Revelations: The Fallen

by Lauretta Hignett

  Revelations: The Fallen

  Lauretta Hignett

  Contents

  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

  A note from the author

  Cover Reveal

  The Last War

  Chapter One

  The tears dried cold on my cheeks as I watched the body of my enemy being lowered into her grave.

  It was a cold and windy afternoon at the cemetery. A small crowd huddled in a loose semicircle around the grave. There was no music, no hymns or eulogy. The silence was unsettling, and made even worse when it was punctuated by the howl of the wind through the gravestones. The mourners all stood quietly, heads bowed. Most of the faces wore masks of sympathy.

  Hannah Savage wasn’t my worst enemy, not by a long shot. I think I’d been hers, though. I’d been the only person to stand up to her bullying. She was petty and vindictive. She had tried to make my life hell.

  Now she was dead, and it was all my fault. It was the ultimate irony - she’d tried to make my life hell, but I’d sent her to Hell instead.

  A low moan rose from the graveside. Hannah’s father, Bentleigh Savage, was crying unashamedly, cheeks soaked with tears, fists clenched and trembling. He seemed absolutely consumed with grief.

  I’ll admit, I was slightly surprised.

  Bentleigh Savage was a billionaire property developer, a self-made entrepreneur who had risen from dirt-poor origins. He was handsome; fit, tall, with a full head of iron-grey hair and a perma-tan from frequent holidays in the Bahamas, where he no doubt stashed a lot of his tax-free money. He was also terrifyingly charismatic. I’d met him twice, and had been intimidated to the point of being downright scared of him. It was his laser focus, his air of entitlement, his inherent attitude that all things should bend to his will. He was the kind of man that got exactly what he wanted, whenever he wanted it.

  Of course, he’d definitely faced a few challenges in his life - nobody could go from living in a shack in central Australia to owning a huge percentage of the world’s property without overcoming some tremendous obstacles and, maybe doing a few underhanded things. I assumed that he’d faced a few demons before. Metaphorical ones, anyway.

  I never expected that Hannah’s death would hit him so hard. He swayed by the gravesite, taking no comfort from his doll-like wife who stood blankly beside him.

  Another moan escaped him. He slumped to his knees, holding his head as if in pain as Hannah’s coffin came to rest at the bottom of the grave. The rest of the congregation froze, both horrified and fascinated by the depth of his misery. As the light, misty rain came down upon us, he lifted his face to the sky and howled like a dog.

  It was awful, yet I forced myself to watch him. I’d done this. Hannah had died because of me. The assassin who killed her - a monk from a rogue religious order called the Sanctum Domeni - had mistaken her for me.

  And that, as Clover had pointed out, was probably her fault. Hannah had tried to get me fired by planting drugs in my room and spreading rumors that I was dealing. It had backfired on her. The rest of the staff at Revelations had hated her too. They'd all pulled together, and if anyone had wanted to find “Eve” for some cocaine, they had been pointed in Hannah’s direction.

  So she’d been murdered when the monk had come looking for me.

  Clover was under the impression that my tendency to be attacked by random psychos was a curse of some sort. The truth was, she wasn’t far off the mark.

  A little whimper escaped my lips, I felt a warm touch on the small of my back. I leaned into it, letting Alex’s strength surge through me. My boyfriend had barely left my side since our near-death experience. We had been wallowing in tortured madness in the caves only a few short days ago. I had managed to summon his demon mother to come and save us. Despite some terrible behavior on my part and some pretty shitty circumstances, his love for me was unwavering. He’d accepted the proof that I was the Black Chalice, the woman destined to give birth to the Antichrist, and subsequently the end of the world. He was also unfazed by the fact that we probably could never make love again.

  I didn’t deserve him.

  Another hand, this one soft and warm, cupped my shoulder, bringing extra comfort of a different flavor. Nate stood behind me, shoulder to shoulder with his best friend, shadowing me, supporting me.

  I couldn't stop the rush of guilt and shame that flooded through me. My cheeks - still wet with tears - blushed red-hot, and I instinctively leaned away from the boys' touch.

  If it bothered either of them, they didn’t show it. Both seemed to accept that I was going to behave a bit weirdly. Alex knew that I felt terrible about Hannah’s death, considering it should have been me. In turn, he felt bad that he hadn’t been there to save me. Which wasn’t really fair, since at the time, he was bound, weakened and tortured, lying on the precipice of the Devil’s Drop.

  Nate felt bad too, since it had been his sister that had tricked Alex and dumped him in the caves to die.

  I risked a quick glance up at Nate. His face was somber. His warm, dark eyes bright and filled with compassion. As always, his hair looked perfect, cut short at the sides and longer on top, combed carefully. Although he stuck close to me, reassuring me with his lithe, cat-like grace, he left more space for Alex, who was broader, more muscular, and exuded a more dangerous, rugged vibe.

  In contrast to Nate, Alex’s dark blond hair hung long and loose, brushing his shoulders. His strong jaw was covered with stubble. Icy-blue eyes flashed around the gravesite, assessing every face, clocking every emotion. He was unbearably gorgeous. The shame inside me flared again, and I tried to swallow it down.

  The rain began to fall a bit heavier and I shrugged my coat around me tightly. It was cold today. That was unusual for sub-tropical Cairns. But everything had been unusual lately. It didn’t surprise me that the weather was reflecting that too.

  The funeral was winding up. A portly grey-haired priest snapped his Bible shut, and stepped forward to place a consoling hand on Bentleigh Savage’s shoulder. Mr. Savage didn’t seem to notice. He stayed on his knees by the grave, tears rolling down his cheeks. His doll-like wife turned and stalked away, leaving him there. I recognized her jerky motions and blank expression - she was drugged up to the eyeballs.

  I wondered what number wife she was. She didn’t look much older than Hannah had been.

  Slowly, people started to wander away through the gravestones in twos and threes, stopping to look at the exquisite marble statues that topped some of the graves. I grimaced, watching a wealthy old couple admiring a carving of an angel stabbing a demon. Little did they know that the politics of Heaven and Hell were far more complicated.

  I stayed by Hannah’s grave, watching the people leave. A few other staff from Revelations were there, the management, mostly. Hannah definitely wasn’t loved amongst the staff members, and the higher-ups had come out of respect for Mr. Savage.

  Not that he would've noticed they were there, of course. He was in his own little bubble of grief.

  I could feel Alex’s hot breath on my cheek as he leaned down to whisper in my ear. It sent little eddies of pleasure through me. Not surprisingly, guilt followed, then a rush of desperate, passionate hope that I’d soon forgive myself for what I’d done, just like Alex had forgiven me.

  “Do you want to stay awhile?” Alex whispered.

  �
�Just a little while,” I muttered. “Pay my respects.”

  “We’ll stay with you,” Nate said softly.

  “You don’t have to. I’ll be okay.”

  Alex laughed darkly. “Sure,” he said. “Don’t think I’m just here for your protection. There are two interesting people over there under that giant ash tree, and I want to keep an eye on them.”

  “Really? Who?”

  He lowered his voice. “One’s a mob boss, the other is a global booze magnate. I’m pretty sure they’re both in The Quarters.”

  “The Quarters? Really?” My heart sank. They were the secret, illuminati-like group of businessmen who had put a target on my back as soon as they had heard that I would be responsible for ending the world. They had been funding the Sanctum Domeni, among other groups. The Quarters had gotten the world exactly how they wanted it, and they didn’t want it ending anytime soon.

  Godric - the leader of the Sanctum Domeni - had been extremely forceful in his attacks but had stopped since the Pope had excommunicated him. I hoped it was permanent. I still had to contend with a slightly less-organized group of fundamentalists who obviously had far too much money. I also had the Quarters to thank for that.

  Following Alex’s lead, I scowled at the two men under the ash tree. They didn’t exactly look sinister. Both were chubby, short, balding, and had jowly cheeks. They did have an air of menace and a strange void in their eyes. Whereas all the other congregation had compassion and curiosity in their expressions, these two men were stone cold.

  “They’re not here for me, are they?” I murmured out of the side of my mouth.

  “We can’t rule it out,” Nate replied. “It’s suspicious that they would be here, at Hannah’s funeral.”

  Alex glowered in their direction, obviously not caring if they saw him. “Our intel has given us the impression that they only funded the Sanctum Domeni as a side-project, and that they didn’t really expect the prophecy to be true. But they’re serious and well-connected enough to make sure there’s not even a chance it’s true. They’re just covering all bases. It’s what they’ve done for centuries, to make sure they stay on top of the game. It’s not like they’re hiring professional hit-men to take you out though. I think you were definitely low-priority.”

  “But things have changed…” Nausea flared in my belly as the fear sunk back in. “I mean,” I continued, licking my lips. “They might know by now that I’m definitely the Chalice.”

  “I don’t know how they would find out,” Nate replied, squeezing my shoulder again. I loved feeling his touch, it was so comforting, like a warm hug from your best friend.

  It made me feel really guilty.

  I had to pinch myself to focus on Nate’s words.

  “...was only Nimue who put two and two together. Even if someone interpreted the prophecy correctly, and knew that the Black Chalice would be able to call demons from Hell, there is no way anyone could know about you calling Nimue to help you guys in the caves. Not even Mags.” Nate flinched when he spoke his sister’s name. “She was long gone by the time you guys made it out. The only people who know about that are us, and Nimue.”

  “And me!” A cheery voice piped up from beside us.

  I held back a snort. Nate actually grimaced.

  Metatron, the Voice of God, was suddenly standing next to us. As usual, I glanced around to make sure no one else noticed his sudden appearance. It was ok though, he seemed to materialize wherever he wanted in such a way that it was like he’d always been there.

  He gave me a nudge. “Howya doing, Strawberry?

  He wore his usual sharply tailored three-piece suit, this one pitch black in deference to the occasion. Metatron had a thing for hats. Right now, a jet-colored felt bowler was perched on his head. It flattened down his fluffy mane of white hair, so it stuck out more at the sides and threw his pale bushy beard into greater contrast. He looked odd, but absolutely fantastic.

  “I’m fine, thanks, Met,” I told him. “Better than Hannah, anyway.”

  “Ah, such is death,” he said softly. “But there’s always hope, you know. Even for the worst sinners. And there is always hope for Miss Savage.”

  “It might be hard for her,” Nate said, pursing his perfect, full lips. “She wasn’t exactly the type for kindness, nor introspection.”

  Met shook his head at Nate and eyed him reproachfully. “There’s always hope.” He held out his hand to me. “Cracker?”

  I looked at him blankly, before I realized he was offering me a bag of little seaweed crackers. They were one of my favorite snacks, one I hadn’t had in years. My stomach, churning ever so lightly, whimpered in anticipation.

  “Oh, yes, thanks Met. That’s exactly what I feel like. Thank you,” I grinned at him and took a handful. The umami flavor melted on my tongue, and the crunchy crackers soothed my ragged insides.

  “Who brings snacks to a funeral?” Alex muttered under his breath, obviously feeling like he’d failed me somehow.

  “It always pays to be prepared, my friend,” Met told him. “Gotta line the stomach before the wake.”

  “Uh, I’m not sure that there’s going to be a wake, Met,” I said. “There’s nothing planned at Revelations, anyway. The service was the only thing in the program.”

  “Well, there will be another wake somewhere,” Met shrugged and popped some crackers into his mouth, crunching away happily.

  Most of the mourners drifted away. The two shadowy men under the giant ash eyed Mr. Savage meaningfully, paying no attention to anyone else. They finally turned, and hid under their umbrellas on the way out of the cemetery.

  Alex gave Nate a pointed look.

  “Yes, I’ll follow them,” Nate said reluctantly. “I’ll see what I can find out.” He flipped open his own umbrella, covering his face, and followed the two men.

  Only the priest and Bentleigh Savage remained. I could see the priest speaking in a low tone to him, his eyes narrowed slightly. He was trying to console him, but it wasn’t working. Clearly, Mr. Savage was just ignoring him.

  Finally, the priest gave up. He offered one last comforting pat on the shoulder and moved away, ambling through the gravestones.

  The rain hadn’t eased at all, and Mr. Savage was soaking wet. He ducked his head down for a minute, his lips quivering, maybe saying a prayer. To my surprise, he suddenly rose to his feet, turned sharply, and walked straight towards us.

  In horror, I realized that we should have already left. We were conspicuous with our presence. It was too late now. Bentleigh Savage reached me with only a few strides of his long legs.

  He spoke directly to me.

  “Miss Horne,” he said, his voice gruff. “I would like to have a word with you.”

  Chapter Two

  “M-muh me?” I stuttered. My shoulder blades starting tingling - a telltale warning of danger. “Why?”

  “Yes,” growled Alex. He stepped out from behind me and moved a little in front, so I would be shielded from any sudden movements. “Why do you want to speak to her?”

  Bentleigh Savage’s grief hadn’t left his face - his eyes were still swollen and red, his cheeks still wet with tears. But he retained every single ounce of his commanding nature.

  “She is central to current events,” he said bluntly. “And I need to understand why my daughter was caught up in it.”

  My mouth fell open. “You know about me?” I didn’t see how it could be possible.

  Bentleigh nodded sharply once, his eyes never leaving my face. “I do.”

  “How?”

  He cast a glance back at Alex, his brown eyes assessing quickly. Probably deciding that Alex was mixed up in ‘current events’ too, he moved his gaze over to check out Metatron. The graveyard was almost dead silent, until Met put his hand in the bag of crackers and rustled it around.

  The crumpling sound was almost deafening. He lifted a handful of seaweed crackers out of the bag with a loud rustle, and popped them into his mouth, crunching happily, apparently unconc
erned that we were all staring at him.

  Mr. Savage cleared his throat slightly. “Is your gentleman friend here abreast of the situation at hand?”

  I sighed. “Probably. Maybe. To be honest, I’m pretty sure he knows everything, but at the same time, he doesn’t have a clue what’s going on.”

  Met grinned. Literally a third of his face was a Cheshire-cat grin, the remaining two-thirds dark wrinkles. He pointed at me with both index fingers, making little ‘pew pew’ gun noises. “You got me, Strawberry,” he said, shooting me with his imaginary guns. “I’ll leave you guys to it.” He pointed with his imaginary gun fingers towards the hills behind us. “An Irish fella is getting buried over there in half an hour. His relatives have already started the wake, so I’m going to pay my respects.” He tipped his hat, buried his hands in his pockets, and wandered away whistling.

  Most of my anxiety evaporated along with him. I was still confused as to why the Voice of God was hanging around us, and apparently he didn’t know either. All I knew was that he seemed to appear exactly when I needed him, and when I least expected him to. The fact that he’d left us alone with Bentleigh Savage probably meant that he didn’t mean us any harm.

  Even Mr. Savage seemed slightly jolted out of his grief by Met’s eccentricities. Once he was lost from sight, hidden by the gravestones, Mr. Savage turned back to face us. His heavy stare rooted me to the spot.

  “I know what you are,” he said bluntly. “I know that you’re the Black Chalice. I know that you’re going to end the world.”

  I shook my head. “How can you possibly know that?”

  “Because I know just about everything,” he replied, his voice as sure as concrete. His heavy brow furrowed. “I just want to know why that monk killed Hannah instead of you. Is she caught up in this?”