But that was impossible. I couldn't recall where that specific signature had transpired, but it had not been close by. Shaman could not have flickered Scholes and then made it over to my lodgings so promptly.
I realized noninterference was too much to ask for. I'll have a slight talk with the guilty party.
I comprehended then why Shaman felt he could take on Scholes, why amassing less power than the angel would feign no doubt.
The culmination plunged into me like lead, enormous and cold. I'm not certain what stare bridged my countenance, but Shaman's abruptly relaxed with compassion.
"What's the matter?"
"How many?" I muttered to him.
"How many what?"
"How many Nephilim are in the city?"
"Two," he asserted after a moment's reluctance.
"Just two."
"Just two," I reiterated flatly, speculating oh shit.
"Is that including you?"
"Yes."
