The Gates of Gabriel

by Marie-France Leger

  The Gates of Gabriel

  Guardian Gates Trilogy

  Marie-France Leger

  Copyright © 2021 Marie-France Leger

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  To You.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  The Gates of gabriel

  ♰Author’s Note♰

  ♰ Author’s Playlist ♰

  The Gates of raphael

  Prologue

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used for the purpose of this fiction tale.

  Cover Design by: Marie-France Leger

  ISBN Paperback: 9798747275416

  For more information, updates, and/or teasers, follow @mariefranceleger on Instagram.com.

  Copyright © 2021 by Marie-France Leger

  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 non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Guardian Gates Trilogy

  The gates of Gabriel

  Marie-France Leger

  The Gates of Raphael (coming soon)

  The Gates of Michael (coming soon)

  Prologue

  Port Hope, 1842

  Beau stood at the edge of a rocky cliff, staring down at the hundreds of feet separating him from the dark rapids below. The water crashed against each stone peak like metal, ripping the waves apart briskly. Pellets of rain blinded his eyes, parachuting down like cannonballs.

  A shooting pain of fire and ice brought Beau to his knees. Every nerve, every muscle constricted as an excruciating burn latched itself to his temples, banging against his skull.

  The glowing white light of his halo blinked in beats before melting away to the rain and disappearing into the winds.

  He scratched at his bare back, feeling only the jagged scars of his torn-out wings. Beau stood up in anguish, creeping further and further until only the base of his heel kept him grounded to the precipice.

  “It won’t kill you, Beau.” A familiar voice startled him, causing him to fumble backwards.

  Beau yelled in anger. “He took my wings! I have nothing left!”

  Gabriel’s grace lengthened the edge of the cliff by a few more feet, ensuring that Beau wouldn’t jump.

  “Come to me,” Gabriel gestured. But Beau didn’t move. He remained cemented to the ground in the heavy storm, staring at the white archangel in despair.

  “I’ve fallen,” Beau began to cry. “What have I done to deserve such a fate?”

  Gabriel walked towards him and held out his hand. “Beau, you have served the Lord willingly and graciously. You have not fallen for a reason of malice or threat. He has greater plans for you, and you shall bear my name as the messenger. A Nuntius.”

  Beau took Gabriel’s hand and stood up, soaking in the beaming radiance before him that he now could never be. He didn’t understand why God would strip him of his wings and cast him away, like the pack of Lucifer’s fallen.

  “What if I refuse?”

  “Then, you refuse,” Gabriel spoke calmly.

  No denial or compliance. Gabriel spoke again. “A chosen martyr will die by the name of Sophie Brixton. She was selected by the Lord to do His work but will suffer a necessary fate. She will have a daughter, Maya, and she is the Puritas. She will be the sole mortal descendant of God’s chosen martyr, and she will end the war of the fallen.”

  Beau gasped in horror. “But the war is being contained. You – and Michael, and Raphael –”

  “– will fight until the light conquers. The world is tearing itself apart, Beau. Lucifer is gaining an army in numbers. Find Maya Brixton and deliver this message to her as Beau Gabriel. Let my protection of grace guide you through your mission, I trust in you as He does.”

  As quick as lightning, Gabriel grabbed Beau’s hand and seared it with holy fire, transferring Gabriel’s archangel grace to Beau. Line segments of shimmering white beams coiled up his arm, snaking around his skin like taut vines. Each beam emitted a pain so intense, Beau didn’t even realize how hard he’d bitten down on his lip. He tasted blood.

  Then Gabriel vanished, leaving only the remnants of two radiant white feathers. Beau picked them up and squeezed tightly, looking towards the sky. The rain subsided and the clouds parted to an opening sun.

  The gloss of Beau’s grey eyes twinkled as he knelt on one knee and bent his head. “I will serve.”

  Chapter 1

  Kleaton’s Gate, Present Day

  It wasn’t long before my feet began to sink, submerging into the mud like hot lava. I curled my fingers around a wilted branch, hanging over my head, taunting me. I sunk deeper, and deeper, clawing and crying to the sky… but no one heard me. Behind me, I could make out the distant sounds of the dark figure approaching, the crunch of sticks underneath their boots. Then the blade, a metallic silver, shining through the blanket of black nothingness. It burned, slowly slicing the paper thin skin on my neck. Only then did I remember to scream, but no sound came out – only a dark laugh.

  ◆◆◆

  The echoed hum of a hooting owl woke me from my nightmare. Pitch black darkness filled my bedroom, aside from the dimmed illumination of the moonlight. Another one, I thought, wiping the beads of sweat dripping down my forehead. I rose out of bed and flung my legs over the edge of my mattress. The alarm clock read: 2:24am.

  I rubbed my eyes and sighed, leaning sluggishly over my knees. The past few nights were sheer torture for my sleeping schedule. I tried everything from melatonin to sleep-time tea; I guess I’m just a lost cause. I always started off good, you know, be in bed for eleven which was reasonable.

  Then, every night, variations of the same heinous nightmare woke me up and painted my mind with lasting fear for h
ours to come. Someone or something was following me, stalking me like a lion hunting its prey. Normally the dark figure never did anything, just… watched. But tonight, their blade had pierced my skin, scouting for ligaments and muscles underneath my torn flesh.

  I traced a lone finger along my throat, remembering where the imaginary slit had been in my dream. I shuddered, thinking about that dark, sinister laugh that escaped my throat, replacing my screams. Why had I been laughing? Who laughs at the face of death…

  Most nightmare nights, I found myself in a shaded wood, running for miles, running away. I knew the presence was there, calculating their next move, but they never caught me. I almost wanted them to, only minus the execution. At least that way, I could figure out what was secretly haunting me behind the caged walls of my oh-so-active mind.

  But tonight was different. Tonight, the figure caught me, trapped me in a black hole of tar-like mud… right where they wanted me.

  I shook away the remainder of my grim thoughts and checked the alarm clock: 2:27am. “Ugh,” I moaned.

  I pulled open my bedside drawer and grabbed my mom’s cross. I was religious, sort of. More often than none, I questioned having to worship a higher power, but my mom believed more than anyone… and she carried that belief to her grave. How can God be almighty, righteous, and giving if He took you away from me mom…

  I stopped myself. I didn’t have it in my heart to stop practicing my faith, especially now that she was gone. She wouldn’t want me to. So, I prayed every night before bed and before the occasional exam I didn’t study for. Like that counts for anything.

  But maybe it did. Maybe every time I wore my mother’s necklace, she’d feel closer to me. At least in my case, when her cross was around my neck, my thoughts felt at peace, made me miss her.

  Tears filled my eyes and slowly dripped onto my lips. The salty taste of liquid hit my tongue before I quickly wiped away the sadness and pulled the cross down over my head. I held the small silver pendent tightly, clenching my jaw.

  The moonlight gleamed brighter through my room, lightening the atmosphere around me. I swallowed and tucked my body underneath the covers, hoping to silence my thoughts. The luminosity hit my angled wall, focusing on a photo of my mom and I. I felt calm.

  Shutting my eyes, I turned over and released one more tear, forming a penny-sized puddle on my pillowcase.

  “I miss you, mom.” I exhaled softly, drifting into a deep sleep.

  ◆◆◆

  A continuous ring chimed through the morning air. Sunlight penetrated my window as the blasted noise continued. My eyes felt sewn together, heavy, and unable to open. At least I slept.

  Moments passed and the ringing stopped. Thank God. Then again, the chime began before I could blink. The alarm clock read: 10:04am. Shit! Shit, shit, shit. I picked up the phone instantly and cleared my throat, hoping to disguise any trace of morning voice.

  “H-hello?” I stuttered.

  “Did you seriously forget about this morning?” Mags nagged.

  I didn’t forget, how could I? My best friend finally reported her abusive ex-boyfriend to the cops. About damn time, I thought. They broke up months ago but he’d still been stalking her up to now. Needless to say, I was so ready to put him in place, permanently.

  The events of last night weighed heavy on my brain. The encompassing darkness, the sinking mud, the blade against my throat… “No, no I’m sorry. I had another –”

  “Nightmare? It’s fine, I get it. I’ll be at yours in ten, okay?” At least she understood.

  She hung up and I let out a breath, forcing myself out of bed. I walked over to my closet and picked out a pair of faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt. The dirty wall mirror beside me approved of my mediocre appearance, so I did too. Grabbing an elastic, my purse, and some lip balm, I hurried out the door and into the bathroom. I stared into the mirror, my hazel eyes returning my gaze. My face had definitely seen better days, and apparently so had my bird’s nest of hair. I messily combed through my brown roots and finished brushing my teeth, debating on whether washing my face was of high importance. Nah.

  A muffled car beep sounded from outside and I knew Mags had just pulled in.

  I rushed downstairs and spotted my dad dressed in casual work clothes, making coffee in the kitchen. “Oh, mornin’ Maya. Want a cup?”

  A fresh plate of toast was sitting on the marbled countertop, waiting for me to take one. “No thanks Dad, Mags just got here. I’ll be back later.” I snagged the bread and smiled playfully, holding it between my teeth as I tied my hair.

  “Where you headed?” he asked, taking a sip from his mug.

  “The police station, remember? I have to bring in the witness statements for Mags’ restraining order against Braum.”

  A strained gurgling noise escaped his throat and I couldn’t help but chuckle. “I forgot about that,” he said. “Stick him where it hurts.”

  I nodded with a smile and opened the door, looking back at my dad before leaving.

  “Be home by five kiddo, I’m making fajitas for dinner.”

  Oh… Great. “Love you!” I called out, shutting the door behind me.

  ◆◆◆

  “How you feeling, Mags?” I asked.

  The fresh Spring dew frosted the top of her windshield and the sky was cloudy. Living in a small city left a bitter taste in my mouth, but there were moments when the air seemed magical. The town itself was about a half an hour drive out from where I lived, and I liked it that way. I dealt with the chatter when I was in high school, but graduation saved me. In just a few months, Mags and I would move to Mayfield and attend college together. Away from this bullshit.

  She sighed. “I’m a little nervous, honestly. At least his friends are the ones giving in statements and not him. He’d definitely lie through his teeth and deny everything.”

  “How can he? You have all the proof.”

  And it’s true, she did. She recorded every encounter they’d had on her Apple Watch, saved all the nasty screenshots, and took pictures of the damage he’d done to her. Not to mention all her friends, including me, saw him hit her at her birthday party. It pained me to watch him do that to her every day for so long. Mags was such a pretty girl, but she never believed it because of him. She had bright blonde hair and a model body that anyone would kill for. I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that he made her think otherwise. Ugh, he should have been locked up a long time ago.

  Silence. I was proud that she had finally made the decision to ax him after two years of deprived happiness, but it couldn’t have been easy.

  I grabbed hold of her hand and squeezed tightly. “Just think about it. You do this, and then he never bothers you again. Right?”

  She let out a breath. “Yeah,” and cleared her throat. “How about you, though? Um, you’re going to have to see Tom –”

  “I’m aware.”

  I forgot to mention that my ex-boyfriend was Braum’s best friend. The only good thing that came out of that relationship was meeting Mags. If I hadn’t dated Tommy, I never would’ve met her.

  Don’t get me wrong, the relationship wasn’t horrible and nothing bad really happened. We just wanted two different things; I was ready, and he wasn’t. Nonetheless, he wasn’t someone I wanted to keep close tabs on, especially because he was defending Braum despite knowing everything he’d done.

  We pulled up to the police station at around eleven. “Ready?” I asked.

  She nodded her head and collected all the police report files in the backseat. We got out of the car and walked inside the station where Liza and Max were already waiting. Liza was more Mags’ friend than mine, but we still got along pretty well, and Max was a flamboyant character; wasn’t hard to get along with him. They were both handing in witness statements as well.

  Liza embraced us instantly. “I’m so glad you’re going through with this Mags.”

  “Baby, that waste of a man never even deserved you, not for a damn second!” Max added.


  “Thanks for all being here,” Mags said.

  I pressed my lips together and forced a smile. The line was decently long, bustling with people, and I expected it to be at least half an hour until the cops came to talk to us.

  A short man walked by me with an open-lidded coffee, and my mouth could practically taste its contents. I should’ve taken my dad up on that freshly brewed cup this morning.

  I licked my lips. “I’m going to get some Starbucks while we wait. Do you guys want anything?” I asked. Might as well make good use of my time.

  Max and Liza shook their heads, but Mags looked at me and smiled. “My usual, please.”

  I nodded and pushed the double glass doors open. The Starbucks was just around the corner and I doubted there would be many people since Kleaton’s Gate only populated two percent of the human race. And I was right. There looked to be about three other people ahead of me and one dine-in who sat near the sugar stool.

  The pungent smell of spiced lattes slapped my senses upon entry. I peered down and fumbled with my coin purse, scouting out any loose change I could use instead of my credit card. Nickels and dimes are the worst crimes, my dad always said.

  Startlingly, my body slammed into a large frame, scattering all of my coins.

  “Sorry, I’m sorry I wasn’t looking.” As I bent down to pick up my stuff, we made eye contact.

  Holy saints…

  The last of my change was in his hands. His messy hair was the shade of midnight, curling down over his ears. He towered over my petite frame like a skyscraper, zeroing down at me with what looked to be… grey eyes? Grey? Was that even possible? A slight grin formed on his mouth as he corrected his posture, handing me the money.

  “My fault,” he said.