Amongst the Fallen Read online

  Amongst

  the

  Fallen

  Amongst

  the

  Fallen

  Book One of the Fallen Series

  Forthcoming in the series:

  Against the Fallen

  Archangel of the Fallen

  Devin Lee Carlson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Locales and public names offer atmospheric purposes only. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, stored in a retrieval system, 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:

  ColtonBooks.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  Kindle Direct Publishing

  Cover design by DLD Designs

  CaptBlack76, Sean Xu, AndreLuc88, Jurik Peter, Bruce Rolff, and Paulista/AdobeStock

  Daz Originals/Daz3D.com

  Text Copyright © 2019 Devin Lee Carlson

  Cover Copyright © 2019 DLD Designs

  All rights reserved

  ISBN-13: 978-1534684447

  To Winston Scott

  2004 - 2015

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To my parents and spouse, whose support through the years of writing, revising, and editing encouraged me. They suffered through the numerous adaptations this book has evolved from, beginning to end.

  To my critique group, the Writing Warriors: Tammie Hunter and Tami Masincupp, who helped polish the words.

  To our beta readers, Tom Carlson, Stephanie Pray, Alicia Cole, Peggy Marsh, and Sam Trevino, whose helpful input fine-tuned the story.

  To my sister who always inspires me.

  Part One

  1

  CHECKMATE

  (Sometime in the future)

  M y hands gripped the edge of the chaise lounge to steady myself. “Not again,” I said to warn my sister, absorbed in a novel. The entire patio, including our margaritas, shimmered like a distant mirage. Always the limbs first, my arms and legs began to fade. Electrical charges within my core tingled as if a slew of firecrackers sparked inside me. When my drink vanished, I jumped to my feet and grabbed the beach towel draped over the chaise.

  “Heading inside, Brian?” Ariane asked without looking up. “Whip us up another batch of margaritas.”

  I was going somewhere all right, anywhere but inside the townhouse. Never had a clue where or how far into the past I would travel. A wave of vertigo swept through me. Cold sweat peppered my brow as a cacti-dotted desert replaced the patio. Weighed down by vertigo and the towel wrapped around my tee shirt and jeans, I stumbled on uneven ground.

  The spinning in my head settled once I adjusted the leather goggles. The weird specs hitched a ride with me whenever I time traveled. Did I initiate this trip or did someone else? To change course, head back to the future, I squeezed my eyes shut and commanded myself to return home. “Home, now! Home.” No such luck. When I opened my eyes, seven people dressed in ankle-length suede dusters stood before me. Primitive shades hid their eyes.

  From recent encounters, I knew them as the Fallen. Who else dressed that way? As it always happened, none of them noticed me, especially a dear friend from the future. It felt as if they expected me to show up, accepted my being there. Well, I snubbed their invitation. More alert than on edge, certain they might recognize me, I draped the towel over my head.

  As the breeze picked up, charred ozone stung my nostrils. The portal would open soon. My jaw clenched, I scuffed my sneakers into the sand and waited. Here we go again. Sure, I had been here before, probably more often than not, but the events played out differently each time. Had to be ready for just about any type of scenario, often times more dreadful than pleasant.

  Static hissed across the desert. The ground trembled at my feet. Any second, Turian would make his grand entrance—a turbulent one at that—from alternate universes to intimidate the seven. More like to taunt me. I cracked a smile, recalling how I had aborted my first portal visit and almost crashed through the roof of my house.

  A sonic boom overhead startled everyone, me included. The Fallen huddled together and muttered amongst themselves. Sand swirled upward into dust devils while tumbleweeds rolled around us like frenzied disco dancers. Thunder continued to crack until, one by one, the group clasped their hands over their ears. The catastrophic impact of two opposing universes would collide at any moment.

  The leader of the Fallen waved us back. “Watch out, he knows we’re here,” he hollered over the noise.

  Familiar with portal mayhem, I backed away until a thin fissure of space split open as if someone tore the painted scene in half. Lightning bolts flashed as the radiant outline of a winged man shot out of the opening. His dark twelve-foot wingspan folded into thin slivers of energy, each one slipping beneath a shoulder blade. The light defining his outline dimmed as he materialized into a physical being. Sparks flickered around his dark hair.

  “Turian,” I said, my voice hoarse. I refused to address the man as my father. In a way, I wished the dark angel had pulled a no-show. Another sonic boom thundered overhead, announcing the tear between universes had fused shut. My ears popped. Certain he had already spotted me, I drew the towel over my eyes. In truth, I stood out against the tan dusters. Who wouldn’t, hidden beneath a Star Wars beach towel, wearing steampunk blue-lensed goggles?

  The Fallen angel known as Turian acknowledged each of the seven, stole a glimpse of me, and pointed at the leader. “You don’t have to do this, brother.” He waved to address the others. “The amulet will not work for any of you.”

  The leader stepped forward and hissed. “We have no use for the amulet.” Spittle sprayed Turian’s feet. “Consider it buried with your ashes. We must end communications with those who banished us.” He pointed at the group behind him. “Our combined minds will disintegrate you to ash.”

  Turian’s voice roared above the murmurs. “If you do this, you will lose your only hope of returning home.”

  A female spoke up. “We’ve made up our minds. We refuse to return. Earthly pleasures have spoiled us.” She eyed the jewels adorning her fingers.

  Turian growled a curse. “Your narrow minds sicken me.”

  It seemed my so-called father insisted on burying himself deeper. The negative response had sealed his fate. The battle of wills would soon begin. I felt like an outsider, uncertain whether I should stay back or step in as preordained. My back stiffened; I’d wait for the sign.

  “Too bad,” the leader said. He addressed the seven. “Join now.”

  The group tugged at my mind, urging me to join their combined wills. I refused the offer as they linked minds, readying themselves to launch a telepathic missile powerful enough to vaporize Turian. The seven formed a horseshoe and joined hands, their gaze fixed on the target. Excluding myself, only six of the seven joined the assault. My friend had bowed out at the last minute. Instead of a lethal blow, a slap similar to swatting a fly knocked Turian on his backside.

  His crimson eyes glared at the group, then at me. Cackling laughter scattered their formation. His gaze penetrated deep into my core. A voice not my own roared inside my mind. “Stay, if you wish to witness their deaths.”

  For a second, long enough to suck in a breath, panic gripped me. I shook my head and sent him a telepathic message in return. “I did not travel time to bear witness. I’m here to perform the deed myself. Your death, not theirs.” This truth shed light into the darkest corners of my so
ul, the precise reason why I traveled three thousand years back in time. Destroy Turian, because seven, eleven, or eighty of the Fallen combined were powerless against the winged monster. If I failed, then my sister and I might perish. Decision made.

  Defiant, I spoke aloud so all could hear. “I don’t care what happens to me, but I won’t let you hurt my sister.”

  Leaping to his feet, Turian’s eyeteeth grew and flames shimmered in his eyes. The dark wings burst from his back. Their span reached far enough to smack the leader in the face. His voice thundered. “You and your sister are monstrosities. The heavens will never embrace either of you.”

  That’s it! The flaming eyes, the sign I had been waiting for, finally validated my purpose. This time would be different, because I had no choice but to intervene. “We’re your monstrosities. Prepare to meet your end.” I severed my thoughts from his mind.

  Confusion broke out, voices chattered.

  Every muscle in my body contracted from my toes up to my neck. If I released the tension before it converged into a laser-tight beam, it would blast across the horizon in every direction. Nothing would survive in its wake. My aim tunneled in on Turian with both sight and determination. I could do this. To bolster a surge of destructive energy from within, my thoughts focused on my sister and our bleak future. The pressure rose behind my eyes until it felt like they might pop out of my skull. They smoldered as the cerebral bullet shot from my mind. White light radiated across the desert, blinding all.

  The Fallen covered their eyes and dropped to their knees.

  The radiance dimmed as Turian’s body and wings burst into a ball of dust. A white-hot fireball shot upward. Its fiery tendrils singed the nearby cacti, the billowing dusters, and even my towel. Before the fireball rocketed into the heavens, it exploded into a supernova. Glowing embers swirled in the gust caused by the blast. Sulfur stung my nostrils.

  A sharp gasp escaped my lips. “Athorsis.” I destroyed the body he possessed, not the archangel himself. How many times have I tried only to fail? Feeling somewhat triumphant, I tossed the smoking towel aside. “Checkmate,” I growled at the dying embers. Before any of the Fallen glanced my way, I adjusted the goggles over my eyes. If not my identity, at least the cobalt lenses hid the grief that consumed me. I spun around when excited voices buzzed.

  The leader stepped in front of the group. “How is this possible?” He eyed me with suspicion while he hollered at the rest. “Turian should be alive. Who broke the connection? You with the fish eyes?” he asked, pointing at me.

  “Does it really matter if I succeeded where you have failed?” As if to broadcast the task completed, the time travel over, the desert began to shimmer. My body vanished as it leapt back into the future, back to Scottsdale, Arizona, certain I had saved my sister for a while longer. Time for another margarita.

  2

  MR. EYECANDY

  (Present day)

  E ager to escape the nightmarish legacy of Ariane Rose and Brian Ross Colton, my twin sister and I by the way, left Scotland to move near Cave Creek, Arizona. Our alleged father, Professor Duncan Colton, was brutally murdered, his body discovered in the Firth of Forth estuary. Better to stay hidden, neither one of us claimed his body. Our father’s personal assistant identified him instead. I never trusted the manservant and suspected foul play, believing Pop faked his own death. Unlike me, my sister wished she had taken the time to look into his so-called murder.

  Two months later and half a world away, trouble still managed to find us. As certain as bad weather ruined a picnic, Wayde would have found us even if we had moved to Mars. The creep encroached on our lives until he forced us to confront our demons, demons Ariane thought belonged only to me. Her intuition dead on, I invited trouble while she avoided it at all cost. She craved normalcy. I craved the unimaginable. Yin and yang twins.

  Earlier this week, we arranged to meet demon number one, Morgan Wayde. Seemed harmless enough. Ariane disagreed. This former associate of our father had mastered the art of crawling under her skin, of belittling her in front of others. No problem. I stepped up and offered to confront Wayde about the letter he had found addressed to us. It mentioned a missing journal—more of Pop’s research whose unconventional experiments and sudden death were the main reasons we left Scotland. Our two-month reprieve ended when Wayde contacted my sister by email. Once again, the net of conspiracy snared us, pulling us deeper into the sea of deceit.

  For tonight’s sentimental reunion, we chose to meet Wayde at Harry’s Bar & Grill, secure the letter from Pop, and convince him to leave us alone. My phone displayed 8:45 p.m., fifteen minutes early. Time enough to order a shot to ease my nerves while Ariane sneaked into the back of the pub in case danger greeted me at the bar. And there she would stay as far as I was concerned. No need to endanger us both.

  My phone chimed a text from my sister to inform me she was in position. I rolled my shoulders and opened the front door. A bell jingled. The two occupants inside glanced my way. Behind me, the filtering streetlight produced a halo around my six-foot frame. My shadow almost reached the end of the bar. Ariane stunted me by six inches, which much to her angst, made her look up to me. In more ways than one.

  My gaze launched into inspector mode. A lone patron sat at the bar. Fruit-filled toothpicks littered the cocktail napkin beneath her tropical drink. The rumpled tan duster hid most of her body. My eardrums prickled when someone moved in the back of the pub. Ariane? My eyes adjusted to the dark recesses. On one side, the door to the restrooms occupied the wall behind two pool tables. A rusty exit sign hung over the back door on the opposite side. After a quick recheck, I sat on the barstool three seats away from the tipsy woman.

  “What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

  “Tequila, please.”

  He plunked a shot glass in front of me and poured. No salt or lime, the cheap liquor burned my parched throat. I drew in a long breath. Stale smoke along with mildew from the woman’s gnarly wig filled my nostrils. I ignored her, and instead, tapped the glass for a refill. Intuition launched into full alert. My gaze shot to the mirror above the row of liquor bottles. Obscure shadows shuffled behind me. The reflection belonged to someone else or, worse yet, to Wayde and company. The chill that rode across my back threatened to expose my dwindling bravado.

  “Hello, Brian Ross,” a deep tenor voice said.

  My backside slid off the stool as I muttered a curse for the early intrusion. An artic breeze whipped by me to the back of the pub. This time, a man dressed in black leaned against the wall near the pay phone. His luminescent glare pierced through me, but I ignored the frosty message the orbs cast. I jolted when a finger stabbed my shoulder. Of the two shadows, only the cocoa-skinned Brit wearing a chiseled suit with broad shoulders stepped up. Peppered hair betrayed his age and the getup reinforced his rigid attitude.

  Wayde pointed at the booths. “Let’s sit.” He stepped aside to reveal his subordinate, Chase Unwin, who pulled off the blonde wig and opened his duster to show off a pistol.

  Rolling my eyes, making sure the gesture was over-the-top, I assumed Wayde brought the low-IQ bodyguard along to bully me. Inebriated woman indeed. Ignoring the bartender’s profanity, I followed them to a corner booth and sat against the wall that afforded a direct view of the back. The man in black still leaned against the pay phone. It had to be his breeze that whipped by me.

  Movement caught my eye. Ariane hid in the shadows near the exit. For however brief, relief washed the tension from my shoulders.

  “Ahem.” Wayde’s stale cigarette breath drew my attention back to the impatient duo. He leaned forward to study me. The marked circles under his eyes heightened his dark complexion. He lit another cigarette, inhaling the nicotine and blowing smoke in my face. “I always thought it odd how you and Ariane bear little resemblance to your father.” My silence prompted him to suck on another drag. “Mother perhaps? Does she share your brunet locks and amber eyes?”

  No need to answer. The man already knew too much.
Silence made him ask the inevitable.

  “Have you fed on human blood? Or do you survive on the serum Duncan formulated? Rumor has it that he breached a sacred crypt when he dug up the remains of an immortal being. Not your typical vampire, no, something far deadlier—unearthly.” Wayde puffed out his cheeks as if he had said too much and slid his phone across the table to exhibit a catacomb alcove.

  Unearthly? From another world? Ariane and I might be aliens? My father’s secrets ate at this man, but he had to of known more than we did. He worked with Pop. I jabbed the screen. “Nothing spectacular. It could be anyone’s tomb.”

  “His brilliance, or rather madness, mutated you and Ariane with the creature’s DNA. No idea how Duncan pulled it off. Too many secrets. He never told me he had a wife, much less kids. Apparently, he recorded his conclusions in a journal, another secret. I want a copy.”

  “I am the result of his madness. A freak of nature.” I meant to include Ariane, but I outranked her thirteen to one—beyond freaky.

  Wayde pounded the table. The blow knocked his butt off the makeshift ashtray. “Duncan kept me from the truth. We worked closely together this past year. Or at least I thought we did.”

  Without leaning too far, I peered over his shoulder at the bartender who had dropped a glass in reaction to the outburst. Without a doubt, Wayde wished us harm, but the dark premonition emanating from the back of the pub filled me with undeniable dread. Churned my gut when the stranger near the pay phone signaled me with a thumbs-down. No sign of Ariane. Maybe she slipped into the restroom. My attention returned to Wayde. “You mentioned a letter from my father.”