Army of Angels
Page 1
Army of Angels
Promised Land Lane 2
Marcus Brown
Contents
Foreword
Prologue
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
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Marcus Brown
Copyright © 2018 by Marcus Brown.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Marcus Brown/Junction Publishing
United Kingdom / New Zealand
Promised Land Lane - Army of Angels
junctionpublishing@outlook.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales are completely coincidental.
PLLAOA/ Marcus Brown -- 1st Ed.
Foreword
Well, here it is! The book I said I wasn’t going to write.
I had an inkling people would like ‘Promised Land Lane,’ but little did I know how much love they would have for it.
I’m immensely proud of my debut novel, and hope you love this as much as the last.
I wanted to do justice to the characters you all took to your hearts.
This REALLY is the end of the ‘Promised Land Lane Series’ though!
This book is dedicated to my Dad, David Edward Strong.
‘Promised Land Lane’ had to be dedicated to my Mum, but I couldn’t write the sequel without dedicating it to you.
Even though we spent years arguing, for me, it wasn’t worth what we lost along the way.
I love you.
Prologue
Hilary Baines stared at the gravestone.
She clutched Tim’s hand tightly and shuddered.
MILLER was etched deep into the marble in fancy gold lettering.
“Are you okay?” Tim asked.
“I just can’t believe it,” Hilary replied. “After everything we’ve all been through together, it comes down to this.”
“It was an accident, you know that.”
“I don’t believe it was just an accident, Tim, not after everything that’s happened in the last year.”
“Don’t start with the conspiracy theories again–it won’t help anyone.”
“I want to go home,” she said. “I can’t stay here any longer.”
“Maybe now, you can let it go, and we can move forward with our own lives.”
“I’ll never rest until I know for sure what happened.”
Chapter One
Xochimico.
Mexico.
1900.
On a small island just south of Mexico City, between the canals of Xochimico, seven-year-old Florita Cruz’s screams echoed in the clear starry night. She thrashed wildly, her life ebbing away as the seconds passed.
“Keep still, you little bitch,” Juliet Oswell hissed, easily restraining the child one hand gripping her shoulder, the other hand grabbing a fistful of her thick hair.
Florita’s eyes were wide with terror. In what would be her final few moments of life, she reached out for the grubby looking doll she’d dropped in the dirt, seemingly desperate for the comfort she thought it would bring her.
Pathetic little creature, Juliet thought, as she paused from her feed.
The child continued to struggle, but the hysterical screams had diminished to a long string of moaning sounds.
“It won’t be long now, little Florita,” she whispered, chillingly. “And then it will all be over, and you can join your wretched mother.”
A noise momentarily distracted her. She’d forgotten her audience.
Juliet lifted her head, smiling at the young boy gazing hypnotically at the sight before him.
Blood dribbled down her own chin and without thinking, she wiped it away with the cuff of her sleeve. Juliet focused her attention on the boy and watched curiously as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, then the familiar sound of his jaw as it cracked and distended shattered the silence of the peaceful island. “Not yet, Luke,” she warned, slightly irritated she’d been disturbed while enjoying the taste of Florita’s blood.
“I’m sorry, Aunty,” he whispered, his breathing ragged.
She watched his features revert to human form once again and offered a smile to the boy she’d grown to love as her own.
Florita’s legs kicked out frantically and with a final shudder, she lost consciousness and hung limp over her captor’s knees.
Her hunger sated, Juliet looked down, repulsed with the bloody mess dangling across her knees. She pushed the child’s near lifeless body into the dirt, smirking as it landed in a heap.
Juliet tried to brush the creases out of her long skirt with her hands, but gave up, realizing nobody was around to care about her appearance anyway.
Looking down at the child lying in the dirt, she sniggered and bent down to pick up the doll Florita had reached out for. Bringing it up to her blood red lips, she whispered an incantation into its tiny ear then blew into its face. Once done, she turned to gaze adoringly at her nephew.
“Now, my darling,” she cooed, tenderly to Luke. “Take what you need. It will be a long journey home, but you must hurry before her heart stops beating – you must never consume the flesh of the dead.”
Luke Whitmore stood mute, swaying from side to side, mesmerized by the gaping wound in the little girl’s shoulder. The exposed flesh had a profound effect on him. He could feel his body changing and stiffened in readiness. Once again, his jaw cracked as the veins in his face darkened and began to pulsate under his skin. He dropped to the floor like an animal preparing to stalk its prey and slowly crawled towards the injured little girl. Sniffing her, he began to tear at her with his sharp fingernails, before dropping pieces of her raw and bloody flesh into his mouth. He greedily drank the last of her blood before once again tearing flesh from her body and noisily consuming it. He was in a blood lust and couldn’t stop himself, despite Juliet’s warning.
“Enough.” Juliet warned, raising her voice. “If you feed fr
om a corpse, you will die.”
He took one last bite, then gazed at the little girl as her heart beat for the final time.
Juliet looked on, her heart full of love and admiration for the child she’d raised as her own. She wondered how her sister Samantha had ever been strong enough to send him away.
She protected the boy with every fibre of her being and cast her mind back to the day he was born. He was magnificent to behold even then, but still, he was shunned by his mortal father and cruelly cast aside as though he were nothing but an animal.
Luke moved away from the dead child, but Juliet caught the look as it flashed briefly across his face – that same look of disgust she noticed every time he consumed human flesh. “Can we leave now?” he asked, his mood sullen.
“Not just yet, my darling. I have something to do before we leave.” She waited as he slowly climbed to his knees and reached out to wipe the blood from his chin. “Wait on the boat for me. I’ll be along shortly.”
“Yes, Aunty,” he said. Skulking off to the boat, he didn’t bother to look back.
Juliet approached the child’s corpse. She muttered an incantation and the darkness surrounding the island lifted, bringing with it blistering sunlight. It was midday and the heat overwhelming. She hadn’t brought an umbrella to shield her face from the sun and, after a few seconds, was feeling weaker than she would admit to.
The flies and mosquitos were buzzing loudly and had already settled on the body, preparing to take what they wanted. Batting the annoying insects away, she bent down and grabbed a fistful of the child’s hair and dragged the body away from the edge of the water. Pulling hanging branches from the trees, she covered the girl and with a regal wave of her now gloved hand, flames erupted from the ground, engulfing the body. She inhaled deeply as the burning smell of flesh made her tingle down below. But she had things to do and couldn’t linger, even if she was enjoying the delicious aroma. She would usually take a tasty morsel or two, once the flesh was cooked to her satisfaction–it would sustain the boy for the journey home and wouldn’t arouse suspicion if seen, but there wasn’t time and there would be plenty to feed from instead.
Juliet dismissed her own cravings, the blistering heat weakening her. The sun was far stronger here than at home and burnt her skin. It was time to leave. She’d stayed far too long already and didn’t want to be seen there.
She stepped onto the small boat and waved her hand in front of the driver’s face. He looked puzzled for a second, unable to account for the time lapse, but made to leave. It had been a stroke of luck finding the island and she knew she would return one day. She sat next to Luke as he looked down at the doll clutched in her hands.
“Aunt Juliet, may I give the doll to Maisie?” he asked politely.
“What a good idea, my darling,” she replied, leaning in and kissing him on the forehead. “We’ll clean it as best we can, and I’ll sew a new dress for it and wash its hair. I’m positive it should be blond, but you’d never know to look at the filthy thing.” She was happy, knowing with the doll in place, she would always be able to see and hear what her sister and wretched husband were doing. It was better than trying to scry through the mirror. Besides, Samantha knew her too well and turned the mirrors around to stop her seeing through them. “As soon as we return, we’ll deliver it to your mother and see that your sister gets it.”
He reached out gently and took the doll, cradling it in his arms. Despite his true nature, Luke had a gentleness she found disturbing. He spoke of his sister more than she thought he would – his bond to Maisie was close to the bond she shared with her sister. She could see the love he carried for Maisie and worried if he would be able to do what was expected of him when the time came?
Chapter Two
England.
1960
Juliet was preparing to cross the Atlantic Ocean again, just as she’d done many times over the years. She spent longer periods of time in South America now her beloved sister and nephew were dead, but it was all part of her plan to bring her sister, Samantha and nephew, back.
Enjoying the crossing in her luxurious cabin, she finally arrived in the United States and crossed the border to Mexico, yearning to see her beloved island again.
The brightly coloured Trajinera approached and she was excited to see a group of children playing on the island. She sized up which one would become her next meal. Now positively ravenous, she couldn’t wait to eat a delicious and filling meal.
She cast her mind back to 1901.
It had only been a couple of weeks since Samantha had been slain at the hands of Mark Whitmore, and overwhelming grief sat heavy in her heart. She’d visited Promised Land Lane after news filtered through to her village that her sister had been found dead, and Maisie and Mark were missing.
Luke’s existence had been hidden from birth, so nobody would grieve for him even if he was dead. She’d tried to convince herself otherwise, choosing to believe he was simply in hiding, waiting for her to come and rescue him.
She knew the truth. Samantha was dead – she’d felt the break of their supernatural, yet familial bond at the moment of her death.
Making her way to the house at the end of the lane, she wasn’t prepared to see it standing empty.
Juliet pushed the door open – her sixth sense warning her to be wary.
She could feel no presence of her sister. Samantha was long gone, at the mercy of Moloch, burning in the fires of hell.
“Luke,” she called out, hoping he would answer. “Are you here, my darling?” She paused to listen, hoping against hope he would appear. “It’s safe now, you can come out.” There was no answer.
She pulled a mirror from inside her travel bag and whispered into it, demanding to be shown what had come to pass, but it wouldn’t show her what she needed to see. She walked into the kitchen and spied a mirror hanging and whispered into it, asking once again to be shown what had been.
A faint image appeared in the mirror, then faded. “Show me,” she begged. “I must know.”
Juliet witnessed the events as though there in person. Witnessing Maisie’s death raised barely a flicker of emotion, more excitement at Samantha’s wickedness. Believing her sister had been cowed by a mortal, it felt good to see her wickedness on full display.
“Show me Luke,” she ordered, and the mirror did as she commanded. Staggering forward and using the wall to steady her, she cried out. First Luke, then Samantha, had been cruelly beheaded by Mark Whitmore. She screamed, shaking the rafters of the house. Anger erupted inside, and tears fell down her cheeks, devastated by their brutal demise. The death of her nephew hit her like a sledgehammer to the gut. She’d loved him like he was her own child. She gripped the edge of the table, her heart breaking. Continuing to watch, a wicked smile crept across her beautiful face as Maisie crawled out of the well, dragging her wretched father to his death. So, she said to herself, the doll did serve a higher purpose after all.
There was no time to linger.
She knew Maisie was near and had to act fast.
Quickly using magic to cloak herself, she took a last look around before fleeing.
Juliet knew she would one day return – the secret room was still undiscovered and would help her put her plan into action. It would be many years from now, but when that time came, nobody would stand in her way.
She said her farewells to the house and hurried along Promised Land Lane, her thoughts consumed by loss. A bloodcurdling scream from the end of the lane brought a smile to her face.
She arrived home the following day, taking to her bed for a week, the grief overwhelming.
Juliet knew Samantha’s human death was relatively quick and painless, but what would come afterwards filled her thoughts night and day. Moloch would be waiting to collect Samantha’s soul. Through no fault of her own, she’d failed to honor the pact, but their master’s retribution would have been swift and final. Her sister would be burning in eternal fire, her torment and suffering never ending.
First, she would forge her own deal with Moloch, take on the pact as her own and beg him to release Samantha. Juliet knew it wouldn’t be easy, but she couldn’t rest knowing her sister was suffering relentless torture.
She sloped out of bed and made her way slowly down the stairs of her well-kept home and into the kitchen, picking up a carving knife from the table. She needed to regain her strength and there was only one way for her to do that. She had to consume the flesh and blood of an animal, and although human flesh was tastier, she wasn’t strong enough to go outside and procure what she needed. She would make do with the goat in her garden.
The goat squealed as she slit its throat.
Juliet smiled and licked the knife clean of the blood – the familiar tingling running the course of her entire body. Once it had stopped kicking and squealing, she knelt and tore a hole in its abdomen then hungrily fed on its entrails before making a start on the tasty flesh.