Fallen Angels

The first book in the "Little Lights" series. London, 1912. After the sinking of the Titanic, Jessica is moved from New York to London, where she encounters warlocks, faeries, werewolves, vampires and the world of Shadowhunters and demons.


2. Chapter 2

Jessica walked into the same room as usual, same time as she did each day. This morning she wore a gray dress, made of velvet with a lot of white lace on the trim. She was never given any shoes, so walked the halls of the house barefoot. Jessica was Sat at the same desk as always, same paper, same pen. 

"Draw." Miss White said, like she did every day, then at in the same chair as normal.

Jessica picked up the pen, and put it to the paper. The previous day nothing happened, just a mark from where she had put the blood red pen on the paper. A mixture of pain and energy surged from her fingertips. Her head was thrown back as her eyes closed, and the pen moved across the paper. When Jessica finished she fell from the chair to the floor, leaving a design on the paper. It looked like a pair of wings and between it was a star. 

When Jessica woke up she wasn't in her usual room. It was different. She was now in a large four poster bed with red sheets, not black. The same chair sat in a corner with a light green dress on it, with gloves and a pair of shoes the same colour. Shoes! The dress was tight fitting and hard for Jessica to get into. But the gloves were even harder. She had never worn gloves like these back in New York, or shoes like those either. The heel were high and difficult to walk in. Then the same servant that came in every morning did her hair and gave Jessica a hat to put on. It was the same light green as the dress, gloves and shoes. She looked like some people she had once seen in Central Park as a child, dressed in beautiful dresses like these.

Outside was the same car that had brought her to the house with the same driver inside. It was odd how he never said anything, Jessica thought, must be different here. They drove for a long time, hours it seemed, through the country to a small building in the middle of nowhere. It was made of brick, like a lot of the houses in London, with a roof made of straw. How strange, there weren't any straw roofed houses in New York. As the car stopped, the wooden door of the house swung open and a man walked out, although it didn't look entirely like a man.               


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