Midnight Omen Read online

  Midnight Omen

  Midnight Omen

  Short Story

  Book 1 of the Midnight Trilogy

  By: Faellin Angel

  September 13, 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any mean without prior permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is fiction and from the imagination of the writers. No part within is fact or contains facts. All names are fiction. Please do not copy this book but purchase your own. It is illegal to obtain copies except by purchase.

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  Acknowledgements

  There are many people who have made me the author I am today. Without their help, input, advice, and edits I would never have grown. I can definitely see the difference between now and when I first started to write. Every new story is a step forward for me. Every edit I get, is a lesson learned.

  My personal friend and usual editor, Kathy Ree, can tell you I can be a bit stubborn or forgetful about certain things. When she read my first book, I was astonished at all my errors, but I felt deep within she’d be good for me. This time, since I’ve sent her a book there were probably only as many errors or suggestions as there were on page one of my first book. I definitely think I’ve progressed.

  So Kathy Ree, I wish to thank you for all the times you stepped in and saved the day. You are a beautiful woman, full of compassion and honesty, and I love your sense of humor. You are one of the most special women I’ve found in my journey in becoming a published author. I hope that this journey we are on, finds both of us infamous and on the beaches of Maui together, sipping Daiquiris. I can totally see us comparing notes while being on vacation! So literary sister, I bow to your genius!

  Also I’d like to thank my good friend, J.L Cooper, for his tremendous work on my plethora of covers. Not once has he abandoned me! You can find him on my Facebook scaring the crap out of me with his pictures of spiders. Keep up all the good work my friend!

  There are just a few more that I’d like to thank for their support and willingness to stand by me through the last few years. My idol, my role model, and literary genius Nathan Squiers, who has taught me many things, stood with me in dark times, gave me the courage to be myself. To Deidre Frost, who always takes the time to read my manuscripts and point out my mistakes, encourage me to be me, and loves me as much as I do her. To H’deel Batnij who gave me the chance to work with her as she began her literary career. She is one of my closest friends even though we met online. These three people were monumental in my rise in my literary world. They gave me the things I needed to continue when I thought I was done. You guys are wonderful.

  I can’t forget Linkville Press and Amanda Marie who took a chance working with me. I am sure my friend Kathy Ree spoke for me!

  Dedications

  Many of my books were proofread and edited by a dear friend of mine. Unfortunately, she could not do so with this book. Crissy Rearley, I know you are looking down on us from heaven and shaking your head. Did you ever know you were loved this much? Did you think your life had made this big of an impact on some people, strangers, or people you knew but never met? Your name will live on in the hearts of many people. You made so many of us happy.

  There were so many days I woke up, ate, and got straight on the Xbox to play one of our games. That was what made gaming so epic for me, not the game, it was the people with whom I played. I never got along with female gamers, until you. We went from one game to the next, having the time of our lives as we had many adventures, mining away until one of us fell into a lava pit or was attacked by a monster. We’d all panic and run for our lives, laughing as we did.

  Shooting each other or the other team was a total chaos, but the most fun I’d had in years. When you accepted me onto your team, We Suck Don’t Shoot, I felt so happy. I fit in it perfectly. I totally sucked at that game and you guys never once said anything. So many times we planned, tried different strategies, and your voice got us working together.

  It won’t be the same gaming without you. It won’t be the same going over my books and having you right there pointing out ways to make it read better. You got inside my head and knew exactly what I was trying to say.

  Wherever you are, heaven or standing by each of us, please know that I truly enjoyed having you in my life. Your humor, kindness, honesty, and character will be forever in our hearts and minds. RIP Crissy Rearley. With wings, you now have the winning advantage in every game you ever play.

  Midnight Omen

  PART ONE

  Deep Georgia 1981

  My mama always told me that someday I would find “the right one”. No one ever thought it would be out in the swamps and rivers of Georgia.

  But when she told me the story of how she met my father, I determined that I would remain single forever. It put me off men, the way it came about. Yet, her story is one I’d like to share someday. I’m Angel Tala and it’s my harrowing story of loss and change that I am sharing now.

  My skin, tanned from countless days in the sun, were indicators of my Southern heritage--along with my accent, of course. My two-toned brown hair with red highlights was from my Irish grandmother, and looked like the pelts of the brown wolves that ran through these woods. My brown eyes and high cheekbones were from my father, who was half Cherokee.

  When school let out, I’d run wild through the swamps like an animal, like my own father, who was more animal than man. Mama figured I even had my own den somewhere, like the black wolf I was fond of. This enigmatic canine would come from time to time and watched me before running off again. Never would get close enough to let me touch him. I couldn’t blame him, though. People would trap wolves and sell them to the tourists.

  All my life I lived in the deepest swamps, miles from the nearest town. I had been born and raised in the sweltering heat, with gnats the size of birds. I ate whatever daddy or Uncle Bobo brought in, when they came in. Or whatever Grandpa caught and gave to Granny. Alligator was a common food on our plates, along with snake and fish. I’d bring home my own share of meats and wild vegetables when Pa and Grandpa took me with them.

  The log cabin Grandpa built and that I’d grown up in had started out as a little one-room, four-walled, windowless, closet-sized area with only a bed and stove. There was no road to the cabin. Anyone who wanted to find it had to take the boat and then walk almost an hour.

  Over time, with the addition of Granny and the babies, the cabin grew. When his first baby girl was born, Grandpa added on a little room just big enough for a bed. My ma slept there alone until her sister was born and joined her. Over time, Grandpa added on two more rooms, his being the largest. We had a bathroom, but it was just a toilet and shower. No hot water for us.

  It was the summer of 1981 when my sole provider, my rock, my grandfather, died. None of us kids saw it coming. Grandpa was a stout and strong man, and when his heart gave out on him, Granny ceased to exist as well.

  I loved my Grandpa with all my heart. He’d been more of a Pa than my own. When he died, he took my heart with him. I knew I’d miss his wrinkled, red face and kind smile forever. The memory of his bright green eyes as they would light up when he looked at Granny would always be at the back of my mind. She was his life, and he was hers.

  My Ma took care of her, but Granny didn’t like it too well. We knew Granny was not long for this world either. We were right, as much as we wished it wasn�
��t so. She would follow her man before the end of the year.

  My mom had never known anything but this home, and when her mom left her, she went downhill quickly. Her parents were her whole world. They were the only people she really knew.

  The last lucid conversation Granny and I ever had was one I would never forget.

  We were sitting on our wooden porch, in the rockers, listening to the music of the night. Ma was putting the babies to bed. There was no breeze, no way to cool ourselves, but aside from the bugs it was more comfortable outside.

  Pa had not been around with any kind of provisions in weeks. We were worried that food would be scarce again this year. The deer had not come down in the spring, the trout seemed to have laid eggs elsewhere, and even the bears had moved on.

  The heat and humidity was higher this month, June, than it had been all year to date. The river was calling my name, and a late-night swim sounded divine.

  “Angel, ye cannot leave your Ma. She has four babies and no man. The city folks are no good. Not right to live as they do. Do not go off to that fancy college and leave her alone.”

  “But Pa is her man,” I disagreed. It was his place to care for those babies inside. My sisters were still barely walking and knew nothing of life outside the cabin.

  “No child, ‘tis no man. He does provide for ye all from time to time, but he will never settle. He is as wild as the wood. His heart cannot be tamed. Your Ma will never take another man as long as that one lives.”

  What she spoke was true. Ma was a stubborn little coyote and always would be. She had been raised to be a good wife and ma. No matter the faults of her man, she would remain true. She was strong, but not strong enough to do it alone.

  Granny knew my thoughts, it seemed. She knew talking sense to me was the only way to go about it. I was not a selfish or greedy girl. I did as I was bid, worked hard, and yet it still seemed as if what I did was never enough.

  That was why I’d decided to take up my teacher’s offer of going to the college in the town she was living in. I would learn something that would get my family out of this place. I loved my home, but it was not a place for babies.

  That was when silence fell all around us. Not a chirp or cry was heard, which made the hair on my arms stand on end. Just as I started reaching for my bow, she spoke.

  “Your man shall come up from the depths of the swamp, be as wild as the wolf, as strong as the bear, as fast as the panther, and as shadowed as the night. Only ye will ever truly know him, only ye will ever find him, and only ye will bear his children.”

  Granny’s predictions had never been wrong, no matter how crazy they sounded. She knew things no person ever could, but we never doubted. What she said scared me to my very core.

  “What if I don’t want no man?” I asked. To date, not one had caught my eye. Why would that change now?

  “Ye are all grown, girl, and will want and need a man. Your Ma can’t provide for your sisters alone, and your Pa will never step foot in this house. Your uncle is daft and gets easily distracted. Your duty is to see them clothed, fed, and schooled, and when your Ma goes, to love them as your own.”

  An eerie chill ran up my back as our barnyard owl hooted, looking for its dinner. I had turned eighteen just a month ago, too young to raise babies.

  Well, that was a lie, really; Mama had been fifteen when she met Pa.

  “Go help your Ma with the babies, and know I love ye, child.”

  It was a fortnight later that she lost all touch with reality. It was as if she’d somehow known. She had imparted her truths and knew that I would do as she’d said. She knew I could provide for my family and would protect them from the dangers outside.

  It appeared as if Pa had forgotten us, and Ma could not leave the babies. She would never ask, but she expected me to hunt. I knew how, thanks to Pa and Grandpa; both had taught me what they’d known since I could walk. I was best with a bow and a knife.

  * * *

  I nodded to Ma, who was bathing my sisters, as I picked up my bow and arrows from the corner.

  “Be safe, my love,” she whispered. The fear in her was so great that it shone bright in her eyes. The swamps held many threats and dangers, such as cottonmouths, water moccasins, rattlesnakes, alligators, boars, and more. She knew that this could be the last time she would ever see me.

  She knew that, just like Grandpa, we’d been raised on those snakes, and their venom was not as toxic to me as it would be to a city person. Grandpa had fed us tiny bits of venom ever since we left mom’s milk.

  He believed in the old ways. He was considered a backwoods man, not a medicine man, but if no doctor could be found, he would do.

  I headed out as the sun was setting, making the swamp glow with color. Shadows stretched wide, while the humid air made me feel sticky. My footing was swift and sure as a deer’s, and my eyes like a hawk’s as I searched for my prey. Nimble as an elf, I leapt from rock to log to limb, in search of our next meal.

  The swamp was my playground, and the night was crawling with life. I was the thing in the dark that the swamp feared.

  Silently, I edged the swampy river until I came to the dock. I spied deer across the river--three for sure. My arrows never strayed, but the distance was too great. I’d have to cross over downwind to get them.

  Looking over the black river, with white moonlight glittering above, I hesitated. This night sang with warning. Something wasn’t right.

  Checking behind me and finding no reason not to continue, I slipped into the boat, pushing it into the mild current. Using the pole, I pushed my way deeper until the current was stronger and the river too deep. Switching to paddles, I listened intently, watching and waiting for the opportunity to strike.

  When I felt that I was close enough, and that taking any longer would push me too far from them, I took my bow and aimed carefully. Lining the arrow up precisely, I was sure that I would not miss. After all, I had not missed since I was ten.

  Either I, or something else out there, must’ve startled the deer somehow. They took off almost silently, into the brush away from me. Halfway across now, I decide to just wait there for something else to come along. Since I had no idea when that would happen, I reached into the bottom of the boat and pulled out the fishing pole. I added a lure, and cast it far.

  The small boat moved out of the swifter current and barely moved along. I could feel the stumps and rocks beneath the boat as I moved past and over them.

  Many minutes passed before I felt the familiar tug. Judging by the resistance, it was nothing more than mere bait. I pulled it in, and sure enough it was a tiny bass, no longer than my hand. I reset the hook so as not to lose the fish before I pushed my hair behind my ears and threw the line back out.

  I felt the small fish struggle for a bit, taunting other fish and possibly gators, until it stopped. There was a small wiggle and then nothing more. After several moments I started slowly pulling it in, hoping to catch the attention of something much larger.

  “Come on little one, bring home the bacon,” I whispered.

  Sweat trickled down my spine, and from my brow into my eyes. I swept my hand across my forehead, and situated myself so that if a gator decided to take my bait, I would not be pulled from the boat.

  I could hear the night. The crickets, small critters, and owls that brought the woods to life were giving voice all around me as they waited to catch their own meals. The moon cast enough glow to see by, but not enough to spotlight my every move. It was perfect hunting. Not a breeze to be found, unfortunately. The gentle rocking of the boat in the small current nearly relaxed me, which was not in my best interest. I needed to stay alert.

  Feeling a nibble, I pulled my line in, ever so slowly. Just as it reached the side of the boat, and I leaned over to grasp the line, all hell broke loose.

  As I was peering into the depths, something peered back, broke the surface of the water, and reached for me. Water splashed everywhere, and all I could think of was that a gator was coming i
nto the boat with me. I fell back, screaming, as whatever it was latched on to me and came into my boat.

  It was a man.

  Not much older than me, from first impression. Shivering, he struggled weakly to pull himself in.

  Over my shock, I quickly got him into the boat. His head rested in my lap, his arms around my waist, as we both gasped for air. At first I was beyond terrified, until I realized the man in my arms was just as scared. Not of me, but of whatever was in the water.

  I couldn’t see his features. Only long, dark hair was visible. When I reached out to move it from his face, he sputtered, startling me.

  “My apologies ma’am,” he whispered, trying to sit up.

  I tried to help him and would have toppled over the other side, if he had not grabbed onto me and held me there, falling into my lap.

  He was absolutely the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. He was in his early twenties, if my guess was right. His dark, sun-kissed skin, his dark locks of hair, his thick lips, all seemed to call my name. Never had a man stolen my absolute attention before. This one was shirtless, all muscle, and without shoes. The more I looked, the more I had to. I was wide-eyed with curiosity.

  He spoke again, in a sort of disconnected ramble. “Well, there was a dog that stole my shoe, which I took in and raised. Then there was this boat which we lost and a gator which tried to eat us, and then it just seemed to go downhill. By the way, have you seen Wolf?”

  Wide-eyed and confused, I could only shake my head.

  “Truth be told, there is much more to the story. If you would like, we can go upriver a bit to my cabin, where I can change and find my dog. I’m not quite sure how badly I damaged the gator, and it could be quite angry.” He gazed at my sodden condition. “I’ve gotten you all wet, and owe you my deepest gratitude,” he continued, laughing. His golden eyes flashed in the moonlight.