Lacrimosa
Authors: Christine Fonseca
LACRIMOSA
The Requiem Series
Book 1
By
Christine Fonseca
Lacrimosa, Requiem #1
Christine Fonseca
Copyright 2012 Christine Fonseca.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, or by any information storage system without written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
ISBN (hardback):
978-0-9847863-6-7
ISBN (paperback):
978-0-9847863-7-4
ISBN (eBook):
978-0-9847863-8-1
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Compass Press 3/13/2012
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Dedicated to Aydan and Nesy ~
It may have taken me longer than I’d wanted, but I’ve finally given your story to the world. Now all will know of your sacrifices and love.
“
Ah! that day of tears and mourning!
From the dust of earth returning
man for judgment must prepare him;
Spare, O God, in mercy spare him!”
~LACRIMOSA, Requiem Mass
English Translation by William Josiah Irons (1849)
Chapter 1 – Unwelcome Feeling
Nesy
I shift in the booth, careful to remain hidden in the shadows. My human form feels foreign, awkward. Nothing about tonight’s assignment seems right; not the constant thoughts echoing through my mind or the everpresent feelings I can’t seem to shake.
I tighten the muscles across my back, desperate to escape the confinement that comes with this new body. One I never wanted.
My senses register each scent, each sound, adding to the noise of too much mental chatter already ricocheting in my head. Sweat and too-strong perfume from the tangled mix of bodies on the dance floor burn my nostrils. My heart pounds against my ribs and unfamiliar twinges of fear cloud my vision. Feelings I can’t decipher crawl through my skin, sending chills throughout my body.
I may have prepared for this task, but nothing could prepare me for being a seventeen-year-old girl.
Again.
I slip further into the booth, surveying the scene. Lights pulse around me, synchronized to the blaring sounds that pound from the speakers. Clubbers sway to the music in intoxicating rhythms, casting a spell throughout the room.
And somewhere in the crowd lurks the one I came for. The UnHoly.
I narrow my eyes, taking in the irony of the church-turned-nightclub. Tall, gothic arches adorn the ceiling. Old stone sculptures of saints and angels watch the hordes of teens gyrating on the dance floor. The altar, once a sanctuary, now houses a stage where up-and-coming bands woo adoring fans. The remaining spaces are punctuated with small alcoves designed to hide the club’s true patrons—dark creatures that feed on the lust and fear of the human crowd.
My task is simple enough: find the UnHoly and vanquish him to the Abyss. Just like the countless other assignments I’ve had over the past few centuries. But something about this task feels wrong. Something that sends fresh shivers cascading down my very human spine.
Little information was given to me about my target, only his name, location, and human age. I’d have to figure out the rest. No problem, since vanquishing the UnHoly is my specialty; whether I’m stuck in a teenage body or not.
I take one last sip of water and recite my plan:
One: Find the UnHoly.
Two: Lure him away from the crowd.
Don’t want to ruin my perfect record with collateral damage.
Three: Cast him out.
What could go wrong?
Satisfied, I settle my thoughts and prepare for battle. The sooner this is finished, the sooner I can ditch this body and escape the chaos it brings. My human form may look similar to my angelic being, with its familiar blond hair and blue eyes. But I hate feeling trapped in this flesh, stifled by the heaviness of this body. I miss feeling the air move through my wings and play across my skin. More than anything else, I miss the quiet solitude of my mind; no emotions to muddle my thinking, no angst to cloud my judgment. Necessary or not, I’m never masquerading as a teenager again.
I smooth out my clothes—black leather skirt, black tee, leather jacket and boots that stretch up my long legs—and approach the altar-turned-stage.
“Hi there,” I say to the stooge blocking my entrance. I lock eyes with him, tipping my head slightly. I may not like being human, but I do know how to use this body to get what I want. “Is Aydan here tonight?”
The would-be guard swallows hard.
Perfect.
His gaze rakes over every inch of me as his lips part slightly. He swallows hard and smirks.
Oh yeah, he’s easy. “So? Is he?” I purr.
He fumbles over his words. “Um, yeah. The band performs in a few minutes. Want me to get him for you?”
I think about it for a second, picture my plan in detail. “No, I’ll try to find him after his set.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll find you. You’re just his type,” the guard says.
Of course I am
.
The lights dim and I take my position in front of the stage. Four dark shapes emerge from the shadows. The band. I scan each one as the crowd fills in behind me.
Heavy sounds from the bass guitar and drums send the horde into a frenzy. I move with the crowd and continue to search. Which one is he? The drummer? Nope, he’s definitely human. The guitarist? Maybe. He’s too dark to be fully mortal. Too demonic.
But he’s also far too weak to be the UnHoly.
I scrutinize the rest of the band members. He has to be here. I couldn’t have made a mistake.
I don’t make mistakes. Not ever.
A single spotlight focuses on the lean silhouette of the lead singer; a teenage boy who’s definitely more than human.
There you are.
He’s taller than I expected, wearing clothes that match my own—black jeans, a black sleeveless shirt open just enough to see his smooth pale skin, and black boots. His chiseled muscles and dye-job-black hair hanging in an unruly mess add to his allure. But it’s his eyes that draw my attention. Amber with flecks of gold.
Mesmerizing, dangerous, and…
Familiar. Too familiar.
I bite my lip, my mind racing. Aydan, the only apprentice to the Dark One. Feared by angel and demon alike. He’s rumored to stop at nothing to procure anything and everything his master wants. Judging by the way he hypnotizes the crowd of unsuspecting teens with his voice and eyes, I have no doubt that the rumors are well-earned. More than dangerous, Aydan is lethal.
And just my type.
I check out the club, looking for the best way to lure him outside. He’s managed to elude capture for more than four centuries. Clearly he knows how to avoid the likes of the Sentinals, the likes of me. But not tonight. Not with this body.