Earthbound angels trilog.., p.1
Earthbound Angels Trilogy, page 1
Table of Contents
ANGEL HIERARCHY
ORACLE OF PHILADELPHIA
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
RAISING CHAOS
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
Epilogue
ARCHANGEL ERRANT
Interlude
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Interlude
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Interlude
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Interlude
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Interlude
Chapter 18
About Elizabeth Corrigan
Earthbound Angels Trilogy
A Red Adept Publishing Book
Red Adept Publishing, LLC
104 Bugenfield Court
Garner, NC 27529
http://RedAdeptPublishing.com/
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Copyright © 2018 by Elizabeth Corrigan. All rights reserved.
First Editon: September 2018
Cover and Formatting: Streetlight Graphics
This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ePub retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
ANGEL HIERARCHY
Rank
Name
Virtue
Status
1
Lucifer (Satan, Sammael)
Glory
Demon
2
Michael
Order
Angel
3
Gabriel
Joy
Angel
4
Keziel
Balance
Angel
5
Uriel
Death
Angel
6
Sarakiel
Courage
Grigori
7
Lethe (Betzalel)
Mercy
Demon
8
Lilith (Lelial)
Vengeance
Demon
9
Mephistopheles (Baraquiel)
Intelligence
Demon
10
Siren (Zabethiel)
Honesty
Angel
11
Rachel
Justice
Angel
12
Nathaniel
Faith
Angel
13
Raziel
Hope
Angel
14
Beelzebub (Asmodel)
Generosity
Demon
15
Raphael
Innocence
Angel
16
Sybil (Tzaphquiel)
Patience
Angel
17
Somniel
Peace
Angel
18
The Beast (Gagheil)
Tenacity
Demon
19
Jophiel
Service
Angel
20
Azrael
Love
Demon
*
Bedlam (Azazel)
Chaos
Demon
ORACLE OF PHILADELPHIA
Chapter 1
I felt the mob turn on me, and I tried to flee. I didn’t make it more than a few feet before a pair of strong hands grabbed me and pulled me back. I wrested my arms away, but as I felt the first grasp weaken, another villager took hold and twisted me back to face the crowd.
I struggled, but soon the townsfolk had me surrounded, the throng a dozen people thick in all directions, each soul eager to land at least one blow on my body. A dozen fists assaulted me, and as each hit, the thoughts of the assailant echoed through my mind.
Wretched girl.
Unholy abomination.
Murderer.
I wrapped my hands around my middle, anxious to protect the child growing in my womb. Even as I made the effort, I knew that the assembly would not cease their attack until long after my death, a release I was no longer sure the gods could grant me.
The first stone struck my temple, and a trickle of blood dripped down my face. I turned instinctively to see from what direction it came, but even as I did, I felt another rock hit me from behind. I fell to my knees, unable to stand under the bevy of fists and stones pummeling me. I looked up to see a large rock descending toward me. I closed my eyes and prayed it might grant me the peace of unconsciousness.
I sat up straight in bed, a scream dying on my lips as I realized I was in the small apartment I kept over my diner. I took a deep breath and tried to slow my racing pulse. No matter how many centuries I put between myself and that rabid crowd, that dream still scared me like nothing else.
I ran my fingers through my sweat-soaked black hair and glanced at the clock on the table next to the bed. The glowing LED display and first hints of sunshine peeking through my windows informed me it was almost time for me to get up. I reached a shaking hand out to turn off the alarm and got out of bed.
I walked to the bathroom and leaned on the sink. I met the gaze of my large
And sure enough, by the time I put on my skirt and cardigan and blow-dried my curls, I looked like my old self.
The wooden steps creaked as I hurried down them into the main body of the diner. I flipped the switch and watched as the fluorescent lights flickered to life across the room. The diner wasn’t much to look at, an L-shaped room lined with booths containing dented metal tables and teal vinyl benches.
I conducted most of the affairs of the restaurant from behind the silver counter, which was lined in front with four round teal stools. Or at least I did when I was fully staffed and not trying to act as manager and waitstaff.
I pushed open the swinging metal doors to the diner’s kitchen. I sorted through the bread on the shelves and pulled out an English muffin and put it in the toaster. As I waited for it to heat up, the bell above the front door rang, and a few minutes later, my cook Dwayne stepped into the kitchen.
“Hi, Carrie.” He pulled the white apron off the hook by the door and put it over his head. “Do you want me to make you something?”
“Nope. I’m good.” I pointed toward the toaster, which obligingly popped out my breakfast.
She never lets me make her anything, he thought. I cringed at his disappointment. Dwayne was a nice guy, but I hired him more because of his desperation for employment than because of his exemplary skills as a cook. Despite my rejection, he seemed to be in good spirits. I could tell.
People had asked me any number of times what my power felt like, and I never quite knew how to describe it. Souls had an aura coming off them, but I could see the light even with my eyes closed. I felt emotions against my skin like a temperature, but the sensations were more than just hot or cold.
And I could hear other people’s thoughts.
After I finished my breakfast, I went back into the diner and flipped the sign to “Open.” As I walked back to the counter, the bell above the door chimed, and I turned to see Madame Zarita bustle in. The plump woman had strode into my diner a few years ago and claimed that my recently deceased psychic had spoken to her from beyond the grave and insisted that she come to my aid. After learning that Madame Zarita devoured the obituary section of the Philadelphia Inquirer with a voraciousness that most people reserved for Thanksgiving dinners, I suspected that my last spiritualist’s recent write-up had more to do with Madame Zarita’s arrival than any supernatural intervention.
But she was quite correct in thinking that I was in need of a decoy psychic. People were more comfortable with the concept of an all-knowing Oracle than they were with the actuality of one. I liked to keep my existence on a barely more than mythic level, and Madame Zarita, a kindly old lady who was almost sure to fail any skeptic’s well-designed tests of her powers, constituted an excellent disguise.
I poured two cups of coffee and carried one back to Madame Zarita as she settled herself in her customary booth at the back of the diner. As I started back to the front of the diner, the bell over the door chimed as a group of students who looked as if I were their last stop after a long night came in and crowded into a booth.
Throughout the morning, I had what could generously be called a steady trickle of customers, which was how I could get away with waiting on all the tables myself. We’d had what passed for a lunch rush—two whole tables occupied at once—and I was clearing off the tables when I heard the words that were going to change my life:
“I’m here to see the Oracle.”
I dropped the pile of plates I had cleared from a recently vacated table. Not because of the words themselves, though they were surprising enough, since only someone who had special knowledge of Heaven or Hell would know to call me by the moniker I hadn’t used in centuries. And not because of the appearance of the man who had spoken. He was attractive enough, but not movie-star handsome. His nose was a little too big and his light brown hair a little too curly. Plus, I had always suspected that Hollywood denied auditions to any men who didn’t have blue eyes, and the pair looking with dismay at the pile of broken porcelain and ketchup-soaked fries at my feet were decidedly brown. But he was ordinary-person good-looking, definitely above average for my clientele.
No, what stood out about him was his blinding goodness.
I had met many people in my eight thousand years, and most of them didn’t fall neatly into categories of good or evil. Some people performed evil actions because of outside pressure or a desire to support their families. Others seemed good but quickly burned out or only bestowed their beneficence on the few they deemed worthy.
In the young man standing before me, there was no such contradiction; without prejudice or selfishness, he wanted only to make the world a better place for everyone. He might have had doubts over whether other people or his God would agree with his actions, but he would do what he believed was right in spite of that. Only once in my long existence had I met a goodness that could rival the one that stood before me—in one of the most powerful of Heaven’s angels.
“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” the paragon of virtue said as he rushed forward to help me pick up the fragments of dishes. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I shook myself from the stupor into which his soul had shocked me. “No, it’s all right. I’ve got it.” I walked behind the counter to get my broom, but when I turned around, the young man had already picked up some of the larger fragments and was looking for somewhere to dump them. I pulled the small garbage can from behind the counter and brought it and my dustpan over to the mess.
I set the trash can near him. “Thanks for the help.” I grabbed my grimy plaid dishcloth from where I had left it on the table so I could wipe the grease and ketchup off the brown linoleum.
He continued to pick up the bigger dish pieces and then held the dustpan as I swept the remaining mess into it. When we finished, I used the time it took to return my cleaning supplies behind the counter to gauge my helper’s emotional state.
As I focused on the young man, I sensed an undercurrent of uneasiness about him. I had missed it in my first impression, either because I had attributed it to concern over the broken dishes or because I had been too blinded by his integrity. It only made sense, though; people rarely came to see me if they didn’t have something serious weighing on their minds.
“What can I get for you?” I leaned my elbows on the counter, which I noticed was rather sticky and could do with a good wipe-down, probably with a cleaner rag than the one I’d been using on the floor.
“I’m Sebastian Connolly. I’m looking for the Oracle. I heard I might be able to find her here.”
Most people wanted to see “the psychic” or said they had a problem that required special help. I considered for a moment that Bedlam or Gabriel had sent Sebastian, but finally decided that was unlikely. The guy’s decision to wear designer black slacks and expensive cologne to a diner that more commonly smelled of stale coffee and slightly rancid grease suggested that the hardest decision he’d had to make in the last year was whether to buy a Lexus or to spring for the BMW. People who came to the angels’ notice usually had something more remarkable about them. Plus, in most cases, my friends were courteous enough to give me a heads-up before sending someone to my doorstep.
I glanced toward the back of the diner to see if Madame Zarita was still on the phone. She often told me that she thought cell phones were ruining America, but that didn’t stop her from spending half the day cooing at her grandchildren and terrorizing her daughters-in-law.
Madame Zarita was working on a pair of yellow booties for the baby that her neighbor’s daughter was expecting. Apparently, the daughter was both unemployed and unmarried, creating a huge scandal. Regardless, when I signaled to Madame Zarita that she had a client, she set her crochet down next to her on the aqua vinyl bench and gave Sebastian a welcoming smile.
Sebastian thanked me and turned away. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to absorb as much of the altruism radiating from him as possible. I liked to think I could store up good emotions and let them out when I was around an unsavory character. It hadn’t worked so far, but that didn’t stop me from trying.
