Fear The Fall: Fallen Hunters Series

by Melissa Winters

  He nods. “Fair enough. I’ll take your friendship.”

  “The innuendos? Will those stop too?” I ask with a quirked brow.

  He puts up three fingers in the Boy Scout salute. “On my honor.”

  “Hmmm.” I purse my lips and consider his vow. He seems sincere, and if I’m really honest, I owe him an apology. I’ve been overly rude just to keep him at arm’s length, and all because of my own screwups. Not his. Not that I’ll admit that to him.

  “Fine. Truce,” I say. “But you’re buying me dinner.”

  He laughs. “So, I’m buying my friends now?”

  “Who said anything about friends?” I grin wickedly.

  “You’re a tough nut to crack, Victoria English, but I think I’m wearing you down.”

  “Buy me a beignet, and you’ll be a little closer to the mark.”

  We walk in companionable silence through the heart of Jackson Square. Vendors line the streets, selling everything from trinkets to card readings. A light fog blankets the ground, while the low glow from the streetlamps casts an eerie haze over the area. I pull my jacket tighter around me, staving off the chill.

  “Miss, would you like a reading?” an elderly woman with a hunched back asks from her chair.

  “No, thank you,” I say, shaking my head.

  She stands on wobbly legs, making her way toward me. I keep walking, as that’s what you do in Jackson Square. If you make conversation, you’ll get talked into buying just about anything.

  With my head turned forward, I don’t see what jerks me backward. I spin around to the haggard woman staring up at me, mouth agape. How did she make it to me so quickly?

  “You’re shrouded in darkness,” the woman says, voice shaking. “I-I can’t see your light. Who are you?” she murmurs, and I pull out of her grasp.

  “You shouldn’t touch people,” I grate through my teeth. “Never know what you’ll stumble across.”

  Her eyes are wide, scared even.

  “Something evil possesses your soul.”

  “Yeah, well. Tell me something I don’t know,” I hiss, walking away without another word.

  “What the hell was that about?” Zeke asks, lips forming a thin line.

  “She’s nuts?” I offer, knowing she isn’t.

  I might not consider myself evil, but according to Heaven, that’s exactly what I became the moment I fell. And the evil that possesses my soul? I’ve been trying to run from it since that very day.

  A shiver courses through me, and Zeke pulls me in to his side. My initial reaction is to remain in the comfort of his warm, strong arm, but I resist, shrugging out of his grip. I don’t need to send mixed signals.

  “What she said,” Zeke begins, and I don’t stop him. “You’re not evil, Tori.”

  I look up into his sincere eyes that stare back at me intensely. A woman could get lost in those soulful eyes. I’ve spent so much time trying to push him away. Maybe he’s right. Perhaps all my efforts are for nothing, and I’m wasting time on Earth being lonely.

  Stop it.

  I berate myself internally. This is the very crux of why I keep my distance. When I’m drawn back to memories of the time I fell, I feel out of control. The hurt of betrayal and the emotions that came the moment I landed here on Earth make me rash. I chase whatever emotion will help me forget, and every time, I find myself in Zeke’s arms. He’s been my crutch, and it’s not fair to him.

  “I might not be evil, but she’s not wrong, Zeke.”

  “What does that mean?”

  I shrug. “My light was destroyed before I ever fell.”

  Miracle

  Something evil possesses your soul.

  It’s been three days since Jackson Square and my run-in with the crone. Her words have haunted me to the point that I can’t sleep. Knowing that she possibly has more of the answers I seek only manages to make my anxiety worse. I’m exhausted and because of that, I’m unable to produce a storm. My energy is depleted, making it unsafe to hunt. I’m practically useless.

  My only saving grace is that Zeke has seen fit to leave me alone. He hasn’t come checking on me, and I’m grateful for that. It’s given me time to process what the old woman said and to know I want—need—to hear more.

  I’ve never put much stock in the things the mediums in the square say. For one, it’s heresy, and for two, most of them are full of shit. They don’t truly see the future or read cards. They read people. They tell you what they think you want to hear. It’s a scam.

  The woman from days ago was not. How much could she possibly know?

  I’m about to find out. My feet are moving determinedly toward the spot I last saw the woman. Maybe she has the answers I need to get home, or maybe I’m simply playing with fire. Either way, I’ve come this far.

  Except when I get there, she’s nowhere to be found. In her place is a middle-aged woman with wavy raven hair that hangs past her breasts, leaning over a table decked to the nines with all the trinkets that draw in tourists. A fake.

  “Care for a reading?” the woman croons. That voice is probably a siren call to the out-of-towners milling about on a typical night in the square, but it does nothing to coax me into her charade.

  “The woman that was here the other night—where is she?” I bite out the words, trying to signal I’m in no mood for games.

  “It’s first come, first serve, and I was here first. I don’t know of whom you speak.” She flicks her wrist, gesturing for me to go away. I cross my arms over my chest. I’m not going anywhere.

  “I’m sensing”—she rubs her chin—“frustration.”

  I scrunch my nose in distaste. “You can drop the act; I’m not buying it.”

  She groans. “Then go away so I can make some money.”

  I take a deliberate step toward her, but she doesn’t so much as shrink back. “The woman,” I grate. “Where is she?”

  Huffing, she sits back in her chair and raises her arms. “You’re not buying and I’m not talking.”

  A growl escapes my lips, but it doesn’t change the woman’s countenance. She’s a scammer through and through. If I don’t offer her something, she won’t talk. I dig into my pocket and produce a twenty-dollar bill. Holding it between my fingers I say, “Ready to do business?”

  She grins and snatches the money out of my hand. “Describe this woman you’re looking for.”

  “Older, hunched back, long grey hair.”

  She huffs, “Almada. She isn’t company you want to keep, girl. She’s . . .”

  “The real deal?” I deadpan. The woman’s lips straighten into a thin line before she stands and walks around the table so that we’re eye to eye.

  “Dangerous,” she whispers. “Almada’s visions aren’t something to toy with. Some things aren’t for us to know.”

  My eyes narrow at the sudden concern the woman shows. A moment ago, she was all bravado, but now, she almost seems frightened. “That might be so, but I’ll take my chances.” I turn to go, but her hand shoots out, grabbing my arm. I turn slowly toward her with one eyebrow raised.

  “The things Almada sees can’t be undone.” She swallows. “People have been hurt.”

  She is frightened. It’s there in the moisture she swipes from her brow. In the way her voice trembled when she spoke the words people have been hurt. What she doesn’t realize is that I’m not human. Some old woman isn’t going to hurt me. She can’t.

  Knowledge can do more damage than any person ever could.

  I shake off that thought. “I appreciate your warning, but unless you know where I can find her, we’re done here.”

  “Stupid girl,” she hisses, dropping my arm. “She’s not here tonight. She’ll be on her way to Hebrew Rest.”

  “The cemetery?”

  She nods, taking her seat at the table once more. “Tonight, she cleanses the spirits.”

  I have so many questions about what that entails, but I’ll soon see for myself. “Thank you,” I say, leaving the woman behind. But I don�
�t miss the words she hurls at my back.

  “Don’t thank me for having a hand in your end.”

  I practically run to Dumaine Street to catch the next streetcar to take me to Hebrew Rest.

  The woman’s words flitter through my head, making me wonder how bad an idea this might turn out to be, but when I analyze my plan to get back home, the only thing that makes sense is that I need to atone for my sins. I’m convinced that part of my penance here is to turn away from temptation and to fight the evil that plagues these lands. If Almada knows more, I need to hear it. I need to know I’m on the right path.

  I never quite make it to Hebrew Rest. Less than two minutes after my butt lands on the seat of the streetcar, I look to my right and there Almada sits. My spine goes straight and my head jerks away from her. It’s a feeble attempt to shield myself from her view. There’s nobody between us on the near-vacant car.

  She’s the reason I’m here, but this isn’t the place to have the conversation that needs to be had. So I keep my head turned and focus my attention on the torn leather seat at my side. The red fabric is pulling away, allowing the yellow cushion underneath to peek through. It’s crazy how mundane things become so fascinating when you’re doing your best to ignore the fact that your prayers are about to be answered or shattered into a million pieces. That’s the power this heretic holds over me.

  I shake the woman from my head, desperate to focus on anything but what’s to come. The momentary reprieve is a gift I should not turn my back on. It doesn’t last long. The bus grinds to a stop and the driver calls out the location, putting us one block from my stop. I remain focused on the seat.

  “Get up, child. We get off here.”

  Almada.

  My head turns to her, eyes narrowed in confusion, but she’s already making her way off the streetcar. I scramble to my feet, scampering after her like she’s my lifeline. She hasn’t stopped, walking ahead with her head held high, sending a message to anyone who passes that she’s not to be toyed with. Strength radiates from her. Who is this woman?

  When I finally catch up to her, we walk in silence for two blocks, in some bizarre standoff. I’m not sure if it’s self-preservation or simply stubbornness; either way, I won’t budge first.

  “Your control is a testament to your creator, angel,” the crone says, and I stop in my tracks.

  “H-how do you know so much about me?”

  She turns to face me, and I notice that the deep wrinkles lining her eyes and forehead are more pronounced today than they were the other night. It’s as though she’s aged ten years in a matter of days.

  “You’re not the only one with secrets, girl,” she drawls. “God bestows gifts on many. Even us mere mortals. Only we pay a price for his gifts,” she harrumphs. “Seems you don’t.”

  “I’ve paid the ultimate price,” I seethe. “I’m doomed to roam this earth, keeping the lot of you safe. All the while, you, a heretic, get to enjoy your life. You read cards,” I spit. “That’s not the work of my God.”

  She tsks. “Who said I read cards?”

  “You,” I shoot back, becoming frustrated with the detour this conversation has taken. I came for answers about my future, not to talk about what this woman is or isn’t.

  She shakes her head back and forth. “I wasn’t going to be the one to read your cards. I was working in the square with a friend,” she explains, sounding defensive. “I don’t read cards and I don’t accept money for my visions.”

  My brow raises. “Your visions?”

  She nods. “God has given me the gift of sight. I’m a seer.”

  I huff out a humorless laugh. “God doesn’t allow that sort of thing to roam the earth unchecked.”

  “Yet here you are. A fallen, roaming the earth, seeking me out.” She turns on her heels and moves forward in the direction we had been moving.

  “I’m only here to figure out how to get back.”

  “For a celestial being, you are very naïve, child.” She doesn’t even deign to look at me.

  “Stop calling me a child,” I bark. “I’m probably older than you are.”

  She laughs. “True. Yet I age and you don’t.”

  I glance around to ensure we’re alone so nobody can overhear the conversation we’re having. That’s when I realize we’re heading in the opposite direction from the cemetery. “Why are we going this way?”

  “The dead don’t appreciate angels. It’s hard to cleanse their souls and send them to the afterlife on a normal night. It’d be damn near impossible to do it with you loitering around,” she states, sounding agitated. “Now let’s get to why you’ve sought me out.” She pauses once more, facing me.

  I take a step toward her, closing the distance to ensure that anyone lurking about can’t overhear us. “What you said about my light being shrouded in darkness—”

  She shakes her pointer finger back and forth. “That’s not what I said. I said I couldn’t see your light, and that something evil possesses your soul.”

  I gulp at the reminder of that less-than-pleasant description. “What does it mean?”

  She smacks her lips together. “I think you know very well what it means.”

  “That because I fell, I’m evil?” I ask, not sure at all.

  She frowns. “You can delude yourself as much as you want, but you and I both know that’s not the reason evil surrounds you. It’s why you fell, Victoria.”

  My spine straightens and I glare down at the woman. “It’s obvious you know a great deal about me, but that’s not why I came to find you.”

  “And now we get to the point,” she says. “Go on.”

  “How do I get back?” I grate through my teeth, trying and failing to be patient with the woman. I feel like she’s toying with me. Her arms cross over her chest in what looks like defiance. I take a deep breath and force myself to ask again. Calmly this time. “How do I get back to Heaven?”

  She uncrosses her arms and leans in even closer. “You don’t.”

  I blink. All the while, my eyes never waver from the woman. Searching her face, I find no signs of deceitfulness. She believes what she says.

  I huff. “Y-you’re wrong. There’s always a way. Your sight is broken.”

  “It’s not. I see it all clearly, Victoria. Your future is here.”

  I stagger backward. The world tilts and the sensation of falling sweeps over me. I shake my head, trying to clear out the fog that’s settled over me. A pair of surprisingly strong hands grab my shoulders to help stop my swaying.

  “Victoria, listen,” Almada commands. “There is no way back to Heaven for you. It’s not meant to be. When you fell, God made other plans. Heaven hasn’t just closed the gates behind you; they’ve been slammed shut, and all of the repenting you do will never be enough.”

  My head shakes back and forth violently. This woman can’t be right. She has to have her information wrong. God is gracious. God knows what’s in my heart. He’d never turn his back on me. Never.

  “You’re wrong,” I spit. Anger claws its way up my spine, and I allow it to burn.

  “Know when the fight is over, child, because your time in Heaven has ended. There is much for you to do here.”

  “Here? Why would I stay here and help a bunch of pathetic humans who sin daily for no other reason but to satisfy their own selfish desires? I won’t.”

  She takes two giant steps back, putting distance between us. “You can run from your destiny, but it will always find you. There is no way out, Victoria. God won’t allow it.”

  “God can’t stop me,” I yell. “If he won’t let me in, then I’ll end this miserable life and go on to wherever I’m damned to go.”

  “Go home,” she orders. “Death won’t find you.”

  “Everyone can die.” The words are whispered as the fight drains out of me.

  “Only if God wills it.” She begins walking, leaving me alone on the sidewalk and taking the little hope I had left with her.

  Redemption

  My
feet shuffle through the square, with no real plan of where to go next. People mill about, chatting and enjoying their time, if their laughter is any indication. All I feel is hollow.

  Every shred of hope I’ve held on to was vanquished in an instant. Two words sealed my fate. You don’t.

  My mind screams at me not to believe a word the heretic said, but my heart knows better. The woman wasn’t lying. She’s seen my future and it’s here on Earth. A place I don’t want to be. But I don’t have a choice. Free will isn’t something the fallen are given.

  I did this.

  A tear drips from my eye, but I don’t wipe it away. My feet continue their monotonous pounding of the pavement, with no real direction. My shoulder bumps into someone, but I don’t react as they yell, “Hey, watch where you’re going!” I’m on autopilot, just barely hanging on by a thread.

  Someone walks by, leaning toward my ear. “I know who you are.” My head jerks up, but I only see the man’s retreating back. Another person bumps into my right shoulder and I turn to see a woman glaring down at me. Her face is distorted as my eyes blink. My vision is going in and out as though I’m looking through a kaleidoscope. “You’re not getting out of here,” the woman cackles.

  “What?” I whisper, dazed and utterly confused by the warped imagery in front of me.

  “Wh-who are you?”

  The woman throws her head back and cackles louder. My hands fly to shield my ears from the piercing sound, just as someone else runs into my back, shouting for me to move the hell out of their way.

  My body begins to shake as I rock back and forth on my heels. My head pivots from one side to the other, watching the crazed woman laughing while a man leers at me. My vision tunnels and I feel the world sway. I’m going down, being pulled under by a current that can’t truly exist on solid ground.

  Before I hit, a strong pair of arms sweep me up and cradle me into a firm chest. I don’t care who this savior is, only that they deemed me worthy of being rescued in this moment. Tears run like a river down my face and into the shirt of that solid chest I cling to. The familiar scent of sandalwood should’ve tipped me off to the person I cling to.