Amber by Dan-Dwayne Spencer (e book reader .TXT) 📕

the day we left on our road trip. As I spent most of my time trying to escape my mother’s ranting, I never paid much attention to the news; it was only by chance the announcer told about the massacre the moment Jimmy turned on the radio…Or was it?

“Flechia, your expression plainly announces the fact that you are aware of some recent event.” Phoenix exclaimed, “It is as I said. The herald of the dusk has arrived.” He threw back his head and laughed insidiously. As he opened his mouth, he revealed row upon row of needle-sharp teeth, and his eyes glistened with red flashes of light. “Was it a true massacre? How many died?”

Flower explained, “Between the days of August eighth and tenth, a man by the name of Manson, claiming to be a prophet, invaded a home in Beverly Hills. With his followers, and without conscience, he murdered seven people.”

Phoenix’s laugh grew to a crescendo, “August eighth—the day of the angels, when our influence is the greatest. August ninth—the celebrated day the angels were created in heaven. Now defiled with blood and death. August tenth—the angel’s day of completed thing. The number seven—the number of man. All signifying the end of the age of man and the rule of our kind upon the Earth. It is pure prophecy.” His voice had a passionate breathiness to it. “He promised it to us, so our time is at hand.”

He flexed his wings, and they spread to their full size. There he stood with a wingspan of twenty feet. He reached one wing toward Flower and attempted to caress her face with the tips of the feathers.

She pushed it aside and glared at him in disgust.

He shrugged and drew back his feathery appendage.

I should have been frightened spit-less, but I wasn’t. Something in me couldn’t stand there and hear him mock so many senseless deaths, I yelled, “Phoenix, you truly believe this crazy man was inspired to kill seven people so others could read it as a statement of prophecy? No way. This was a crazy man, not a prophet.” At the sound of my voice, Flower froze. Maybe she was second-guessing herself for bringing me along, I don’t know. But I prefer to think she stood in silence pondering the validity of what Phoenix had said. As for my thought on his rantings, I wasn’t buying it.

Drawing the angel’s attention back onto herself, Flower warned, “You know your archangel lies.” She put her hands on her hips and stared. “I still don’t understand, Venus has always been about love and sex. She has no reason to change and cause one of her prophets to kill. Why would she suddenly convert to an angel of death?” Flower turned and started for the exit.

I advanced one step closer to the angel, and asked, “Do you mean the same Venus as in the Roman legends?”

“Yes, friend of Flechia, one and the same. Some prefer to call her Aphrodite.” He spread his wings, I felt his alluring warmth, and inhaled his fragrance. I was drawn to trust him, even though I knew better. His voice sounded so pleasant when he spoke. It resonated with the melodic harmonies of a chorus. “I had decided, my love brought you along for the sheer enjoyment of being in my presence, but at last you ask something worthy of an answer.” It was then our eyes met. His expression changed and I’m sure his pale skin went a shade whiter. “So, it has begun. The marked prophet has been sent, and the herald is ushering the way for….”

Flower whirled around and asked, “You all but said a name. Who is coming with such fanfare to be ushered by Venus of olde?”

“It is he who rides upon the backs of pestilence, famine, war, and death. He who is betrothed to the crowned Queen robed in red, riding upon the marked beast. He whose name brings indolence, lust, greed, envy, gluttony, pride, and violence upon the Earth.”

Flower almost whispered her reply, “Oh…Him.”

I understood nothing Phoenix said. It was as confusing as one of my visions. Thankfully, Flower seemed to know what he was talking about.

Phoenix pointed at me and said, “Prophet, step into the light…please.”

I got the impression he didn’t use please and thank you very often. I looked over my shoulder at Flower for permission. Her expression spoke volumes about her worry and concern, but she didn’t say a word. I didn’t know if I should, but I stepped forward.

“A child. Oh my, you’re nothing but a boy. And a child will lead them.”

“I’m not a child,” I insisted.

“The child will not judge by what he sees with his eyes, or decide by what he hears with his ears; but with righteousness, he will judge the needy. With justice, he will render verdicts for the poor. He will strike the Earth with the words of his mouth. With the breath of his lips, he will slay the wicked. Righteousness will be his belt and faithfulness the sash around his waist. The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them.” He grinned. The razor-like teeth glimmering wet in the spotlight. “That was written long ago for this very moment. Tell me little one are you going to slay me with your breath.” He stepped as close to me as his bonds would allow and roared. The ground shook with the power of his howl.

His bolstering frightened me, and I probably glowed with embarrassment from his condescending speech. Bravely, I stood there tight-lipped and said nothing.

“Arland,” Flower called, “don’t be afraid of him. He stopped before he got to the best part of the prophecy he quoted. It goes on to say: The young child will put its hand