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Stolen Halo
Mackenzie Grace
Copyright © 2020 Mackenzie Grace
All rights reserved
First Edition
NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING
320 Broad Street
Red Bank, NJ 07701
First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2020
ISBN 978-1-64801-254-9 (Paperback)
ISBN 978-1-64801-255-6 (Digital)
Printed in the United States of America
Table of Contents
To my family
Prologue
The building shook like a never-ending earthquake, but I knew never to mistake these tremors for an earthquake, this was the Keeper of Soul’s doing. He was here, the demon who took my child; he would pay, and I would be the one to make him do it.
I looked to my side and saw my beautiful wife, and normally, my thoughts would go straight to her beauty, but her precious face was pinched with worry and fear. She was freaking out, but it was not just her. We were all freaking out, even me, but I refused to show it. “Baby, it will be fine!” I shouted as the building shook. I tried to summon some of my source, but the shield that the Keeper of Souls was using was blocking my power. “We will get her back and safe!” I promised her.
Uriel looked fierce as he stood by my side, and I looked down at my beloved Gabrella.
“What will we do?” she cried, and the building shook roughly again. We all slightly spread our wings for balance, and I looked at Uriel.
“Go,” I barked roughly. “Find her!” I told him.
Uriel’s sharp green eyes bore into mine. “I will never stop looking until your little girl is back here, in your arms.” And then, he spread his wings and blasted himself into the air and out the door. I could trust him, it was not he who told the traitor about the baby, and he proved it.
“Michael,” Gabrella cried my name, “what are we going to do! She will never be safe here. They will never stop, she is the most powerful being alive.”
I held her smaller hand in mine. “You are right, she will never be safe. We brought her into this mess, and they may have taken her.” I clenched my hand when they started to shake from anger, they took her right from me, I held her once, and she was gone. “But we will do whatever it takes, until our little girl is back here in our arms.” I paused and said the words I never would have even thought of before, “Even if that means becoming a fallen.”
She squeezed my hand tighter. “You promise?”
“Yes,” I said without a doubt, “We will find our Bella Grace.”
1
Sixteen years later.
“Bella?” Sydney, one of the witches, popped her head into my room. “Hey, I was looking for you.”
I slid off my bed and smiled politely at her. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Oh, it was just that I have been meaning to talk to you.” She stepped into my room and shut the door behind her.
“About what?” I questioned.
“I just wanted to warn you, Keeper has been around here and was talking with Lacy, I’m not sure what it was about, but I know how you get around him.”
“Oh.” I nodded awkwardly. “Thanks for the warning.” I smiled. She was right, though, I hated Keeper, and I have no clue why, but I could not stand the demon.
Sydney studied me with her black eyes. To me, she seemed more understanding than everyone else, she was sane. The other witches, not so much, but who was I to judge. I wouldn’t know what normal looks like, I have been banned from any outside connections. I have only ever left the witch coven twice; once for a checkup with Keeper when I was six, and another when I was thirteen. I ran, but obviously, it didn’t work out for me. I got a big talking to, and the Keeper even came down—big mistake.
“Anything else?” I said in the silence.
“Dinner.” She sighed, and I obediently followed her out of the room. “We’re having salad and chicken,” she said.
“Oh,” I mumbled, and we walked down the stairs and swiftly made our way to the kitchen where everyone sat—all of the twelve other witches. I grumbled at the thought. You see, I was not truly a witch until I unlocked my powers, and that should have happened a while ago. I was just a slow bloomer, I guess, a very slow one.
“Bella, Sydney.” We were greeted by a chorus of voices.
“Hey, everyone!” I chirped as I jumped into my chair and started shoveling food into my mouth.
I paused for a second and looked up at everyone—dark tan skin, black hair and eyes. They were all Italian; all the strongest witches always were. I obviously didn’t get the Italian memo, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I was as white as paper, and my hair was platinum-blond, and the only thing that was colorful about me were my dark-purple eyes. But I did speak Italian. I had originally learned it to feel closer to my family, but I later
