of history, legend, genealogy, and prediction
pertaining to his kind. All Nephilistic children received an identical calf-bound volume at the end of
their schooling, a kind of parting gift. The stories told of battle, of the founding of countries and
kingdoms, of the binding together in pacts of loyalty, of the Crusades, of the knighthoods and quests
and bloody conquests—these were the great stories of Nephilistic lore. Percival often wished that he
had been born in those times, when their actions were not so visible, when they were able to go about
their business quietly, without the danger of being monitored. Their power had been able to grow
with the aid of silence, each victory building upon the one that came before. The legacy of his
ancestors was all there, recorded in The Book of Generations.
Percival read the first page, filled with bold script. There was a list of names documenting the
sprawling history of the Nephilistic bloodline, a catalog of families that began at the time of Noah and
branched into ruling dynasties. Noah’s son Japheth had migrated to Europe, his children populating
Greece, Parthia, Russia, and northern Europe and securing their family’s dominance. Percival’s
family was descended directly from Javan, Japheth’s fourth son, the first to colonize the “Isles of the
Gentiles,” which some took to mean Greece and others believed to be the British Isles. Javan had six
brothers, whose names were recorded in the Bible, and a number of sisters, whose names were not
recorded, all of whom created the basis of their influence and power throughout Europe. In many
ways The Book of Generations was a recapitulation of the history of the world. Or, as modern
Nephilim preferred to think, the survival of the fittest.
Looking over the list of families, Percival saw that their influence had once been absolute. In the
past three hundred years, however, Nephilistic families had fallen into decline. Once there had been a
balance between human and Nephilim. After the Flood they’d been born in almost equal numbers. But
Nephilim were deeply attracted to humans and had married into human families, causing the genetic
dilution of their most potent qualities. Now Nephilim possessing predominantly human characteristics
were common, while those who had pure angelic traits were rare.
With thousands of humans born for every one Nephilim, there was some debate among good
families about the relevance of their human-born relations. Some wished to exclude them, push them
further into the human realm, while others believed in their value, or at least their use to the larger