Revelation (Blood of Angels Book 1)

by Paula Arwen Owen

  Blood of Angels:

  Revelation

  Copyright ©2020 Paula Arwen Owen

  ©2020 Moonlight Press

  Summitville, NY 12781

  All rights reserved

  Cover Design by Paula Arwen Owen

  No reproduction of material herein in part or whole

  is permitted without the express written consent of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, locations, and events are fictional and used in an imaginary manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, places or events are purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Halloween Spirit

  Trick or Treat

  Strangers in the Subway

  A Meal for Two

  Vision of Fire

  School is Hell

  Graves End

  Monster Dreams

  Shirley’s Doubt

  More Subway Mysteries

  Shirley Goes to Church

  Sabbath Dinner

  Oh Brother

  Fire and Moonlight

  Hands of Ash

  Wolves by the Water

  Cross Examined

  A Light on the Past

  A Rabbi’s Touch

  Angry Mice

  Safe Haven

  All You Cannot See

  The Perfect Murder

  Daddy Dearest

  Beast of Man

  Family Bonds

  Lost Soul

  Born of Fire

  To be continued…

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Dedicated to my Grandma Clara who always knew I would be a writer one day.

  Acknowledgements

  Having had these characters alive in my mind for many years, I am happy to finally let them out to roam free. I have many people to thank for helping my stories come to life.

  First, I’d like to acknowledge my wonderful family and friends, especially my parents, Alex & Eija Friedlander, who have always encouraged and supported all of my artistic endeavors. My first book is dedicated to my late grandmother, Clara Friedlander. She inspired me with her love of words and poetry, and always believed in my writing abilities.

  Many thanks to my early beta readers and advisors including my brother David Friedlander for his editing skills and shared love of New York City and its subway system. To Brielle Rosa for her many comments, advice, and overall awesomeness. Also, I have to include our pets for keeping my lap warm and not destroying my notes and manuscript (although they may have left some teeth marks).

  Most of all I want to thank my husband and soulmate for listening to me go on endlessly about my characters and plots and the continued inspiration to keep writing.

  Halloween Spirit

  Desdemona leaned over the metal barriers lining Sixth Avenue and peered down the empty street. It was eerie, seeing the wide expanse of asphalt so still, the dark slick surface reflecting light from the changing streetlights. At least the rain had stopped, but the chill October air still seeped through her coat. She shivered in the thin wool fabric and pulled it tighter, fumbling with the silver skull buttons.

  “Is it starting yet?” Kyle pressed against her side, leaning a steel-toed boot up on the barrier. His hair swung across his forehead, casting his kohl-lined eyes in shadow. Shaved short on the sides, the long strands on top were perpetually concealing his face.

  Rachel rested her elbows on the metal bars, her silver pentagram necklace twirling above the black abyss of pavement. Her marcasite cross banged against the metal as Kyle’s weight shook the fence.

  “You’re going to push it over, idiot,” Rachel said, flipping a strand of bright red hair away from her eyes. The red streaks in her dyed black hair were the same unnatural shade as her eyeshadow. They used to share the colored dye, but Des had decided on purple bands through her dark hair for her birthday. Rachel made fun of her choice, constantly reminding her it clashed with her amber eyes.

  Des stood back as Kyle laughed and shook the fence even more. She gazed up at the old library tower across the street where an oversized mechanical spider waved its furry legs at the crowds lining the sidewalk below, waiting for the Halloween parade to begin.

  “Hey, look at this freak.” Kyle pointed at a thin man dressed in tattered layers walking down the middle of the empty street, muttering to himself. His shoes were patched with duct tape, leaving ragged holes where his toes poked through. His wild, greying hair pushed through his knit hat in a similar manner. Suddenly he looked up, pointing a bony finger at the crowd.

  “Who among us is the Liar,” he yelled. “Is it you? Do you deceive the lord on this night of debauchery?”

  “Yeah, it’s me!” Kyle yelled back, eliciting an amused snort from Rachel.

  “Shut up.” Des elbowed him, but the street preacher had already noticed them, and now pointed his finger straight at her. His eyes were sunken into his thin face but glowed with a frightening intensity, and she shrank back against the crowd behind her.

  “You,” he cried, moving towards them. “You deceive with your pretty, pretty face, but I know you.”

  Kyle grinned. “Hey Des, is that your boyfriend?”

  “Not funny, Kyle.” She tried to move away again, but the crowd wasn’t budging. She felt trapped as the preacher kept advancing, and a surge of abnormal fear made her skin heat up so much it began to tingle. He’s just a crazy old man, she told herself.

  Rachel was staring at her, and she could see her preparing a snide remark about her overreaction. A bright musical voice interrupted them before Rachel could comment.

  “Making new friends, are we?”

  Des turned to see an eighteenth-century princess smiling down at her, platinum blond curls spilling from under a feathered hat, cascading down the front of a vintage burgundy satin gown. Intricate lace details trimmed the edges of the gown and matching lace gloves covered her neatly manicured hands.

  “Layla!” Des breathed. “Wow, that’s...” she gestured to her outfit, “amazing.”

  “Oh, just something I had lying around.” Layla peered past them with narrowed eyes, towards the preacher who was standing still and glaring at them. He spat on the ground and then shuffled slowly away.

  “Yeah,” Des said in response to her original question. “I attract the best.”

  “Here, this will help.” Layla pulled a white and brown spotted feather out of her hat and held it out to her. Her smile was soft and warm, but her ice blue eyes remained glaciers, as if radiating cold from deep within. Her cool fingers brushed against Des’s skin, and it seemed to make the heat and tingling sensation recede. She relaxed slightly as she took the feather.

  “Um, thanks.” Des ran the soft feather through her fingers, not sure what help it would give. It was pretty, though.

  “Come, my dear. The parade is starting.” A man even taller than Layla linked his arm with hers, his obsidian skin a rich contrast to her ivory complexion. He wore a burgundy top hat over long, braided hair, and a matching Victorian outfit layered with cream-colored lace. He tapped a black and silver cane against the ground. “We must get downtown if we wish to join.”

  Layla’s boyfriend Sam tipped his hat to them, and Layla gave a small nod as they left. The crowd parted as if they were royalty. The sound of music and cheering already echoed down the street, and Des doubted they would make it in time to join the procession.

  “Come my dear,” echoed Rachel. “Please.”

  “What’s wrong with getting into character?” said Des. “We should have dressed up this year.”

  Rachel snorted. “That’s so juvenile. Besides, to some people we are dressed up.
” She ran a hand down her favorite black and red corset that matched her hair and revealed a little too much on top. Kyle reached over to run his hand down it too and she smacked it away.

  “I think Des has the hots for Sam.” He tipped an imaginary hat at her. “That’s why she’s in with the ice queen.”

  “Is that the only thing on your mind, Kyle?” Des frowned at him.

  “Yeah, she’s got better friends now.” Rachel’s lips curled in her customary sneer. “She doesn’t need us anymore.”

  Des tucked the feather into her belt and didn’t reply. Despite Layla’s reputation for being distant and condescending, she had always been nice to Des. She suspected Layla's movie star looks created more jealous rumors than truth, but Layla didn't seem to care.

  Rachel, on the other hand seemed to care more and more what people thought of her, despite claiming the opposite. Des and Rachel used to be a team, two misfits against a world of mediocrity and hostility. But since the start of their senior year, it felt like Rachel had joined the other side.

  “She was just being nice,” Des mumbled.

  “Nice?” Rachel snorted. “People like her aren’t nice to people like us. Why don’t you go hang out with her if you’re so enamored?”

  Des felt the heat prickling under her skin again and unbuttoned her coat, the long tails catching in a gust of wind. She rubbed at her eyes in irritation, leaving a smudge of dark eyeliner on her knuckles.

  “What is your problem, do you just hate everyone who’s not like you?” Des snapped.

  Rachel’s pale cheeks turned bright red and she took a step towards Des. Kyle put a tentative hand on Rachel’s shoulder, but at that moment the crowd surged forward, pushing them all into the metal fence. The music swelled as the first wave of the parade came dancing down the street.

  A huge dragon made of paper and fabric spanned the asphalt, slowly fanning its multicolored wings through the night air. Puppeteers ran alongside it in black leotards, like strange ghoulish ants carrying their prey. The great fabric head turned towards them, its cavernous mouth slowly opening and closing. Des imagined she could see fire smoldering in its belly, waiting for the chance to unleash it on the crowd.

  She closed her eyes against its fluttering gaze and something dark tugged at her memory - a fleeting nudge, like her cat brushing against her shins. She shrugged it away and looked beyond the dragon to see a group of oversized skeletons dancing in the air, eyes glowing in their bobbing skulls.

  Eerie, luminescent fabric ghosts fluttered over the screaming crowd, alongside disconcerting transparent winged butterflies with human faces. Brightly dressed stilt walkers towered above the crowd, their impossibly giant steps carrying them through the melee. Between the sets of intricately designed puppets marched waves of costumed people, from zombies in full bloody makeup to fairies clad in hardly anything at all. She searched for Layla and Sam in the crowd.

  Rachel had forgotten their argument and was whispering to Kyle. “Look, there are the real witches. Voodoo Priestesses.”

  A line of women dressed in flowing white from head to toe were dancing and spinning to the rhythm of drums. Their skirts and shawls fluttered like brilliant wings against the darkness.

  “They’re not real witches,” Des said. “They’re part of the religion, like a priest or a rabbi.”

  “You’re always claiming nobody’s a witch.” Rachel smiled. “We’ll find out when I get the grimoire.”

  Kyle smacked her shoulder. “The Book of Lilith! No, you found it?”

  “Yeah, on eBay. It will be here next week.”

  Des rolled her eyes. Rachel had always been a sucker for these things, but if there was true magic in the world, she doubted it would be in a grimoire sold on eBay.

  Her phone buzzed and she saw it was her mom calling. Why didn’t she just text? She wouldn’t hear her anyway with all the noise. She waited for it to go to voicemail as she watched the women in white dip and twirl until they were only white spots in the distance, fluttering like moths.

  Trick or Treat

  Shirley put down her phone with a sigh and ripped open one last bag of Kit Kats, dumping them in the big candy bowl by the door. Halloween simply wasn’t as fun by herself. Des used to get so excited about dressing up together, but now she was too busy to even answer her phone and let her mom know she was okay. Didn’t she still have a right to worry about her daughter being out at night in the middle of an excitable crowd? Their cat gave a baleful meow and attacked a piece of the plastic bag that had fallen to the floor.

  “You agree, don’t you Misery?” She reached back in to retrieve a candy bar for herself, watching the fluffy black cat that Des had named shred the offending scrap. The doorbell rang, sending the cat scrambling across the floor to hide. Shirley adjusted the old velour witch's hat over her curly black hair and glanced at the clock. The last trick or treaters should be coming through now. Then she would have the house to herself.

  The whole drafty, creaking Victorian house that was really too big for the two of them. It had seemed like the perfect home and a good investment when James was around, but the upkeep and bills were getting harder every year. The occasional checks James sent, with no return address, weren’t enough.

  She opened the door to see two men in grey suits. The taller one blocked the porch light, casting their faces in shadow. Definitely not trick or treaters. Her whole body tensed and she gripped the doorknob in apprehension.

  “Is there something wrong?” she asked, afraid they were here to give her bad news about Des.

  The tall one moved forward into the light and she could see a white priest collar under the suit. He had wide brown eyes and a kind face, and his warm smile put her at ease.

  “My apologies ma’am, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He held out a gloved hand and she took it hesitantly. “I’m Father Tate, and this is Edmund.” Edmund had been staring at her pointed hat with an odd expression and lowered his intense stare to her face.

  “We aim to remind people of the word of God on this sinful night, this pagan revelry.”

  “Yes, well,” Father Tate cleared his throat. “We were in the area and thought to stop by to inquire after James and his lovely family.”

  Shirley frowned. “James? He hasn’t lived here in over ten years.”

  “My apologies,” Father Tate said. “He was an acquaintance from church, and he always talked fondly of you and your daughter.”

  “From church?” Shirley was taken aback. “But surely you know he was, I mean we’re Jewish!”

  Father Tate nodded agreeably. “All faiths are welcome at our church. James came to me with questions and was a welcome member at our services for several years.”

  Shirley was rendered speechless by this revelation and simply stared at the priest. James was the one who had always insisted on going to temple on the holidays and having a Sabbath service. What on earth was he doing at church? But she now recalled him bringing home a copy of the New Testament, the Christian Bible, when Des was young. It had been about the same time they started arguing more, and he began accusing Des of strange things no little girl could have done.

  “You are welcome as well,” Father Tate interrupted her reverie. “Any time you want to talk.”

  “Before it’s too late,” Edmund added, and held out a small yellow pamphlet.

  “Yes, it is getting late.” Father Tate glanced at Edmund and then smiled at her again. “Stay safe tonight, Mrs. Levine. It was a pleasure meeting you.” He made a slight bow and ushered Edmund off the porch.

  “Sure, you too,” Shirley mumbled, closing the door behind them and looking at the cover of the pamphlet.

  Ministry of Faith and Deliverance, it read. Her phone buzzed on the counter, and Shirley dropped the paper to grab it.

  Parade just finishing, getting some food, any candy left?

  Shirley smiled at the text, relieved to hear something from Des. She wrote back.

  Saved some in your trick or treat pumpkin! Don�
��t stay out too late.

  Her smile dimmed as she looked around the kitchen, old memories resurfacing of late-night arguments with James: that chip in the table where he had slammed the chair against it, the drawer on the left that never closed right after she had slammed it shut. She wandered over to the little-used drawer, recalling something he had said, and slid it open to reveal a small compact book in the corner, a thin gold metal cross on its worn leather cover. The New Testament Bible that the Christians used, not the Jewish Old Testament. Pulling it out, she ran a finger over the cross and opened its whisper thin pages to the ribbon bookmark.

  “And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death…”

  Good lord, she thought. What was James reading in here? It was like one of those horror movies Des enjoyed. Grimly fascinated, she brought the candy bowl over and sank down in one of the old vinyl covered chairs to continue reading.

  “The first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood, and they were cast upon the earth: and the third part of trees was burnt up, and all green grass was burnt up.”

  Misery jumped up onto the chair next to her and started chewing on the priest's pamphlet. She grabbed it from the cat and placed it between the pages as he crawled onto her lap and settled down for a nap.

  Strangers in the Subway

  “6.65.”

  Des dug in her pockets as the cashier held out her palm impatiently. The corner store was packed and her friends were waiting outside while Des picked up some snacks after the parade. Pulling out some change, she noticed that the numbers on the register read 6.66.

  “Here,” she said, “I’ve got a penny.”

  “No, no pennies.” The woman waved her hand, then made the sign of the cross across her chest. “6.65.”