Eye of the Oracle by Bryan Davis Page B

a wickedly fast rate, and when Noah plants his own vineyard, the same power will cause his to thrive in stunning fashion. Then, we will graft our vines onto his. The grapes from our grafted vines will be better than the rest, so he’ll be sure to make wine from them.”
    Naamah twirled her ghostly dress. “And that’s when the fun begins?”
    “Yes. The wine will put him into enough of a stupor for you and Ham to get something I want.”
    “That’s it? Get Noah drunk and steal something from him? Sounds too easy.”
    “Not as easy as you might think. For us to use the child, Noah must curse him and make him leave his family. I’ll tell you how to do it, but it will require perfect timing and your best acting performance.”
    “Beguiling men is my specialty,” Naamah said, grinning.
    “Patience, Sister. Bide your time as a loving mother and doting wife. First, the grapes must grow, then we will speed the fermentation process. When the harvest celebration begins, wait for Noah to drink, and then . . .” Morgan smiled and raised an imaginary cup into the air as if proposing a toast.
    Naamah joined her with a cup of her own. “The wine will do the rest!”
    A dark mist filtered between the two uplifted arms. Naamah lowered her imaginary cup and searched for the source. A blanket of black fog hovered close to the shore just above the water. A stream of darkness extended from it, reaching out and trying to loop around their bodies.
    Morgan closed her eyes. “Do you hear that?”
    Naamah kept her head still, concentrating on the surrounding noise. “Just the waves. What do you hear?”
    Following the mist’s beckoning arm, Morgan padded her bare feet silently along the virgin grass. “Not waves. Voices. Pleading voices.”
    Naamah followed Morgan to the shoreline. As they stepped into the water, the black fog swirled around them, congealing into dozens of dark phantoms that pawed at their bodies like anxious dogs. Naamah couldn’t feel their swiping paws, but a sense of heaviness filled her mind. “Who are they?” she asked.
    Morgan smiled and cradled one of the ghostly shapes in her arms. “The spirits of the Nephilim.” She closed her eyes for several seconds as the ghost caressed her ear. When she opened her eyes again, she sighed. “This one tells me that the flood killed their bodies, but their spirits had no place to rest. The human dead went to the circles of seven, and the Watchers were banished to Tartarus, but these hybrid children were prevented from entering either domain. They searched for suitable bodies in the ark, but a strange spiritual force banned their entry into the humans, and the animals in the hold were stupid beasts, unable to open their minds to allow them in. So they wander here as sea fog, unable to walk or breathe, like lost souls in an eternal nightmare.”
    “Isn’t there some way we can restore them?” Naamah asked. “Maybe by using Samyaza’s seeds of power?”
    “I don’t know. Our little gardening plan is designed to grow new Nephilim, not restore their wandering spirits. Still, there might be a way to find bodies for them. If not from Canaan’s line, then perhaps from another source.”
    “Another source?” Naamah tilted her head. “The only animals left in the world were on the ark.”
    “Very true, yet there is one animal our lost children have not yet explored, a beast with brainpower rivaling that of many humans, perhaps even surpassing them.”
    Naamah tapped her chin. “They weren’t in the animal hold for these spirits to find.”
    “And they will be at their weakest when they finally exit the ark.” Morgan laid the phantom in Naamah’s arms. “It will be up to you to teach them a siren’s song.”
    “A song to tempt the heart, arrest the guardians of the mind, and open the gates of the soul.” Naamah smiled. “I can do that.”
    “I thought so. Who has ever been able to resist your charms?”
    A flutter of wings drew Naamah’s gaze skyward.