Revelation (Blood of Angels Book 1)

by Paula Arwen Owen

  “How are you doing that? Some sort of magic trick?”

  “You could say that.” His knowing smile irritated her. “But I’m only showing you what you can’t yet see.”

  Des glanced back at the grey sharp-toothed man, but his face looked normal and he was staring up at the ads lining the subway car, ignoring her.

  “You have nothing to fear from him,” Cyrus said. “Now that guy, maybe.” He pointed towards the far end of the car.

  A younger man wearing bright mismatched clothes gestured wildly at the silver interior of the train. He seemed to be talking to his own reflection.

  Des rolled her eyes. “He looks pretty harmless. Does he really have ten horns and a goat tail?”

  “Those things you can’t see, sometimes they can see you.”

  I see you. That’s what the beggar he had interrupted the other day said. And the preacher at the parade. She looked at Cyrus, who was watching her intently.

  “You have more questions,” he stated.

  Des flipped the coin through her fingers, considering if she wanted to know more or not. He could be some weirdo trying to mess with her mind. But her mind already felt like a mess, and she couldn’t ignore all the strange things going on when he wasn’t even around.

  “You have more answers?” she asked.

  He smiled, softening his gaze as he nodded. “Whenever you’re ready.” He placed a scrap of paper with his number in her hand and winked at her as he got up from his seat. He gave a thumbs up to the grey suit man as he made his way to the door, and she shoved the number into her pocket along with the coin. Just in case she might need it.

  Shirley Goes to Church

  Jesus forgives you, bold black letters proclaimed on the square white sign staked into the plain but manicured lawn. Shirley stood in front of it, checking the pamphlet again to make sure this was the right address. Ministry of Faith and Deliverance was imprinted in small letters on top of the sign, matching the cursive font on the yellow paper. The mowed grass around it was dull and grey, nearly the same color as the driveway leading up to a pair of large oak doors in the compact brick building. Tall narrow windows faced the lawn, warm golden light pouring out of them.

  The door opened quietly, and she stepped into a cozy alcove with electric candles glowing along the burnished wood walls. Through a second set of doors she could see rows of plain wooden pews, dog-eared books peeking out of their backs. Several aged chandeliers illuminated the worn carpet leading down the center aisle to the pulpit.

  The main decoration in the room was a large painting of the crucifixion that hung against the far wall behind the pulpit. The artwork was amateur, but the image was arresting. The bold colors and strokes brought the scene to life, rendering Christ’s body twisted in anguish, his expression somewhere between excruciating pain and rapture. Shirley stared at the picture in fascination, mesmerized by the grisly depiction.

  “That painting was donated by a local artist.” Father Tate had appeared from a long hallway to her left. “Quite colorful, isn’t it?”

  “It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “But so sad, such a terrible thing.”

  “It is the Lord's gift to us, his sacrifice for the sins of humanity.”

  “No one should have to sacrifice so much.”

  “Not even for the people you love, as we are God’s own children?”

  Shirley glanced at him and looked away. He seemed so sincere, so sure of his faith. She wondered what that felt like.

  “I’m glad you came to us,” he said, gesturing down the hallway, “would you like to talk in confidence? My office is this way, Mrs. Levine.”

  “Oh,” she waved her hand, “Just Shirley.”

  “Certainly. You can call me Nathan. You remember Edmund?” He motioned to the tall man standing by the window as they entered his office. Shirley remembered his disconcerting stare when the two of them had come to her porch on Halloween night. Edmund was now dressed in a plain brown robe with a large wooden cross hanging down the front. He nodded at her but didn’t voice a greeting.

  Nathan’s office was small but comfortable, with two old leather armchairs on either side of a rustic wooden desk. Nathan sat behind the desk and ran a hand through his thinning chestnut brown hair.

  “Your husband James, although of a different faith, was a religious man.”

  “More so than me, I’m afraid.” Shirley sank into the other chair and unwrapped her scarf from her neck, fidgeting with its woolen fringes. She attempted to smooth down her hair, the dry air making it more frizzy than usual.

  Nathan smiled. “We all have our reasons to believe.”

  Shirley tried to imagine James sitting in those wooden pews, staring at that painting on the wall. What exactly did he believe?

  “When his rabbi dismissed his fears as superstition,” Nathan continued, “James came to me.”

  “His fears?”

  “Shirley.” He leaned forward and Edmund mimicked him. “Have you noticed anything strange lately about your daughter?”

  “Strange?” she laughed. “She’s a teenager.”

  “Odd coincidences, or perhaps lights flickering when they shouldn’t, animals reacting strangely.”

  Shirley shifted in her seat, the question making her uncomfortable. She didn’t believe in the supernatural, but she was reminded of the things James used to complain about and the arguments they had.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Edmund leaned forward to stare at her with his unnerving gaze. “These are all signs of evil in the eyes of God. Witchcraft and sorcery.”

  Shirley stared back in amazement. “Are you trying to say my daughter is an actual witch?”

  “No, of course not,” Nathan countered, frowning at Edmund, who retreated back to the window and diverted his attention to a large crow hopping along the ground outside. “I just thought you should be open to possibilities, like James was.”

  “I mean, I think her friend is Wiccan, but I hear that’s a popular thing now.” Shirley chewed on her inner lip as she thought back to her fights with James. Several of them centered around his insistence that something was wrong with their daughter. She figured he was blaming things on Des, a poor excuse for his actions and a convenient way of creating the rift between them.

  But though she would never have admitted it to James, there were always strange things happening around Des. Those terrible fevers she had when she was young; and she’d wake up from nightmares night after night with burning hot skin. And flickering lights? They went through dozens of lightbulbs each year, but she assumed it was the old wiring in the house. James made a big deal when Des complained about going to temple and didn’t like to touch the Torah during the Torah procession, but didn’t all little kids balk at going to temple or church?

  “What possibilities?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Well, there are things in this world we don’t always understand. And teenagers often are attracted to things that aren’t good for them, especially if they have certain… inclinations. But maybe with intervention, there is a chance to stop what has begun.”

  Shirley drummed a finger on the arm of the chair. He wasn’t making much sense. She considered if coming here had been a mistake, but she had come here for answers. She pulled the old Bible out of her purse and opened it.

  “James was reading the Christian Bible, this section called Revelation. It’s all gloomy and violent. Why? I mean, listen to this: A great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea; and the third part of the sea became blood; and the third part of the creatures which were in the sea and had life, died; and the third part of the ships were destroyed; and the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven…” Shirley trailed off.

  “And to him was given the key of the bottomless pit,” Nathan continued, “the abode of that old serpent, the Devil, bound for a thousand years… Yes, the apocalypse.” He shrugged. “It’s very popular nowadays, in movies and books.”

  “Y
eah, Des loves that stuff.” Shirley grimaced. “But I didn’t think James was into it. Quite the opposite.”

  “Some people believe those stories are all metaphors for the good and evil in man’s heart.” He leaned forward again. “And some believe they are events that will actually happen.”

  Shirley shuddered. “I should hope not.”

  “Theoretically, say they were real. If you had a chance to stop it from happening, wouldn’t you?”

  “I guess, but I would think that’s up to an army, or maybe the church, someone with faith and purpose. What could little old me do?” She laughed as she considered standing up to a mythical host of beasts and fiery angels.

  “All you need is faith in humanity. And in redemption, in the idea that we do not always deserve the fate laid out for us.”

  “Humanity?” she shrugged. “I suppose we all have something redeemable in us, but I don’t know, maybe some people deserve judgement.”

  “How about faith in your daughter?”

  Shirley sighed. Whatever fate Des was headed for, she only wanted to keep her from barreling down the wrong path. It’s all she wanted in the world, really, was to make sure she would be okay.

  “How does any of this help her?”

  “Of course, that’s what I’m here to do.” He gave her that warm smile that had put her at ease the first time they met. She gave him a small smile in return.

  “We have a group for teens that meets every Saturday. No talk of witches or bibles, just normal life and how to manage things like anger and depression. Perhaps she would find that helpful.”

  “She could certainly use help with those things. I’ll tell her about it.” She tilted her head over at Edmund and whispered, “Will he be there?”

  “Edmund?”

  The tall man turned his unsettling gaze on them.

  Nathan looked at him. “Could you make sure the prayer books are in place for tomorrow evening?” Edmund nodded to them both and quietly left the room.

  “I apologize.” Nathan inclined his head. “He is a good man and dedicated to our church, but he can be a bit zealous in his expressions. He lived in an isolated monastery for many years. He’s a little... socially awkward.”

  Shirley nodded, accepting his apology.

  “I’m here to help you as well. I know parenting can be hard, especially when you’re trying to do it alone. They used to have ceremonies and guidance when young ones came of age, but now we have what, YouTube?”

  Shirley laughed and Nathan seemed pleased at her reaction.

  “Call me anytime,” he said, handing her a business card that she took and stuffed into her purse. She thanked him and left feeling a little bit lighter, a tiny bit relieved that someone understood what she was going through. She hoped Des would feel the same thing if she could convince her to come to see him, too.

  She didn’t check her phone messages until she got home, and her elevated mood plummeted as she heard news from the school of what Des had been doing the last few days.

  Sabbath Dinner

  Des came home to find the kitchen table set with two silver candlesticks and crystal wine glasses that must have been hiding in a cupboard somewhere.

  Right, Sabbath. She wasn’t sure what had brought this religious thing on, but she was pretty certain she couldn’t get out of it tonight. Her mom stood against the counter with her arms crossed, an oven mitt clutched in one hand. Her forehead had that little wrinkle that appeared when she was frustrated.

  “How was school?”

  Des considered the best answer. She went with a mumbled “Fine.”

  “Really. Did you at least manage to make it to all your classes today? Or did you spend your time making up disturbing practical jokes.”

  Des sighed. She should have known the school would call.

  “Mom, I didn’t do it.”

  “Cut class, or practice voodoo on your teachers?”

  “Well, ok I cut class yesterday, but that’s it, and it was because…”

  “How are you going to keep up your grades if you don’t go to class? You know we can’t afford college without scholarships. Father Tate is right. You do need help.”

  “Father who?”

  Her mother faltered, tucking her hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture.

  “He is a very nice priest I talked to, and he thought, I think, maybe you could talk to him…”

  “You went to a church?” Des dropped her bag on the floor and flung her coat over a nearby chair. “Did you tell them you’re a Jew?”

  Her mother frowned. “They’re not trying to convert me. Father Tate was a friend of your father’s, and since he’s not around…”

  Des snorted in disgust. “Is that what this is about? I don’t need a replacement for Dad. It’s a little late for that.”

  Her mother reached for one of the wine glasses and filled it, spilling some of the burgundy liquid onto the tablecloth. Des eyed the other glass, but she didn’t think the wine was meant for her.

  “Look, Mom.” She sat down, picking at the bits of vinyl coming loose from the chair. “I just had a bad week, ok? I had a fight with my friends and then they set me up with that stupid prank.”

  Her mom sipped the wine and Des considered if she should tell her more, about Adrian, or even Cyrus.

  “With Rachel?” her mom finally said.

  “Yeah, her and Kyle, they dropped me as a friend. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  Her mom sat down slowly and her expression softened. “I’m sorry, hon. That’s not right.” She reached a hand towards her but stopped halfway across the table. Des didn’t respond to her gesture and Shirley pulled her hand back.

  “But I don’t need them anyway. I met someone.”

  “You mean a boy? Where did you meet?”

  “In the subway.”

  “Ugh.” Her mother frowned. “Can’t you meet someone nice at school?”

  Des made another sound of disgust. Her mother sighed and picked up a book of matches to light the two white candles. She mumbled the Sabbath prayer and went to get a knife to cut the challah bread she had bought. Des repeated the prayer the way she used to, but the words felt strange coming off her tongue, like some stale and forgotten memory washing up on a deserted shore. The candles signified the start of the Sabbath at sundown, a holy day, a day of rest for those who believed.

  She stared at the candles, the flickering light reminding her of her fiery dreams. She didn’t think a brief prayer or a talk with a fatherly priest was going to change anything. What would they say if she told them she was dreaming of monsters and seeing demons in subway tunnels? She ran a finger across the top of the candle flame and it flared up as if reaching for her. She snatched her hand back but realized it didn’t even hurt. She tried it again and the same thing happened.

  Her mother came back with the knife and butter for the bread. The loaf was braided and baked with a golden crust in the traditional way. It was delicious, and Des reached for more.

  “So how come Dad knew a priest?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Her mom waved her hand as if to brush the matter away. “He was reading this old New Testament Bible too, for some reason.”

  Des flipped through the little Bible, finding the pamphlet bookmarking the section called Revelation. The pamphlet had an old engraving printed on the cover of a bunch of angels riding horses and carrying flaming swords.

  “Huh. So he wasn’t as hardcore Jewish as I thought.”

  “He was, he certainly was, until…” Shirley trailed off. “Tell me about this boy you met.”

  Des tried to hide a smile as she thought about him. “He’s really nice, and um, has a job.”

  “He’s cute?”

  “Mom. Yeah, he’s cute.”

  “Well, I guess he can’t be terrible if he makes you smile. Just be careful.”

  “Of course.”

  She thought of the trip he had asked her to go on tomorrow, to his uncle’s place upstate. She was pret
ty sure being careful didn’t include letting him drive her two hours away to the middle of nowhere. That was something her mom didn’t need to know about.

  Her mom pulled a lasagna out of the oven and despite the earlier tension, they had a pleasant meal, and even sat talking until the candles burned out.

  Oh Brother

  The next morning, Des found herself up much too early for a Saturday, standing before a pale green door peeling to tan paint underneath. She had told her mom that Rachel apologized last night, and she was spending the day with her.

  “Not likely,” she muttered to herself, as she knocked hesitantly on Adrian’s door. She was a little nervous about meeting his uncle, but it meant she would get to spend a whole day with Adrian. A fluorescent light flickered above her and went dim as she heard someone remove the security chain from the door.

  “Well, hello.”

  A tall, slim young man stood framed by the light from the hallway behind him, looking down at her in surprise. He had dark hair like Adrian’s, but it fell past his shoulders and blended into his black tank top. An intricate tattoo of a snake curled around his arm and onto his back. He had the same high cheekbones and almond eyes, but had less of a somber look and more of an expression full of mischief.

  “Whatever you’re selling, I’ll buy it,” he said, “if I can have your number.”

  Des raised an eyebrow. “Does that line really work for you?”

  He shrugged. “Not yet, but it can’t hurt to try.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh, and he grinned back at her, offering a hand to introduce himself.

  “Keep your hands to yourself.” Adrian appeared behind him and swatted his hand away, shouldering him aside in the narrow entranceway.

  “Isn’t he rude? He doesn’t even introduce his own brother.” He moved aside and gave an exaggerated bow. “I’m Slate. Welcome to our home.”

  Adrian put an arm around Des and guided her down the short hallway to a sparsely furnished living room that opened into a small kitchen. To the left was another narrow hallway with several rooms branching off of it.