The Bliss (3 page)

     Death.

     It speaks to him, calls. My ears cannot hear it, only his. Instead of my usual attempts to hide, today I’ve begun to follow him. His gift is mesmerizing – hearing the voices of those about to die, always showing up before their light is extinguished, to escort them to either Heaven or a place darker than this. Today, however, I’ve noticed something peculiar. Talan too has a shadow, one that is watchful and quiet, and surprisingly familiar as it observes intently from the murkiest of corners. There is the slightest appearance of wings when the light is just right; black like night, and scorched. And always, just before death’s hand is about to strike, there is a chill in the air and the shadow disappears.

     I wonder, if I can induce a deathlike state to another Guardian’s charge, will Lucifer come?

     The thought is seductive. It is wrong for me to even want this, but I cannot resist replicating what makes human life so tragic, and for it to draw my brother, after all this time since his fall, it will be worth it.

     There is only one human I have such access to. Although I’ve turned my back on Heaven, for now, I am still Guardian to the Eight
h Gate.

     The man sleeps quietly as I enter the room. His name is Daniel. He is a husband, a father. I am not a dark angel. I may never be granted entrance into Heaven ever again, but I do this in hope of finding my brother.

     There is a silver line that connects me to my charge. Without it, Daniel will certainly wither.  He will most likely die. This pains me because he is a good man. I’ve watched how full his heart is.

     This is the price he will pay for being my charge.

     This is the price I will pay for loving my brother.

     It comes with great consequence. His child, the tiny girl who sleeps in the next room, will be the death of me after my charge is gone, for all the Eighth Gate is, it will be passed down to her, threefold. I accept this wholeheartedly. Wanting her to find the means to destroy what I’ve become today, and I make a vow that I will always follow her, I will always be the shadow in the distant corners of her life, so I may make sure she will do me in when the time is called for.

     There is no turning back.

     I raise my hand and look at my palm with wonder. The centuries I’ve guarded this soul is evident upon our hands. Our octagrams mark the bond we’ve shared. Guardian to Charge. Angel to human.

     I take my dagger and pull it across my Gate’s palm, slicing his star in two. The baby cries in the neighboring room. My charge and I are two instead of one now, and my heart bleeds with something vile. Soon he will perish. Not tonight, but very soon.

     The shadows undulate and I look up to find my brother standing over me, his face now a horrific mask at what I’ve done.

EPILOGUE

T
he world is nothing but a gray pastel painting that spills toward the wet ground at my feet. My stepfather holds my hand as we huddle beneath the large black umbrella. Ours is one of many other black umbrellas today that have circled together. Behind us the gray headstones absorb the rain, making for a dismal picture, the only color is the maroon tent we stand beneath, and the occasional flash of white as someone dabs their eyes with a Kleenex.

     “Our turn, sweetheart,” he tells me softly, pressing gently against my shoulder so that my wet feet shuffle forward. I’d much rather be at the end of the line than the beginning, but it seems I have no choice. We approach the casket together. I watch as he lays a single white rose across the top.

     “It’s okay, Brynn,” he tells me. “I’m right here.” 

     Somewhere behind me a person sobs uncontrollably. It takes great effort to lay the little rose bud on top of the other stem. It takes great effort to stand there quietly. I want to go home. I want to run up the steps to my room and curl myself tightly beneath the covers, hearing the soft padding of slippers that should surely follow me. And, then, I’ll be wrapped into her warm arms.

     Only that won’t ever happen again. Not after today.

     My fist squeezes my crumpled tissue. I am sure mommy cries today, too. I wonder if she cries for herself, or for what she’s left behind. I lay the tissue on top of the roses, only it catches the wet breeze, and rolls off. My eyes stare after it as it disappears beneath the scratchy green carpet.

     “You’re a brave little girl, Brynn. Mommy would be proud,” he tells me.

     I don’t feel brave, but I don’t tell him that.

     I don’t say anything.

     And then I see him, across the graveyard, in the shadows beneath the trees. I pull at my stepfather’s arm, but all he does is hug me closer to his side. I look again, and I know it is him; the strange man. The flying man. Today rainy grayness falls around us, and he is no longer on fire.

     I am pulled toward the end of the line, and we stand, waiting until the others have placed their own flowers upon Mommy’s casket. Mine is somewhere beneath them. Lost.

     Too many hands touch my cheeks, too many tears, too many people I don’t even know. Mommy’s friends. Daddy’s friends. They are all one big blur today. At last, when there are no more faces, I crane my neck to see the man again, but he is no longer there.

“There now,” Nate tells me as he pulls the soft covers up over my shoulders. “Tomorrow will be better. I promise.”

     I roll over, grabbing the corner of my pillow case, worrying it between my fingers.

     “Would you like to talk for a bit?” He asks. “I can stay, read you a story?”

     I don’t really want him to stay, but I don’t want to be alone either. Finally, I whisper back,

“I’m tired. I’ll just go to sleep.”

     It takes him a while to leave, almost as if he really doesn’t want to go. I know he’s sad too. I know he misses her, but no one is allowed to miss her more than I do.

     I listen as his feet pad across my floor, hear his finger find the switch on the wall and press it. Soon my room is dark. It’s stifling at first, and I almost call him back. Maybe a story wouldn’t be so bad, after all? But I take too long, and soon I hear him on the other side of my door heading for the stairs. I picture him taking each step slowly. Picture him standing at the bottom, listening for me, just in case I change my mind. And then, I hear him open the door to his study, where he’ll spend most of the night working before falling asleep at his desk.

    
I shiver. My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I see my breath cloud in front of me.

 
    The burning man is back.

 
    He steps closer, and I am amazed at how he doesn’t trip over my toys even though his eyes

are closed and sunken in.

     Strangely, I am not frightened, and ask, “Why were you on fire the other night?” 

 
    “The other night?” he pauses for a moment, then smiles. “So you would see me, child.”

 
    Oh, I wonder. That makes sense.

 
    The other night was the first time I ever saw the burning man as he flew across the night sky. It was right after that I made the wish, right after I had gone to my room, after we drove home from the hospital, Nate and I.

 
    After Mommy left us.

 
    It was the biggest, brightest falling star I had ever seen, and I wished with all my heart, just like mommy taught me. Then the star turned into the burning man.

 
    “Will my wish come true?” I ask.

 
    “Now tell me what you wished for again, child.” His lips never move, but I hear him perfectly.

 
    “I already made my wish.” My little voice trembles. “Does it work better if I make it again?”

 
    He nods his head yes.

 
    I close my eyes.  “I wish for my mommy to come back,” my little girl voice whispers into the night. “I want her back. I want her back. I want her back.” My fists clench and turn sweaty, and I swipe them across my knees as my insides go tight across my belly. I have never wanted anything so much in all my life. All the things I ever asked for: presents for Christmas, a trip to the beach, they are nothing compared to this wish.

 
    I feel him lean next to my ear. There is something familiar about him—the way the shadows play off his wings. He promises my wish will come true—if I give him my heart, if I give him my soul.

 
    And I do.

Thank you for reading
, The Bliss, the prequel novella to Angel Star!

Seventeen-year-old Teagan McNeel falls for captivating Garreth Adams and soon discovers that her crush has an eight-point star etched into the palm of his right hand-the mark of an angel.

But where there is light, dark follows, and she and Garreth suddenly find themselves vulnerable to a dark angel's malicious plan that could threaten not only her life, but the lives of everyone she knows.

Divinely woven together,
Angel Star
takes readers on a reflective journey when one angel's sacrifice collides with another angel's vicious ambition in a way that is sure to have readers searching for their own willpower.

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

There is nothing more satisfying to a writer than to see the world they’ve created come to life in a book.

From the bottom of my heart I want to thank Lisa Paul, who saw the endless possibilities of this series from page one, and for giving it the extra polish it needed to shine brighter than I’d ever imagined.

Thank you Cyn Balog & Ashley Supinski, for being the first to read THE BLISS.

And to Brooke DelVecchio, April Hamrick, Anastasia Kolovani, Tanya Contois, Sooz Lux, ReaganStar McBeigh and Katelyn Burgess for becoming my support team to launch the 3
rd
and final installment of my series.