The Second Sign

“The Second Sign is an intriguing
story with fascinating characters and an epic plot. Angels and
demons exist and live amongst us in this story. As the plot
unfolds, you find that the power of persuasion and free will decide
one’s future. And most importantly that love can set you free...
This is more than your typical forbidden love story. This is the
kind of love that could start an epic war between the forces of
good and evil. The ending revealed so much and my mind is
reeling.”

~Trini, A Book Lover’s
Review

“A dark, twisted tale that quenches
the thirst for the eerie and the edgy... Arroyo has a beautiful
writing style, ease of flow and imagination. Gabby and Jake's
relationship is intense, yet an underlying pulse of sweetness and
genuineness draws them closer... As the tale unfolds and Gabby
faces each new danger, Jake is drawn in deeper, stepping over the
threshold of her walls, sensing a need for each other—a purpose
larger than themselves. The climactic ending shocks and explodes,
executing the power of friendship, love, and sacrifice.” ~SA
Larsen, author

Elizabeth Arroyo

Copyright © 2012 Elizabeth
Arroyo

All rights reserved. Except as
permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this
publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any
form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system,
without prior permission of the publisher.

Sapphire Star Publishing

www.sapphirestarpublishing.com

The characters and events in this
book are fictitious. Names, characters, places, and plots are a
product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real
persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the
author.

ISBN-13:
978-1-938404-31-3

www.sapphirestarpublishing.com/elizabetharroyo

The Intruder

The floorboards creaked under the Intruder as he
walked up the aisle of the small church. Moving shadows crept along
the walls, brought to life by the flickering candles that rimmed
the nave. Looming carved pieces, depicting the last moments of the
prophet vital to this particular religion’s history, hung between
stained glass windows. The deity's name didn't matter, known as
many different names in the world. What mattered was that people
believed.

Belief was power.

The Intruder sauntered toward the altar, a hint of
incense in the air. A stone baptismal fountain laid on the floor to
his left, large enough to bathe a child or drown one depending on
your intent. His eyes settled on the iconic figure crucified and
displayed for all to see. He found a moment’s peace gazing up at
the idolized portrayal of death. Crucifixion was a martyr's death,
instilling fear in those that witnessed it. Fear begets conformity
in all creatures. The Intruder looked down at his own palms,
tracing his own scars with his thumb. There were many ways to kill
a man. But only one way to kill a soul.

Genuflecting, he crossed himself as was the
customary fashion, and then slid into a pew and leaned forward, his
head bowed in reverence. He no longer prayed, had forgotten how
over the many centuries. Memories were blurred in his mind, unable
to remember his true name. The reference of time held no meaning
for him. Nothing mattered but peace of mind.

He lifted his head and gazed upon a statue of one of
the Fallen. The Fallen's arm was raised high over his head as if to
shield himself from an expected blow. A serpent coiled around his
leg up his waist, its tail curled around his wrist holding him down
to the base, his mouth open in a silent eternal scream.

The Intruder knew one day he would meet the same
fate. But not yet. He had work to finish still. Peace was all he
wanted.

He inhaled deeply. A door creaked and footsteps
approached. The echoes pounded in his ears.

“May I help you?” a man's voice asked.

The Intruder scowled. Peace was never afforded to
the wicked. “I've come for the rite of confession,” he said, his
voice thick.

The man smiled, momentarily smoothing out the deep
lines of his face. His white thinning hair almost glowed against
his black cleric shirt. His Roman collar opened at the throat meant
he was almost done for the evening. Almost.

“Good. The young seem to have forgotten the meaning
of the word,“ the man responded. His soft gray eyes sparkled in the
dim light. “Come, let us sit closer to the altar. The pews have
gotten too hard for an old man.“ The priest led him to two
cushioned chairs near the altar. “Sit, sit.“

The Intruder sat.

The priest waited for him to begin.

“Sorry, Father, for I have sinned. It's been quite a
while since my last confession,“ he began. The words flowed easily.
He had done this countless times before he passed into something
else, before the chaos claimed his life. “I'm afraid I’ve done
unspeakable things.” He spoke the words slowly, monotonous.

The Intruder leaned forward, clasping his hands
together, his thumb circling the scar along his palm. It would
always be a reminder of who he was and what he had become.

“I've been summoned to start a war.“ He paused,
lifted his head to eye the priest. “Many will die and one will be
reborn.” Something awoke inside him, a feral anger that lingered on
the edge of his mind.

The Intruder held the priest’s gaze and retreated
into his more visceral senses, unable to refute the evil that
lurked inside him. The priest’s heart pounded rhythmically in his
chest pushing and pulling his lifeblood. Dry grass and earth wafted
into the Intruder’s nostrils and the acrid stench of incense forced
him to suppress the urge to gag.

The priest’s face paled. His wrinkled hands trembled
in the waning light.

The Intruder stood up and made his way to the
baptismal fountain, knelt at the base and dipped his finger in the
holy water. The tepid water sent ripples of heated pleasure and
pain through him. Touching the tip of his finger to his forehead,
he crossed himself again. The water changed to a murky yellow, and
a smirk broke his lips.

“Please, Father, save me.“ His words drifted up into
the vaulted ceiling toward the fresco depicting the angel Gabriel,
his blade drawn, tip toward the mass of demons approaching.

The priest approached him, rested a trembling hand
on the Intruder’s shoulder, and breathed a silent prayer. Pain
flared behind the Intruder’s eyes and he snapped up, pulling the
priest over his shoulder and slamming him into the fountain. The
priest’s head and torso submerged completely into the acid. His
legs dangled over the rim. The Intruder held the priest down by his
chest while the man jerked and writhed, spilling acid around him.
It took a matter of seconds for the human flesh to sizzle and melt,
for his eyes to liquefy and the water to turn a hazy shade of pink.
The priest reflexively inhaled the deadly substance, and his body
broke out into violent convulsions.

The priest gave one final twitch and then fell
still.

The Intruder stepped away, wiping his hands on his
jeans, and returned to the pew. He knelt, leaned forward, and bowed
his head. The acid on his clothes returned to water. It hissed as
it turned to steam and dissipated as a result of the heat that
enveloped him. He averted his gaze from the dead priest and turned
it to the prophet petrified above the altar. He wiped his brow with
a steady hand.

“Why do you always wish to meet in such an archaic
place?” The voice drifted to him from his left. An apparition
floated toward him, lithely moving with the thick shadows. The pew
creaked in protest as the shadow took form and sat next to him.

“I search for peace,” he said.

She laughed beside him. A beautiful, seductive laugh
that calmed him. “The wicked—”

“Yes, I know. The wicked shall have no peace,” he
finished for her, more agitated with her interruption than the
truth of those words. “Why are you here?”

She scowled, but he didn't give a damn. “Overly
dramatic, don't you think?” Her black eyes went to the dead
priest.

“He tried to save my soul, so I gave him peace.”

“Yes, he does look very peaceful.” She broke her
gaze from the disfigured corpse and returned it to the Intruder.
“You know the plan. Do not deviate, no matter what.”

“You chose me for this, remember?” He disliked Naite
and trusted her even less.

“Yes, because of your history...with her,” Naite
reminded him. It was a warning, a reminder of how he had failed
terribly, and how he could not afford to fail again.

“Do not fret my young governess. I will not fail
this time.”

Naite shot him a warning glare. Her deep set eyes
were as black as her core.

Naite had never been human. A shadow lurking amongst
shadows, she’d never felt the wind on her face, never smelled the
soft scents of the earth after a spring rain, never felt the warmth
of a fire, or tasted the decadent sweetness of chocolate. Naite
would never understand the human condition. It was what made her
deficient. He would never trust a full breed.

Naite returned to her amorphous state and sifted
toward the nave. “And clean this mess up. We don’t want to announce
our presence just yet.”

The Intruder bowed. He wanted to tell her to go to
Hell, but she already lived there. He waited until she disappeared,
and then went back to work staunching the fire within him.

Exile

Gabby hadn’t had a chance to duck from the flying
baseball as it sliced the air and smacked her on the side of the
head. It was why she was sitting in the nurse’s office and not in
solitary confinement.

Mrs. Margot cracked an ice pack and set it gently on
the sore spot. “What happened this time?”

Gabby winced, preferring something for her wounded
pride. “He started it.” A part truth in the scheme of things. “What
guy would hit a
girl
?”

Her favorite person in St. Catherine's High School,
a.k.a. Hell High, the nurse, counselor, and all-around good
guy
when it came to kids with high emotional needs, Mrs.
Margot calmed Gabby most of the time.

“A guy defending his right to live?”

“That's an overstatement, don't you think?”

“Not when it comes to you.” Mrs. Margot leaned her
small, solid frame against the wall opposite Gabby and folded her
arms in front of her. “Did he really hit you?”

Matthew Tyler, jock extraordinaire, had thrown a
baseball at Gabby after she bumped into his girlfriend, sending
almost a ton of beef onto the front of her crisp, white cheer
uniform. It had been an accident. And it was only a serving of
beef, though to the lovely uniform it didn't matter. The bump was
hard enough to send little Miss Perfect sprawling on her ass and
fuel Mr. Jock to throw a flying baseball in Gabby's direction. He
had looked surprised when it actually connected with the side of
her head. Surprised or scared, Gabby couldn't tell.

“Lucky shot with a flying baseball.” Once the pain
flared, she couldn't stop herself. “I didn't get to land a
punch.”

“No, because Mr. Anderson stopped you. But you
cursed him and everyone in that lunch room. Can you please retract
it before next year's senior class ends up dying of some freak
accident?”

Gabby didn’t think Mrs. Margot really believed in
curses. It was her way of telling Gabby to apologize, even if it
was to the air.

“I take it back,” Gabby muttered under her breath.
“I didn't mean to wish them a horrible and bloody death. Not a
single one of 'em.” Maybe just a bad scare, Gabby thought.

“See, don't you feel better?”

“Sure.” She actually did, a little bit. “Are you
going to call Adler?”

Mrs. Margot sighed, and Gabby's good feeling quickly
changed to impending doom which skyrocketed to dead-meat
status.

“As your guardian he needs to know that you will not
be able to return next year.”

“What—”

“Gabby, you've had six fights in the past year. The
school board, which consists of a bunch of nuns, considering this
is a Catholic school, have decided that Adler's twenty-five
thousand dollar donation for the recreation center is not enough of
an incentive to keep you here. It's out of my hands.”

Gabby lowered the icepack and squeezed it, feeling
the icy coldness along her palm. Most of the fights weren't her
fault. People, in general, pissed her off. But this was the fifth
school to throw her out in her eleven years of schooling. That had
to be a record. At least they let her finish the year. Max was
going to be pissed off to high heaven. Literally.