by Erin Hayes
Fallen Halos
Cursed Angel Watchtower 1
Erin Hayes
Rebecca Hamilton
Erin Hayes Books
Fallen Halos © copyright 2017 Erin Hayes and Rebecca Hamilton
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
ABOUT THE CURSED ANGEL COLLECTION
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
About the Authors
ABOUT THE CURSED ANGEL COLLECTION
Angels and Witches must join forces to overcome the Demons that have cursed the earth.
Many years ago, a demon inhabited a witch’s body to cast a spell to open all thirteen dimensions so that the demon spirits trapped there could be unleashed onto earth. But when the demons were released, the dimensions collided, creating rifts in the earth that re-divided the world into 13 continents, each with their own curse.
In each city, high and protected in the city’s Watchtower, the Demon Lord of that dimension resides. And so long as that Demon remains on earth, his curse will reign over the Circle where he resides. In an attempt to reverse the damage, 13 of the strongest angels were sent to earth to defeat the Demon Lords. However, their sacrifice came at a price: they would have to take on the curse of the circle they were sent to, and would be damned to earth until the curse was lifted.
Lifting the curse, however, means befriending a witch…whom the angels believe to all be as evil as the demons themselves.
LEARN MORE AT
CHARMEDLEGACY.COM
Chapter 1
Wake up, Rahym.
No, I don’t want to.
I want to curl in on myself, rock myself to a blissful, dreamless sleep, and never wake up again. Is that too much to ask? I can’t stand thinking. Then again, I can’t stand standing for too long without collapsing after a time.
So go do something with that time. Anything. You have a million and one things to do that you never get around to. Forget the curse. Just do something.
Yes, too true. I’m always right, even when I don’t want to be.
I open my eyes.
And I’m still in the same goddamn place.
Well, what did you expect? It’s not like you can click your heels and be sent to a better place.
I read about that in an old book about wizards and scarecrows and an emerald city once. If only I could do something like that. Magic exists, but magic never helps humans like me.
As it is, I’m stuck.
We’re all stuck.
“Well, that’s just fan-fucking-tastic, isn’t it?” I mutter out loud, and Yusup, one of my hired guards sitting near the Door, opens one eye at me before closing it again.
Saving energy. Smart man.
Meanwhile, I am not a smart man.
I’m behind the counter in the Great Room of my Lodge, a resting place for anyone who is worried about their safety when the Sleep overtakes them. It’s nothing special—just a large, two-story clay and brick building that has been crumbling for over fifty years. It was built before the curse; no one in their right mind would expend the effort to build such a structure these days. Beds line the walls with old sofas scattered about the center of the room. A flight of stairs leads to the second floor where there are more beds and recliners. I’ve discounted those rooms for anyone who wants to waste energy climbing the stairs.
Yes, we’re so desperate that we’re counting our footsteps. The silver lining is that the beds are really nice upstairs for anyone who pays half-price. I try to sleep there whenever I can myself. And I pay double to any of my staff who are willing to put their energy to go upstairs and clean.
I drum my fingers on the torn arms of my overstuffed recliner. An energy waste, but I have plenty of tics like that. A lot of the foam and cushion has come through at the seams, and the footrest no longer works, but I don’t have the energy or the care to fix it.
Well, you could…
With an average of four hours a day to do even the most menial tasks—depending on how much effort I put into them—I need to save as much strength as possible. Some people compare the curse to a bucket of water. Imagine waking up every day in the desert with that bucket half-full of water. Everything you do that day requires spoonfuls of water to varying degrees. Larger tasks require more water. Smaller ones require less. And once you’re out of water, you can’t move, you can’t blink, you aren’t even conscious most of the time.
If you’re able to pace yourself, you can extend yourself to last through the entire day.
Most people find that just living only gives them four hours of energy, though. I’m one of them.
So reupholstering an old recliner is pretty low on my to-do list.
You know what’s on your to-do list, Rahym. Moping isn’t one of them.
The thought slips unbidden into my subconscious, and the only good part about it is that it distracts me enough to not think about the past again. Rather, I’m now thinking about the present and the very-near future.
That’s all I can do. That’s all anyone can do.
“You know what I hate the most about this damn curse?” I say to Yusup across the room.
He pries an eye open but doesn’t answer. It’s pretty common for that to happen, so I don’t take offense to it, and even if he did mean offense, I’m his boss, so I speak anyway.
“It’s that our energy resets at midnight. 12:01 rolls around, and it’s like, ‘Goody, I have seven hours ’til sunrise.’ And I try not to use up my energy, but I just feel like doing something. Like nighttime hiking or streaking or something.” I frown wistfully. “It feels like a lot of our time is wasted on the night. Imagine if our energy reset at sunrise. You’d wake up, refreshed. Like the world’s best damn cup of Chal.”
Yusup snorts through his nose, the closest thing I’ll get to a laugh from him. He’s so quiet most of the time, I almost forget he’s there. I think he has an easier job of clearing his mind. He’s a big man who spends half his days weightlifting and half his days being a guard at my Lodge. The pay is good, and he has no family to speak of, so he’ll do this gig until he meets a girl he’ll want to provide for.
I had a f
uture like that once. I took a dangerous job as a miner, and I worked to save up as much money as possible for a dowry. And we were happy, for a time.
Before my wife and daughter were killed.
I still remember how my body went into Hibernation before I could save my family. All I could do was lay there on the ground, body unmoving, eyes unblinking, the flames burning my retinas, the screams piecing my eardrums, and all I wanted was for me to fall into unconsciousness…
Shh. Stop, Rahym.
I’m right, I need to stop. Focus on something else. Like that damn to-do list.
I pull it out of my pocket, a tattered piece of paper with a good three dozen things to do. I’ve arranged them in order of priority. Unfortunately, most days, once I get past number four, my energy is done, and I go into the Sleep. Numbers one through four always have to be done. Every damn day.
Delegate tasks to the staff.
Turn over all the beds.
Greet the guests and place them in appropriate rooms.
Do a perimeter walk to make sure that the firebreaks are clear.
That last one is an absolute necessity, seeing that we’re so close to the Door to Hell. Wildfires are a daily threat here, so letting my guard down, even for one second, can cost lives. I learned that at the expense of my…
Stop it, Rahym.
Right. Yes, stay focused on the task at hand.
I go down to number nineteen, one that I haven’t been able to get to in three years. Something has always happened or gotten in the way. They’ve all been excuses, sure, but when I have a set amount of energy each day, there are plenty of things I’d rather do than number nineteen.
19)Dig up the remains of THE tree
It’s been an eyesore at the front of the Lodge for three years, and I really need to remove it. A hulking, charred tree trunk that’s nearly as tall as the Lodge itself. The more intrepid, curious travelers who aren’t terrified of expending their energy have asked what happened to it. I haven’t been able to answer them.
It was the fig tree that Maysa planted when she was a child. It was the tree that I carved our initials in when we were married and I promised to always take care of her. It was the tree that caught fire when she and our daughter died.
I could have had one of my workers, like Yusup, remove it. Yet something always stopped me. It hasn’t escaped me that I’ve put it off for a variety of reasons. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to relive that moment. I don’t want to lose that last piece. Removing that tree is something I need to do for closure, and I don’t want closure.
Well, you’re feeling feisty today, aren’t you?
“Apparently, I am,” I mutter to myself. Again, Yusup raises an eyebrow, but he’s used to my mutterings by now.
In one swift movement, I get up from my spot on the recliner, lift up the access to the counter, and head to the front Door.
“Boss?” Yusup asks, curious. After all, I’ve already done my daily perimeter check. This is out of the norm for me. It’s out of the norm for any sane person.
I feel like I’m about to do something dastardly, which is a far cry from the despair that I should be feeling. I embrace it and offer him a wide smile.
“Just gonna do number nineteen,” I tell him. “It’s time.”
Yusup pauses, knowing exactly what number nineteen is. After all, he’s seen it on my to-do list for the past three years. “But—”
I don’t even let him waste the energy to say any more. “Stay here and watch the guests. I may be out for a while.”
“Do you—”
“Yes, I’ve been conserving my energy all day. If I start to get tired, I’ll come in.” Because being left outside the Lodge, unattended and unprotected, is just asking for me to be killed. Which isn’t a bad thing to ask.
If you ask me.
Don’t confuse yourself again.
Right.
I blink and smile again. “I’ll be fine, Yusup.”
The big man frowns. Good. I’m glad to know I have staff who genuinely care for me. “If you start—”
I wave him away. “Yes, if I start to feel too tired to come in, I’ll call for you.”
I don’t expect that to happen, though. I’m too stubborn to be killed, or at least I’m too stubborn to admit otherwise. I give him an absent pat before I slip out the front Door to the outside.
It’s nearly nine-thirty at night, and I’m alone in the desert. Still two-and-a-half hours until my strength is replenished for another day.
Maybe you can do number twenty tomorrow.
Let’s not get crazy now.
The smell of ash and fire is strong on the wind tonight, meaning that the wind is coming out of the northwest. The Door to Hell must be in full inferno tonight. The Demon Lord is cooking up something malicious, even if his Watchtower is miles and miles away. Not that any human has survived the trek through the Door to Hell to see his Watchtower in person.
It’s just legends and hearsay at this point.
I sniff the air and turn toward it, seeing the orange glow just over the crest of a dune. It’s stronger than normal tonight, and I can see the tips of flames lick the sky.
“Well, aren’t you an ugly bastard?” I ask the Door.
The Door to Hell isn’t necessarily a “Door,” so to speak. It’s a wasteland, uninhabitable for most any creature, human or otherwise. What’s more, it burns constantly.
While the outer edge of the Door is seven miles away, my Lodge is the closest anyone dares to stay. A few more intrepid souls have risked living closer—after all, the area surrounding the Door is rich in natural gases, so they’ll try working there to earn good money in the hopes that one day they can live farther away, where it’s safe.
Or safer, anyway. You’re never really safe when you can smell the fires from the Door.
There was once even a village fewer than two miles from the Door. It burned to a crisp about ten years ago, if that tells you anything.
The road that passes by the Lodge is a well-traveled one. To the southwest of me is Derweze, the closest town. The Devil’s Teeth Mountains flank the east side of the Lodge, impassable unless you want to traverse ten days around the range. And with the curse the way it is, to do that is just as dangerous as being this close to the Door. To the northeast is the town of Merv, which is built around an ancient oasis from the times of the Silk Road. To travel between Derweze and Merv, you have to travel fifteen miles in the desert. Most people can’t travel that distance in four hours unless they’re marathon runners, and even then, they’ll expend their energy long before they get to safety. Horses are impacted by the curse as well, and both the rider and the beast would be stranded before they reached their destination, even if the horse were a legendary Turkmen Akhal-Teke.
That’s why my Lodge is here. It’s the midway point between the two towns, giving travelers a rest stop. The Devil’s Teeth arch over the building, shielding it from the fires spewing from the Door. It’s some semblance of protection, at least.
Yet there are other dangers that threaten our lives all the time.
Such as me standing here, talking to the Door like it will talk back. It won’t, right?
Of course not. To-do list, Rahym.
Right. Must get back to the to-do list. Number nineteen.
I turn my head to see the remains of the tree. It looks even more sinister now than I remember, and it looks a hell of a lot more daunting, too. The trunk twists up on itself, reaching with huge branches to the sky, as if celebrating the fires burning only a few miles away.
It never used to be this ugly. It was once beautiful, a fig tree that grew in the middle of the desert. Maysa could make anything blossom and flourish here. That was her gift—a light that’s now gone, replaced by the constant glow of embers on the horizon.
I let out a shuddering breath, getting rid of the despair that’s building up within me at these thoughts. I can’t go there. Just keep moving. Keep living.
Good, Rahym.
“You look like you’re going to take more than I’ve got energy for,” I say to the tree. No wonder I’ve been putting it off. It’s going to take me weeks to remove it. Months, if there’s a sudden surge of travelers to the Lodge.
“I’ll go get the shovel. Stay right here.”
I head to the side of the building to the shed that houses all of the landscaping equipment. Really, we don’t landscape here, because we have packed sand and unusable dirt. But we use the shovels to dig and redig the trenches surrounding the Lodge as firebreaks, and while it would be nice to leave the shovels out (it uses energy to go get the shovels from the shed and put them back), demonlings would steal them if we did that.
I unlock the shed, grab a shovel and, after thinking about it, pick out a hatchet to hack the damn tree if need be. I make sure to lock up again before I tread back to the front, determined to fulfill my task.
And I’m not alone anymore.
I can see movement to the south, silhouetted by the flickering glow from the Door. Several shapes move along the dunes at a fast clip. I know it’s not a group of animals—this dry, arid wasteland can’t sustain more than small lizards, tarantulas, and the bones of those unlucky enough to get caught by the desert. The only other thing it could be is a demonling, and they’re part of the reason why it’s so dangerous to live here.
