Angel-Fire

Angel Fire
Fallen Angels – Book 1
by Valmore Daniels
This is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental. This book may not be re-sold or given away without permission in writing
from the author. No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, or distributed in any form or by
any electronic or mechanical means past, present or future.
Copyright © 2011 Valmore Daniels. All rights reserved.
Fallen Angels
Angel Fire
Angel’s Breath
Earth Angel
Angel Tears
Angel of Darkness
The Complete Book of Fallen Angels
For a complete list of available books, visit
ValmoreDaniels.com
Table of Contents
Angel Fire
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Newsletter
About The Author
The Gods of Dream – Daniel Arenson
Chapter One
Quia ecce Dominus in igne veniet, et quasi turbo quadrigæ ejus: reddere in indignatione
furorem suum, et increpationem suam in flamma ignis.
(For behold the Lord will come with fire, and his chariots are like a whirlwind, to render
his wrath in indignation, and his rebuke with flames of fire.) – Isaiah 66:15
I woke to a world of fire and ash.
Forcing my eyes open, I willed the fog in my brain to lift. My lungs screamed
for air, and I opened my mouth to breathe, but thick smoke clawed at my throat.
Gasping with the effort, I somehow managed to get my arms under me and raise
my head up off the floor.
Through the curtain of hair in front of my face, my eyes were drawn to the wedding band
glowing white hot on the charred carpet, but the roaring fire dragged my attention away at once.
The plaster walls of my basement apartment peeled and melted under the rage
of the inferno. Crackling and snapping in protest, the cheap pine coffee table in front of me
collapsed. The fabric and cushions of the oversized couch were entirely consumed, leaving nothing
more than the crumbling black skeleton of its wooden frame.
Intense heat washed against my skin as fire chewed at the edge of the rug on
which I lay; but my first thought was not for my own safety.
“Mom—! Dad—!”
Razor blades tore at my lungs, and I couldn’t utter another sound. A dark blanket of
nothingness began to creep over me once again. The thick smoke in
the room clouded my vision.
A thundering crash from the other side of the room jarred me back to awareness. Splinters
showered across the floor as the head of a red-bladed axe bit through the door. One more blow
sundered the door and a bulky form pushed
its way inside.
The intruder rushed at me, arms out. Strong fingers reached for my throat.
Throwing my arm up for protection I let out a panicked cry.
“Darcy!” The man’s voice was muffled through a plastic mask and ventilator,
but I recognized it as Hank Hrzinski’s, the fire chief. “You hurt?” he shouted.
“You burned?”
Without waiting for a response, he hoisted me off the floor and onto his shoulders. Doing his
best to shield me from falling embers and burning debris,
he picked his way back out of the apartment. I faded in and out of consciousness.
The smoke burned my lungs, and the jarring motion as the fire chief jostled me
about almost made me retch.
Outside, cold air slapped at me. I sucked it in and immediately started to hack
up phlegm and ash. Chief Hrzinski shifted me off his back and onto the front lawn as a
paramedic rushed at me with an oxygen tank and mask.
Dimly, I was aware of shouting voices and darting silhouettes as a team of firefighters fought
the blaze. Spray from half a dozen hoses disappeared into the fire consuming the house.
The roof cracked, and with a roar, fell in on itself.

I struggled to my feet. “Mom!” I screamed. “Dad!”
Someone grabbed my shoulders and pushed me back down.
“Mom!”
* * *
“I’m not your mama.”
I sprang out of bed, disoriented. My sheets were a tangled mess around my feet, and my shirt
was soaked with sweat.
The remnants of my nightmare faded as I blinked and looked around. The familiar walls of
my cell were as gray and unwelcoming as they had been since
the first day I arrived at the Arizona Center for Women ten years ago.
Looming over me was the dour face of Jerry Niles, one of the meanest prison
guards in our cell block. For years I’d had to endure his crude jokes and clumsy innuendoes.
“But who knows, I could be your daddy,” he added with a twisted leer that made my
stomach churn. The memory of my dead parents rushed back and I had
to fight to keep my eyes from tearing over.
I pulled the bed sheets up to cover my legs.
“What do you want?” I said. “You’re not supposed to be in here before wakeup.” A quick
glance at the window confirmed that dawn had not yet broken.
“Warden said to bring you down to processing early. He wants you out of here
before morning chow. Says it’s better for everyone else who’s left behind. Don’t
want to remind them there’s a whole other world on the outside.”
“All right, fine.” I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Just give me a minute to get
ready.”
“I’ll help you get dressed,” he offered with a sickening smile.
I shuddered at the thought, and felt a wave of anger run through me.
Keep control!
“My eyes can see,” I said under my breath.
He peered closer at me. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. Are you backtalking me?”
I gave a quick shake of my head. “No, sir.”
My response was automatic. Obedience was something they drilled into you early. They told
you when to sleep and when to wake up, when to shower and when to eat, and after a while, you
surrender to it.
But I was getting out on parole today. I’d have to learn to make decisions for
myself, and not jump every time someone barked an order.
I gathered some courage, raised my eyebrows and waved him out of the cell.
“Well, are you going to give me some privacy?”
Like the strike of a rattlesnake, Jerry thrust his face in front of mine.
“Don’t push me, Darcy. You’re not out yet, and lots can happen between now
and then.”
I clenched my fists, bunching them under the blanket.
My tongue can taste.
Closing my eyes, I sat rigid as a statue, as if ignoring him would make him magically
disappear. I continued whispering to myself.
“My mouth can smile.”
“Gibberish,” said Jerry. “Crazy in the head.”
In the bunk above me, my cellmate shifted in her sleep and muttered
something.