Heaven Sent
Page 24
She was looking at her plate and not at me, and yet I felt a sudden chill, the kind you get when you’re watching a scary movie and something creepy happens. “What do you mean?”
“Danny Tambor isn’t a Satanist, he’s a scam artist, so he couldn’t have placed it there. Whoever did place the demon possesses some very powerful dark magic.”
I didn’t say anything. I chewed a forkful of bread pudding and washed it down with tea.
“Stop scaring her, Aunt Jaz.”
“I don’t mean to frighten anyone, but until we figure out how a demon got inside Erin, I think we all best mind our P’s and Q’s.”
I continued eating without saying anything. But my bread pudding had suddenly lost its taste as a frightening thought paraded through my mind: It still isn’t over. It still… isn’t… over.
*
I worked the evening shift again on Friday. I threw myself into my work, so I wouldn’t think about what Aunt Jaz had said. I told myself even if there were a Satanist who possessed powerful, evil magic, it had nothing to do with me. Danny had convinced the Satanists that Erin was to be Satan’s bride. If anyone should fear repercussions from the evil magician, it was Danny.
I hadn’t heard a word about him since the night at Tavares Castle, and since his name hadn’t been mentioned on the nightly news as one of the weekend casualties, I figured he was out there somewhere, cooking up some new scheme.
As my shift drew to a close, I kept getting the feeling that something was about to happen. I know I don’t have that ability, but I couldn’t help feeling that the clock was about to strike twelve.
After I had changed into my street clothes and was about to leave, Albert, the night manager, came up to me. Albert had always been friendly. He was a handsome college student who sported a five o’clock shadow. It looked good on him.
“Let me walk you to the bus stop tonight,” he said, removing his apron.
I peered out the plate glass window. The sun had gone down, but the street was still teeming with the summertime crowd. “I’m good. There’s still a lot of people outside,” I replied and moved toward the door. Albert moved along with me.
“Still, I’d feel a lot better knowing I saw you get on the bus.” There was concern in his voice.
“Why?” I said, as his concern leaked onto me.
“Well… I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Okay?”
He ran a hand through his spiky hair. “There’s been a strange guy hanging around the café the past few evenings.”
“Oh.” My head started spinning. Had the dark magic found me already? “Umm… what does he look like?”
“I haven’t seen him, but from what I hear he’s young, maybe seventeen, in a hoodie and dark glasses, but he wears the hood cinched around his face. He hasn’t come in, he just peers in the window from time-to-time.”
The fear tumbled out of me. It was Orthon who’d been hanging around. Is he watching over me? Or do I have a demon stalker? Whatever his reason, I was no longer afraid.
“Yeah. Walk with me,” I said, but it was only to make Albert feel secure. I knew Orthon wouldn’t hurt me.
When I stepped off the bus in my own neighborhood, the street was nearly deserted. Very few people walk in my neighborhood at night. I liked the night. I especially enjoyed summer nights because they’re so peaceful and still, and the air is thick with the fragrance of jasmine and gardenia.
I walked easily. I had no reason to be in a hurry. As I approached my corner, I saw someone lurking in the shadows. In the past, all sorts of alarms would have been going off in my head. But I knew if the person lurking was a mortal out to do me harm, he was in way over his head. And yes, I promised not to use my abilities, but a girl has to defend herself.
He was standing in the shade of a tall pink oleander bush. I caught a glimpse of the dark hoodie up around his face. My eyes moved quickly to his wrist where I spied the spiky bracelet. I stopped ten feet away from him and placed my hands on my hips.
“What do you want, Orthon?” I called.
He emerged, stepping into a pool of street light, yet managing to keep his face shrouded in darkness. “To talk,” he called back.
I took a few steps toward him. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“I know you don’t, and I can’t blame you. But I hope that you will be kind enough to listen. You won’t have to say anything.” He stepped closer. I caught a glimpse of his leathery skin, and my stomach churned.
“Were you the one hanging around outside my job?” I asked, fighting off the feelings of revulsion.
“I apologize for that. I just wanted to… get a glimpse of you.”
“Are you stalking me?”
“No, no, of course not.” He took a step back, holding up his hands, a gesture of defeat. “Just a few words,” he said softly.
He looked pitiful standing there, and I felt the noose around my heart loosen. “Okay,” I said. “But I can’t stay out late.”
“Understood.”
We moved to a bus bench bathed in eerie street light. We sat side by side like lovers in the park, but we weren’t lovers, and we never would be. He needed to understand that. He didn’t look at me at first, as if looking at me was too painful.
“Here we are,” I said when he wouldn’t speak.
“You looked beautiful the other night. I’ve never seen you in a dress. You were too beautiful for words.”
The cinnamon mask wafted off him, yet I detected his foul undertow. “It was a skirt,” I said sharply. “A skirt and a top. You said you wanted to talk, and yet here I am talking.”
“Yes, yes,” he said in a gravelly voice. His tone shifted. “I don’t know if it was the second time we hung out, or the third. But one day I was looking at you sitting somewhere bathed in sunlight, a smile brighter than the sun itself on your beautiful face, and I realized: nothing. else. mattered.”
He glanced over at me sideways hoping to catch my reaction. The noose around my heart loosened a little more. I thought of the beautiful thing Harrison’s father had said when he first saw Harrison’s mother:
When I looked upon her, the earth moved, and then it stood still. And all that I had known before, all I had been taught my entire life, I no longer believed.
“That’s lovely sentiment,” I said flatly.
He faced me for the first time. “I know it’s hard for you to admit you love me—”
“I don’t love you!” I said sharply.
“That night at the castle, when the coffin opened and you saw me standing there, you saw me. You saw me, not Guy, me. I was myself that night, and yet you looked at me with such love in your eyes that I knew.”
“Orthon, I may have been happy to see you, but that’s because I was surrounded by crazy people who might kill me. That was not a look of love.”
“It was!” he said, raising his voice. He slid closer to me and picked up my hand, and for some reason I allowed it. His fingertips were rough like parched leather. “I have good news for you. I have it on good authority that your angel is nearly recovered and will be returning soon.”
At the sound of Guy’s name I yanked my hand away. “Guy? Guy’s coming back? How do you know this?”
“I cannot say how, but I know. And I anxiously await his return.”
A knot formed in my stomach. There was something not right, something sinister about his waiting for Guy. “What do you plan to do to him?”
“Nothing,” he said calmly. “But I know that until his return, you will always believe that it is him you love. I need him to be here for you to realize it is me.”
“And what if you’re wrong?” I didn’t want to argue with him, but I knew my heart belonged to Guy.
“I’m not.”
“But what if you are?” I said my voice challenging.
He leaned back on the bench and stared up into the night sky. “I am risking the wrath of Satan. I do not know what he will do to me, but it will not be pretty. And y
et after five hundred years of loyal servitude, I have found the one thing that gives my existence meaning.” He gazed back at me. “I am not wrong!”
“Well… we’ll just have to see about that.” I rose. He didn’t move. “I’m going home now.”
“Go. I want to watch you walk away from me.”
“Okay. You will. Good night, sir.”
“Good morrow,” he replied. I walked away. After a few moments I had to turn to look back. He was in the same spot I’d left him, motionless, staring at me. I turned and continued home, and as I walked I could feel a warmth on my skin, and the noose loosened again. I told myself it was because his love was pitiful, and I felt sorry for him, but inside, I wasn’t sure that was true.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
There once was a lavish nightclub like something out of the thirties. The men who frequented this club all wore expensive tuxedos, and the women, gowns. The patrons were always in a festive mood. The art deco club was tastefully appointed in black and white. Each night, rivulets of white light cascaded from crystal chandeliers, showering the nightclub elite in a silver rain. It was a beautiful sight to behold.
I saw myself at this nightclub, seated alone at a black lacquer table, wearing a gorgeous sequin gown in the most beautiful shade of red. I didn’t know any of the elegant men and women, but I didn’t seem to care.
There were many handsome men circling the floor, and their eyes were all on me. Some of them were with gorgeous women in gorgeous gowns, and yet, when their dates weren’t looking, they spied on me.
I sipped my champagne as if aloof, but I enjoyed the attention. I was tired of being just another smart girl, and the eyes of these men gave me the power of a seductress.
I enjoyed the power.
The band started to play. I recognized the song from an old black-and-white movie Suze and I had watched late one night when neither of us could sleep. Couples escaped to the dance floor where the men held the women close and whispered in their ears.
“May I have this dance?”
I hadn’t seen him approach, yet when I looked up, Armando was standing before me, his white gloved hand reaching out. A chill shot through me, yet when it passed, I was left with the same delicious warmth I’d experienced that day at the wave pool.
I was afraid and, at the same time, intrigued.
“Yes,” I said, allowing him to escort me onto the floor.
A glitter ball twirled above us, and the silver rain was transformed into a snow storm of white light. Armando took me into his arms, and we began to flow across the dance floor. It surprised me at how gracefully we moved together, almost as one.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He smiled his devilish smile, a smile I’d seen before. “When I heard the most beautiful girl in the world was going to be here, I had to crash.”
I laughed. He was wasting his charms on me. “I defeated you, Armando.” The music began playing faster.
“Yes. And it was a stunning defeat.”
The music swelled as the band began playing at a feverish rate, too fast for my feet to follow. The sound of the music became harsh and discordant and, in that moment, I was afraid—very afraid. Perhaps I wasn’t in control, after all.
Armando pulled me closer, held me tight—too tight.
“What do you want?” I asked, trying to hide the panic rising in my voice, but he could see it in my eyes.
“I want what I came for,” he said, and twirled me.
As I twirled, the room started spinning as well. The white snow turned crimson in color, streaming bloody drips of light on us all.
“Stop it!” I called to Armando as the room spun out of control. “Make it stop!” I pleaded, yet both the room and I kept turning.
“It’s too late to make it stop,” Armando replied. “You should have heeded the warning.”
“What do you want?” I cried.
Armando replied in his velvet voice: “I want what I came for, and I always get what I want, Megan Barnett. I want you.”
I woke up screaming.
In minutes, my light was on and my mother was in my room. “What is it?” she said, staring at me, her eyes wide with fear.
My head was still spinning, the velvet voice still ringing in my ears. “I just had a bad dream.” My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might burst. Slow down. Slow down. Slow down.
“You haven’t had one of those in a while.”
I allowed my eyes to take in my room, attempting to ground myself. Everything was the same, and yet I could tell things were different. My heart rate slowed.
“I’m fine now,” I said with a sigh. “No more late night tacos for me.” I offered a feeble smile. “Go back to bed. And don’t you dare offer to sleep in here with me.”
She laughed. “I won’t. I know; you’re all grown up now.” She sighed. In the past when she’d said I was all grown up, there’d be remorse in her voice, yet this time, I could tell she had accepted it. “Besides, you’ve got Amanda now.”
A few minutes later she was gone, my light was out, and Amanda was curled up in my arms. That’s when I allowed my darkest thoughts to return.
“He’s coming for me,” I whispered, as I stroked Amanda’s fine fur.
I reminded myself that no matter what happened next, I’d done the right thing. I could go to my grave knowing I’d done the right thing. No one else was at risk but me; that made it all worthwhile. Then I lay there, staring at the ceiling for the rest of the night, wondering how I was going to get myself out of this mess.
The End
How Indeed?
Claimed by Satan; loved by both Guy and Orthon. But can an angel and demon’s love save Megan from a lifetime in HELL? Angels, demons, Satanists, and Satan himself coming soon in the fourth and final installment of The Falling Angels Saga.
About the Author
E.Van Lowe is an author, a television writer, screenwriter, playwright, and producer who has worked on shows such as The Cosby Show, Even Stevens, and Homeboys in Outer Space. He has been nominated for an Emmy and an Academy Award. The Falling Angels Saga has become his bestselling series and will conclude with the next book.
Visit E at his website www.evanlowe.com.
Welcome to White Whisker Books
Thank you for buying Heaven Sent. White Whisker Books, named for our mascot cat, Maggie, who has one white whisker, specializes in fiction. Go to www.WhiteWhisker Books.com, to see what we currently offer. At this writing, we have three authors in addition to E. Van Lowe:
Christopher Meeks is a fiction writer who has two collections of short stories, The Middle-Aged Man and the Sea and Months and Seasons. His novel The Brightest Moon of the Century is a Bildungsroman that follows a young Minnesotan named Edward from 14 to 44 through college in Colorado, love in a trailer park in Alabama, and a film career in Los Angeles. Love At Absolute Zero, a Book of the Year Finalist at ForeWord magazine, has a star physicist look for love using the scientific method. Also available is Mr. Meeks’ produced play, Who Lives?
David Scott Milton is a prize-winning novelist, playwright, and screenwriter. His novel Paradise Road won the Mark Twain Journal Award for "significant contribution to American literature." He now writes noir mysteries. His latest is Iron City, about a disgraced police detective who returns to his home town to find out who murdered one of his childhood buddies and why. His other critically acclaimed novels include Kabbalah, The Quarterback, and The Fat Lady Sings.
Shelly Lowenkopf writes about writing fiction. His recent book is The Fiction Writer's Handbook, which offers the terms and ideas that the best fiction writers and their editors use. He taught in the University of Southern California’s Master of Professional Writing Program for 34 years, has taught at the annual Santa Barbara Writer’s Conference since 1980, and has been guest lecturer in many schools and conferences. He is currently Visiting Professor at the College of Creative Studies, University of California, Santa Barbara.
Table of Conte
nts
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
About the Author
Welcome to White Whisker Books