Earth Angel (Falling Angels Saga)

Other
Books by E. Van Lowe

Never Slow Dance with a Zombie

Boyfriend From Hell

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

Printed Version ISBN: 978-0-9836329-3-1

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011943646

To request permission to reprint any portion of the book, e-mail
[email protected]
and in the subject heading, write the name of the book.

Editor, Christopher Meeks

Book Design, Adara Rosalie

Published by White Whisker Books, Los Angeles, 2011

White Whisker Books

Los Angeles

“…If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand.  If a house is divided against itself, that house cannot stand.”

The New Testament

Mark 3:24

I thought if I arrived early that I would have a few minutes to get my thoughts together before all the unpleasantness began. But when I reached the top of the escalator, she was already seated in the food court where we always sat, the three of us.

Now there were two.

This was our old hangout spot. The Glendale mall. We’d been coming here since middle school, ever since our parents had given us permission to get on the bus and make the trip across town. Most of Glendale gathered here at one time or another. For Erin and me, it was a safe place to have fun and find adventure in the faces of cute boys.

“Thanks for coming,” I said as I walked up.

Her eyes had been on me since I’d gotten off the escalator. Angry eyes. She was wearing a lot of black eyeliner which was new for her. It did nothing to improve her looks. It seemed to highlight her anger.

“You’re welcome,” she said without the hint of charm.

The mall had been remodeled, and the food court renamed
the dining terrace
to go along with all the fancy new, upscale restaurants. But they still served our favorite, curly fries.

“Wanna get some fries?” I asked. It was an ice-breaker line. One I hoped would chase the anger from her eyes and put a smile on her face. “We love curly fries,” I added, now smiling.

“Used to.”
Ouch!
“So, what’s up? What’s so important it couldn’t wait?” The anger leaked from her eyes and onto her lips, which, by the way, were slathered in dark maroon lipstick. Very Goth.

I hadn’t seen Erin in three weeks, since Matt’s funeral. We used to see each other every day. We used to meet at our lockers in the morning, and gossip about boys and teachers, and share clothing, and had all our AP classes together. We used to be inseparable.

It was Sunday afternoon and the mall was packed. The spring warm-up brought people out of their homes, flooding the streets, the parks, the mall.

“I miss you,” I said, taking the seat across from her. She stiffened as if I had violated an invisible barrier.

I pretended not to notice and reached across the table, touching her hand. It was ice cold. The saying goes 
cold hands warm heart
, but judging from the look in her eyes, her hands and her heart were on the same page.

“Why do you want to see me?”

She gently removed my hand from hers.
OUCH!

“Matt wouldn’t want this. He’d want us to be closer than ever now that he’s gone. I’m sorry you transferred to another school, but I still want us to be friends.” My voice cracked. I got the feeling I might cry. “Remember that night he brought you over? I was mad at you and he wanted us be friends again. Now you’re mad at me, but there’s no Matt to bring us together. We have to do it on our own.”

“How dare you bring up Matt’s name?”

“Huh? He… was my best friend.”

“You’re the reason he’s gone!” Her voice was rising. Heads were turning in our direction. “You’re the reason he killed himself. My boyfriend killed himself because of you!” She was practically screaming, making a scene. All eyes were on us.

“That’s not true,” I lied, trying to get her to lower her voice. “It… it was an accident.”

She stood, her eyes glowing hot yellow, irises shrinking to narrow slits. I’d seen eyes like these before on the devil himself.“Youuuuu.” The voice coming out of her was thick and guttural.

“Umm, Erin? Are you okay? Do you have a cold or something?” I was starting to get scared. People were flocking to the food court as if we were a reality show.
The Real High School Girls of Glendale Union.

A crack appeared in Erin’s forehead. Yellow vapor, like steam, seeped from the crack. “You shall pay for what you have done!” The words were coming out of Erin’s mouth, but it wasn’t Erin who was saying them. It was the voice of a monster.

“Um… in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a crack in your forehead.”

The crack proceeded to spread, extending down the bridge of her nose and chin. The yellow vapor came spilling out. Erin was splitting in two.

Somebody screamed.

Erin’s body fell away like a mascot’s costume. When the vapor cloud cleared, standing inside the shell of what once was Erin, piled up on the floor like discarded fabric, was a monster, its greenish-hued skin percolating with festering sores. “You shall pay for what you have done!”

Somebody else screamed. I think it was me.

#

“Sweetheart… Sweetheart… Sweetheart.”

I opened my eyes to my mother gently rubbing my arm. I was in my room, in my bed. Safe.

“You were having another bad dream.” Lines of tension were around her eyes.

I sat up, looking around. The horror of the dream was so vivid I was trembling. I fingered the silver crucifix I’d taken to wearing around my neck as I reassured myself I was safe in my room.

“I think we should get Dr. Kahn to have a look at you.”

“It’s just a bad dream, Mom.” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, digging my feet into the carpet.
Safe.
I repeated the word over in my mind, trying to get my heart rate back to normal.

“Do you remember what this one was about?”

“Nope. Nothing. It’s gone already. Just a bad dream, Mom,” I hastily replied.

It was in my mother’s hospital room when I had done battle with Satan. He had weakened her and had threatened to take her life if I didn’t become his bride. She witnessed some of the battle, but was delirious at the time with a high fever. She’d convinced herself that what she’d seen that night was the result of the fever.

I’m actually glad she doesn’t know the truth. I want her to believe it was the fever. She has always been one of my best friends. I don’t want to sound like an old movie, but I’m not sure she can handle the truth.

“All these bad dreams that you can’t remember. I’m sure it has to do with Matt.” She gently lobbed his name out there. She didn’t say
Matt’s death
. That would have been too much.

“Me, too. But I’m not having as many. Time is making the bad thoughts go away.” I brightened my smile. “Go back to bed. You have to get up early.”

She had missed nearly two weeks of work while I nursed the injuries I received in my battle with Satan. The party line on my injuries was they occurred during a freak earthquake. Right.

She looked at the digital clock on my night stand. Three forty-five. “Maybe I should bunk with you the rest of the night.”

“No way! I’m not a little kid afraid of the boogey man, Mom. Besides, you snore.”

“I do not snore!” She was smiling now.

“Well, whatever that breathing trick is you do while you’re sleeping, it keeps me up. So, go back to bed and close your door.” I knew I was lucky having a mother I could talk with so freely. 

“Seriously, hon, you going to be okay?” she asked, the smile fading.

I nodded, keeping up the cheery exterior. “I’m good.”

A few minutes later she was gone. I turned off the bedside lamp and sat, staring into darkness. It was the third time in a week I’d had a similar dream. They all ended with Erin turning into a monster. I knew they were more than just dreams. It was an omen. I needed to fix my relationship with Erin. The dreams would not end until I did.

I lay down, resting my head on the pillow, my eyes wide. Erin’s words from the very first dream I had three weeks ago emerged from the depths of my mind: “This isn’t over, witch!”

I believed her words to be true.

#

“It looks like an invitation.”

Maudrina Salley, my new best friend, was pointing to the tiny envelope taped to my locker. “Open it!” She snatched it off the locker and pushed it at me. “It’s The Explosion. You’ve been invited to The Explosion. I’m sure of it!”

My hands were full with my book-bag and purse, so I couldn’t take the envelope right away. A hatch of butterflies released in my stomach, as I wondered if the envelope had something to do with the danger I’d been feeling the past several days. One thing was certain—I had not been invited to The Explosion.

I leaned my book-bag against the bank of lockers, took the envelope and opened it. There was an invitation inside.

“Am I right?” Maudrina was on pins and needles, mostly because the invite to my mother’s birthday party was the first she’d received since she was a little kid. Maudrina never got invited to parties. Come to think of it, neither did I. I pulled the invite from the envelope and read it.

“Well? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

I looked at her, my face awash with disbelief. “I’ve been invited to The Explosion.”

Maudrina started dancing around me. “We’re going to The Explosion! I knew it! I knew it!” She stopped. “It does say plus one, doesn’t it?”

I nodded, staring at the invite, still dumbfounded. She went back to dancing.

The Explosion was a ditch day tradition. Every spring the Poplarati got together and threw the biggest daytime party of the year. If you were invited to The Explosion, it meant you were somebody.

“This has got to be a mistake,” I said, rereading the invite. “Or a prank.”

Maudrina stopped dancing again. “Why can’t you be happy? I’m happy!”

“Because I wasn’t invited.”

I looked around. It was ten minutes before first period, and the area was teeming with arriving students. I spotted envelopes taped to some of the other lockers.

Jimmy Calderon walked up, pulled the tiny envelope from the front of his locker, read it and stuffed it into his pocket, practically in one motion. But of course Jimmy Calderon would be invited. His father owned Calderon’s Liquor, making Jimmy the go to guy when it came to supplying beer and wine for underage parties.