Taken from the journal of Benjamin Garrick, physician. 

October 3rd, 1692, Sozopol. 

I hath lost all semblance of time. 

Hours, days, weeks, months, it matters not. What is time when death is suddenly no barrier? What is time when thou canst transcend from life to death and then back to life again? Time seems inconsequential now, as does a great many other things that may hath bore some significance before.

Before what thou may enquire? Before these hands, which once were only capable of healing, became things of such monstrous brutality. Before the darkness came. 

Before I became the darkness.

I digress of course, jumping ahead with no thought to relive the time that hath been lost to me, but that is the way of things now. It seems of little value to linger over my past life but for the sake of this journal, I shall return, if only for a short while. 

Let me go back to before my transcript within these pages did reach an abrupt halt after the boy Emil died, for that is not where the story ended.

In the week following the boy's death, I did tend to another young man who had fallen ill, throwing myself into yet another desperate attempt to save another poor soul, but my heart had grown weary and I am ashamed to confess that I had begun to think often of deserting the town. More than once I had gathered my belongings about me in preparation to scurry away in the black of night like some common thief, however something always prevented me from leaving. I had become quite fond of Sozopol and its townsfolk. I felt bound to them and perhaps, bound to my determination that I would find a cure, no matter how grave the situation became. 

There had begun to be much talk of the Devil, with many claiming that the Beast himself had claimed the town as his own and that everyone who dwelt here was now cursed. I found it hard to believe it was the Devil's work, it seemed naught but fanciful myth, but still I couldst not very well dismiss the idea that the malady which had struck the people was not of natural origin. Too many times had I felt the hair on my neck rise and the cool prickle of Death's touch hover about my back as I journeyed home of an evening. Too many times I had bolted my door and let the hot sting of rum numb me into oblivion so that I did not have to consider what preyed on the inhabitants of a town that had become, quite by accident, my home. Each night, the sensation of being followed had grown stronger and I tried to convince myself that it was my furtive imagination stalking me from the shadows and not something more sinister, but alas, I was wrong about that, as I had been wrong about a great many other things since arriving in Sozopol. 

T'was the fifth night of tending to the young man who had sickened after Emil had died. His name was Gavril, a sturdy young carpenter of amiable nature who had been fighting the sickness with the strength of Goliath himself and it was on that day that I had been encouraged a little by his progress, seeing in him a steadfast refusal to submit. A touch of colour had returned to his pallor and his fever had appeared to diminish ever so slightly. On leaving his home that night, I felt buoyant for the first time in weeks, scarcely daring to believe that this time the illness would not prevail and yet unable to prevent the seed of hope from growing deep in my heart. So lost I was in the possibilities that crowded my mind, that all thoughts of the previous nights had deserted me, that was until I heard the footsteps. 

Now, on my previous journeys, I had never heard footsteps. Any suspicion I held that something had followed me, was simply that alone: a suspicion based solely on a feeling, never a sound. Yet that night, I did hear footsteps, neither fast nor slow, heavy nor light. They could well have been the footsteps of some townsperson on his way home but intuition told me that this was not the case. Once again I felt that that same chill down my spine, that horrifying invasion of eyes upon my skin and I turned to see who or what did follow me. Through the thick mist that had rolled in off the sea, I could see nothing and no one, but I was certain that something lurked there and call it madness if you will, but after witnessing so much suffering and so much death, I felt my resolve finally snap. With legs that trembled so, I stood my ground and dared the Devil to show himself. 

What folly! It makes me smile now to think of how a mere man could ever presume to confront the Devil in such a way, but fear can make men do strange things one would not expect. 

No sooner had I turned to face my nemesis, did I realise my error, for the Devil was not hiding in the shadows at all, he was behind me. All at once I was terrified and dismayed that I had allowed myself to be tricked in such a way. I dared not turn to face him and instead remained there, with bones and muscle like ice and feeling his breath on my neck. 

"Who are you and what is it you want?" I asked the Beast. 

For a moment, he did not answer and the wait was the most heinous of tortures. When he did speak, his voice was not at all as I had expected. It was soft and younger in tone than I had imagined and to my surprise – English in origin! 

"I am the Devil am I not?" he said. "I am the Beast that walks the night. I am the sickness that stalks these streets. And as for what I want, I want you, Doctor. Just you."

He struck then, not with forked tongue and claws, but with teeth as sharp as needles that did pierce my throat and with arms that crushed me to him in the tightest of embraces. I was powerless, nought but sand in the sea breeze and unable to resist the force of his attack and when he dragged me back into the fog, it was with much terror that I realised just what the Devil was doing: he was drinking from me as if my body were the vessel and my blood the wine. 

As the darkness claimed me and the Devil soothed me to my sleep, it was the boy Emil's voice that I heard, whispering over and over again "vrykolakas, vrykolakas!" and I knew then that I should hath listened. 

I should hath believed. The myth was true. A vampire did live in Sozopol! 

October 4th, 1692, Sozopol. 

A storm rages outside. The waves doth crash against the cliffs and I hath been forced to climb to higher ground to prevent the dark waters from reaching the rocky nook in which I dwell and destroying these pages. Writing brings me great peace and a chance to hold the fledgling hunger at bay that doth burn deep in my belly. It hath become easier to bear, as Ezekiel said it would, but on nights like tonight, when the storm holds me prisoner inside our coastal sanctuary, the hunger doth call to me and writing helps to control the sweet desire to feed.

Ah, but of course, I hath not yet spoken freely of Ezekiel within these pages and you know not who he is. Why, he is the Devil, or should I say perhaps, my Devil. My stalker. My shadow. My nemesis. He is the one who took my life and gave it back ten-fold. He is both my murderer and my creator. He is the one who showed me the darkness and all it has to hold and he has lived within the lands of the Black Sea for many, many years. Ezekiel is the one about whom we tell stories to our children and our children's children. He is the one who compels us to drive stakes through the hearts of our dead. He is the one that induces us to make the sign of the Holy Cross. The one who makes us bolt our doors and drink rum until we lose our grip on consciousness. 

A monster, some wouldst say, but I hath come to learn about true monsters these past months and hath even seen one for myself, and believe me when I say there is even something more monstrous than Ezekiel Danzer and there is something more monstrous than myself. But let me get to that later. 

All sorts of terrible imaginings had haunted my mind as to the creature that had stalked the streets and brought me to my rocky grave, so to discover that the monster looked nothing like a monster at all, did stun me to my very core. 

Ezekiel looks like a man, just as I do, with possibly half a score more years upon my own. He hath long tousled blonde hair which he ties loosely at the nape of his neck. His pallor is pale but not sickly, his height and bulk not dissimilar to mine. His attire is common to the people of the region, although perhaps not always as clean and smart as I would care for, but his dwelling allows not for the clothes of a gentleman and while he does not always look like one, he certainly holds the conversation of a learned man. 

On first glance, I should think that had I ever passed him in the streets of Sozopol, I would hath mistaken him for one of the townsfolk, so easily his appearance could help him blend in, however in close proximity, there is no hiding the power he wields, as it is just as impossible not to see the wealth of age he holds in his cool grey eyes. He is old, that is for certain, hailing from the days of the Hundred Years War, where he served as a high-ranking officer in King Edward III's army against the French. It was following the Battle of Crécy that Ezekiel met his creator, by all accounts a despicable lone vampire who feasted on the injured and infirm and who soon deserted his fledging in Calais. From thence onwards, Ezekiel did make his own way in this new world in which he had found himself, carving a path across Europe with the Black Death marching alongside him, helping him to cover his tracks as body after body was burned in the wake of the Plague. He hath lived for almost three hundred years now and most recently did settle here in Sozopol, seeking refuge from the harsh burn of daylight in the cool, dark caves that line the coast. 

It was in this cave where I was reborn.

For many days and nights, I screamed and thrashed and clung to the rock in the purest of agony. For many days and nights, Ezekiel did tend to me, just as I had tended to the sick of Sozopol, only he did not ease my fever with water, but with blood from his own vein which I drank with the most voracious of hungers. As I drank, I knew only too well that I should find the act of drinking from him abhorrent and that my belly should rage like the storms that hit the shoreline, but all my stomach did was cry out for more. In the hours when I lay exhausted from my pain, he did whisper to me his stories and secrets, his soft rhetoric sounding like a hypnotic heartbeat in my ear and encouraging me through every agonising moment. 

In all the trials and tribulations that my new life has thrown at me, I still marvel now over the fact that not once hath I ever despised him for what he did. My murderer, he might be, but not once hath he ever treated me with anything but kindness, compassion and more patience than one person perhaps deserves. He hath watched over me and guided me through my darkest hours and whilst it was he that brought the darkness to my door, I feel strangely appreciative and hath come to look upon him with a real sense of affection, almost as a son to a father. 

He tells me he must leave me soon, albeit just for a short while, as he hath a task he must complete. I know not what this mission entails, only that I am fearful of him leaving me. He will not desert me, as his maker did him, that I know for certain, but still I do not wish him to leave. He told me once that no vampire should ever live alone for lengthy periods, yet I can't help but feel the fear of loneliness already and he has not yet departed. 

I sorely hope his adventures do not keep him too long from this place.

October 21st, 1692, Sozopol.

Ezekiel hath been gone for five days and nights. 

I curse myself for acting with the whims and fancies of a small petulant child and yet I confess to struggling as if I was one, instead of behaving like the man I am meant to be. I dislike being alone, a strange and unexpected occurrence indeed as I travelled quite well alone when I was human and yet now I dearly wish that he would return soon. I do not need to feed, as Ezekiel made sure that I fed before he departed, but my loneliness encourages me to return to the town above, if only to be within close proximity to the people there. I yearn for conversation and laughter and song yet all I hath is the sound of the waves and wind. I would seek out some company, whatever that might be, but I daren't go alone. It is too dangerous, especially for a fledgling such as myself.

Before he did depart, Ezekiel encouraged me to continue my entries into this journal. He believes that it will keep me from the traps and pitfalls of mine own mind whilst he is gone and so I will do as he bids in the vain hope that he is correct. If I don't then I fear the boredom might kill me before the madness does. 

Let me return, to my first adventure as a vampire in the world outside of this cave and what an adventure it was! I am sure that not all vampires are indoctrinated into this life in quite the way in which I was, but maybe it did serve me in good stead and prepare me for the life I had been reborn into. One thing is for certain and that is I am glad that I had such a teacher in Ezekiel, for I do not think I would have survived that very first adventure without him. 

Ezekiel did sustain me with his own blood for a time, but there came a point when he knew I would need more and that came much sooner than he did expect. 

It was not without some trepidation that I did pay my first visit back to the town above, not because I feared the people there, but because I feared disappointing Ezekiel. It must be peculiar to knowst I desired to please the creature that did end my life, but I did wish him to look favourably upon me. I knew he had not bestowed the blood-gift upon many in his lifetime, there had been just four before me and I wanted to be worthy of being re-born, just as they had. 

When the pain lessened and I could stand once more, Ezekiel took me from this cave up to the town in which I had recently resided. I cannot tell you how beautiful t'was the night! Every sight, every sound, every smell, all heightened beyond anything I had ever experienced! One could lose oneself in the beauty of the night but there was a task at hand, and one that I could not very well ignore as the hunger rolled over and over in my belly. 

On the outskirts of town, there was a brothel, frequented mostly by sailors and foreigners and it was to here that Ezekiel did take me. Following the rumours that it was a foreigner who had brought the infection to the town, the brothel was the one of the only places where strangers were still welcome.

"Good for us," Ezekiel said by way of explanation. "Because the ones whom no one cares for, will not be missed and those that are not missed, can raise no alarm when dead." 

"Must it always be this way?" I said. 

"You find this difficult, Doctor?" he asked. "To see those you had once cared for as potential prey?" He studied me then and if I already knew it not to be the case, I would have thought that his mind was burying deep into mine, digging through all that I kept locked inside. 

"No," I replied in earnest and I knew I should hath felt ashamed to confess it, but the truth was that the thought of feeding upon the townsfolk did not disturb me anywhere near as much as it should. It seemed I was reborn with an acceptance of what I had become and whilst I was not devoid of conscience and compassion, there was a simple truth to it all: I was no longer the man that I was and the feelings and urges perhaps once suppressed, were now at the forefront of who I was and what I had become. There was no rejection of the acts that would once have turned my stomach and forced me to my knees to pray for the dear Lord's forgiveness, there was just a natural acknowledgment, almost as if it was all I had ever known.

"Is that normal?" I asked of him.

"Aye, it is," he replied. "One cannot deny the blood, Benjamin. Once it is inside you, you will throw off the mortal coils that once bound you. You lead a wholly different life, one that is free from the constraints of stifling human morality. Instinct, hunger and yes, even desire, are at your core. So yes, rest assured it is quite normal. And yet something still troubles you?" 

Oh how perceptive he was! I was almost fearful to ask, but I knew if I did not, then the question would continue to burn within me, almost as furious as the hunger did. 

"Tell me," I enquired. "Once bitten are they all doomed to die? Was mine struggle to save them always in vain?" 

This was something I had thought much upon since I had awoken. I know not why it even bothered me, considering what I had now become, but I wanted to know that I had served a purpose somehow, that my humanity was never wasted.

"You struggle was never in vain, Doctor," said Ezekiel. "It was always a valiant one. I hath lived through wars with the most violent of outcomes and I hath never once witnessed a man battle as you did. Nay, the struggle to do your duty and save a life was never in vain because it did show me the man you truly are. Not all men are equipped with such fortitude and strength in the face of an apparently hopeless task. You chose never to give up and that is a quality seldom seen. As for those afflicted, they may live or they may die. It really doth depend on the man. The old and young tend to be more susceptible to death, not having the strength to fight the loss of blood but it is not always so. Sometimes one can never tell who will survive the bite."

"The ones that still live, will they too become what we are?" I asked of him. 

"No, they will not become like us," he did reply. 

I was utterly bewildered. "I do not understand," I said. "But you drank from them and they sicken so, just as I did sicken?" 

"With one vital detail omitted, Benjamin!" he said. "They did not drink from me, as did you. Those that do not perish from the bite, will go on, just as they did before. Those that cannot withstand the sickness will die and without the gift of thine blood in return, dead is dead, dear Doctor. They cannot rise from the grave. The people can desecrate the bodies of their loved ones all they like, it prevents nothing if the bitten have not been given the blood of the vrykolakas." 

We waited for some time, until the door of the brothel did open and out staggered a young man, lithe of build and not so tall.

"Perfect," said Ezekiel and did motion for me to follow him, as we kept our distance shadowing the man as he walked the dark Sozopol streets. I noticed the man's gait was unsteady and he sang a little as he walked, only stopping in his song to mumble incoherently. He was clearly inebriated, something which seemed to encourage Ezekiel further. 

How the hunger did rage like the most ferocious of storms as I watched the young man! 

"Well, go on," said Ezekiel. "Take him before your belly doth howl loud enough to wake the whole town! But take him quickly and silently, for stealth and cunning is your friend now and naught else." 

I cannot tell you the excitement I felt right then! 

As Ezekiel did bid, I snuck silently after my prey, creeping through the shadows in the way of a true hunter, mine eyes and ears alert for any untoward sight or sound. My attention could focus almost on all angles, weighing up my moment of opportunity, when best to strike, how best to strike. And all the while, as I did watch the man stumble and trip up the road, I couldst not suppress my desire to feel his body under my own and the taste of his blood upon my lips. 

Ezekiel did not need to instruct me further. At the perfect moment, I did strike, waiting for the man to venture into some dark narrow passage. Despite his drunken state, he struggled, but this only increased my hunger for him. Grappling him to the floor, I fell upon him, covering his mouth with my hand to stifle his screams and sank my teeth into his delicious flesh. 

Oh how the first taste did not disappoint! 

Take the sweetest wine one has ever drank and multiply that by infinity and thou shalt still not come even close to how wonderful that first taste truly is. As soon as I felt it on my tongue, I was lost in the taste of him, that was until Ezekiel did pull me away. 

"Remember, Doctor, quickly!" 

I nodded but did sit there for a moment longer, dazed by what I had done, almost as if I were as inebriated as the man had been. 

"Come, come, Benjamin, it is not finished yet! Rest later, for you have work to do," he urged. 

At first, I did not understand what he meant, after all, the man was dead, what more was there to be done? 

"Dispose of him," he said. "We never leave the body behind. We hide our kills. We are naught but make-believe, a myth, naught but stories the humans tell their children. That is all that we are and that is what we shall remain." 

And so that is what I did, tossing the body into the wicked depths of the Black Sea and offering him silent gratitude for the blood he had given me. 

"How do you feel?" Ezekiel asked as we stood side by side, watching the waves churn below. 

"Wondrous," I said. "Monstrous." 

After a time, we did begin to make our journey home, traversing the cliffs and leaving the town behind us. I felt such heady elation, my feet moving as if I could dance the whole journey home and t'was not far from our dwelling, when all of a sudden, Ezekiel did clutch at my arm and urge me to stop, dragging me back behind a rocky outcrop. 

It was then that I caught it, a scent on the breeze so pungent and so sickening that immediately my stomach did roil. The fear struck deep within my heart, so sharp and strong that all at once I wanted to buckle to my knees. 

And then, in the distance, I did see a figure, one that stood so tall I knew it could be no man. Its size was huge, its back slightly hunched and misshapen. Its arms were long and fiercely muscular and ended in what looked like great clawed hands. When the moon did break through the clouds above, I could see thick hair all over its body and what appeared to be a snout, like an animal's. The strange creature was still quite far away, but from the tightness of his grip upon my arm, I couldst tell that Ezekiel was as afraid as I was. 

"We must go," he said. "Now Benjamin, before the beast doth pick up our scent and give chase, for only the sea will stop it from pursuing us!" 

Quickly we did flee, taking care not to make a sound as we climbed down the cliff edge. Instead of our usual route into the cave, Ezekiel had us wade in the waters edge, until we reached the entrance, so that we could disguise our scent should the creature detect us along the coast line.

Back in our cave, Ezekiel insisted we were safe, yet I couldst barely contain my terror. 

"What was that thing?" I asked. 

"That, my friend, is mine enemy and yours also. It is neither man nor beast, but a terrible mix of the two. Some say it is most closely related to the wolf and at its most fearsome when the moon is full and round and bright in the night sky. It will rip your guts from your body with its teeth. It will open your ribs with its hands and bury its snout deep into the cavity of your chest and stomach to feast on your innards. It will hunt you for sport and it will never ever give up, unless you can put a stretch of water between yourself and it and hide your scent. It is the Varúlfur and it is our enemy. It always hath been our enemy and it always will be." 

"Can it be killed?" 

Ezekiel did laugh then and clapped me warmly on the shoulder. "Well now that is the spirit, Doctor! Who knew a man such as yourself would possess the heart of a warrior? Yes, they can be killed, but it takes great skill and fortitude, for there are many beasts in a clan and they do hunt together. It is unusual to find one alone. I can only hope that this was mere coincidence and he is either a rogue beast or has simply strayed too far from his clan. It hath been a long time since I hath seen a Varúlfur on these shores. We must be vigilant now. We will wait a while and venture up again when I think it will be safe. If we find traces of the beast remain, then we will need to find a new home much sooner than I had hoped." 

When we did eventually investigate, we found no further evidence of the Varúlfur. However, I know Ezekiel is troubled by the hybrid's presence here and seeks to find a new dwelling for us. Perhaps that is where he is now, but wherever he may be, I wish dearly for him to come back.

October 30th, 1692, Sozopol. 

Finally, Ezekiel hath returned.

I must confess, I could not hide my emotions when he did appear, so happy I was to see him. He seemed just as glad, although immediately I could see his eyes were troubled, as if a heavy weight lay upon his shoulders. About his face, a dark shadow did linger, as if he had witnessed some terrible happening of which he could not shake and all at once I set about him, enquiring after his well-being and of what I could do to assist. 

He brushed off my bothersome fuss with an insistence that he was perfectly fine and merely exhausted from his journey, but I think he knew I did not believe him. Opening his knapsack, he removed a number of ancient-looking parchments and with grave expression, did gesture for me to join him.

"What are these?" I enquired, scarcely daring to touch the old paper for fear it would crumble to dust beneath my fingertips.

"These, dear Doctor, are stories. Stories so old that at some point, they became only that and nothing more. Forgotten tales of the beginning of times. Passed down from one generation to the next and long discarded and dismissed as naught but fiction and make-believe. And perhaps that is a good thing, because stories like these are dangerous, my friend. In the wrong hands, they have the potential to destroy the very foundation this world is built upon." 

"And what are these stories about?" I asked of him.

"Why, they are about children. Not your ordinary children though. Children that should not have been born of this world."

"I don't understand. What kind of children should not be born?" 

He smiled and patted my cheek affectionately. "Ah Benjamin, after all that you have become and all that I have told you, you still believe in the innocence of our world. Well, let me tell you, not all children are born innocent and some even less so, but these children were not ever meant to be and yet exist they do."

And so Ezekiel began to tell me the story, of a time when God did send his angels to earth, to watch over and guide the humans, in those most earliest of days and how those angels did lust after the daughters of men and sought to couple with them. The children born of those unnatural couplings were called the Nephilim and on seeing what his angels had done, God was greatly displeased, banishing the angels to the pits of darkness and declaring that the children were abominations in his eyes. As the Nephilim were beget from the daughters of men and could not be banished, the Lord did send the great floods to destroy them and cleanse the earth of their existence. However not all perished and those that survived fled their land of Canaan and concealed themselves, eventually to beget children of their own and so on. Now these children of the Nephilim were named The Lost for they could wander for an eternity without God's eyes upon them and even the Archangels, who had been tasked with seeking out The Lost could not find them and find them they must and destroy them.

I confess I did not understand just why the children were such a threat and did question Ezekiel about this, for surely it was not the children's fault that they were born of forbidden couplings. How could God punish them so? 

"Because the children of the Nephilim are accursed, Benjamin," he explained. "They are cursed with a special and terrible gift. It is a gift that could split the world into two and threaten God's almighty rule, for should the blood of The Lost children ever be spilt on the night of the second moon, then the gates of the Underworld would buckle and the ties that bind the Fallen one to his prison will be no more. And he shall be free to rise again and wage war on his Father, bringing his deadly legion of the Underworld with him."

"And this is true?" I asked him. "Can these children really exist?" 

"Yes it is true and they most certainly can and do exist," Ezekiel did reply. "In fact, I believe that I hath seen one of these children for myself. When I was in Calais, I did, quite by accident, cross paths with one of the hybrids. I found the beast close to the port, in pursuit of a child, naught but a scrappy beggar by all appearances and though t'was not my fight nor my obligation, I chose to give chase myself, finally cornering the Varúlfur down near the water. A fearsome opponent he was indeed, but I somehow managed to outwit him and after slitting his throat, did toss his loathsome body into the sea. Now once the beast was gone and his pungent odour with him, I was left with the boy and to my surprise, I did realise that he possessed no scent. From experience, I knew that everyone whether human, animal, vampire or beast possessed a scent and yet this child did not. All at once I was intrigued but with just one touch of his hand, the world around me did collapse and what appeared before mine eyes was truly from the darkest of my nightmares. I tell you now, Doctor, I saw things that hath never left my mind, terrible twisted creatures and their pitiful victims and it was the child that did it. It was the child that conjured such wicked images in my head. Brought to my knees by such horror, the child took the opportunity and ran and I admit to not giving chase. I feared he might be a witch of some terrible power and I had no desire to witness again the terrible things he did show me and so I let him go. It was not until years later that I did meet another vampire, an old one who told me of these very same stories that I tell you now, and I soon realised that it was quite possible that the boy I did save, was not a witch after all, but something far, far more dangerous."

"And what's more," he continued. "It seems that the beast who did pursue the boy that day, may not have been seeking him for sport alone, but for his own gain and for the gain of his monstrous kind." 

"But what possible gain could the Varúlfur achieve from capturing the child?" I asked. 

"Ah, now the hybrids have their own part to play in this and these very scrolls do confirm it," he said, gesturing to the old parchments. "The Varúlfur hath their own stories, supposed prophecies that outline the future of their race and which will put them above both man and vampire alike. They believe there will come a time when the Great Wolf will rise and he will not only be a King amongst beasts, but he will wield enormous power, enough to slaughter God's most treasured sons and batter the gates of the Heavens until they do break open. He will be a slayer of Gods and of angels and if the Varúlfur succeed in locating the children of the Nephilim, then they will stand at the side of the Fallen One and he will grant them dominion over the earth and over all of God's creations."

I was incensed! "Then we must find the children before they do!" I exclaimed. "We must find The Lost and protect them. It must be our duty!"

Ezekiel did regard me quite gravely then and I was all at once worried that I had said something to displease him. The exhaustion crept back into his eyes as he spoke.

"You are right, my dear Doctor," he said. "We must find the children, wherever they do exist, but I'm afraid it is not our duty to protect them. The children must be given to the Archangels." 

"But you said that the angels sought to destroy the children of the Nephilim?" I said, feeling more and more befuddled.

"Yes," he said with a nod. "For they know that while The Lost do live, then there is always the risk of the Fallen one and his demons laying their hands upon one of these precious children and freeing himself of the pit from whence he does dwell. Nay, the children must not be protected, Benjamin. There is only one eventuality for The Lost I'm afraid: they must be freely relinquished to the Archangels, for there is only one being amongst them who can destroy the children without spilling a drop of their blood on the night of the second moon."

"And who is that?" I asked. 

"Why, Michael of course," he did reply. "Only Michael, great general of the Lord's army and gatekeeper of the Heavens can destroy The Lost and stop the Fallen from rising once again and if he cannot do it, then I'm afraid, there really is no hope."  

**********

I could barely breathe.

Running from the hall where I'd sat flicking through the delicate pages of the journal with growing intrigue, I staggered to find Harper in the headmaster's office where we'd made our base. Harper, hearing my approach, turned expectantly as I appeared in the doorway, his face dropping when he saw me stop, clutching the book to my chest. For a moment, I just stood there, with my mouth open and no sound coming out as I struggled to find the words, my mind cruelly bombarding me with what I'd just read.

"Megan? What is it? What's wrong?" He crossed the room in an instant, grabbing me by the arm as if he thought I might collapse at any moment.

Numbly, I thrust the book at him, stabbing at the last few paragraphs of the journal entry with an accusatory finger. When he took it from me, I was glad to be free of its touch, the pages feeling like poison in my hands, the words like acid dripping from the paper.

"Did you know?" I said, my voice trembling. "Did Garrick know?"

His eyes scanned the page, his brow furrowing into dark lines as he digested the words. When his gaze flickered back to meet mine, I almost felt relieved, although there was nothing right then that could have brought me any relief from the gut-wrenching pain I was feeling.

"No, I didn't know." He shook his head. "But as for Garrick? He certainly never mentioned any of this to me, but when he discovered Benjamin's lost journal, he guarded it like God himself had written in it and I know that he dissected all of the journals with a fine tooth comb. I can't imagine that he didn't see this."

I groaned inwardly. "All this time I thought he had Lucius so he could protect him from the Varúlfur, but he didn't, did he? He was just following the teachings of his blood-father and his blood-father before him."

"Megan, you don't really believe that?" he said, rubbing the nape of my neck with fingers I wished could smooth away the tension that stiffened my muscles painfully. "This is Garrick we're talking about."

"Yes, Garrick who idolised Benjamin and blindly believed in him and everything he did, you said that yourself," I said, pulling away from his touch in frustration. "It's all in there, Harper. Ezekiel and Benjamin sought out The Lost not to protect them, but so they could hand them over to the Archangels. What if that was Garrick's plan too?"

"Well if it was, then he failed, didn't he?" he replied and I heard the touch of anger in his voice. He didn't want to believe this anymore than I did, the possibility that Garrick had concealed his true plan – a plan that had been devised by their blood-father and yet not revealed to Harper, the son that Benjamin had apparently chosen as the one to carry on his legacy.

"No, actually he didn't," I whispered. "If that really was the plan, then he hasn't failed at all."

"So what are you saying?" he demanded. "That we're the ones who are meant to hand Lucius over?"

I slumped back against the doorframe. "We don't need to hand him over," I said. "The deed is already done."

I'd known, as soon as I'd read those words, I'd known. Deep down inside, there was an awful familiarity to it, almost as if somewhere buried in the rubble of the memories that Michael had instilled in me, I had always known. Years of human life might have destroyed the knowledge of what I had been created to be, but underneath the broken bricks and mortar, my destiny – my true destiny - had always been there.

"Harper, don't you see? Michael didn't create angel hybrids so that they could aid in the search to find him should he ever fall into one of Lucifer's traps. I'm not saying that he doesn't want to be found, of course he does, but that wasn't his main aim. That was never the reason he created them. He created them so that they could act in his stead, should he ever be unable to fulfill his duties."

A tear slipped quickly and freely down my cheek.

"He created me to destroy The Lost. He created me to destroy Lucius."