Revelation (Blood of Angels Book 1)

by Paula Arwen Owen

  “Life does tend to take over, doesn’t it? And how have you been, you look… tired.”

  Des slipped her fingerless glove back over her palm and gave him a weak smile. “I’m fine.”

  “My door is always open, if you ever want to stop by and talk.”

  Des bristled. First Father Tate, and now Rabbi Eisner? She didn’t need their pity or their nosy concern. She clenched her jaw to keep from saying anything rude and blew an annoyed breath out her nose.

  “Are you all right?” The rabbi placed a hand on her shoulder, and she felt a shock lance through her. She looked over in surprise and noticed a circular brass ring on his finger carved with peculiar symbols. The symbols seemed to glow, and she felt a strange sensation on her skin, as if they were burning right through her coat. She glanced up at him in confusion, and his expression mirrored her own.

  The lights in the car flickered, and for a moment she saw a shadowy figure standing behind the rabbi, eyes glowing red and extending a sharp claw towards him. The lights came back on and in the spot there was only a tall man holding a briefcase, his face lean and scruffy, his eyes a normal brown, but staring directly at her. The rabbi didn’t seem to notice the strange man; he was still gawking at his ring. Des shrugged his hand off her shoulder and slid awkwardly out of her seat.

  “Um, this is my stop,” she mumbled, heading toward the door before they were even out of the tunnel. “I’ll tell my mom you said hi.”

  Rabbi Eisner stared after her wordlessly, and she turned to the door, waiting for the metal pillars of Bleecker Street station to flash into view. The minute the doors slid open, she squeezed out of them and ran for the stairs up to the local 6 train. Transferring to the express 4 or 5 train was faster, but this would get her to school just as well. She paused at the top of the stairs and stepped to the side, other people streaming around her on their way to work and school. She prodded her shoulder gingerly, finding no burn marks on the fabric of her coat, but her skin underneath felt raw.

  “What the hell?” she muttered. First her mother’s Bible, now the rabbi’s ring?

  A woman pushing a shopping cart headed towards her, her small form burdened with layers of clothing, making her look much larger than she was. She stopped and narrowed her eyes, digging in her pile of belongings as if searching for something. Pulling out a crumpled piece of paper, she studied it, then turned it around to show Des.

  “The whore,” the woman whispered in a hoarse voice. “Whore of Babylon.”

  The paper looked like an old religious pamphlet, with a picture of a woman riding a strange beast with multiple heads. The rider wore a crown and held up a large ornate goblet.

  “The sinful drink of her fornication.” The woman’s voice rose, echoing off the tile walls. “Eviscerate her,” she cried, pointing a finger at Des. “Eviscerate her!”

  Des backed away and ran towards the platform. She remembered using Layla’s feather the last time someone accosted her, and she drew it out now, holding it aloft at the deranged woman. A train pulled into the opposite platform, and the rush of wind from its arrival yanked the feather out of her hand. She watched it whirl over the sooty grey tracks, a speck of white in the darkness, and cursed at it, then laughed bitterly at herself.

  “It’s just a stupid feather anyway.”

  As the train left the station, the air in its wake twirled the feather upwards, and she thought she saw a strange shadow climbing up one of the poles in the center between the two tracks. It was as if the dim light hitting it was sucked in and left only a black nothingness slithering up the metal until the spot of nothing reached out with a long taloned hand and plucked the feather out of the air. Des inhaled sharply and grabbed onto the pillar next to her for support. The shadow thing blinked red eyes at her, then dispersed into the gloom of the tunnel.

  She closed her eyes and shook her head, searching for a reason she was seeing these things. The other times, Cyrus had been with her, and she figured he was somehow making an illusion, trying to impress her or scare her. But now she was alone, and either there were demons in the subway tunnels, or she was certifiably losing her mind.

  She glanced back at the homeless woman and wondered if she would end up like her one day. The woman was nowhere to be seen, but the tall briefcase man from the train was standing nearby on the platform. He grinned in an odd way, as if the expression was alien to him.

  “Everything okay, miss?”

  Des nodded and moved farther down the platform, where a short man in a worn blue blazer stood playing a silver flute. A speaker playing a soft symphonic background tune accompanied him. The clear notes of the flute cut through the heat and the grime of the station, and the few travelers nearby seemed transfixed by the song, oblivious to the creatures that only she could see. She continued down the platform, the haunting melody following in her wake, calming her frantic mind. She pulled out her phone and typed a message to Cyrus, hitting send even though the phone had no signal underground.

  We need to talk.

  Angry Mice

  “Are you thinking about your boyfriend?”

  May was nibbling at her sandwich like a mouse, her eyes darting back and forth across the courtyard. They had picked an empty bench in the shade, the chill air a reminder of why others had shunned the spot. Des was hoping Rachel would avoid it too. May looked uncomfortable out here in the open, hunched over her lunch as if making herself smaller, invisible.

  Des had been staring at her own sandwich, thinking about the morning train ride. Her classes had been uneventful, no chicken feet in the drawer, no demons popping up in the hallways, unless you could count Rachel as one. She debated skipping class again and seeing if Cyrus could meet earlier than they had planned, hoping he would give her all the answers she sought. But that would mean another call home from school, another argument with her mom.

  “I was thinking about my mom,” she told May in answer to her question. “We had a fight last night.”

  “Oh.” May pointed at the scar on her palm. “Did she do that? Did you hit her back?”

  “What? No, no,” Des turned her hand over to hide it. “We just yelled at each other.”

  “Oh.” May looked disappointed. “You should have hit her back. I bet she deserved it.”

  Des stared at her, wondering what sort of fights she had with her parents, and what sort of scars she might be hiding behind her quiet disposition. Des had witnessed some vicious fights between Rachel and her parents, but they never used their hands, only words. Words could be pretty effective, especially when used to demean and manipulate someone, like Rachel had learned to do.

  “My mom didn’t deserve what I said.” Des sighed. “I was just angry.”

  “You’re always angry.”

  Not when I’m with Adrian, Des thought. As if he had heard her, her phone buzzed with a text.

  What’s my dark little angel up to today? I get out of work at four.

  She smiled and started to write back, when she remembered she had agreed to meet Cyrus this afternoon. Did she tell him that or make something up? Both options felt wrong. She didn’t want to lie, but didn’t want him to feel jealous for no reason. She frowned at her phone as if it was judging her.

  A sudden flash of movement to her side interrupted her thoughts. One of Josh’s friends ran off as May let out a startled cry.

  Laying across her slice of pizza was a rotting, putrid, dead mouse. A hole had been eaten right through its head, and it's decaying skin was pulled back from a row of tiny, sharp teeth. The smell assaulted her nostrils and she jumped up, dumping the pizza mouse creation on the ground.

  Laughter echoed from every corner of the courtyard as she stared at the mess. Her stomach curled into a tight, nauseous ball, and she wanted to sink to her knees and disappear. She closed her eyes as a new shriek of disgust cut through the raucous laughter.

  “Freak!” someone yelled. “Sick freak!”

  Des opened her eyes to see May kneeling in front of her, cradling the d
ecomposing mouse, staring at the hole in its head with fascination.

  “May,” she cried out in horror. “What are you doing, put it down!”

  May held it up to her, like a sacrificial offering. The smooth skin of her forehead creased as if she didn’t understand. She seemed oblivious to the noise around them.

  “May,” Des flung out her hand in exasperation, “they’re all laughing at us.”

  May’s focus left the mouse as she turned to face the courtyard, and then she froze as she realized everyone was staring at her.

  “Come on, let’s go.” She nudged May’s shoulder, but she didn’t budge, her eyes locked on the crowd. Her checks blossomed from a deathly pale color to a bright and painful red.

  “Shut up,” Des muttered toward the crowd, standing over May as if to shield her from the sound, absorbing all of its cruelty into herself. She turned to glare at the stairs where Josh sat with his friends.

  “Leave us alone!” she yelled, but no one heard her. Her heart raced and she felt fire ignite in her veins, as all the rage she kept holding back roared to the surface. Her ears rang as if sirens wailed in her head. The anger burned in her chest, radiating along her arms until they vibrated with it. She pointed a shaking finger at Josh and yelled again.

  “I said shut up!”

  Her voice carried across the yard, seemingly louder than it should be. Suddenly Josh doubled over, clawing at his own neck and shouting in a hoarse tone, as his friends stared at him in confusion. The rest of the courtyard fell silent and turned their attention to him.

  “My throat,” he wailed. “My throat is burning, I can’t breathe.” The rash on his face looked like it was forming new blisters as he rolled on the ground in agony.

  “Call an ambulance!” someone yelled.

  Des felt May’s thin fingers curl around her arm and tug her towards the entrance to the building. She stumbled after her, glancing back at the scene as they shut the heavy door behind them. The two of them walked quickly down the bright hallways without a word. Past the gym, past the half empty cafeteria, up the stairs. They finally stopped in the kindergarten hallway and looked at each other.

  “What happened back there?” Des whispered. Her heart was still hammering in her chest, and she felt like her blood was boiling.

  “You made his throat burn,” May answered, her eyes wide with amazement.

  “Come on, that’s crazy!”

  “You sent him your hatred.”

  “No, no, that’s impossible.” Des paced back and forth, running her hands through her hair.

  “Yes,” May said in her straightforward way. “And now they hate you.”

  “I was just trying to stop them,” Des mumbled. “I wanted to help you.” May was shaking her head now and took a step away from her.

  “I can’t be your friend anymore,” she whispered.

  Des stopped her pacing to stare at her.

  “What?”

  “I can’t.” May looked like she might cry. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why May? Because you think I’m a… a witch?”

  “No,” she replied. “Because people hate you, and they’ll come after you, and they’ll hate me too. I just want to be left alone!”

  May ran down the hallway to the stairs, her steps echoing along the tiled floor. Des watched in despair as her only friend disappeared through the stairwell doors. They swung back and forth like a gaping mouth yearning to consume the last shreds of her sanity.

  Safe Haven

  Des only remembered Adrian would still be at work after knocking on his apartment door. It felt as if it had taken every ounce of energy she had to drag herself here, so she might as well stay until he got home. She could almost feel her blood sugar dropping with each step. Leaning against the flaking green paint, she sighed his name to herself.

  The door suddenly opened and she fell right into Slate’s arms. He stumbled backwards, managing to keep his feet and steady her.

  “Glad to see you too,” he joked. His muscles tensed against her body as he supported her weight, and his long hair brushed against her forehead. She tried to pull away but felt too weak to stand on her own.

  “Hey.” His brow creased with concern, making him look more like his brother. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Tired,” she mumbled, “bad day.”

  He deftly slipped an arm around her back and guided her to the couch. He sat her down gently, then stood up, twisting his lips into half a frown.

  “My brother is still at work, should I call him?”

  She shook her head, not wanting to make him worry and leave work early. She would probably feel better with some food, that’s all it was. It was as if the whole courtyard incident had completely drained her.

  “Do you have any food?” she whispered.

  “What’s that?” He sat down to hear her and took hold of her hand. “Damn, your hand is freezing! Are you a vampire or something?” He grinned, a mischievous but charming expression, and she gave him a tiny smile. His eyes met hers and he tilted his head as if he had a question, but he only gazed at her until she lowered her lashes self-consciously. She wondered if he wanted to ask about her odd colored eyes.

  “Seriously though, do you need, like, a doctor?” he asked instead. He rubbed her hand between his, trying to warm it. He paused and turned her palm up to see the burn mark that the cross had given her, angry red against her pale skin. She curled her fingers over it.

  “I burned it on the stove,” she said weakly. He gave her a look that said he didn’t believe her. “I’m fine,” she added, “I think I just need something to eat.”

  “Food. Right.” He jumped up and headed for the kitchen, coming back a few minutes later with a bag of Doritos. “We’re a little lacking in food here, but how about ordering Chinese?”

  She nodded gratefully and folded her feet under her, relaxing into the worn couch. Slate wasn’t as bad as Adrian always made him out to be.

  When Adrian came home, they were eating chicken lo mein and watching talk shows on tv. Des was curled up in his colorful blanket with a furry lumberjack hat on her head, and Slate had his arm slung on the couch behind her, almost touching her shoulders. Adrian leaned against the living room doorway to take in the scene and Slate gave him a wide grin.

  “Your girlfriend’s got a bit of anemia, but don’t worry, I’m taking real good care of her.”

  Des stood up, dragging the cozy blanket with her. She felt much better with the food and rest, and even with Slate’s company. But Adrian was what she needed. She slid into his arms and lay her head on his chest, breathing in the clean, earthy scent of his hair. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and kissed her temple, keeping his eyes on his brother.

  “You’re welcome,” said Slate, watching them.

  “Thank you Slate.” Des looked up at Adrian. “I feel better now.”

  Adrian lowered his gaze to hers and smiled slightly, brushing her bangs from her eyes.

  “Are you ok, what happened?”

  Des slipped her hand into his and headed to his room. She closed the door behind them as he switched on a small lamp by sculpted in the shape of a wolf. She sat on the bed to admire it as he kicked off his boots and threw his coat on the chair, not sure what to tell him about today. Would he think she was a freak too? She had to take the chance. The mattress compressed as he eased himself down next to her.

  “You know how we were talking about those three numbers?” she said.

  “The number of the beast?” He emphasized his words to make them sound creepy. “I thought you didn’t believe in the Devil.”

  “I don’t, but what if some things you didn’t believe in were true? Like, weird supernatural powers, or… or witchcraft.”

  Adrian turned her face to him to look in her eyes. His gaze was intense and consuming and it tugged at something inside of her. She wanted his essence surrounding her, comforting her, banishing her fears. She leaned closer and ran a finger down the strong curve of his jaw.


  “Are you telling me you’re a witch?” His voice was low and vibrated against her palm. “That’s kind of sexy.”

  She drew back slightly and shook her head. “No it’s not, it’s terrifying.”

  “It doesn’t have to be. There are plenty of good witches, Wiccans, Shamans…”

  “Yeah do they see creepy things in the subway? Do they burn things? Do they hurt people without even knowing it?”

  He was quiet for a moment, watching her, and she started to regret telling him. She twisted to get up from the bed, but he grabbed her arm gently and pulled her closer to him.

  “You can do that?” he said. His expression was not full of horror as she feared, but full of wonder.

  “I don’t know.” She rubbed her eyelids. “Maybe.”

  He lifted one of her hands and flipped it over to look at her palm, at the red mark of the cross. A quiver rushed along her skin as he traced it with his finger. He looked at her with an eyebrow raised.

  “I didn’t do that to my hand, it just happened. Everything is just happening, and I don’t know why, or what…”

  “Shh,” he smoothed her hair and placed a warm palm on her cheek. “We’ll figure it out, it will be ok.”

  “Cyrus says it’s a gift.”

  He pulled back and his voice hardened. “Cyrus, the guy from the train?”

  She grimaced as his weight shifted beside her and looked up to find him standing stiffly, his arms crossed.

  “You’re seeing this guy? You told him all this?”

  “No, not seeing him. He was… I ran into him by the pier. He seems to know something about all this magic stuff, I thought maybe he could help.” She left out the part where he had brushed her tears away and practically held her in his arms. Or the fact that she was supposed to be meeting him right about now.

  “Well, what did he tell you?”

  “Not much.”

  His jaw twitched as he stared at her, and although he stood within arms length he felt too far away. She reached over to grasp his hand.