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Prologue
Fiona Redmond clasped her briefcase in her sweating fingers, and stared fixedly ahead as she marched down the road, panting slightly with the unaccustomed pace. It was six o'clock on a sticky summer's evening and she was running late, as her last meeting had overrun. She was still replaying the conversations in her head as she joined the stream of commuters, pouring out of their central London offices and heading towards Waterloo station, a route she'd walked a thousand times already.
She didn't normally walk it this quickly though, and it was to this that she attributed the slightly sick feeling in her stomach. Nevertheless, she kept her pace steady and trotted briskly along the pavement. She was in a hurry - she had an appointment, one she couldn't miss. Not tonight.
A brief glance at her watch caused a tiny crease to mar her forehead, and she decided to take the short cut through the housing estate. Leaving the stream of commuters behind, she entered the little residential car park, walked across a road and crossed a small paved courtyard which gave the cramped housing estate the illusion of space. The early evening sun was still strong, and her heavy blue business suit was sticking to her skin like flypaper. Preoccupied with her own discomfort and still in work mode, she didn't notice the thin, graceful man with the shock of brown hair who fell into step beside her.
The man smiled at her, but got no response. He didn't mind; he was used to it. He always made sure he was unseen - it made things so much easier. He dropped behind, to give her a little space.
They veered off to a small alley on the right, with Fiona leading, the stranger following a way behind and hugging the high wall separating the alley from the houses. Fiona loosened the collar of her blouse and hitched up her handbag as she strode purposefully along the silent alley, heading towards the railway station and home.
"Heading home, Fiona?" he murmured, his voice a rich, deep baritone. She didn't respond, or acknowledge his comment. "You look pretty tired. Must've been a tough day." Again there was no answer; just another glance at her watch and a quickening of her pace. It didn't seem to put him off. "I couldn't do what you do, stuck in that office all day. Be the death of me, that would." He smiled to himself, as if he'd made a joke.
She glanced briefly around; her gaze settled on him for an instant and then moved away. She was too preoccupied with the pounding in her head, and the growing ache in her chest. Tiny beads of perspiration were starting to gather on her lip, and thick tendrils of mousy brown hair were clinging to her pale cheeks and temples.
The young man didn't seem to mind. He shrank further against the wall as her eyes crossed his path again, secure in the knowledge that she couldn't see through the shadows which cloaked his presence. They crossed another road, and he waited as she stepped into a corner shop to buy a bottle of water. Once outside again, the bottle was opened, and the liquid was gulped down as if it could save her life. The man followed her again as she disappeared down a narrow residential street.
"I know this isn't your usual way home, Fiona. Still, it's always good to try something new. Otherwise, what's the point of living?" Her pace slowed, and she briefly glanced towards him again, as though she could sense his presence. "Pity you didn't try it earlier." She stopped walking, leaned against a fence and struggled to unscrew the cap of her bottle of water with shaking fingers.
The stranger drew closer to her, and continued talking in his quiet voice. "You're scared, aren't you? I guess death does that. I've noticed that when the moment comes, most of you are too scared to face it." He laid a hand on her shoulder and felt it hitch and shake as she fought for breath. She struggled to contain her rising panic as pain bloomed in her chest. "Don't worry," he continued. "I've done this a lot. I'll try and make it as painless as I can. Try not to be afraid."
Her eyes fastened on him as he willed himself to take human form; they widened in shock, then closed in surrender a moment later as she recognised him for what he was.
An Angel of Death.
His hand gently passed through her chest. He pulled out his fist, and held up a glistening, multicoloured sphere which shimmered in the strong sunlight like a hummingbird's wings beating the breeze. He could feel the energy coursing through it, smarting his palm and making his fingers tingle.
"Time to go home, Fiona. They're waiting for you. You'll love it there." The Angel of Death kissed the glowing essence tenderly, closed his eyes and disappeared.
The body that had once been Fiona lay face down on the ground, sprawled half on the pavement and half in the road. The water bottle had slipped from her lifeless fingers; its contents trickled slowly out of the bottle and drained away into the dusty gutter.
****
Chapter 1
Saul sat in the busy office on a plush leather chair, and shuffled his feet nervously as he waited for his interview. He loosened his best - and only - tie, and ran an anxious finger around his collar. He wasn't used to wearing such formal clothes, but everybody had said he'd better dress the part. Image is everything in this game, they'd said. Normally he did his shift dressed as comfortably as he could - being out on the streets, on the beat, it was important to mingle with the crowds so they didn't suspect.
He glanced at the thick walnut door for the fifteenth time, and sighed. They'd kept him waiting for what seemed like an eternity, and his inexperienced nerves were beginning to fray. He sighed again, loudly this time, and earned himself a sympathetic smile from the guy opposite. He made a face back, and both men nodded at each other.
Taking in the man's sallow complexion, and the hollows under his large brown eyes, Saul felt a pang of compassion. He smiled again at the man, and broke the uncomfortable silence. "So which job are you going for?" he asked.
The man shook his head, but continued smiling. "No, I'm waiting to see about my transfer. I'll be leaving the squad soon." He gestured to a door over on the other side of the room.
"Oh, I see." Relieved to be rid of a potential competitor, Saul relaxed and sank into the conversation. "Have you been on the squad for the full tour?"
"Yep. Seems ages since I was sitting where you are now, sweating like the devil and waiting for my interview." The man laughed; it was a short, tired sound.
"So how come you're moving on?"
"My stint's up." At Saul's curious expression, the man elaborated. "Trust me kid, you can't spend too long in this particular game. It wears you down." Saul nodded, politely. "Some of the things you'll see..."
"I've seen death before. I'm ready," Saul replied, confidently.
"I thought that too. But this is different to what you see on the beat normally. Working for the Homicide team... it's just..." He shook his head, struggling for the right descriptive words. "You'll see the worst in human nature and it can be hard not to let it get to you."
Saul nodded. "I understand. So that's why they only let you do a few years in this?"
"Yeah. Usually all you need is a change of duties and you're back on your feet in no time. But sometimes, if it really gets to you... I've seen good officers go down with the stress. It's a precaution and personally, I'm glad to be moving on. I've seen all I want to see of the darker side of people."
"So where you asking for next?"
"I figured I'd ask for Traffic." He grinned, and both men laughed. "At least you know where you stand with a good car wreck. Or Drugs, whatever. So, you looking to get into the squad?"
Saul nodded. "Yeah. My supervisor recommended me for it. I think I could do some good work there. Help a lot of people." He tried to smile.
"Good luck to you. The guys who work the squad are the best. You'll never find a better or more committed bunch."
The wooden door swung open suddenly, and a curly blonde head poked out. "We're ready for you now, Saul."
Saul stood, and held out his hand to his colleague. "Good luck with your new assignment in Traffic," he smiled.
"You too, kid. And hey, before you go in - take my advice. Make sure this is really, really what you want. If you have any doubts at all... this isn't the place for you. Believe me." Saul nodded his thanks, then turned and followed his guide into the large, plush office. He crossed the polished wooden floor, and took the seat that was pointed out for him.
The woman on the other side of the desk was large, well built; matronly. She smiled, trying to put him at ease. He accepted her offer of water gratefully and tried to wet his suddenly dry throat with it.
She picked up some papers from her desk. "So, Saul. You've put in a transfer request to the Homicide Department." He nodded. "Why this particular department?"
He sat up straight, and reeled off his answer. "I think I can add real value to the Department, ma'am. It's well known as one of the most demanding areas to work in, and I'm ready to be challenged. My skills will..."
She half smiled, and interrupted him. "Which team?"
"Team?" he repeated, blankly.
"Adult or child?" He opened his mouth to repeat her words again, but she halted him with a gesture. "I think in view of your experience and your age, we'd have to look at Adult. Working with child murders can be extremely distressing. More so than the adult ones, even for an Angel of Death." She smiled sympathetically at him for a moment, before shuffling his papers with a brisk and business-like air. "I see you passed your probation three centuries ago, and have done tours on Industrial Accidents and Traffic ever since?"
"Yes Ma'am, with a twenty year secondment to Drugs, and a stint in the Wars Department. I worked in the trenches of the First World War." His confident smile wavered a little.
She nodded sympathetically. "It's quite a leap to murder, Saul. Do you understand what you'll be getting into here?"
"I... I think so, Ma'am. I know that it's going to be upsetting but I'm ready for that, I think. I really want to do this."
"You'll see hatred, cruelty... this is different to the other deaths you've experienced. The turmoil of a soul torn from life is... it leaves marks on even the best of us. Can you face that, day after day?"
"I've seen death before, Ma'am. And the honest answer to your question is - I don't know. I may be an Angel of Death, but I'm still an angel, filled with compassion and love. I think someone who is having to leave their life in the most brutal of ways - well, I can only try to imagine what that must be like for them. Sometimes it's hard for us to remember that dying isn't a beautiful, spiritual experience for humans. I think it's doubly important to be taken by an angel who understands that."
She stared at him for several long moments. "And what can you do for a soul that is being ripped out of its life, Saul? What can you do to make it better?"
He stared at the nameplate on her desk, silent for a moment as he remembered the many deaths that he had already attended. "I can't make it better, Ma'am," he replied, sadly. "I wish I could. I wish I could take the pain away." Saul stared at a spot on the wall behind her head for a few moments. "But that's not what I'm there for. It's my job to take them home, and all I can do is to make sure that they get there safely and that they're not afraid when the moment comes." It was a good answer - straight out of the textbook. He'd spent the last three evenings memorising it.
She regarded him for a few long moments; he smiled weakly and tried to ignore the beads of sweat that were starting to gather on his brow. He picked up his glass and took another few sips of water. Finally, she picked up his application form, and made a mark on it. "I'm approving your request, Saul. But only on a six month basis."
"Six months? But that's no time at all...!!" To an angel, it was less than a blink of an eye.
She shook her head and smiled ruefully. "You'll be attached to Azrael, she's one of our best angels. She'll show you what you need to know. And believe me Saul, these six months will be the longest of your existence. If you're sure about this after you've seen what it involves, and Azrael approves you, we'll convert you to a permanent member of the squad."
Swallowing his disappointment, he shot out of his seat, grabbed her hand and pumped it in gratitude. "Thank you Ma'am... thank you! I won't let you down!"
"Go and rest now, Saul. You'll have your orders in the morning."
****
I'm not sure this lonely hearts ad was such a good idea, thought Angelus as she forced yet another laugh at yet another poor joke from the six foot drip of water that was sitting opposite her. How in God's name am I gonna get out of this?
"Would you like dessert?" asked Keith, his gruff accent hurting her ears.
"No, thank you."
"Sweet enough, eh?" His eyes had rarely moved higher than chest level, and it was starting to really get on her nerves. And they'd only met ten minutes ago. So much for experimenting with the dating game. If this is what it's like, I'm glad I've been out of it. He grinned at her again, and gave their order to the waiter who was hovering nearby. "So, PO Box 156... what shall I call you for the rest of the evening?"
How about you call me a cab? she thought. "Angela. You can call me Angela." At his raised eyebrows, she smiled weakly. "Angela Morden."
"Keith Wasst." You don't say?
He reached across the table to take her hand, his greedy brown eyes drinking in the elfin features, short chestnut hair curling slightly at the ends and the trim, compact figure of the young woman who had replied to his advert in the 'Weekly Reporter'. "Angela - a beautiful name." She yanked her hand away quickly under the pretense of reaching for a breadstick. He smiled, unfazed. "I must say, I've met several lovely ladies through the newspaper columns, but none have been as beautiful as you, Angela." In God's name, where do you get these lines? Do they usually work?
"Oh, you've used those things before? This is my first time." She tried to make conversation, against her better judgement. Screw the garlic bread, her frantic better judgement was screaming, you can eat anytime!
"Well, I'll try my very best to be gentle with you." He smiled again; it made her feel like she needed a good, long shower.
"Thank you," she replied graciously. What did 'Cosmo' say about dating? 'Get them talking, and listen attentively'. Well, in for a penny... "Why don't you tell me about yourself?"
Unfortunately for her, he did - at great and turgid length. All through the starter and halfway through the main course. She bolted through her pasta, hoping that he'd take the hint and finish too, or at least subconsciously mirror her pace. But it seemed that he was born slow and boring. Trust me to pick a salesman. I knew I should've tried the lawyer. Maybe even the traffic warden.
"You haven't touched your wine, Angela." He finally noticed as he swigged his own - fourth - glass.
"I don't drink," she explained. "I find it disagrees with me."
"Sure you won't try some?" She shook her head. "So, how about you, my dear. What do you do?"
"Do?"
"For a living?"
"Oh, right. I suppose you could say I'm a consultant."
"How impressive! I hear it's a very demanding job, but very well paid. Maybe I should let you pay for dinner tonight!" He giggled, and she almost succumbed to the urge to slap his face. Or worse. Bloody 'Cosmo'! Last time I'm buying that rag... "Do you work for one of the Big Five?"
"No, I'm more of a one woman band." He was slowly spooning 'penne della casa' into his mouth, whilst staring intently at her and nodding. For God's sake will you hurry UP so I can get this awful evening over with!
"What kind of business? Management consultancy? Financial?"
"I suppose you could say that I protect people's future investments." She smiled slightly, allowing a cold glint to creep into her eyes. Maybe the deep freeze'll get through to you. Either that, or I'll have to kill you. It would be self defence...
She jumped as her cellphone's shrill tune came out of her pocket. She fumbled the screeching thing out and flipped it open. "Hello?" she said, and then nearly fell of her chair in shock at the voice that replied. "What are you doing..?? How did you get this num..." The clatter of a glass being knocked over interrupted her again. She smiled at Keith Wass, put her hand over the mouthpiece and mumbled politely, "Keith, will you excuse me please? It's one of my key clients... urgent. I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut short our meal, but thank you so much for a wonderful evening."
She stood, gathered her coat and handbag, shook his hand briefly and left, all in one fluid movement, leaving him flustered and scrabbling for a piece of paper. She scarpered out of the restaurant before he could ask her for her phone number. And before he realised she'd dumped him with the bill.
She waited until she rounded the corner before putting the phone to her ear again. "Oh my God! What are you doing phoning me on my mobile?"
"WOULD YOU RATHER I SET A BUSH ON FIRE?"
"You know, those Old Testament prophets had you all wrong. You have quite a sense of humour." She shook her small handset.
"THANK YOU, ANGELUS. I DO TRY."
"Could you keep your voice down please? People are looking." There was a quizzical... feeling... in her head. She sighed, flipped the lid of her mobile and stuffed it back in her pocket. "How am I ever gonna fit in down here when I have huge booming voices in my head? Or on my mobile."
"WE HAVE A SMALL... SITUATION. I'D LIKE YOU TO..."
"Oh no, no. No! You guys promised... you promised me time off! Three millennia you said - I've only just got here! What happened to my replacement?"
"YOU ARE IRREPLACEABLE. "
"I just want to live a normal life!" she wailed, trying to ignore the looks she was getting from passers-by.
"BUT YOU ARE NOT NORMAL. YOU NEVER WILL BE. YOU ARE UNIQUE."
"I'm a freak of nature. Why don't you just leave me alone?"
"NOTHING CREATED IS AN ACCIDENT, OR A FREAK. YOU HAVE A PURPOSE. AND YOU ARE NEEDED RIGHT NOW."
Closing her eyes, she sighed in resignation. After all, there was no fighting... them. "So what is it this time? Another runner? Can't you get Internal Affairs to bring him back?"
"NOT A RUNNER, ANGELUS. A SOUL HARVESTER."
"A soul harvester?" She drew her breath in, sharply. "I thought we'd cleared them out aeons ago? What makes you so sure?"
"WE ARE THIRTEEN SHORT ON THE INVENTORY. WE THOUGHT IT WAS A SIMPLE ACCOUNTING ERROR..."
"So why do you need me?" she persisted, feeling her much needed break from duties slipping inexorably away from her. "There are some good agents out there who are perfectly capable of handling this."
"THIS IS NOT A STRAIGHTFORWARD CASE. WE DO NOT KNOW WHO THE SOUL HARVESTER IS."
"Maybe there isn't one. Maybe it's just an accounting error, like you said." She rubbed her temples - one of the disadvantages of being human, she was discovering, as her head started a slow, steady throb. "Thirteen doesn't sound like a Soul Harvester to me. Their collections are usually much bigger."
"THIRTEEN THAT WE KNOW OF. OUR RECORDS ARE SOMEWHAT INCOMPLETE."
"Really?" She raised her eyebrows in surprise; normally, The Firm was accurate to the point of anally retentive. "Anyway, there haven't been any Soul Harvesters for so long now." Lightly, she ran down the steps to the tube station, and joined the crowd trying to push its way through the automatic barriers.
"WE THOUGHT THAT TOO. WE KNOW THAT FIVE SOULS HAVE DISAPPEARED WITHIN THE LAST TWO MONTHS. IT SEEMS HE OR SHE MAY BE PICKING UP THE PACE."
"That is interesting," she muttered, watching the little brown tube mice skittering between the Northern Line tracks. The gust of wind that blew along the platform signalled the arrival of her train, and sent the stray pages of 'The Evening Standard' scuffling along the platform. She squeezed herself into the furthest carriage, as far away as possible from the other passengers. "But it still doesn't explain what this has got to do with me."
"THE MISSING SOULS HAVE BEEN TAKEN BEFORE THEIR TIME. "
"A Soul Harvester can't take a soul that is still in its shell."
"HE COULD IF HE WAS ONE OF US."
"Oh." Suddenly it became clear why her much-needed vacation was being interrupted.
"I'LL SEND YOU THE CASE FILE IN THE MORNING. HAVE A GOOD EVENING. OH, BY THE WAY - I'M SENDING A SMALL PLAGUE OF BOILS DOWN ON KEITH WASS TOMORROW. JUST MY WAY OF SAYING THANKS."
****
Chapter 2
Azrael gently stroked the cheek of the young woman. She knew it wouldn't be long now. Pain-wracked blue eyes searched frantically around, but there was no human help to be had - just a whisper in the wind as the angel crooned to the battered form which lay slumped alongside the railway tracks where her murderer had thrown her.
"Don't be afraid, Clare... you're not alone. I'm here - I'll be here the whole time." The angel willed herself to take corporeal form, and soft brown eyes smiled down at the almost-dead girl from her suddenly visible, grandmotherly face. "No-one dies alone, Clare. I'll help you through this, and then I'll take you home." Clare's blue eyes flickered in recognition, then closed in a final blink as she gave up her life.
Carefully, Azrael slid her hand through the broken ribcage and gently cupped the essence she found there. She drew her hand out slowly and uncurled her fingers, to reveal the rich purple and blue-black hues of the bruised soul that rested on her palm. She kissed it softly, and was relieved to see it glow slightly as it received the angel's love. She savoured the buzzing sensation on her palm, before putting it away safely in her pocket.
She turned to Saul, who was throwing up in the nearby undergrowth. Sighing, she placed a hand on his shoulder. This was the third time this week and he was four weeks in to his trial. It seemed as though the young angel's spirit was willing, but his flesh - so to speak - was weak. He was already failing his probation.
****
Angelus yanked open the fridge door, studied the contents for a moment and then selected a bottle of Coke. "Ah, the joys of being human," she purred before swigging from the bottle and getting bubbles up her nose. She coughed and snorted. "Bloody being human..." Her subsequent cursing was disgraceful, for an angel.
The letterbox rattled, closely followed by a 'thunk' on the doormat. A heavy brown envelope lay on the carpet; she fished it up, while drinking Coke and stuffing toast into her mouth. For an angel, food and drink was unnecessary but to an angel on vacation, drinking Coke first thing in the morning was... well, it was rebellion. On days when she was feeling really brave, she made cappuccino.
It was the report she'd been waiting for, handwritten in copperplate italics, on thick parchment - The Firm were nothing if not traditional. "Why don't you just use a bloody computer like most sane people?" she mumbled as she rapidly leafed through the pages, squinting at the cramped writing. "An email would've done, you know."
It added nothing new. Thirteen souls had been wrenched from their bodies before their time, by being or beings unknown. Five had been taken within the last two months, and they were going from all around the world. There were no witnesses - the Angels of Death assigned to the cases weren't in attendance as death hadn't been expected. Naturally, there were no human witnesses recorded.
"That's it?" She glanced through the pile of papers - inventories, lists and account papers, plus several official documents concerning the reporting of the missing souls. They weren't kidding when they said their records were somewhat... incomplete, she mused. "Don't I even get any details about the souls that have disappeared? I can't solve this case with just this! I'm an angel, not a bloody miracle worker!"
There was another clatter of the letterbox, followed by another satisfying 'thunk' onto the carpet.
"Thank you," she sighed, and picked up the package. Sure enough, it contained brief details about the people whose souls were now loose in the world somewhere.
She grabbed another Coke, a plate of chocolate digestives and settled herself down for a morning of reading.
****
Saul stared at the little docket in his hand, then glanced apprehensively at his mentor. "I don't think I'm really ready..."
Azrael sighed. "Saul, it's been almost two months. I know you're finding this difficult..."
"I am trying!" He dragged a hand through his unruly curls.
"I know, but - look, I have to be honest with you. It's just not working, is it? There's no shame in this. Not everyone is cut out for this sort of assignment."
His eyes widened. "I'm not giving up," he said, stubbornly.
"I don't want you to." Azrael put her arm around the thin shoulders of the young angel who had accompanied her on her rounds for the last few weeks. "But we have to face facts; if you can't tackle an assignment on your own then you'll never be able to join the squad. And frankly Saul, we've been taking the easier assignments."
The young angel blanched. "You're trying to put me off, aren't you?"
"I'm trying to help you. Look, I know what you're going through. I had it hard when I first joined, too. Threw up all over the place the first few cases I attended. But I soon learned that to be able to do this, I needed to develop a hard shell around me. Otherwise it hurt too much, and for a while there I found it difficult to cope."
"How did you do it?"
"I learned to focus on what I was there for - to bring a soul home. Not to ease their pain, or to right the wrongs, or to teach any lessons... I had to learn to stop feeling. It was hard, but it was the only way. I'm one of the longest serving people on the squad now."
Saul shook his head vehemently. "Stop feeling? You're asking me to turn my back on the very thing that makes me a true angel!"
"Ideals won't help you when you have to rescue a soul from a smashed body, Saul! They will only hurt you. You think that seeing the nightclub stabbing, and the mugging, and the rape, and the robbery deaths are as bad as it gets? Grow up, angel! There's a hell of a capacity for hatred and evil in the world, and we are the ones who have to walk through the results every day. You've only touched the edges of it."
"I'm not some naive child!" He tossed his assignment docket at her. The tiny piece of printed paper bounced off her shoulder, and fluttered slowly to the floor. "I know how hard it is - don't you think I know that? But what kind of an angel would I be if I stopped feeling, stopped caring. I'd be like... like..."
"Like me?" she taunted. He raised his chin defiantly. "If you can't do the job then admit it now. I've seen some good angels go down, and all because they wouldn't ask for help or admit to themselves that they just weren't cut out for this."
"You want me to fail. You're threatened by me, because I'm more of a damn angel than you'll ever be!"
Sad brown eyes regarded him. "You know what, Saul? I don't think you can do it. I think you're too weak. All this bull about feeling and caring..."
"I can do it!"
"Then prove it." The paper floated back up into her hand. She shoved it into his chest. "Take the assignment." The challenge hung in the air between them.
He grabbed the paper. "Fine." he stepped around her, broke into a run and disappeared.
"Good luck, Saul," Azrael whispered softly after him, then went to check the performance reports from his previous jobs. If her memory served her right, they had all been fine.
***
He arrived back at the office half an hour later, pale and sweating, barely able to stand as he staggered through the door. "Here," he shot at Azrael across her heavy mahogany desk. "Here's your damn docket stamped! Happy now?"
She picked up the slip of paper, and took a few moments to read it carefully. She nodded, satisfied. "Are you okay?" was her only comment. He obviously wasn't, as he sunk into the chair opposite her.
"I did it, okay?" Exhaustion creased his face.
"Do you want to talk about it?" He shook his head. She watched him in silence as tears began to trickle slowly down his cheeks. She didn't understand his reaction; she'd been studying his personnel file while he was gone, and she made some hasty notes on it now. He was a decent worker, and all his previous reports had commented on his ambition and tenacity, and suggested that he could go far if he pushed himself more. There was nothing to indicate that he would crumble like this. She was at a loss to explain why he was failing. And now this reaction...
"I got there early," he mumbled, dashing the tears from his cheeks. "I got there in time to see the whole thing. What they did to her. I heard her crying, begging them to leave her alone. I wanted so much to make it stop, but I couldn't, could I? I just had to stand by and watch - what the hell is the point? Tell me that!" He banged his hands down on the desk top, and rose to his feet furiously.
"Saul..."
"I thought I knew death. But I will never forget the sound of that girl's screaming for the rest of my damn life! And the look in her eyes when I yanked her soul out, like I'd been the one who'd killed her! Is that what working on the squad means?"
"Yes," Azrael replied, simply. His face crumpled again, and he collapsed into his chair. "That's exactly what it means. To stand by, and watch and wait, and feel helpless. To feel guilt, and contempt for yourself because that's all that you can do. And even through all that, to know that what you're doing IS important. Because without us to do that, how would these souls get home? How would they be reborn? If we don't separate the soul from the body, they can't die. Would you have wanted her to spend eternity in the agony she was in?"
"I'm the one who has to spend eternity with these memories," he mumbled.
"YOU are not important here! SHE is. And believe me, what you've just experienced is a fraction of what she did," Azrael snapped, her patience with the young angel wearing thin. "Get over yourself, Saul. You have another month and a half left to decide whether you want to do this or not."
He stared at his hands for a long moment, before raising hooded eyes to meet hers. "What if I decide I can't?"
"The sooner you decide, the better - otherwise I'll decide for you. Do some thinking, and quick." She shoved herself away from the desk, and went over to stare out of the window. "Get out of here."
Without another word, he left.
****
One packet of chocolate digestives, three cups of cappuccino, two diet Cokes, a Mars bar, a deep dish barbecue chicken pizza and half a packet of chocolate Hobnobs it had taken, but she had read through all the paperwork. "Damn, I love being mortal!" Angelus sucked the melted chocolate off her fingers, and closed the last file. "Most of the time," she winced as her stomach finally rebelled. She swore as she dashed off to the bathroom.
Thirteen - maybe more - victims, no souls. No witnesses. No trace. No evidence.
No idea.
She was stumped.
"What am I missing?" she mused, settling herself at the kitchen table once more. "Where's the pattern? What are the possibilities?" Her hand drifted towards the Hobnobs again, and she yanked it back with a curse. The jumble of parchment pages stirred as a breeze came through the open window; the thick paper rustled and jumped, but otherwise remained mute. Angelus drummed her fingers on the table top. "I could use a little help here!" she shouted, to no-one in particular. The breeze picked up, and lifted her hair. "Not very helpful," she muttered, shoving half a biscuit into her mouth and crunching it thoughtfully. Crumbs scattered onto the parchment and she absently swept them away, revealing ornate writing in purple ink:
".... had been ill for some time. Medical diagnosis was acute emphysema, prognosis fatal. Terence had been due to die in five days time..."
Terence White, from Perth, Australia. Lung cancer, main cause of death: emphysema at the age of fifty eight. Due death date 15th July. First diagnosed with lung cancer three years earlier. Left a wife and three adult children behind, five grandchildren. Terence's soul had been taken on the 10th July. An audit had revealed discrepancies in Terence's file; he had been the first soul to be listed as officially missing.
She shuffled through the pile of paper and pulled out another sheet. Emily Lao, from Hong Kong. Victim of a road traffic accident, she'd had a leg amputated and had fractured her skull. She had been seriously ill but was scheduled to pull through and live for another thirty years. Her soul had been taken two years ago, on the 1st April, three days after her accident.
Where was the connection? Southern hemisphere? Not gender, not age. Not lifestyle. Maybe there wasn't a connection? Maybe it was completely random? "Nah, nothing in the universe is random, that I do know," muttered Angelus. " What else?" She found another, and read on.
Mbutu Ikole, a ranger in the Garambia National Park. Twenty nine years old, he was taken two days short of his thirtieth birthday and five years before his due date. He'd been out on an anti-poaching patrol and had been mauled by one of the park's lionesses as he surprised her and her cubs. He'd been severely injured before his colleagues had killed the lion, but was supposed to recover. He'd left a widow and three small children behind in his grieving village.
"They all had kids?" Another Hobnob was sacrificed. "No. They were all married? No, again." She sighed, her frustration building. "They all liked to wear clothes? Yes, that must be it. Well, that's the case wrapped. Hey, you can come out now! I've solved your little mystery. They all have this thing against Armani."
The phone rang. She heard the voice before she even picked up the receiver.
"VERY FUNNY, ANGELUS. I HAVE AN ARMANI SUIT MYSELF."
"Didn't know you had a body."
"I CAN BE QUITE A BABE IF I WANT TO BE. OR A STUD, DEPENDING ON MY MOOD."
"If only I'd known, I never woulda placed that lonely hearts ad... where ya been all my life?"
"TRYING TO KEEP YOU OUT OF MISCHIEF, AS YOU WELL KNOW. SO, WHAT HAVE YOU GOT SO FAR?"
"Truthfully? Nothing. Just some details about the victims. Are you sure there isn't anything else to go on?"
"I'M AFRAID NOT. AND WILL YOU LAY OFF THE HOBNOBS?"
"A girl's gotta have some fun," she mumbled, stuffing the biscuit back in the packet. "Besides, it's not as if I'll put on weight."
"YOU THINK?"
She felt an evil smile in her mind. "Oh, you wouldn't?"
I ALREADY HAVE. YOU WANTED TO EXPERIENCE MORTALITY.
"I wanted a break!"
"AND NOW YOU NEED TO EXERCISE. IT'S ANOTHER JOYOUS HUMAN EXPERIENCE. I'VE ENROLLED YOU IN THE HEALTH CLUB AT SOHO... YOU'LL LOVE IT."
"Soho?" she shrieked. "What the hell kind of exercise will I be doing?" She frowned into the handset. "Never mind, let me stay innocent for a few moments longer. God, I hate this being mortal crap!"
"OH, DOES THAT MEAN...?"
"No."
"OH." There was a small sigh. "OKAY WELL, SIGNING OFF..."
"Hey! Wait a damn minute here! You don't expect me to believe that you don't know what the hell's going on here? You're supposed to be all-knowing... spill it!"
"I'M SORRY, ANGELUS. I ONLY KNOW THE PLAN. WHAT IS HAPPENING IS NOT ACCORDING TO THE PLAN - FREE CHOICE HAS SCREWED US UP BIG TIME, AS THEY SAY. WHICH IS WHY I'VE COME TO YOU. YOU ALWAYS WERE AN ELEMENT OF CHAOS WITHIN AN ORDERED ENVIRONMENT - I FIGURED IF ANYONE COULD UNDERSTAND WHAT IN MY NAME WAS GOING ON, IT WOULD BE YOU."
"Very helpful, thank you."
"HERE TO SERVE, AS EVER."
"I need more information. Can I at least interview the guardian angels?"
"SURE. DRAW UP A SCHEDULE AND WE'LL GET IT ARRANGED. AND GO FOR THE FAT FREE IF YOU MUST COMMIT THE SIN OF GLUTTONY. IT TOOK ME TWO MONTHS TO CREATE THAT BODY FOR YOU. YOU'VE ONLY HAD IT FIVE MINUTES AND LOOK AT IT ALREADY..."
The line hummed. Swearing ripely, she slammed the handset down onto its cradle and stomped into the bedroom. There, lying on her dresser, she found a year's subscription to the health club, next to some sweat pants and a baggy t-shirt.
"You absolute bastards!" she yelled, fruitlessly stamping her feet in frustrated rage. "And you had to get lime fucking GREEN pants too!"
Somewhere in her head, she swore she could hear laughter.
****
"Oh my god... oh my god!" panted Angelus, as she staggered through the doorway and collapsed onto her sofa. "I'm never going to that godawful gym again! Bunch of posing, sadistic bastards!!" She tried to lift her legs up, but they were having none of it. "What's happened to my legs? I'll never walk again! And I used to love it so much!"
Her wailing ceased abruptly when a small bundle of black fur launched itself at her and smacked down with a thud on her stomach. It did a few circles, settled down and began purring and licking itself in contentment.
She prodded the creature gingerly. "Who the hell are you? I don't have a cat." She tugged at the little disc on its collar. It read 'YOU DO NOW'. "Oh, great. Ew, no... I don't want to see your butt..." The cat proudly showed her it's nether regions until it settled down again and went to sleep. "What am I supposed to do now?" she grumbled, pinned in place by shaky legs and a dead weight on her stomach.
The pile of parchment from the table levitated itself over and dropped itself into her lap, startling the cat, who padded around a bit more and dug his claws in for good measure. "Ow, you little bastard!" The cat purred loudly and went back to sleep. "Okay, okay - I get the hint. Could use a pen though." One was placed carefully into her hand. "Thank you."
Twenty minutes later, and she had her interview schedule drawn up. "Here you go," she said to no-one in particular, "Arrange these for me, please?" The cat took the paper between it's teeth, leapt off her and disappeared through the cat flap. "I don't have a cat flap," she mused.
The cat returned, with another piece of paper between its teeth. 'YOU DO NOW,' it read. 'YOUR INTERVIEWS ARE ARRANGED.'
"Oh, goodie." She dragged her suffering carcass off the sofa and wobbled her way out to the kitchen, whilst the cat weaved around her legs, purring like a car engine. Defiantly, she shoved a Kit-Kat into her mouth and then dug around the cupboards until she found some catfood which had miraculously appeared. The cat scowled as he watched Angelus chew on the chocolate covered biscuit. "Don't look at me like that," she admonished, waving the biscuit at it. "I've bloody earned this! Whoever invented the rowing machine was a sadistic bastard!"
The little black creature meowed at her.
"Oh yeah?" The cat meowed again. "Shows you what you know." She paused briefly, holding a tin of cat food in mid air. "I'm talking to a cat..." She spooned food into a little ceramic dish and placed it on the floor, where the cat pounced on it eagerly. "Of course, you do seem to have a direct line to The Firm... maybe I should be a bit nicer to you?" She shovelled a bit more food into his dish and then made herself a cup of tea.
She settled down on the sofa again and pulled out a slip of paper from the pocket of her sweatpants. "So what do you reckon, cat? Should I go for this or what?" The lime green pants had certainly got her noticed; she'd been pumping away on the leg press when a youngish, fit looking guy had approached her and struck up a conversation. He'd asked her out, and given her his phone number. "At least he seems to have a personality - not like Mr Waste or whatever the hell his name was."
The cat rubbed himself around her ankles, purring continuously.
"He did seem quite nice. And I do want to see what all the fuss is about. I've never had a relationship, you know. Often wondered what it would be like." She leaned down and absently tickled the animal behind its ears. "I don't even know whether I'm capable of loving anyone. And it is what being human is all about..."
The cat meowed again, rather loudly and insistently.
"What do you know? You're just a cat." He jumped up, and buried his head in her shoulder. "Like I'm taking relationship advice from a creature that enjoys licking its own ass." She ran her hand along his back, and found she quite liked the sensation. She especially liked the way he leaned into it, insisting she do it some more. "Demanding little thing, aren't you?" She tickled his ear, enjoying the unfamiliar feeling on her fingertips. "Normally don't do this sort of thing - not much in the way of physical form, see, but I'm taking a break. Well, supposed to be, but there's no rest for the wicked." The cat was dribbling slightly, its eyes closed in ecstasy as it got a rigorous tickling under its chin. "You know what, cat? I'm gonna give this..." She glanced at the slip of paper, "...Jack Clarkson a go, you know. Maybe drinks or dinner or something tomorrow. I think that's what they usually do - where's last month's 'Cosmo'? C'mon, shift out of the way..."
She made her call, drank her tea and pulled her case papers towards her again. "Well, I suppose there is one thing they've all got in common. They all died in hospital. Along with about a million other people... say, could I get a list of all their Angels of Death - who's serving where type of thing?"
The television turned itself on.
"TOMORROW MORNING DO YOU?"
"How about now?"
"UHH... I'M BUSY..."
"You're omnipotent. How can you be busy?"
"I HAVE A... WELL, A DATE."
Angelus rolled her eyes and sighed. "Great. Everyone's getting some, except me."
****
Chapter 3
Saul stared at the docket in his hand in silence. He was growing to hate the little slips of yellowed paper that fluttered through his doorway in the mornings. Printed with a name, location, date and time, they structured his days and ruined his nights.
Of course, he couldn't let her know that. That damn woman was on him like a fly on treacle, watching him all the time, appraising him. Like he needed the extra pressure. He crumpled the paper which contained the details of his latest assignment, shrugged on his old leather jacket and left. Azrael would be waiting for him.
A moment later, Saul arrived in at the crumbling tenement where his assignment waited to be collected. He took position on the stairwell, and watched as the drug deal went sour. He barely glanced at Azrael, who was waiting on the street corner with a clipboard in her hand - she had put him under close supervision and was checking his progress frequently.
It made him feel like a child. A useless, helpless child.
He watched his mark slump to the floor, unable to resist the crippling blows and kicks that rained on his body and drained his energy. Blood pooled underneath him, and spattered against the wall. Saul watched with carefully emotionless eyes. "I can do this," he muttered.
The assailants ran off, and at last Saul was free to approach his assignment. Coolly, he knelt down with his back towards Azrael, making sure he was out of sight and out of earshot before whispering to the dying addict, "It's over, stop struggling. Embrace your fate, and let me take you home."
The dying man's eyes flickered briefly as he seemed to register Saul's words. "Help me..."
"I can't help you," Saul muttered, hating himself for having to say it.
"Pain..." the man's eyes were glazing as the last seconds of his life crept away.
The angel glanced carefully around, before leaning in closer to his mark. "You want me to make the pain go away?"
The man whimpered, a feeble sound that nevertheless crashed into Saul's ears like a nail being hammered home.
"What's the point of being an angel if you can't make it better somehow?" Saul placed one hand on the man's forehead, felt the body go limp as the heat from his hand radiated through it, then eased the other into his chest cavity and calmly plucked out the soul. He stood, and regarded the shining essence for several long seconds before approaching Azrael and handing her the pulsating globe.
She took it, smiled and marked his performance on her assessment sheet. Together, they returned to her office for the start of his feedback session and weekly appraisal.
****
Peder Anderssen had reached the end of his life, or so everyone gathered around his bedside thought. In actual fact, he hadn't - according to his records, he had another three years left in him once he shook off his current bout of pneumonia. And being the stubborn old swine that he was, he was determined to pull through as, in his words (roughly translated from the original Swedish,) "I'm not letting those grasping sons of bitches get their ungrateful hands on my money." He didn't have much time for his children and grandchildren, and had resolved - out of pure badness - either to outlive the lot of them or to spend his meagre savings while he could.
Which was why his guardian angel was so surprised to see a thin young angel dressed in black turn up in his hospital room.
"Can I help you?" Simeon enquired politely, as he held Peder's hand. The mortal's ragged breathing echoed round the tiny little room, and it hurt Simeon to hear it. He'd been with Peder through his whole life; had watched him grow from boy to tearaway teen, held him as he cried when his one true love had left him, guided him to his wife and celebrated with him at the birth of his first son.
The strange angel flicked a brief, startled glance at him before slowly approaching Peder's side. He stared down at him for a while, just watching and listening to him as he struggled to hold onto his life.
Simeon tried again. "Are you an Angel of Death?" Still there was no response. "He's not due to die yet..."
"He is in pain, though." It was a statement rather than a question.
"Yes, I suppose so..."
"He looks like he's had enough. He has a history of illness, hasn't he?"
"Well, the last three years haven't been easy. There was the fall where he broke his hip, the bronchitis... but we've pulled through. He's a pretty tough old fella." Simeon peered at the angel curiously. "Are you a trainee? Or a case worker?"
"A case worker? Yes." His face brightened. "I've studied his records." The stranger picked up Peder's other hand. "Poor old man. Such a hard life, and yet he clings to existence. Is it really worth it?" He looked at Simeon enquiringly.
Simeon shrugged. "He's a human. They all fight for their lives."
"He doesn't know any better. His soul batters his ribs like a butterfly behind bars. It wants to be free."
Simeon stared hard at Peder's chest, but he couldn't see the soul - only Angels of Death could. "He isn't finished with his life yet. He is still tied to the earth - his family and friends, unfinished business..."
"Human love traps him here?" The strange angel sounded as if he understood. "It's a strong force - stronger than death, even. Did you know that?" His face lit up for a moment.
"Well, not exactly... I don't think he cares much for his family these days. There's certainly precious little love left in his life now."
"Ahh... and without love, there really isn't any reason for him to live." The angel shrugged his hands deeply into his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels, a strange smile lighting up his face as he watched Peder. "He wants this to end, doesn't he? You can see it in his eyes."
"I don't think he'll complain too much when his time does come. Although sometimes I do wonder how he'll make it through the next three years - he's a tough old guy, but it's going to be an awful way to die. Are you using him as research study or something?"
"A study? Yes. Just a study we're doing - whether we should let the humans artificially drag out life through medical treatment. Sometimes, it seems cruel to let them live." He squeezed Peder's nerveless hand, stuffed his own hands into his trouser pockets again and then was gone.
Much later in the evening, Simeon realised that the angel hadn't looked at Peder's medical records, and hadn't asked any questions about his illness or his treatment. It puzzled him for a moment, until Peder's next attack distracted him.
A week later, and three years before his time, Peder Anderssen was dead.
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