Armen found herself filling Art’s shoes in the forensics department. It was a big jump, and she wasn’t certain she could handle it, but Terry quelled her doubts whenever she brought it up.
She was, however, now delighted to have Terry take her out to dinner, even if it wasn’t the day he’d promised. Once she was ready, she opened the bedroom door and walked into the living room.
Terry sat on the sofa reading a book, and he looked up when he heard her enter the room. His eyes twinkled, lighting up his entire face. He stood and walked over to her, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “You look beautiful.”
She thanked him and they walked to the front door, but first, Terry stopped at the closet. He pulled out a black shawl, and draped it over her shoulders.
She fingered the silky material. “Very nice.”
“The Salt Cellar awaits, madam,” he said, and she stepped outside.
On the drive to the restaurant, Terry cleared his throat. “Armen, I’ve been thinking, about everything, and well, with what we’ve been through, and more specifically what you’ve been through, well, I, we, as in my dad and yours, we think that you deserve to have these back.” He slid a hand across the seat, pushing a black velvet box next to her.
She beamed with excitement and snatched up the box. “Oh, what is it?” She opened the box, and inside was a beautiful silver cuff bracelet with wings sitting one above the other. She blinked at him. “Wings?”
“You don’t like it.”
“No, I do,” she replied. “I just thought—”
“That it would be a ring?”
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I just didn’t expect silver wings.”
“Liar,” he replied.
“Okay, maybe I thought there would be a ring in there, but the size of the box threw it off.” She pulled the bracelet out and slipped it on. A wave of energy ran up her arm and continued throughout her body. She gasped. “Oh my.”
Terry smiled. “It’s special.”
“I can see that,” she said as she stared at it. “Like the scepter is special?”
Terry nodded. “You have to figure it out, though, because I don’t know how it works.”
“Nice, and my Father is probably the only one who does.” She brought her wrist closer to view the details. “What’s with the diamonds?” One large diamond sat at the top of each wing.
“Hardest substance on Earth,” he said. “I guess it’s supposed to protect you.”
She glanced at him. “Did you get anything?”
He nodded once more and smiled. “You.”
“Not without a wedding,” she said with a smirk.
“I can do better than that,” he replied. “I have your Father’s blessing. Now I just need yours.”
She lifted her brow. “Is that so?”
“Yep.” He returned the smirk. “So what say you, Angel Armen?”
She let out a small sigh. “I’ll have to think about it.”
Terry laughed. “You’re such a tease.”
“Better a tease than a demon,” she replied with a playful lilt in her voice.
Terry reached for her hand. “See? I forget sometimes.”
“When I’m with you, Terry, sometimes I forget too,” she replied and entwined her fingers with his briefly. “And I’m very thankful for that.”
They pulled into the parking lot of The Salt Cellar. Terry put the car in park and killed the engine.
“Here,” he said, reaching into his jacket breast pocket. “Try this one.” He gently placed a small box on her lap.
She opened it and a brilliant diamond ring sparkled at her. “Wow! That must have been some raise.”
“Just give me an answer.”
She turned to him, smiling. “You’re so romantic.”
“I know. Wait till the honeymoon.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Armen laughed.
“Well?”
She reached around to the back of his neck, pulling him to her. “A thousand times, yes.”
THE END
NL “Jinxie” Gervasio is a creator and destroyer of worlds. She is both editor and author, and has discovered she’s quite good at the romance thing—writing it, that is—with vampires, werewolves, zombies, angels, and demons. Jinxie is the CEO and Founder of Just Ink Press. She spends most of her time—when not working in the IT industry—chained to her laptop writing, editing, gaming, or watching movies. But mostly editing.
Born on Friday the 13th, her dad wanted to call her Jinx; her mom said no. After 34 years, she discovered the nickname, and she's grown quite attached to it, thereby choosing the moniker as her interwebz handle. She lives in Tempe, Arizona with Umi (her mother), whom she cares for. She enjoys riding her beach cruiser "The Betty" around downtown Tempe when it isn’t being used as a clothing rack, loves a good pub crawl on occasion, and has had the pleasure and the heartache of experiencing a love far greater than she could have ever imagined.
She welcomes you to her worlds.
Jinxie is the author of the Kick-Ass Girls Club series book Nemesis, and the Prophecy series books The Dracove and Gods & Vampyres, as well as co-author in anthologies Into the Darkness, Undead Uncensored, and The 434 Revolution.
You can find Jinxie in cyberspace here:
Website | Twitter | Facebook | Just Ink Press | Tumblr
Newsletter | Goodreads | Instagram | The ZSC
Dear Reader,
Several years ago I wrote a short photo essay for a college English course, and a few years later, posted it on a writer’s website. My friend, James, read the piece, commented on how he enjoyed it but wished it had been longer. I read his comment and thought, “I can make that longer.” And thusly, Armen sprang from my mind.
I’d like to share that inspiration with you. I hope you enjoy it and Armen’s story, and that it helps you understand where exactly Armen came from.
Sincerely,
N.L. Gervasio
Skin
I am a tortured soul of times long past, centuries old and lost in a world unknown to me. Such anguish I feel, such sorrow. Heartache, I am, that I break my own flesh and feel discontent with the world, so I hide beneath my quivering wing in hopes to block the malevolence from my vulnerability of reality. Even my ancient wisdom cannot save me from the agony mounting inside, swelling beyond its boundaries, growing into regret of things long lost to fate and destiny. The same wing arm that braces me from falling prevents my soul from diving into the pits of Hell, while my tail wraps around me to form a circle none are to enter. Wings shroud me with protection like a cloak of invisibility to hide my ache from this unknown land. Blonde locks spill like rivers over arms too tired to move.
My skin is tight with the act of atonement, yet ripe for destruction while I tear at the flesh with sharp nails. Blood trickles slowly down, as though teasing me with the dawn of life rather than the dusk of death, and I ask myself if I am worthy of this grief I bear. I ask myself if I am worthy of the life I live and the blood that flows through me. I ask myself if I wish to continue on, or give up as I lie in this ball on the ground. I must remind myself that my pain is only temporary and that tomorrow will be a new day when I hold my head high and spread my wings. I am not the skin that covers these ancient bones. I am not the flesh that beneath lies a beating heart. I am the soul within, a soul not broken, a soul reborn from this torment. I will not bow to this pain, but I cannot promise my skin will feel the same.
1 – In Chapter Five, Armen talks about being “pressed.” This is a state called hypnagogia. I have experienced this state myself and it can be extremely frightening if you’re not aware of what’s happening. This site gives a pretty decent explanation, but I’ll cite the basic concept:
“Hypnagogia (also spelled hypnogogia) is a disorder usually described as sleep paralysis, although this definition does not indicate all possible symptoms. In the transition periods of waking up or falling asleep sufferers of hypnagogia feel awake in the mind but paralyzed in the body. These
episodes can be quite frightening and hypnagogia is thought to be the origin of stories of demonic or extraterrestrial visits. Studies performed in sleep labs show that while a patient with hypnagogia is awake and aware of their surroundings, instruments measuring brain waves record their brain as asleep” (2016).
“Quick Links.” Hynogogia, Sleepdex, n.d., Web. 25 April 2016
Back
To You.
For your patience, a quality we both know I don’t possess.
I’d like to thank Sharon Gerlach for being such a remarkable editor during this beast of a book that I’d started many years ago when we were still on Writer’s Café. Your strong guidance has undoubtedly shaped it into the story it finally is today. Thank you, my friend. Truly.
I’d also like to thank CJ Obray for the final line edit and counseling near the end, and for understanding exactly what word I mean to write regardless of the word I may have chosen.
To David Jones and Cindy Harper, two of the most wonderful Beta Readers I’ve encountered. Thank you for your fabulous input and time. And Diana “Dee” Holliday, my dear old high school friend, I’m so glad you enjoyed Armen’s story and I thank you for the feedback.
And James Mayfield. You, sir, are the reason this book exists. Thank you so much. I’m glad we found each other once again and I wish only the best for you, always.
by
N.L. Gervasio
Chapter One
Book of Secrets
Enoch had been a sorcerer. Few knew of it, and it never made history. Of course, they’d sidelined his book and labeled it Apocrypha, but parts of it had resurfaced and become quite popular in recent years. His book was a journal filled with half-truths and spells; some tales were true, some words powerful, and some were just his vivid opiate-induced dreams.
Enoch had called his book Kitab ‘Asrar, or Book of Secrets. It wasn’t the true Book of Secrets—not her Father’s book—but for Enoch, it was filled with many wondrous things.
Truly, the man was batshit crazy.
But that was just Armen Leza’s opinion, though she may have been biased against him. What did one expect after he’d cursed two hundred of them to descend upon Mount Hermon that day? She’d recently discovered that he was the reason she and the other Grigori fell. And anyone who’d truly been given a tour of the heavens would have known the Sun didn’t revolve around the Earth. She’d cut Aristotle some slack; the man hadn’t toured the holy canopies with the Divine, and never claimed to.
The spells in Enoch’s book were not things to be trifled with, though an unfortunate few had. While they may have been the ramblings of a crazy old man, they were still dangerous spells, and the words within the pages of that book could bring down the heavens piece by piece if one knew how to use it. As far as Armen knew, Enoch had been the only one who knew the order of the spells to bring about the End of Days.
Since Armageddon had begun, she could but guess that someone had found the book and pieced it together.
The true Book of Secrets, though, the one that was even more dangerous than Enoch’s book? Armen knew exactly where that book was—tucked neatly between the spines of many religions. After what had happened most recently, she’d needed to keep it safe, to keep it a secret.
Anthologies
Into the Darkness
The 434 Revolution: Volume I
N.L. Gervasio
Nemesis
The Dracove
Gods & Vampyres
Coming Soon
The Devil of Dating
Gemini: Book III of the Prophecy series
Assassin: Book 2 in the Kick-Ass Girls Club series
Quattro: an anthology
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Back to the Beginning
Dusk of Death: an Armen Leza, Demon Hunter novel (Armageddon Trilogy Book 1) Page 29
