The Nephilim (7 page)

Three more hours Garrick told himself, just three more. He could get through them – if she could just keep quiet. But that was a big if.

Chapter Four

Olmstead was the same sleepy little town it had always been. A country town if it was anything – though perhaps a little larger than many – it was much the same as a thousand other country towns across the country. Exactly the same as a dozen other small towns in Broome County. There was just one difference. Everyone who lived there was a nephilim.

Centuries before when the colonials had come to this land seeking a new life, the nephilim had come with them, seeking fairly much the same thing. In time they'd settled in a small number of locales, quickly realising that their best defence lay in numbers. After all, one nephilim alone was a vulnerable person. Easily capable of being singled out as different, called a witch or worse, and  killed. And it seemed that this new world was just as frightened of “witches” as the ones they'd left.

The victims of the Salem witch trials had mostly been unfortunate housewives just as they had been everywhere else, and very few of them had been nephilim. But still the fear remained. If the normals had guessed their secret they would have joined them in the fires. And it wasn't as if the Choir would have allowed them to use their gifts to harm those who were attacking them. Or even to show their gifts. Every nephilim knew that. When it came to protecting themselves it really was up to them. And the best way to protect themselves was to hide, especially when what limited gifts they had they couldn't use to defend themselves with. So that was what they'd done.

But when they'd realised that they could instead have a whole town to themselves, that had seemed like a miracle. It had finally been a chance to stop running and hiding. To walk freely – at least somewhere in the world. It had been a dream and it was something that in a new country with so much available land, they could do. They could finally be free to be who they were, and be safe from the normals.

So that was what they'd done, family after family buying up large tracts of farm land in the area, and little by little they had formed small farming communities. In Olmstead’s case the community had over the years become a town, and in time even a reasonably sized one. Olmstead was the largest of their three towns in the US though there were others scattered across the world.

It was more than just safety that had drawn them together though. It was the natural desire to be with others of their own kind. It was lonely being different and having to hide that difference from everyone else. It was hard to find a husband or a wife and then have to hide the most basic aspect of your life from them. Especially if the children carried some of the blood. So the coming together in groups and then villages and towns had been a natural thing. And over the years the towns had grown.

They'd also found ways of making sure that outsiders couldn't move in. For the most part it was through by-laws. The ones in Olmstead simply said that every purchase and sale agreement for a house within the town's boundaries had to be approved by the town council. Naturally that approval wouldn't be given to those not of the blood. In the US that worked quite well. In other parts of the world he understood that they had different arrangements. Membership in a particular faith was the most common one, where all the land was vested in a particular church.

Olmstead was home to nearly ten thousand people, all of them nephilim. Or most of them anyway. There were a few normals among them, mostly the husbands and wives of nephilim. But they knew the secret and were happy to keep it. The town was one of only a few places on Earth where a nephilim like him could feel completely safe as he walked down the street. Where he could even show off his talent – though it was discouraged – and not have to worry about someone reporting it.

It was also one of the few towns left where there were no street cameras. Not on street corners. Not on shop fronts. The town council had banned them. The official reason given in the minutes of the Council meetings was that it was because of the invasion of personal privacy that such devices created, but everyone knew the truth. It was because accidents happened from time to time, especially when there were young people involved, and no one wanted what they could do accidentally being recorded. One image of someone glowing or levitating on the national news, and all their lives could be ruined.

Though he seldom came to the town these days, driving down the main street Garrick felt a keen sense of having come home. It was something he felt every time he returned. Perhaps some of that showed as he drove down the main street and waved or nodded politely to the people they passed. He knew most of them after all.

“What a dump!”

Clearly his charge didn't see the town the same way. Where he saw charming old pioneer cottages with flower gardens and turn of the century stores she just saw old. And where he saw old friends and fellow nephilim she saw hicks and cornballs. That annoyed him. This place and these people did not deserve her disrespect. They were good people and this was a good place.

“I'd be quiet kid.” Since she'd refused to give him her name for so long Garrick had grown accustomed to calling her 'kid', and he could see no real reason to stop. “This is one of only a few places in the entire world where you can walk down the street and know that everyone you meet is like you. That whatever special gifts your blood has given you, have also been given to many of the others that pass you by. And that still others will have their own gifts.”

“This town is two things to you. It's a sanctuary where you will be safe no matter what other disasters you've made of your life and who you've pissed off. And in time you will realise it's one more thing than that – it's home. Here you'll never walk alone again.”

“So don't go ripping into it. Show it some respect. And above all else remember the rules. The normals don't know about us and they don't know about this town. There are ten thousand people here relying on that ignorance to keep them safe. And you're now one of them. Your name has been entered into the databases as attending the local academy. If the town gets exposed, you get exposed.”

Garrick didn't look but he could imagine that Katarinka was glaring at him from the passenger seat. He didn't care. Hopefully she'd heard him and even if she had chosen not to pay attention Patricia would tell her all over again until she did. Meanwhile, it was good to be home even if it was only going to be for a few hours.

Garrick drove on down the main street, passing the various shops and businesses that were the financial heart of the town, and then turned left just before the Council buildings to turn on to Ambrosia Drive. A mile along the dead straight road and just up a small gently sloping hill was the Westlord Academy. A private school paid for entirely through the Council rates and which every child from the town attended.

He could see the school growing larger as they approached, and the sight of the lichen covered stone buildings sitting in their fields of green brought a little bit of nostalgia back to him. He'd spent seven years there, his last three of high school and then four more as he'd done his undergraduate degree in forensic science. After that of course he'd gone on to Binghamton and completed his masters. But it hadn't been the same.

He'd had seven good years at the academy, which, given the life he and his mother had lived before they'd come here, had practically been a miracle. It was here that he'd learned about life, about his gift, about girls and drinking – all the things that young people were supposed to learn. And for him the academy represented an easier, more carefree time in his life. A time before he'd embarked on the serious part of his life, chasing down murderers. But he also recalled that when he'd first been brought to the academy he hadn't thought so kindly of it. He guessed Katarinka was having the same thoughts.

Katarinka made a snide comment about the architecture and it made him smile a little. When he'd first come here and seen the school he'd made similar comments. It wasn't so much the Gothic nature of the brick and stone buildings that surprised. It was the gargoyles and grotesques that covered it. They were cute in an ugly sort of way, and they were everywhere. Someone had even put a few in the gardens for some unknown reason. Still, he supposed, they were preferable to garden gnomes.

“Is this a school or a prison?”

“A school – and a good one. If you work hard you'll get one of the best educations in the country and a chance at a good career. An awful lot of top level business executives and professionals spent their school days here.”

“Like you huh.”

Garrick felt his hackles rise once again. She was simply so good at pushing his buttons. It was almost instinctive with her. But with an effort he put his anger aside. In the end it didn't matter. They were there, the trip was over and as he drove into the car park he knew he'd never have to see her again. All he had to do was drop her off with the head mistress and drive away. It was just a pity he couldn't simply open the door, throw her out of the truck and floor it.

Instead of giving in to his baser instincts though Garrick drove up to the administration building, pulled up, got out and then extracted her bag from the back and handed it to her. She didn't thank him. He then led her into the building, past the reception desk which was empty like the waiting area, down the hallway and to the oak panel door which lead to the headmistress' office. He knocked politely and waited to be called just as he had when he'd been a student here. Patricia, as he now knew her, was very approachable and usually informal, but there were still some formalities that were expected.

“Come.”

Garrick pushed the door open and they stepped inside her office. Instantly he was taken back in time. Back to when he'd been a student. The headmistress hadn't changed her office one bit in twenty years at least, and it still looked as it had the last time he'd been in it. It also looked like something out of the Victorian era. There were oak panelled walls covered in shelves and filled with books – all neatly arranged. The carpet was a thick red tapestry like affair with gold crests woven into it. And the furniture was a mixture of heavy wood polished to shine like the sun and dark brown leather. In all the room there was only one thing that stood out as being part of the twenty first century – the computer on the headmistress' walnut desk. And it was a rather small and unassuming laptop.

“Patricia this is Katarinka Nelos.”

Garrick made the introductions and immediately thought about asking if he could just leave. But he knew he couldn't. There were things that needed to be discussed and a recalcitrant teenager that had to finally start talking – before the Treasury agents arrived. He knew they wouldn't be far away.

“It's nice to meet you child.”

Patricia flashed a smile at the girl as she got up from behind her desk and came to them. It was a surprisingly warm one Garrick thought – but then she didn't yet know the girl. She even offered her hand though the kid didn't take it. She just stared at her suspiciously.

“And you Garrick – it's been too long.”

“Likewise Patricia.”

Garrick happily accepted her hand and even a seat in one of the leather bound arm chairs when she offered it. It was firmer than he remembered but still felt surprisingly comfortable, mainly because he knew that his duty was done. From now on the kid was Patricia's problem.

“I'm so glad you decided to come here child.” The headmistress began by throwing out a line that the kid just had to snap at.

“I'm here because I have to be! Because that bitch forced me to come and this creep drove me here! But that doesn't mean I want to be here,” Katarinka snapped at the headmistress without even thinking.

Naturally the kid had taken the bait which Garrick knew was what the headmistress had intended. It was easier to talk freely when the hostility was already out in the open. It would let Patricia explain the lay of the land to her without any need for subtlety. And without any chance of there being a misunderstanding.

“And yet here you are child and here you'll stay. And while you're here you'll learn a lot about life, about who you are and who you can become. You'll get a good education, one of the best in the country. And maybe you'll even learn a little more about where you came from and why you've led the life you have.”

“But one thing you will absolutely learn is respect.” The headmistress adopted the tone of a school mistress – which of course she was. Patricia would have made a good angel Garrick thought as she dressed the girl down, except that she had some genuine human warmth.