Angel of Fire - the Breath of Immortality - Book One #Wattys2014

Angel in Leather

Chapter 5 - Angel in Leather

When I arrived home much later than usual no one was there to notice, much less care what had taken me so long. Not that it surprised me. My mom was simply too busy to keep track of my comings and goings. Like me, she had to wake up during the week at the butt-crack of dawn. But while I slaved away all day at school, she ran the family business from home.

Killbourne's Farm Market was a combination apple orchard, cider mill, pumpkin patch, bakery, and garden and gift center. Every fall we offered lots of good, old-fashioned family fun like wagon and hay rides, child friendly corn mazes, zip cord rides, and the opportunity to pick your own fresh apples and pumpkins. Every weekend people came from miles around to spend the day down on the farm.

Translation: the townies brought the kiddies to play farmies for the day.

Autumn was our busiest time of year so right now mom was either out back in the new barn making her award winning apple cider, in the bakery making fresh donuts and pies, or doing something else fallish like carving pumpkins. She's so pre-festive, she already hung the Halloween decorations weeks ago.

I dropped my book and gym bag at the front door and, for a split second, considered boarding up all the windows and booby trapping the entire house in case Beastie felt like making another unwanted appearance. But then I remembered that Thomas had said he'd taken care of him – whatever that meant – and decided to go into the kitchen to make my favorite sandwich instead. Peanut butter and jelly...the perfect pair. They go together like jeans and a T-shirt...but taste better.

Grabbing a pop from the fridge, I took my sammie and a half eaten bag of Doritos up to my room to reflect on the days festivities. Or as my mom liked to call the daily maneuver; I went to my hole to sulk.

If I didn't want answers out of Thomas so bad, I would've just vegged out in front of my TV and fallen asleep as usual. Scarfing everything down faster than normal, I glanced at my cell and decided to change. Since I could never find clothes if they're put away, I rummaged through various piles on my floor and scored a pair of light gray sweats and a black and gray flannel, which I pulled down over my black T-shirt. Layers worked best in cold weather. Especially when I never bothered to wear a coat.

From a wad of tangled shoes in the very back of my closet, I dug out an old pair of faded black Converse sneakers and slipped them on. At least they were dry.

Once dressed I checked my appearance in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door, and frowned. Every inch of clothing on my body was either wrinkled, or permanently stained from my inability to eat without wearing my food. Mom would never allow me to be seen in public dressed like this. But I thought my outfit looked perfect.

Perfectly horrible, that is.

As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, I took a deep breath and tried to relax. It was no use. My nerves were wound as tight as my bowstring. During times of extreme stress I always found comfort in playing my violin. Anxiously pacing back and forth, I stopped to check my cell again. If only I could get in some practice before Thomas showed up.

Before leaving for the barn I decided to pull my hair up into a high pony-tail, securing it tightly with a black scrunchie. The only time I ever exposed my face so much was when I played music. Otherwise my waist length tresses hindered my concentration.

Not to mention the fact that my thick hair got tangled in my bow.

Heading downstairs, I grabbed another pop from the fridge and ducked outside – careful to avoid detection. My mom would expect me to be working on my homework, not playing my violin in the barn. But that's where it sounded the best. Great acoustics.