Last week I was able to reveal the cover for my long-awaited sequel ‘A Vengeance of Angels.’
This week, I can read you a short excerpt from the fourth chapter. I’ll reveal more later in the week.
BTW, Anyone who’s read the first book, ‘A Construct of Angels,’ might recognise this part, as it appears at the end of the book.
This passage is told from the point of view of Michael, the Angel-turned-mortal as he recuperates from his recent battle with the demonic ‘Aryan.’ He is in the company of Sara Finn’s father, Gil, plus Gil’s nurse-employee, Ingrid:
A long shriek from above sent Gil rocketing to his feet. Ingrid had already fled through the door. Concerned, I followed Gil as he dashed upstairs and into the room of Agatha Carpenter. As he and Ingrid tried to calm the old lady, I remained at the door. They might have succeeded in their efforts, but she caught sight of me and her deafening shrieks resumed. She waved a bony finger in my direction and I felt the chill of one whose fate is irrevocably sealed. I’d felt it before. As a doomed gladiator, as a convicted witch, as a Jew amongst the Nazis…
“The swordsman is falling,” she wailed. “Now! He seeks the one who shines most brightly. He will have his revenge!” Her arm swept around to encompass the room, but Ingrid’s body blocked part of the flailing gesture.
“All around him shall perish!” she declared in a voice edged with hysteria. I knew a moment of panic. She could only be referring to one person, one Anakim.
And he was coming for me.
“When, Agatha?” I called. I had to get clear, to keep everyone around me safe from Damocles’ fury.
“My god, Michael,” Gil snapped. “Don’t encourage her!”
“Now!” she shrieked as Gil rolled his eyes. “Now, now! Beware…” Abruptly, her voice tailed off as if she’d passed out—or the vision had overwhelmed her senses.
I spun and scrambled for the stairs, taking them two at a time in my headlong rush toward the door. Upstairs, Gil was shouting, but I paid him no heed. I was through the large conservatory in seconds, bursting through wood-framed doors to hurtle across the flat lawn bordering the rear of the large house. A line of trees separated the garden from the open fields beyond. If I could get far enough from the house, Damocles would never connect me to Gil, Ingrid, or any of the residents. While I ran as hard as my mortal legs would allow, my progress felt painfully slow. Chancing a glance back at the house, I saw nothing was amiss.
Until something in the bright morning sky caught my eye. A dark shape was dropping toward the hospice as fast as a missile.
Aw, hell…he’s still going for the house! I slithered to a halt on the damp grass. The dark shape became clearer. At the speed he was moving, with the strength and rage he doubtless harboured, Damocles would flatten the house in a heartbeat. I threw up my arms and tried to howl out the Anakim’s true name. But my human throat collapsed around the supernatural sound. Instead, I sucked in a deep breath and settled for:
The dark shape hesitated, its pitiless assault wavering. And then it exploded toward me.
I stepped back toward the trees as he took shape, knowing that as a mortal, I would stand no chance against the Anakim. But if I could keep him away from Gil and the others…
Damocles slammed into the grass with a sub-sonic thump that punched at my feet and threw me to the ground. Using my heels and elbows, I scrambled backward as the grimacing swordsman stepped out of the foot-deep crater he’d formed in the lawn. I scuttled back over leaf-strewn soil and through bushes, intent on putting more distance between me and the house, but Damocles raised his arm and my flight was over.
The irresistible grasp of his power drew me toward him, my boots leaving deep furrows in the soil, then the lawn.
“Don’t run away, little mortal,” Damocles sneered darkly. “You’ll miss all the fun.” He flexed his fingers and I rose into the air, shedding autumnal debris onto the ploughed turf. I was turned upside down, then spun around on my head like a street dancer.
“So it’s true…” he breathed, spinning me upright to face him. My feet dangled six inches above the ground.
“You really did give it all up…” he sneered, “…to be mortal.”
* * *
Watch out for the next part!
In the meantime, I shall continue to: