Antioch, circa 35 AD.

Paris was playing a game, and he did not even know the rules. He lived, day after day, struggling. He wasn't struggling to live, to support a family. He had no needs but a little blood once in a while. His family was supported as it always had been by trade, and that was entirely in his sister's control now. Wearing dull flesh whenever mortals were about, she knew every thought, every wish. Absidus, taking the name Diana, knew what was in the heart of every mortal.

What Paris struggled with were the many charges he'd been given, to kill Humans, to search for a book, to discover who was truthful and who was not, to find what had become of the Mother, even to defend her. But these goals seemed impossible ones. The rules of the game: unclear. His sister, whom Paris then called Dee, suggested that he not let it bother him so much. "I'm sure they didn't mean for you to do these things within one Human lifetime. Don't you understand that we will live for ages?"

But Paris really didn't understand. How could he? Already he had accepted so much that sounded improbable. He believed in Angels, but only because he'd seen and touched them. Still, he knew it was for this very logic and reason that they'd chosen him. Azyur Ka had not wanted a "believer in gods" as her Spawn.

And yet in all his time in Eden Paris had not found an answer as to why Ariella killed herself. The one thing he had set out to know he seemed to have forgotten. And he felt doubly cheated, as only seldom he even thought about her now.

And so, a troubled soul, Paris lived on.

He turned his attention again to his son. But as Athen had been a joy as a child, the boy made Paris sad. Despite the shockingly different looks he had: the brilliant, almond-shaped, emerald eyes that matched the jewel he wore about his neck (even in public), the long glossy black hair, dark yellow skin, the dusky pink lips, the broadening chest and shoulders he got from swimming, despite all this Athen reminded Paris of Ariella.

Paris would hide the two gold bands under his arm as he stood, just so he would not have to look at them. The way Athen meandered as he walked was like his mother, the shape of his lips, his nose, his jaw. The way he came to brilliant conclusions without knowing how he'd done so. And most heart wrenching, the way he looked at his father with love.

Paris could hardly stand it, his beautiful son standing before him, hands wound about his neck asking, "When will I be like you? You can do it you know, you can make me just like you."

And Paris would, perhaps foolishly, promise, "When you're older, when your body's bigger."

They'd gone back to Antioch, back to the house they'd left before travelling to Eden. It was there Athen grew up. He never got along with other children. Where he'd never been afraid to run up to Angels he shied away from children. He'd never had to learn to speak to them, and so he just hadn't. And so he spent his time with much older people, or alone, swimming fearlessly in deep water, speaking to dolphins and horses as if they listened, riding bareback, and never himself wearing a shirt. And Athen was always wearing black clothes.

A few people who neighboured them noticed and said things to Paris when they visited the house. But in general people didn't care.

Metro was still living with them. She was almost forty years old, but it did not show so badly on her, she had not worked hard or bore many children as most women do in their lives. But she was still smoking opium, drinking laudanum from time to time, and to this she had added drinking liquor made from wormwood, or absinthum. In the past there might have been Lily to stop her, but Lily was no more. And Ariella, who always cared for people, was dead, and old Nika was dead too. And so no one bothered to stop her.

Metro walked about the house and yard, half-dreaming, haunting the hallways at night. Athen liked her though. He liked talking to her when she was on her trips, he'd even mix her tinctures of absinthe and laudanum for her, take little sips of it himself.

Phaeto was always with him. She was nine years older than he, 24 when he was 15, but they were always together. Athen was affectionate to both sisters though, feeling hurt himself if he knew Merope had to be alone in her room because she didn't have Phaeto to sit with her, and so he often invited her to come along wherever they went. The three of them would sit around the house watching Metro, making sure she did not put herself to sleep for good, talking to her softly if the dreams went bad.

Seeing them all together only made Paris feel more alone. He couldn't bear to think on eternity. He couldn't let himself think that he might feel this way forever.

Their old friend Nirari, being actually quite old now, visited for a dinner, bringing his two wives. They were all together then. He told them that the city was being flooded with immigrants from that new Jewish cult. "They arrest them in Jerusalem and their other cities," he said, "and so they flock here, especially the Greek Jews from Cyprus. I know because a great lot of them meet in a house near my farm."

"The followers of the Christos?" Paris asked, "You mean they're still around?"

Nirari just nodded and bit into a leg of lamb.

And a few days after that some of these Disciples of Christ came to the house politely asking, as do all people who knock on doors ready to hand you a religious tract, if Athen, who answered the call at the door, had heard The Good News. And as soon as they mentioned Jesus Athen knew whom they were talking about and said so very casually, "Sure, I met him myself, in the Geresene territory, when I was a child he laid hands on me." And then he touched two fingers to his own lips. "Shall I sing a song for you?"

And so Athen invited them into the house, introduced Phaeto, Merope, and Metro to them. They all sat in the library because it was one of the biggest rooms and had enough seats for them all. And the disciples introduced themselves as Jude and Silas. And they looked at Athen strangely as he sat in a large chair with his feet pulled up, wearing no shirt. And they looked at Metro who sat in a daze. But since they had been invited in they began to preach what they knew of the Word.

Then Athen took up Paris' harp, played, and sang a song for them. They said he was truly blessed. Then Paris came into the library and said, "Son, who are these people and what are they doing here?"

And Athen said, "Christians, Father, I invited them in to hear me sing."

They asked Paris if he had heard The Good News. He said, "I've heard all I want to hear from God." And then he left.

Athen asked the Christians, "What do you know about Angels?" And they didn't know much, and so he got bored and asked them to leave. And he was upset, because they knew so little and were happy thinking they knew a great deal.

It became obvious that Metro was pregnant then. No one knew how it had happened. But Dee was mysteriously silent about it. Paris didn't believe as Athen did that it could be Dee, even though, being a Devi, it would have been possible. So Paris sat beside Metro's bed and kept the drugs away from her until she would tell him. She didn't even seem to believe herself that she was pregnant. But she was. And her maid, the Egyptian, said no one had been to see Metro.

And then Metro said, "But they have seen me. I saw them, here, in my room."

"Who?" Paris asked. Both he and the maid leaned close.

"Two gods have come and seen me in my bed."

And then Paris called for Dee and sent the maid from the room. Dee was silent, but she smiled. "You know who it is," Paris said. "Tell me who it is."

"Am I your oracle, Brother?"

"Don't tease me, Dee, we've always loved each other as brother and sister. Before you were brought over, you never teased like this. Check your pride, Dee. Isn't it pride that so often gets Angels into trouble?"

"Shade, I am surprised that you have not figured it out by now." Dee picked up a cobalt glass and looked into it.

"One of your brothers?"

"Two of them. Metro said there were two. I suppose she may have another baby after the first. I don't really have privileged information that you don't; I just know Metro's heart. I suppose she may die after having these two babies."

"Isn't there anything you can do?"

"Well...I could take her away. You wouldn't have to go through it with her."

"No. Leave her with us," Paris said.

And so only six months of drinking absinthe later Metro gave birth to a child with yellow skin and yellow hair, unaffected, it seemed, by her mother's habit. They called her Sinthia in public. And only seven months after that Metro passed away while in labour and Dee cut a baby boy from her belly and called it Laudanum.

And then Dee spoke to someone no one else could see, someone at the foot of Metro's bed. And three days later the two infants were gone from their beds.

Paris found the whole thing maddening.

So many deaths. He was 38, though he'd stopped aging thirteen years before, and Paris almost thought it pointless to ever befriend anyone. They all died. All of them, everyone died.

He went out that night after the babies had been stolen and found a young couple strolling through the dark streets together. He killed them, knocking the man against the wall before breaking through the woman's skin with his fangs and drinking her blood. Paris let her fall, took blood from the man then. And as the man's death, the stopping of the heart, hit him Paris looked up and saw his son standing over him. Double-girdled long shirt over the kilt he always wore. "When will I be like you?" He asked again.

"When your body's old enough to get you through eternity, Athen."

Athen bent to the woman's side. "She's not quite dead," he said.

Paris wiped the blood from his mouth. "She'll be dead soon," he said. He stared at Athen. Paris knew that death and blood now fascinated his son, in the true sense of the word, seeing these things excited him sexually. Paris looked at his son and thought, he's a virgin now, innocent in action if not in thought, but not for long. Athen was growing up too pretty to be ignored by Star's daughter.

The weird boy crouched at the dying woman's side, watching her stare back at him. "You're going to die, you know," he said. He took a small wooden cross on a leather cord from her sash and held it up between them. "Does it make you feel better to believe in something?"

"Devil!" She said, and then coughed blood. Paris wondered if he might have cut this one too deeply.

Athen was laughing. "I'm afraid I'm not such a brat as he. Were you expecting to meet him? Is this your lover laying dead beside you?"

"Come, don't play with her," Paris said. He stood up and dusted his clothes, glared at his son.

"I like playing with Humans," Athen said. He fastened the cross at his throat. "Why discriminate against the nearly dead?" He took the woman's hand in his then. "This world is transitory, we all get to leave it one way or another. I know that for a fact. They just want to see what we will do here. Isn't that funny? They did it just to see. You know something, Dear? I want to see what they will do. I'm going to live dangerously, just to see what they will do."

She died.

"Do you really think that?" Paris asked his son.

Athen made a strange expression, mouth in a grimace, eyes rolled upward. "No, I just wanted to see what she would do. Of course, I believe it. It's the truth," and for all this new sarcasm, Paris did not know how serious Athen might have been.

b b b

Athen was just short of seventeen when Paris broke down and gave him the blood. The boy ran right into his father's bedroom and sat on his bed calling until he opened his eyes. "I can't be Human any more, I can't, do it now," he said and put his forehead to his father's chest.

"Athen..."

Athen looked downward. Paris saw what his son was thinking, over and over. (He was getting more able with the reading of thought as time passed.) If Athen were allowed to go on he would go mad from his knowledge. He would question Paris about his mother and seek death. And he would certainly make sure to take Phaeto into his bed.

"It hurts," Paris said. He saw Athen wasn't put off by this, only immensely happy that the answer hadn't been, "When you're bigger."

"I don't care, I want it," Athen said gazing up at his father just the way Ariella would have. He knelt between his father's legs whispering at his ear, "She would have done it, if she had seen what I have. I want to be with you, Pa, I don't want to die just like all the rest. Don't let me become one of those weak ignorant things. Don't you leave me here with them."

Paris took his son quickly, knocking him backward till Athen had only his two weakening arms to support their combined weight, cutting deep and drawing hard. And never for a second did Athen show fear but sat very still moaning at the heat and pain, "Yeah, do it, do it, Pa."

And then Paris sat up straight, made a cut in his neck, as he looked down at his son struggling to stay alive long enough to get the blood. For just a second Paris thought he might just sit and watch Athen die. But he'd been wanting too long for another like himself to let this chance slip by. (And seeing the boy that was so like his mother die would break him.) So Paris called Athen once, then sat still, not even looking toward Athen as he crawled up slowly, tested the taste of the blood with his tongue, then threw his arms about Paris holding him still until he was done his drinking.

Paris asked Athen if he wanted to go out with him, suggested it might be good if he did the first time. Athen refused. So Paris went alone.

Perhaps he should have suspected what would happen, but he didn't. Not until he came home to Dee pleading in the hall did it hit him. He'd left Athen, a newborn Nephillim Spawn, alone in the house with his sisters. "Don't hurt them," Dee begged.

Paris rushed into the library, meaning to tear the three of them limb from limb, but he couldn't. All three were just too innocent in their childlike greed, too very beautiful. Athen and Phaeto's high yellow complexions fading lighter than honey, Merope looking up at him, white as a lily. She blinked hard once, her sister licking at her face, then stared with large liquid brown eyes. No one could possibly have it in themselves to kill a thing that looked at you like that. Not Paris anyway, not that doe-eyed thing.

"Don't any of you try this again," Paris said. He glared at Athen, "Just wanted to see what would happen? Didn't you believe it would work? If they were any girls but your sisters I would kill them both and wound you. The blood becomes weaker with every generation it's removed from the Nephillim, Merope's going to have to be looked after, kept from the sun."

"I thought we'd all be the same," Athen said.

"Go! Get out now, take Human blood and lives and hurry back here." Paris watched as the startled young Spawn stood. It was as if they had no balance, their perception distorted. "They are your Spawn, Athen, take care of them."

Athen nodded as he slipped an arm about Merope's waist.

"And while you are out, think about the names you'd like to take next. This is too much to hide, we're moving as soon as possible."

"Moving?" Athen asked.

Phaeto only stared dully at Paris as if she didn't understand the words.

Paris nodded slowly as he looked into Phaeto's eyes. She'd gotten enough blood; the change was taking its time because she'd given blood to Merope so soon after receiving it from Athen, but she'd be all right as long as she had Athen. But Merope's eyes had a dull look to them that Paris knew wouldn't leave them. "Roman names," he said sadly.