House Of Legions (The Angel Descendants book 1) Chapter 3 (Clare)

Her attempts at envisioning life without an obsessive mother always trying to control her, turned out
impossible and a complete waste of hours because she’d never known another mother, and was never
going to.

Being eighteen and never having a boyfriend because her mother forbids it, made her mind scream for
retribution. Her love life started and ended with a hand full of kisses from a couple of guys. And a minor
crush on Phillip, who had a zilch interest in dating her. The guy couldn’t be any clearer than to have it
tattooed on his forehead. Oh, but how she missed his nagging British voice and thin smiles. If only he’d
been around, but he wasn’t. Thousands of miles separated them. And even if she was there, it wouldn't
guarantee his presence because he was MIA and had been for two weeks. She had to face reality, she
wasn’t as important to him as she once presumed and it hurt more than she admitted to herself.

He was supposed to be her best friend but where was he.

Using her index finger and thumb she pulled her cell out from the front of her jeans pocket. A quick
check of the time told her everything she needed to know. Which included that her cells network was
still SFS (searching for service).

She cracked open the door with the least noise she could muster, to find the apartment drenched in
darkness. After a quick spy on her mother who was fast asleep two doors away on the left, she snuck
back to her room on soundless flat feet. Changing into a blue t-shirt that said ‘MUSIC IS FOR
ROCKERS’ and a black tights that went well with her laced black boots, she was done in under ten
minutes. Wasting no more time than necessary Clare grabbed her boots and headed for the front door.

Sliding the bolt open she turned the key until it clicked and pulled the door ajar. Stopping shortly only to
grab the set of spare keys from the hook by the door, she walked out. Her biggest test was locking the
door from the outside without waking up her mother.



Boots on the ground, she gripped the handle and twisted the knob. She placed her left foot as a door
stopper. And finally with a skill that could only be mastered by practice, closed the door inch by inch.
Once the door shut, gently she let go of the handle..

As she bent and tucked the keys into her left boot before slipping it on and zipping it up, Phillip's words
chose the moment to ring in her head, “If you don’t get out now, you always going to be stuck.”

Clare refused to be ridden by guilt for this. She never had in the past four years and wasn’t starting
now. She was an adult and her mother damn well better remember that. Hopping down the stairs to
where the small piece of freedom awaited her, she thought of the night before she left London. Her
girlfriend's had slept over at her place, telling violent stories about South Africa, and its increasing
crime rate. Scared or not, there was nothing that could sway her to turn around, she needed this.

She never participated in her mother’s meaningful ‘you don’t get it’ conversations. Instead she shut the
woman out and waited until it was safe to escape, and that was what she was doing now. Without
further hesitation she looked up at the eight story mustard painted building and walked out the gates.

The night rejoiced as a scenic breeze teased her cheeks, calling her name. The temptation of what
awaited proved too good to resist a second longer. Clare strolled past the gates to experience the
foreign land.

On the left, the road descended into a slope and the right was a hill. Left or right, she considered them
both but didn't take long, because logic won out since there was more light higher up, the hill was the
route to take.

Dragging feet and a thoughtless mind ten minutes later, proved to be just what she needed. Alone time.
Out in the open night with no destination in mind, perfect, she sighed.

Pausing near an oak tree, she absorbed in the peace and serenity her surroundings delivered to her.
The stillness of sound, the smell of the ocean, the empty roads, even the lights had this relaxing aura to



it, and in these minutes her mind cleared. This was the first time since that night her mother came
home covered in blood that she felt eased.

Inhaling the night sea breeze a chill brushed up her spine. Clare smiled to herself not regretting her
decision in the least, but- “I should’ve worn the jacket.” she mumbled, as the jitters escaped her lips.
Continuing up the hill, she turned a few unfamiliar corners until she arrived in front of a huge white-
domed church half an hour later,

“St MARY’s CATHOLIC CHURCH,” She muttered to the empty air.

Clare didn’t mind church and religion, it gave people meaning to life. Although she herself attended
Sunday service with her mother she often fell asleep or took prolonged bathroom sessions until church
ended. She couldn't sit and listen to a priest when she had memorized the bible in two days. The curse
of a photographic memory.

The church in front of her was painted white with hints of dark varnished wood serving as the edging. A
St. Mary statue stood as a bodyguard on the outside.

How symbolic, she thought on a gleeful note. Opening the green gate she hurried through the pathway
toward the door. The fresh scent of newly blossomed roses carried with the breeze brought her
attention to a rose tree on her left as she continued on her way through the path. Stopping for a second
she picked a rose and stuck it under her t-shirt between her cleavage.

The wind blew her hair forward blocking her view. Not wanting to take the chance of falling on her butt
because it was so dark, she paused long enough to gather the long mass in a tight grip. Moving into a
slight jog she barged into the church. A loud bang echoed as the door parted
ways.

it, and in these minutes her mind cleared. This was the first time since that night her mother came
home covered in blood that she felt eased.

Inhaling the night sea breeze a chill brushed up her spine. Clare smiled to herself not regretting her
decision in the least, but- “] should’ve worn the jacket.” she mumbled, as the jitters escaped her lips.
Continuing up the hill, she turned a few unfamiliar corners until she arrived in front of a huge white-

domed church half an hour later,

“St MARY’s CATHOLIC CHURCH,” She muttered to the empty air.

Clare didn’t mind church and religion, it gave people meaning to life. Although she herself attended
Sunday service with her mother she often fell asleep or took prolonged bathroom sessions until church
ended. She couldn't sit and listen to a priest when she had memorized the bible in two days. The curse
of a photographic memory.

The church in front of her was painted white with hints of dark varnished wood serving as the edging. A
St. Mary statue stood as a bodyguard on the outside.

How symbolic, she thought on a gleeful note. Opening the green gate she hurried through the pathway
toward the door. The fresh scent of newly blossomed roses carried with the breeze brought her
attention to a rose tree on her left as she continued on her way through the path. Stopping for a second
she picked a rose and stuck it under her t-shirt between her cleavage.

The wind blew her hair forward blocking her view. Not wanting to take the chance of falling on her butt
because it was so dark, she paused long enough to gather the long mass in a tight grip. Moving into a
slight jog she barged into the church. A loud bang echoed as the door parted

ways.



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