Revelation

Genesis Green's life is unraveling at the seams. The Council has stripped her protection, Viola has taken Seth, and she and Carter have fled South Marshall. When an opportunity to save her fallen angel arises, she'll have one chance to find and eliminate the most powerful demon walking the earth.
 

Enter Luke
Castellani
—charming, dangerous, compelling—someone who can give Genesis everything she desires.

With her life (and soul) on the line, the greatest, final sacrifice will be made to put an end to the evil threatening her world.

R
EVELATION

by

Katie Klein

Copyright 2012 by Katie Klein

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved

No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Katie Klein.

Surely as I have thought, so shall it come to pass;

and as I have purposed, so shall it stand.

Isaiah 14:24b

O
NE

My eyes open, lifting to the night sky, hundreds of thousands of tiny stars poking through an inky blackness. The longer I stare the more that appear, as if from nowhere, entire galaxies emerging from the vastness. I pull myself upright, hand sinking into earth, and, as I rise, my fingers curl instinctively, clenching a fistful of sand. A rush of water thunders in my ears—waves pounding the shore—and a familiar ache grips my chest.

Home.

A figure approaches, its wraith-like, ethereal glow illuminating the space between us. I stand, legs sinking beneath me, wobbling and unsteady. Wind thrashes my hair, whipping it in my eyes, lashing my face.

I shove it away, blinking, searching for my voice. "Who are you?"

He stops, and we stand silent, still, eyes focused on one another.

A devastating awareness washes over me. "You're one of them, aren't you? An Angel of Death."

No response.

"Are you taking me to Hell?"

Nothing.

"Because I'm not going," I assure him, finding strength in this unwillingness to confirm my newest and greatest fear—that I'll die before I can save Seth, the angel who lost his place in Heaven for
me
. "I'm not leaving. Not until I find him. After that you can take me anywhere you want. But I have a job to finish first, and I won't let anyone stop me."

"It isn't your time," he says, voice cool, matter of fact.

My jaw tightens at the realization. I'm not dead. I'm not dying. Not going to Hell. Not tonight, anyway. "Then why are you here?" I ask.

An audacious smile. "To glimpse the one who will change the world."

A furious wind blows. I struggle to inhale, choking on salty air, the pressure mounting in this star-swept sky. I restrain whatever hair I can grasp, eyes narrowing. "
What?
"

"You're chosen. Called to a higher purpose."

And suddenly the beach is full of them, an endless, gleaming assembly. A gentle hand brushes my shoulder. I turn toward Seth, and that faint glow emanating from the Guardians now radiates from
me
. I'm one of them.

One by one they fade, disappearing from earth, slipping into shadows.

"What does he mean?" I ask Seth, shouting beyond the roar of waves—the impending storm. "I don't understand."

But, when I blink again, everyone has vanished. I'm alone.

I awake with a start, gasping, suffocating on nothing, desperate for a breath that will satisfy. Fingers feel along the top of the nightstand, fumbling, searching for inhaler as my chest tightens. I force the air out of my lungs and take a quick puff, holding the medicine as I count to ten.

It's getting worse.

I drag fingers through tangled hair, catching knots and snarls. There's barely any left. It's just . . . gone. Everything is
gone
.

My head hits the pillow, and I wipe my tired eyes with the base of my palms, finding them cool and wet.

It's like it never ends.

The room swims into focus, a shiver traveling the length of my spine. I draw the feather-filled comforter all the way to my chin, but the frigid mountain air refuses to dissolve into heat. I roll on my side, fluff the pillow, evoking images of sunlight and warmth and summer. But there's only darkness. The hugeness of the empty bed, swallowing me whole.

I sit up, head pounding, gather the bedding and haul it to the living room. I adjust the thermostat in the hallway, step softly, following the sound of Carter's quiet snoring. My bed is made on the floor between couch and coffee table, and I wrap the comforter around my body, curling into it.

Carter rolls over, blankets rustling.  

And I wait for it. Every night like the one before.

"You can have the couch," he whispers, voice thick with sleep. "I'll take the floor."

"I'm fine." But the truth is: I don't deserve the couch, to be comfortable, to feel safe. Not after what I've done—what I let happen. Sleep should never come so easy.

"You sure?" he asks.

"Go to sleep, Carter."

His fingertips find my cheek in the darkness, brushing it softly.

I watch the ceiling, waiting for exhaustion to consume me, for this world to drift away. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. It all feels the same.

I close my eyes, breaths slow and even, willing sleep.

And, just before I slip under, a voice: "Don't worry, Gee. We'll get him back."

T
WO

I shiver beneath the ten-dollar sweatshirt purchased from a gas station during our hasty desertion of South Marshall. The signs of early fall are everywhere. Cooler nights and mornings. Leaves slipping out of green and into reds and oranges and yellows.

The deck overlooks the mountain range, peaks rimmed with fog. A hawk swoops low and circles back again, soaring above the jagged
treeline
. It's beautiful here. Quiet. Peaceful.

I lift a mug to my lips, swallowing a mouthful of bitter, black coffee—something to keep me going. The cup warms my hands, liquid steaming in the cool air.

The sliding glass door opens behind me.

"I know," Carter says, stepping onto the porch. "I will." A pause before he tells the caller goodbye, then he slides the cell phone into his pocket, heaving an exhausted sigh.

"Your mom?"

He rubs his forehead with the back of his hand, eyes tightening, frustrated. "Yeah."

The Flemings are clueless. No idea where we are, what we're doing. All they know is that Carter and I are together. That we're okay. I hear his conversations, flippant responses, playing this entire thing off as nothing. A chance to get away. To experience something new.

The unsung hero suits him.

I take another swig of coffee, mouth bending in disapproval.  

"I was thinking," I finally say. "We should probably go to town, you know? I mean, we could use coats. Warmer clothes." I run my fingers through my hair, tugging the ends. "A real haircut?"

I pour the remaining coffee over the railing and we head into the valley. It's silent on the way down, roads twisting and turning beneath us.

"I don't know how much we'll find here," Carter says, worried eyes scanning ramshackle buildings—a single row on either side of a tree-lined Main Street. A post office. Drug store. Town Hall. A novelty shop. A thrift store.

"There's a salon right here," I say, homing in on a neglected storefront squished between a
laundromat
and a Mexican bakery.

Carter pulls over, parking along the curb, and we follow the sidewalk, morning sun peeking over mountain, striping fragments of the lane in a glorious yellow-white haze.

"Are you sure you don't want me to wait for you?" he asks, hesitating, studying the faded
Heavenly Touch Hair Salon
painted cursive across the window.