Nephilim. But a few minutes ago you said my grandfather was Nephilim. Did I hear you right?”
His lips curved into a proud smile. “Yes, you did.”
“Are you seriously suggesting he was part angel?”
Quentin gave Grace a guarded look. “Actually, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
She snorted. “Now that we got that straightened out, please continue.” She knew she was being snide, but her head was starting to hurt. It was about to explode from all of the information being shoved into it.
Uncertainty played over his features. “You’re sure?”
Her lips tight, she flicked her chin at him to keep talking.
“Basically, since the angels divided, the Fallen want to harm the Guardians and the only way they can is by hurting the Nephilim. A Chosen, which is a special Nephilim, is charged with protecting something. In Christophe’s case, his bloodline has protected Pandora’s jar since her passing.” Grace quickly went through her mental Greek mythology Rolodex, trying to recall what she learned concerning Pandora. Remembering bits and pieces, she went back to listening to Quentin.
“When the jar was given to Pandora,” he continued, “it held evil inside. But there was one little good thing in it too—hope. Pandora got curious one night and opened it, releasing all the bad. When she realized what she’d done, she closed the lid, sealing hope inside before it was lost. The Fallen want that jar. If they destroy it, they not only destroy all Nephilim, but all of mankind as well. Hope will be lost.”
Grace tapped her foot anxiously against the end of the lounge chair. Simply sitting there and doing nothing but thinking wound her tighter. Her nerves were dangerously close to snapping. Close to being unable to handle any more, the edge of hysteria ran through her limbs. None of this was logical, she thought. He’s crazy. What did he just say? “Were you just talking about the bank?”
“Uh, yeah, is that okay?” She focused on watching his lips move as he spoke. “You’re even more special, Grace, because you’re a female Chosen. We’re going to have to be extra careful. We need to start your training as soon as possible so you’re ready for them if I’m ever not around.”
She jerked her body upright and swung her legs over the side of the lounge chair, almost touching Quentin’s. “Them who? Where exactly do you fit in with all of this, and what training?”
“The Fallen, Grace. I’m a Guardian—your Guardian, in fact. The training is a form of martial arts.” His tone grabbed her attention. It almost sounded as though he felt pity for her, and the thought that he felt sorry for her spiked her anger.
Screw this! She wasn’t the crazy one. “Let’s get this straight. Angels came down and copulated with a bunch of women and made Nephilim babies? So which side of the copulating were you on, the marrying side, or the deadbeat side?” Quentin opened his mouth to answer her, and she stopped him with a raised hand. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. So, some of the angels became Fallen and the remaining became Guardian. For whatever reason, some Nephilim are born Chosen to protect something. The Fallen are after the Nephilim so the Guardians protect them. My grandfather was a Nephilim who was Chosen and he protected Pandora’s jar, and for some stupid reason left it to me. Now I’m Chosen and supposed to protect the jar so the Fallen, who are now after me, don’t get it and destroy everyone breathing. Did I miss anything?”
Quentin stayed silent. He just held her gaze.
“This is all a joke, right? Where are the cameras? Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out from a bush and this little episode right here is going to be on Punk’d, right?”
“Grace, I’m sorry.” He laid a hand gently on her knee. “I told you it was going to sound crazy.” Geez, she thought. Crazy wasn’t the half of it.
Unable to sit still any longer, Grace shot to her feet. “I don’t think we should talk any more. In fact, you should probably go. I’m tired and feeling a little overloaded, and I might do something crazy myself and call someone to come and pick you up and put you in a straitjacket. And I really don’t want to do that.” Not sure what she was feeling more—anger, confusion, sadness, or worry—she did her best to remain strong as he got up.
“It’s going to be okay, Grace. I promise.” He turned away, and just like