Sera dragged her fingers across the wrapping of Dave's gift, half listening to Lindsey flirt with Tucker. Dave's behavior lately worried her. He flew off the handle at the slightest imprudence.

"Sera?" Lindsey placed a hand over hers and squeezed. "Don't let Dave get to you. He's been nasty a lot lately. I think he's just jealous. He'll get over it."

"He's so talented. He shouldn't be jealous," Sera murmured.

Patrick cleared his throat and leaned forward as if about to share a secret. "Maybe it's not jealousy." His eyes flicked to Tucker. "Well... not jealousy about his career."

The words caught Sera. Could Dave still have feelings for her? They had dated briefly over a year ago, before her mother's death ended everything. She hadn't had the energy—or the desire—for more complications. Friendship had seemed safe enough. He'd given no sign of wanting more.

"I don't think so, Patrick. He doesn't give me any vibes about rekindling things," she said, mostly to convince herself. He was handsome enough, intriguing even, but since her mother's death, the thought of any relationship felt more like an annoyance than a possibility.

Her finger traced idle circles on the gift.

"Just open it," Lindsey encouraged. "While we're all here—in case it's awkward."

Sera forced a smile and peeled back the paper. A faint whiff of dust and age rose from the plain cloth binding, its gold lettering dulled to the color of old straw.

The Book of Enoch.

"Looks old," Lindsey said, craning her neck.

"I've never heard of this," Sera admitted.

She turned the title page, eyes catching on the small type, nose twitching at the faint trace of mold.

The Book of Enoch, or I, Enoch. Translated from the Editor's Ethiopic Text by R.H. Charles, D. Litt. D.D. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1922.

Patrick leaned in over her shoulder. Lindsey hovered close.

"Whoa," Lindsey breathed. "That's not exactly a beach read."

Patrick snorted. "Looks like something that should come with a magnifying glass—and a séance."

Sera traced the date with her fingertip. It pressed into her mind like a seal, whispering of secrets. Her gaze lifted to Tucker, who sipped his beer with studied calm.

"What is it, exactly?" she asked.

"Why would he know?" Patrick scoffed, retreating to his stool.

But Sera waited. Something about Tucker's calm manner made her certain he did know.

Tucker leaned closer. "Have you ever heard of the Watchers?"

Sera shook her head. It sounded made-up.

"Best if Mack explains," Tucker said, signaling the bartender.

Mack ambled over, towel in hand. When he saw the book, something unreadable flickered across his face. He massaged the towel over his fingers and waited a few beats before responding.

"That's a blast from the past," he said softly. "Apocrypha. Not in your Bible, but it circles around it. Angels. Giants. Forbidden knowledge..." His voice trailed, his eyes sliding to Tucker.

"Wait." Lindsey's excitement spiked. "Mack, how do you know all this? What are you—our resident theologian?"

A smirk tugged at Tucker's mouth. "Used to be a priest."

The table went still.

"You mean Mack used to be a priest. Not you, right?" Patrick asked.

"Seriously?" Sera shot him a look.

Patrick shrugged. "Hey, I'd think Mack would've mentioned it."

Mack only grinned. "Priest or bartender—both unburden the soul." With a flick of his towel, he returned to the bar.

Patrick gawked. "No way. He really used to be a priest?"

"Yeah," Tucker said. "That's how I met him."

"What was that word you said? Watchers?" Sera pressed.

Tucker nodded. "Angels tasked with guarding humanity."

"Aren't all angels supposed to watch over humans?" Lindsey asked.

"Not exactly. Angelos literally means messenger in Greek. Angels deliver messages, guard, protect—both Heaven and humanity. But Watchers? They were meant only to observe. And they failed. That's what Enoch records anyway."

"You speak Greek?" Lindsey's attention devoted to the man himself, not his story.

"Failed how?" Sera asked.

Mack reappeared, slamming a bottle of whiskey down like an exclamation mark. "If you're going into Watchers and Nephilim, you'll need this."

"Thanks," Tucker reached for the bottle, poured another shot, and toyed with it. "They became obsessed with humans. Women especially. 'And it came to pass, when the children of men had multiplied, that beautiful daughters were born to them...' They took them as wives. Their offspring became Nephilim—giants who devoured everything until only humans were left." He downed the shot.

Sera caught the tightness around his mouth. Nervousness.

"Why is this making you anxious?" she asked.

"Anxious? Do I seem anxious?"

"A little unnerved," Lindsey teased.

Tucker hesitated, then looked directly at Sera. "Why would your friend give you this book? An original 1922 edition isn't easy to find."

Sera traced the cover absently. "He pitched me a story about angels and demons. Maybe that's why."

"Well, the Watchers were judged. Their Nephilim offspring destroyed in the Flood—yes, Noah's Flood. The Watchers themselves condemned for corrupting the world, not only for taking wives, but for teaching forbidden knowledge—sorcery, divining, secrets never meant for men."

"Whoa." Patrick leaned back. "Way cooler than my gift."

"You didn't give her anything," Lindsey reached across the small table and smacked his arm.

"Not yet. It's not her birthday yet."

"Are you working on Dave's story?" Tucker asked Sera.

"I don't know."

"It's an interesting book to have."

"And the Watchers?" Sera asked quietly. "Do they still exist?"

"Come on, Sera." Patrick rolled his eyes. "There's no such thing. Angels, Watchers—it's all myth."

"You're Catholic," Lindsey shot back.

"By birth only. Too scary for my taste."

Tucker leaned in, his gaze locking on Sera. "I don't know if they ever existed. But human corruption still does. And some of this book was found in the Dead Sea Scrolls. History or not, it has weight."

Patrick squinted. "Are you a historian or a plumber?"

"Neither," Tucker said, straightening. "I'm... handy. Mechanically inclined. And I take an interest in certain topics. Angels. Demons."

"What do you do for work, then?" Lindsey asked.

A pause. Then: "Homeland Security."

Patrick's eyes widened. "Whoa, the Homeland Security?"

"Yes, Patrick. The real one."

"I thought it was like a secret if you worked for them. Are you, like... a spy?"

Lindsey balled a napkin and lobbed it at him. "Don't be an idiot."

"No. I work with cult victims," Tucker said.

Sera slowly nodded, gnawing her thumbnail, thoughts spinning. Could Dave know about Zephariel? Her mother's warning still haunted her, and sometimes—sometimes—she felt eyes on her.

Lindsey's alarm chirped. "It's midnight! Happy birthday to the fabulous Sera Vale!"

Glasses clinked. Sera smiled weakly and raised hers.

Then a chill slid over her skin like invisible hands.

Happy birthday, my love, a voice whispered against her ear, lips grazing her hair. The sound melted into her, cool silk across bare flesh. For one dizzying moment she wanted to surrender, to drown in it, her body sparking with heat so sudden she thought she might climax on the spot.

The fear of that possibility snapped her back. She whipped around. No one.

"You okay?" Tucker asked softly. He was the only one who noticed her strange behavior.

Sera nodded, forcing a smile. "Probably one too many Cosmos."

But she didn't believe it. She knew that voice. Not just heard it—felt it in every cell.

"Happy birthday, indeed," she whispered, a wicked smile curling through her soul.