Revelation (Blood of Angels Book 1)

by Paula Arwen Owen

  Des grimaced. “Not like that, not like you. He just started talking to me, he’s weird. He said he knows you.”

  “Oh, what’s his name?”

  “Cyrus, tall, red hair, green eyes.”

  Adrian shook his head and glanced sideways at her as they jostled slowly down the dirt road. The main road was smoother but slow going with a light coating of slushy snow.

  “I don’t have any friends named Cyrus.”

  “Maybe not a friend? He didn’t seem to like you much.”

  Adrian twitched his lips as he thought about it. “No, can’t think of anyone. Is this someone you’re going to see again?”

  Des slipped the coin back in her pocket, hoping the number hadn’t fallen out too.

  “No,” she said, although she hadn’t really decided. From Adrian’s tone she could tell he was jealous, and she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. She wasn’t sure what Cyrus wanted, but she only wanted an answer to the strange things he had shown her, and the meaning behind his cryptic words.

  “Hey, look at that,” she pointed at the car in front of them, glad for the distraction. The license plate on the little red Ferrari had the infamous three numbers in the middle, three sixes.

  “Hm,” Adrian replied. “Only the devil would be foolish enough to drive that car in this kind of weather.”

  She laughed.

  “I wonder what my uncle would say about that number, I never asked.”

  “Your uncle seems cool,” Des said. “How come you moved so far away?”

  “There are no jobs up here. And I thought a change would be good for my brother, keep him out of trouble.”

  “So you moved to the city?” Des laughed and motioned to the dense expanse of trees and empty fields surrounding the road. “How much trouble can he get into up here?”

  Adrian smirked and glanced out the window. “Exactly. There’s not much to do up here, kids get bored. They fall in with the wrong crowd, they do stupid things.”

  “Did it work, moving?”

  Adrian shrugged. “Sort of. Although not the job thing so much. I thought I would be more than a hardware store clerk by now.”

  “What do you really want to be?”

  He was quiet for a minute, concentrating on the road. Finally he said quietly, “An artist.”

  Des clapped her hands together in delight. “You should be! Your sketches I saw were amazing.”

  He shook his head. “It’s too hard to make a living that way.”

  She reached over to place a hand on his leg. “Is that your uncle talking, or you?”

  He sighed. “Jack would think it’s a great idea, but he’s not real practical with money and stuff. At least that’s what my mom always used to say. I bet she never imagined we would end up living with him.”

  “They didn’t get along?”

  “I mean we saw him when we were younger, but they would always end up arguing, then my dad would join in and make it worse. Jack has kind of an old way of thinking, and my mom wanted nothing to do with it. She never liked his talk of wolves and spirits and all that.”

  She squeezed his leg in empathy, and he placed a hand on hers. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be.” He smiled at her, that sad and soulful smile that made her heart ache and she leaned her head lightly on his shoulder.

  “What about you?” he said, his smile turning to a teasing one. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

  “Well,” she considered. “I wanted to be a songwriter at one point. We even put together a little band.”

  “Oh yeah? Did you sing?”

  “No, I played bass and Rachel sang.” She laughed. “We weren’t very good.”

  “You’ll have to play for me sometime.”

  He turned on the radio as they merged onto the highway; the speakers crackling before settling into a wave of sound that enveloped them in the compact space. She reached over to turn up the bass, and the car windows rattled in time with the beat, ethereal voices layered over a mix of drums and melancholy guitar.

  The music reminded her of the entity in the night sky, calling to her, and she wondered what it was that waited out there in the dark spaces between the stars. Or was it only the shadowed spaces in her own mind giving itself a voice, creating chaos for her to sort out? She pushed all the thoughts away for now and settled back to lose herself in the music.

  Hands of Ash

  On Monday, Des wore Adrian’s scarf like a shield, breathing in his scent and imagining his arms around her neck, his voice whispering in her ear. It helped to block out the cruel laughter filling the hallway as she walked to her locker, or the note shoved inside with a crude drawing of a witch being burnt at the stake.

  There was also a grisly gift of a dried pig's ear that she assumed was from Rachel. Despite it, Des was congratulating herself on otherwise avoiding Rachel all morning until she opened the stairway doors to May’s private lunch spot and stopped short in dismay. The new song lyrics she had been humming to herself died on her lips. Sitting next to May with an open book between them were the last two people in the world she wanted to see. Kyle looked up and started to wave hi at her as if he had forgotten Des was an outcast, but quickly lowered his hand and looked to Rachel.

  “I was showing May here my new grimoire.” Rachel ran a hand possessively along the spine of the thick book. It was bound in leather with a circular symbol embossed into the cover, a symbol Des knew she had seen before but couldn’t place where. Above it sat an image of an owl, wings spread in flight. Book of Lilith was written on the spine in faded gold letters.

  “Des, did you know there’s a spell in here to turn a person into a mouse?” May fluttered her hands in excitement.

  Des grimaced. “It’s not real May. It’s just a stupid eBay prop.”

  “You never know until you try.” Rachel calmly flipped a page and Des noticed how brittle and aged they looked. It made a convincing prop. “I’m much more interested in this one.”

  “Blood Calling,” May read aloud. “Channeling the power of the soul through the letting of blood gives one access to nefarious powers and control over the human mind. The more blood is gathered, the more power is unleashed, the more unwilling the subject, the darker the force… Oh.”

  Des snorted. “What are you going to do, Rachel? Murder someone?”

  Rachel grinned, her teeth white against her dark wine lipstick. A smear of it stained one of her canines red.

  “Like Raskolnikov!” May exclaimed.

  They all looked at her in puzzlement.

  “You know, from the book, from English class…” May trailed off.

  “I don’t think he was into the occult,” Des said.

  “But he committed the perfect murder.” May was staring dreamily at the grimoire. “No real connection to the victim, and he was the most unlikely suspect.”

  Rachel smiled and watched May as though she was fascinating. Des cringed. She hated that May was being put in the middle of their petty war. Was May Rachel’s perfect victim or the perfect scapegoat? Rachel most likely had another sick prank in mind, not actual murder. But Des wondered how far she was willing to go.

  “I’m pretty sure he gets caught in the end,” Des said.

  Rachel closed the book and stood, brushing by Des as if she didn’t exist. “We’ll talk about it later,” she said to May, motioning for Kyle to follow her to the stairs. He shrugged, winked at Des, and disappeared through the doors. Des dropped her bag with a thud and slid to the floor.

  “You should stay away from her. She doesn’t really want to be your friend.”

  “Because I’m unlikeable?”

  “No, that’s not…” she frowned at May, who turned away, her ebony hair falling forward to hide her face. “I meant because she doesn’t care about anyone but herself. And she’s trying to hurt me by stealing the one friend I have.”

  May tilted her head so her hair fell back from one eye. “So we’re friends?”

  “Of
course we are! Who else would give me my very own skull to wear?” She pulled out her necklace from under her shirt to show May she was wearing it and Adrian’s wolf necklace fell out with it. May reached over to look at it.

  “Is it bone?”

  “Deer antler. My boyfriend gave it to me.”

  It still felt strange to say since she’d never had a real boyfriend before, only random dates and interludes with immature boys. Adrian was much more than that. It seemed like ages ago they had met, even though it had been just over a week.

  May sighed and leaned against the wall. “Wolves have beautiful skulls.”

  Des raised an eyebrow at her as she opened her lunchbox and realized she had forgotten to pack a lunch. A snack bar and a slightly stale cookie stared back at her.

  “If we were wolves,” May continued, “you would be, like the leader of the pack, the alpha wolf.”

  Des laughed. “Not likely, I don’t want to lead anyone.”

  “A lone wolf then, stronger on your own.”

  Des ran a finger over the grooves in her necklace. “I like that better.”

  “And they are all sheep.” May waved a delicate hand toward the stairs. “Pathetic little sheep that follow whoever bleats the loudest.”

  “I guess…” Des wondered again what went on behind that unassuming facade, what darkness hid behind May’s shy and silent demeanor. Did she feel the same rage that sometimes clouded her own thoughts, the creeping misery that threatened to take hold and bleed the life out of everything around her?

  “And I am only the runt of the litter.” May looked sadly at her sandwich as if it could tell her otherwise.

  “May, don’t say that, it’s not true.”

  May shrugged.

  “Hey.” Des nudged her. “My cat was a tiny runty thing when I found her, but now she’s the most vicious cat I know.”

  That seemed to cheer her up and she continued eating.

  Des looked down at her wolf necklace, the ivory color seeming to glow in the afternoon light. She thought of Adrian’s warm hands on her skin, his low voice murmuring in her ear. She closed her eyes and imagined she was back in the cemetery; the leaves rustling in the wind, the rain misting her bare skin as his tongue travelled down it.

  Lightbringer. The mysterious voice echoed in her head. What did that mean?

  The buzzer interrupted her reverie. They headed off to different afternoon classes. Des made it halfway down the third-floor hallway before Allie appeared out of an empty classroom. She tried to ignore her, but Allie stepped in her way while Josh and Becky circled around to her other side. The rash on Josh’s face had peeled in spots, and in other areas it was swollen and white.

  “What are you staring at, witch?” Allie pointed a finger at her.

  Des smirked at Josh. “I like how you’ve rearranged your face.”

  Allie stepped forward and shoved Des backward. She stumbled and before she regained her footing, Allie pushed her again hard, knocking her down. Her head hit the wall on the way down and the contents of her bag spilled onto the floor. Des gripped her head in pain as their laughter echoed above her, grating on her nerves. A seething rage began to take over her body, making her pulse pound in her temples and her eyes lose focus. She placed a hand on the notebook lying in front of her to steady herself. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire as she glared at Allie, and she imagined that fire enveloping her and burning the smile right off her face. Pushing herself up, she raised a fist to strike when a cool hand encircled her wrist, numbing the heat in her skin.

  “Not here.” Layla held her arm and spoke to her in a quiet voice.

  “What?”

  “Not now. You need to control yourself.”

  Allie sneered at them, but Becky actually looked a bit frightened, and she herded the others away.

  “Catch you later Des Demona,” Allie called as they sauntered down the hallway.

  Layla released her hand, and Des glared at her. “Why did you stop me?”

  Layla sighed. “You’ll know soon enough my dear.”

  Her gold necklace dangled loose over her blouse and Des realized why the symbol on Rachel’s grimoire was familiar. It was the same as Layla’s necklace. Were they teaming up against her? She couldn’t imagine Rachel getting along with Layla.

  “You’re not making any sense.” Des kicked at her bag in frustration and the heavy bronze coin from Cyrus skittered out and across the floor. Layla froze, then swept down to pick it up between two manicured fingers.

  “Where did you get this?” she hissed. Her eyes blazed with an icy blue light.

  Des took a step back. “Some guy on the subway,” she said. “Why?”

  Layla dropped the coin as if it had bitten her. “Damn Domitians,” she muttered. She glanced around as if they were being watched, then turned and hurried down the hall.

  Des threw up a hand as if to question her, but she was already gone. Des waved her hand to dismiss her craziness and reached down to pick up the coin. She noticed one of her notebooks lying there and a chill ran down her spine despite the blaze of her anger still leaking away. There was a charred handprint on the cover, and the smell of burnt paper made her wrinkle her nose. She placed her palm hesitantly on top of it and it fit perfectly.

  Wolves by the Water

  Des sat on the 5 train staring out the window at the bleak tunnel walls. She had skipped French class and wandered aimlessly to the subway, that shining metal steed that could transport her somewhere far away. She half expected to see the creatures Cyrus had shown her that first day appear again in the darkness. Maybe then she could accept the fact that she was going crazy.

  Instead, the bright orange tiles of Bowling Green station slid into view as the conductor announced the last stop in Manhattan, and she had to get off the train. A lone musician sat against an orange pillar, his long dreadlocks bouncing in beat to the bucket drum that rested between his legs. The sound filled the station, echoing off the tile. She could feel the vibration against her skin. She stopped to listen for a moment as people passed by on their way to the stairs, a few of them dropping bills or coins into the small box by his side.

  She followed the others outside and towards the open expanse of water in the distance. Battery Park wasn’t too crowded at this time of day and she found an empty bench facing the bay. The ferry and a few boats cruised along, sending slight waves toward the shore. She let the rhythmic movement relax her.

  Pigeons and sparrows hopped in front of her, vying for morsels of food, the cool wind ruffling their feathers. A lone scraggly little pigeon trailed behind the others, picking up scraps they had missed. Any time he got too close, the others would menace him with their beaks.

  “You and me pigeon,” she muttered. “We know how it feels.” A small dog came running at the birds, barking wildly and scattering them in a flurry of grey and white wings.

  “Now that wasn’t nice,” she admonished the dog quietly, who perked up his ears and looked at her with a startled expression. He whined and ran off with his tail between his legs. “Crazy dog.”

  She sat back. Her fingers idly traced the grooves in her bone necklace as she thought of Uncle Jack’s story. She pulled her notebook out of her bag and studied the charred handprint, wondering if she could duplicate the effect.

  Placing a finger against the surface, she concentrated on burning a hole, but nothing happened. She stared at it until her eyes blurred, then threw the book down in frustration, scaring off the pigeons that had returned. She slumped against the bench, feeling tired from it all, and remembered she had never eaten her lunch. She closed her eyes for a moment against the glare of the sun rippling across the water.

  When Des opened her eyes, she was standing in a forest of towering pines with snow blanketing the floor, reaching halfway up her boots. Moonlight filtered through the branches and illuminated the sparkling white expanse. She shivered in the cold, wondering why she had travelled so far out into the woods by herself. There was no trail of footprin
ts behind her, as if she had been standing still for hours while the snow fell and covered her tracks. How did she get here? The air was quiet and still, but somewhere ahead she heard twigs snapping and the sounds of a struggle. Trying to silence her feet crunching through the snow, she crept up to the wide trunk of an oak tree facing a small moonlit clearing and inched her head out to peek around the side.

  Wolves. A pack of wolves tore at a fresh kill, yipping and growling, their powerful jaws pulling at an unlucky deer. The deer’s hooves bounced stiffly in the air as they tugged its body back and forth on the growing patch of red snow. Des watched in morbid fascination, not noticing the presence behind her until she heard a soft exhale.

  Turning slowly, she stood face to face with an enormous grey wolf, his yellow eyes staring at her intently. Sucking in her breath, Des backed against the tree and held out a hand gingerly to show she meant no harm. The wolf’s fur was long and charcoal grey, but faded to a strange red color on his back. It was a bright red, criss-crossed with even black stripes, reminding her of a plaid hunter’s jacket. Just like Uncle Jack.

  “Jack?” she whispered.

  The wolf sat down and tilted its head at her, in that charming way a dog does when trying to decipher what you’re saying. Des mimicked his action, tilting her head in response. She felt the urge to reach out and pet the wolf’s thick fur, to scratch behind his ears, but something in his piercing yellow-eyed stare stopped her.

  “You need to control yourself,” said the wolf. His mouth didn’t move, but Jack’s distinct voice reverberated in her ears.

  “What?” It was the same thing Layla had said to her, but what did it even mean? She followed the wolf’s gaze towards the feeding pack and flinched in surprise to see a human form crouched beside them. The half-naked girl seemed to be eating alongside the wolves, tearing and worrying at the deer like they were. The wolf girl turned her head, and Des gasped in shock. The girl’s face was her own. Her eyes were wild and cold, and her mouth was covered in blood.

  Without thinking, Des ran over to her wild self, grabbing her shoulder. “What are you doing?” she cried.