When the last bell rang, I rushed out of school toward the buses. Milo was standing by his motorcycle waiting. His head perked up when he saw me. The words Dawn said to me earlier still lingered in my head quickly replaced by the possibility Milo was Priscilla’s boyfriend. I had to confront him about the tattoo, but this wasn’t the right place or the right time.
I hesitantly walked up to him completely aware of the stares by my classmates.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Now is not a good time.”
“It’s important,” he said in a serious tone.
“It’s about my sister, isn’t it? The tattoo?”
Guilt flashed over his eyes. He tipped his chin up, stuck his hands inside his jacket pocket, and turned away. “I know her.”
“You know my sister?” My heart ripped into tiny pieces. Milo knew my sister. He was the elusive angel boyfriend Priscilla kept a secret—I was sure of it. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream. A part of me didn’t want to hear Milo admit it. “How do you—”
The rumbling sound of a pick-up truck cut me off. Mason and his jocks blocked Milo’s bike.
“I thought I told you to stay out of Dixon,” Mason sneered at Milo.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Milo told him.
“Chicken shit? You’re not so brave without your gang of quills.” Mason pushed Milo, but Milo didn’t reciprocate. Instead, he kept his cool even though he was now surrounded by Vance and a handful of football players.
“You don’t want to do this Mason,” I warned as I tried to step in between them.
“Back off you quill loving bitch!” Mason shoved me into the brick wall. Milo’s dark eyes sparked with anger. He opened his hands at his side, his palms pulsed with energy that shook the ground. Mason lunged at him, Milo blasted Mason with an invisible force, Mason slid across the school lawn colliding with a group of students. Their shrieks pierced the air sending waves of panic to the rest of the student body.
Vance grabbed a baseball bat out of the back of the pickup and swung. Milo caught the bat with one hand and crushed it into dust. Vance’s eyes widened. Milo kicked him in the chest that sent Vance into the truck leaving a dent on the door. The rest of the jocks swarmed in, one by one, Milo used whatever power was coming from his hands to shove them out of the way—loud grunts and bodies thudded to the ground. They were no match for Milo’s speed.
The students who were inside the buses stuck their heads out through the windows with phones on hand recording the fight. Milo grabbed one of the jocks by the collar, threw him to the ground, then repeatedly punched his face.
“Stop!” I shouted.
I pulled Milo back by the arm but felt the sharp jab of his elbow on my left eye. I fell back scraping my hands on the pavement. Milo rushed to my side, but it was too late. The damage was done.
When Milo reached for my face, I pulled back. His eyebrows furrowed with concern, while mine furrowed in fear. This was my first glimpse at Milo’s true strength. He could kill any human with one blow, and that terrified me.
Milo looked around at the frightened faces of the students then glanced down at his shaky hands. Distraught by the damage he caused, Milo rose up, hopped on his motorcycle and sped away.
CHAPTER
25
When I got home, I ran straight to my room. Slamming the door shut, I glimpsed in the mirror. My eye was swollen and turning red. I grazed my fingers over it and flinched in pain. Anger began to bubble inside me. My life was turning into a nightmare.
I scanned my room accessing the mess, the torn film still littered the floor. My hard work gone. I almost cried. My nostrils flared, anger simmering in my blood again. I picked up the picture frame containing Priscilla’s photograph and flung it against the wall. But it didn’t shatter. It went through a wood panel that opened like a small door that had previously been covered by one of my movie posters.
That’s weird.
I moved closer to the opening and took a peek. Inside, there were stacks of photo albums sitting on top of an old shoebox covered in dust and spiderwebs. Taking everything out, I flipped through the photo albums first; they were full of old family pictures with my dad when we lived in Los Angeles. It was my first time seeing them. I didn’t even know we had them. I smiled at the sweet memory of our family at the beach, almost in tears at how happy we looked.
Moving on to the shoebox, there were handwritten letters from Priscilla’s friends, old movie stubs from The North Star Drive-In, and pictures of a teenage Priscilla posing with her friends in front of a row of lockers at Dixon High. But I froze when I saw Priscilla’s lips on his cheek. I almost threw up as I recognized him. He hasn’t aged at all.
But that wasn’t the worst I found.
There was a tiny hospital ID bracelet from a convent called Our Holy Mother Mary with Isaac’s name on it. The mother listed on the bracelet—Priscilla.
I dropped the bracelet as if it had rabies.
It’s not possible—how? Priscilla was Isaac’s mother.
“Alexis!” I heard Isaac holler. “Hurry! Come downstairs!”
I took the picture of Priscilla with him and stuffed it in my back pocket. Grabbing the tiny bracelet, I rushed downstairs and stumbled into the living room. Isaac was sitting in front of the TV while my mother watched the anchorwoman standing in front of a school. There was a red banner at the bottom of the screen that said
BREAKING NEWS: 15 STUDENTS INJURED AFTER ANGEL ATTACK.
“We are live at Dixon High School where a small community was rocked by an angel attack. At least fifteen students were injured and taken to the local hospital. Here is a look at the video footage taken today and streamed live on social media.”
Shaky cell phone footage of Milo fighting off Mason and his friends appeared on TV. I wanted to crawl under a rock. I caught a glimpse of the navy-blue striped shirt I wore to school in the background. My face paled. I saw a flare of anger on my mother’s face.
“I can explain,” I began, but my mother rushed to her room where she kneeled before that thing in her bathroom and began to pray. I ran after her, anger seeping through my veins over my mother’s profound devotion to La Santa Muerte.
“Tell me where you sent Priscilla.” I held up the bracelet eye- level to my mother’s face. She snatched the bracelet from my hand and stuffed it in her pocket.
“Where did you find it?”
“It was inside a shoe box, hidden.”
In a hushed tone, she said, “no one can know about Isaac. If they find out, they’ll take him. I’m sure of it!”
I shook my head, fished the picture inside my pocket and showed it to my mother. “Isaac is not Nephilim. It’s not possible.”
My mother stared at the picture of Priscilla and Eli.
“He’s not the father.” My mother confirmed. “It’s the other one. The one with the bright blue eyes.”
My mother’s words shook at my core. Dylan was Isaac’s father. But how? I searched through all of Priscilla’s photographs, none were of Dylan. Eli was the angel Priscilla was in love with, not Dylan.
“I knew it the day he came to the house looking for Priscilla. I’ll never forget his eyes. They’re just like—”
“Don’t say it,” I exclaimed. “Dylan is not the father.”
I refused to believe it, but I could see the truth in my mother’s torn-stricken eyes. Then her expression turned serious.
“Listen to me Alexis, do not say a word to anyone, not even to Isaac. He’ll come looking for him.” She panicked.
“Who?”
That’s when all the lights in the house went out. I heard Isaac groan from the living room. Our teacup chihuahua, Killer, growled and barked.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
The front door swung open; a shadowy figure flew past my mother’s bedroom.
“What was that?” I jerked back.
“Mom, I’m scared!” Isaac ran to my moth
er’s room with Killer in his arms who wouldn’t stop barking.
Alarmed, my mother hid Isaac inside her closet. “Stay in here. Whatever happens, do not come out,” she warned taking Killer from his arms. Isaac shook his head in obedience. I heard a low growl coming from the kitchen.
My mother grabbed Paul’s folding knife out of her dresser “Stay right here,” she commanded.
“No, I’m coming with you,” I replied in defiance.
I tip-toed slowly behind my mother as she cautiously ventured through the hallway and into the kitchen. The air smelled heavily of rotten eggs and sulfur. A trail of trash littered the kitchen floor that led to the refrigerator. Someone was inside rummaging through the food eating and slurping with intense hunger.
I took a step back, stepping on a loose floorboard it creaked, the person in the refrigerator froze then stopped eating, slowly turned around its neck clicking like the girl from The Exorcist. It was Paul. The blood drained from my face at the sight of his horrific distorted face and jet-black eyes. A horrible bestial shriek escaped his throat shaking the wood floors beneath my feet. My mother’s breathing became erratic.
“Paul?” she said, her voice trembling.
My hands began to shake uncontrollably as I backed away slowly. Paul leaped over the island and lunged at my mother. I shoved her out of the way, Paul landed on top of me and dug his sharp fingernails into my arm. I screamed in agonizing pain. He opened his mouth, slimy phlegm dripping from the sides, and let out another anguished cry exposing his rotting jagged teeth. His hot breath swept over my face like steam that reeked of death. I tried to push Paul off me when his body suddenly flew through the doorway and into the back room. I remained on the floor gripping my bloody arm gasping for clean air and coughing my lungs out. My mother rushed to me and examined the wounds.
“Are you okay?” she asked frantically.
“I’m fine,” I reassured her.
I looked up just when Paul charged Milo like a Spanish bull through a set of French doors that led to the back yard. Milo landed in a sea of shattered glass. Milo stood up and brushed off pieces of glass from his shoulders. My ears rang at the menacing howl that escaped Paul’s lips before he lunged at Milo. This time, Milo caught him by the throat and tossed him further into the back lawn through the overgrown brush. I ran upstairs to my room, and onto the balcony, my mother came rushing behind me. She was hyperventilating.
“He’s going to kill him!” she shrieked.
The ominous dark clouds were beginning to close in threatening to release at any moment. Milo swung his fist into Paul’s face that sent him flying into the dirt leaving a huge dent in the ground. I felt a deep chill as a droplet of water fell on my cheek. Then the rain poured down. Milo and Paul circled each other, rain dripping down their faces. Paul opened his mouth exposing his sharp fangs, leaped forward, but Milo caught him by the arm, twisted Paul around and wrapped his arms around him and squeezed until the veins on Paul’s face bulged out.
“Tell him to stop!” my mother begged.
After Paul passed out, Milo dragged his limp body into the house. I ran downstairs and met Milo in the kitchen where he knocked everything off the island then plopped Paul’s body on top.
“What did you do to him?” My mother screamed at Milo, a look of accusation in her eyes. She placed her head over Paul’s chest to check for a heartbeat.
“He’s possessed,” Milo announced.
CHAPTER
26
My mother eyed Milo with suspicion as she clutched my arm. Despite Milo saving my life from whatever demon was possessing Paul, my mother didn’t trust him. Milo stood in the corner of the kitchen, his arms crossed maintaining an unusually calm, cool demeanor. He was used to people like my mother eyeing him like a hawk.
“I’m sorry about your husband,” Milo said to my mother as a form of consolation.
My mother remained silent and pulled me even closer. Seconds later, Alva barged into the kitchen and examined Paul’s body. My mother’s eyes flew wide at Alva’s blue hair, black leather trench coat, and fingerless gloves. Alva looked like she’d just stepped out of The Matrix.
“I need a bucket, a few towels, duct tape and sunglasses,” Alva instructed removing her coat.
My mother remained next to Paul as I ran throughout the house to fetch the supplies. I found the towels inside the laundry room, the sunglasses in my car, and the rest of the items in the pantry.
“Why do we need the duct tape?” I asked confused.
“When I extract the demon, it will be looking for another host. The duct tape stops you from screaming,” she clarified. “It’s going to get very bright. That’s what the sunglasses are for.”
I did as Alva instructed, and so did my mother.
Alva took out a small apothecary bottle from a black leather holster bag she wore like a belt that strapped around her thigh. After removing the black crystal top, she clapped her hands together then rubbed them as if she were warming them up. Alva closed her eyes, then placed her hands over Paul’s chest. Out of her mouth came a low melodic chanting in Hebrew. Paul’s body began to jolt, his black eyes popped open and glared at Alva. He twisted in pain, he tried to get up, but the weight of Alva’s hands kept him locked down. Whatever was inside him was seriously pissed. I gripped my mother’s hand tightly, every cell in my body panicked.
A very bright cobalt blue light radiated out of Alva’s hands. It was the type of brightness equivalent to the sun with the capability of burning through the pupils.
Paul’s body began to convulse, a bestial shriek escaping his mouth. His stomach bulged out as if the demon was trying to push out of his belly. Alva continued to chant more aggressively now, the bulge moving up like a lump from his stomach to Paul’s throat.
“The bucket!” Alva yelled.
I grabbed the bucket off the floor and placed it next to Paul. He flipped over and gagged but missed the bucket. He vomited black fluid all over me with chunks of tiny dead insects.
I gasped on the verge of puking.
Then, a whirling vortex of smoke shot out of Paul’s mouth. It hung above us swirling around taking on different demonic animal shapes vanishing just as fast as they appeared. The bone-chilling demonic howl was followed by ghastly female laughter. Alva kept her hands- on Paul, her face in full concentration, as the demon hesitantly drifted into the bottle.
Paul coughed, and his face drastically changed color as the blood returned to his cheeks. He let out a sigh of relief, his eyes softened as soon as he saw my mother.
“Brenda?” Paul said, his voice raw and shaky.
“Paul?” My mother cupped Paul’s face. “Is it really you?”
“I’ve been lost inside my head for so long, I thought it was never going to end,” Paul cried.
“Oh my God,” my mother said relieved. She pulled Paul into her and embraced him.
They both cried like babies. My eyes shifted from Paul to my mother. I wasn’t sure how to react. This was the man who tortured me since we moved to Dixon. The same man who made my life a living hell. Was I supposed to feel happy? Sad? Relieved?
“How did he become possessed?” I asked Alva.
“Demons prey on the weak-minded. Often their victims suffer from depression, PTSD,” she explained. “But a demon cannot enter a body unless it’s summoned through occult objects.”
“La Santa Muerte.” It dawned on me. “I’ll show you.”
I escorted Alva to my mother’s bathroom where she kept the Saint of Death. As soon as Alva saw it, a spark of recognition crossed her eyes.
“Lilith,” Alva confirmed in a whisper. “She’s the oldest and most powerful demon on Earth. One of the first Nephilim born to the Grigori angels.”
“No, that’s impossible,” my mother said. She walked into the room along with Paul and Milo. “She’s a Saint. She’s brought many blessings into our life.”
“Oh yeah, like what?” I challenged. “Ever since you brought that thing into our house, bad shit�
�s happened.” The air felt stale and heavy, you could slice the negative energy inside our house with a knife.
“The jars are petitions for protection. Nothing more.” My mother shook her head.
“Protection? From what? What were you trying to protect me from?”
My mother’s eyes darted to Milo. “From him.”
Milo’s expression was unreadable. He didn’t move or say anything.
“No,” Alva said as stepped closer to the skeletal statue to inspect it. “The jars are prisons. The picture inside becomes a prisoner of Lilith. It’s like giving her permission to possess the body.”
Alva’s words reached my mother like a cold gust of wind, and it was written all over her face. Alva opened one of the mason jars and maggots wiggled out of the jar spilling into the bathroom sink. I stepped back repulsed.
“Oh my God,” I covered my mouth.
When Alva pulled out the picture inside, I almost gagged. Priscilla’s picture was covered in a black, tar-like residue.
Alva shot Milo a worried look.
“What is it?” he asked.
Alva touched the statue when suddenly the ground began to rumble. The sound of thunderous wings flapping overhead sent everyone into a panic. Alva and Milo remained calm but vigilant.
“What’s happening?” I asked scanning the ceiling.
“I don’t know,” Alva replied. She took out two daggers with a black crystal shaped like a blade.
I opened the curtain, I jumped back when I saw Dylan’s face smiling back at me with a menacing glare through the window glass. “Are you having a party? Where was my invitation?” he laughed.
The front door pounded, behind it I heard Scarlet’s unmistakable voice. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she sang.
“What’s going on?” I asked Milo.
“I don’t know,” he said with an edge in his voice that told me he was seriously pissed off and as confused as I was.
I ran to the living room and looked out the window. Outside, there were at least a dozen angels surrounding the house eerily standing like statues. Anxiety and fear gripped at the nape of my neck. I rushed back to the entry where Milo took guard by the door.
THE TRAGIC + DIVINE, Book 1 Page 23