House Of Legions (The Angel Descendants book 1)

Clare Miller sipped her black coffee watching the seawater darken as day became night. A gentle breeze caressed her face and blew her long brown and newly ironed hair as it flowed like a river of gleaming satin over the back of a comfortable rattan sofa. Curling back into the sofa she shut her eyes to watch the kaleidoscope of colours dance behind her eyelids.

South Africa was so much warmer than London. No gloomy skies with incessant rainfall, no falling on your ass in Boulevard, or walking for miles in soaked boots because you lost your stupid pass. South Africa was about waking to the echo of the ocean, sipping coffee in the sun while wearing shorts and a vest as you waited for the heat to drift away in the grip of winter. Well, it was that to Clare and more, but it wasn't home, it wasn't West London, and she missed home.

The non-stop activity since their hurried departure from London was enough a reason to spend a weekend in bed. Adding on the jet lag was the last straw as her body succumbed to the exhaustion that’d been weighing on her in recent weeks.

For the first time in weeks, her mind and body began to relax, well attempted to. Instead, she got lost in her thoughts as they flashed over the recent course of events, specifically to that one night. The night tossed her life into chaos and precipitated their sudden arrival in Durban, South Africa.

It was after three a.m when her mother returned that night from the ‘medical association meeting’ in a totally dishevelled state. Clare was engrossed in a rerun of cribs when her mother stormed through the front door. A torn skirt, broken heel, hair in a total mess, dried blood, her mother was the prime image of a woman who’d been raped or mugged, except her bag was still over her shoulder. Her mother just stared at her with those big eyes, before she beat her feet to the bedroom. Clare ran up the stairs and banged with the heel of her palms on her mother’s door and shouted, “mom, mom? MOM, open up! Mom, should I call the police?” Her mother didn't reply, even as she rattled the locked door.

“Mom, come on, open up, talk to me.” She banged on the door, kicked it, but it was no use. She knew that, even as she screamed, “MOM, please, don't do this, tell me what to do.”

hours after passed in silence as the sun bled in through

and cramps in her legs from staying in the same position

mentioned she was leaving for school, then things had gotten strange and confusing. Her mother flat out refused, “NO!” She’d all but screamed,

normally calm and collected overbearing mother became a nervous wreck overnight. Moody and short-tempered replaced the calm and

of the window. Clare was sure she saw her slice her hand chopping potatoes. Instinct had Clare grab her mother’s hand to place it under the cold tap but there wasn’t any injury. Her mother brushed it off as her overreacting and insisted Clare imagined the incident because the blood was from the meat. Which didn’t make sense, her mother never touched the

was the most logical option. Clare

crazy from not knowing. Without it, she’d be lost because her mother

of remaining tight-lipped about her past. What was so bad, she’d never know, because the choice

it marked her life, it marked the years. Those many years that she’ll never get back because

one doctor had said, “haemorrhage

finally the last blow, “Sorry Ms Miller but there’s nothing we can