Angeli: The Pirate, the Angel & the Irishman by Vansant Amy

Author:Vansant, Amy [Vansant, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2014-06-17T16:00:00+00:00

Con received his whiskey, made short work of it, and reordered. Swiveling on his stool, he surveyed the place. He hadn’t been in this room before. The basement would have been the kitchen when he last visited. Stone, dark wood beams, fireplace; it was nice to see things not change for a change. The place was empty, but for Con and a loutish brute at the end of the bar, who appeared to have set up shop for the day. Con imagined most of the tourists preferred the slick upstairs to the cold stone walls of the basement bar.

Con ordered another whiskey and prepared to do some serious thinking, when a girl in the corner of the room caught his eye. She had not been there during his last scan of the room. Con hadn’t seen her arrive.

The young, brown-haired girl smiled at Con from her location in the corner. She wore a loose wool dress. He would have dismissed her as a costumed historical tour guide, except for one detail he couldn’t ignore.

She was transparent.

“Shite,” he breathed.

“You can see me, can’t you?” asked a female voice at Con’s ear. Her movement to his side was too fast for the girl to have walked or even run to him, but he knew physics didn’t concern her kind.

“Would you believe it if I said no?” mumbled Con. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, but noted the squinty-eyed lout at the end of the bar already peering drunkenly down the line of barstools.

“Who you talking to, buddy?” asked the drunk.

Con watched his head weave back and forth, as the man tried to focus on Con.

“My twin brother.”

The man shrugged with his eyebrows and turned back to his drink.

The transparent girl moved in front of Con, half of her body behind the bar and half of it actually in the bar. Con winced. He hated ghosts almost as much as he hated Angeli.

“Do you have to do that? Make like a real person, will you?”

“Amy,” said the ghost, now appearing to sit on the stool next to Con. “My name is Amy.”

One of the odd side effects of Con’s condition was his ability to see and communicate with other disembodied spirits. These ghosts had been normal people, not Sentinels, when they died and all were weaker entities than he was. Most of the time, Con only caught a glimpse or sensed a presence, but this was the strongest ex-human he’d ever met.

“Happy fer ya,” said Con. “Look girly, I don’t have time to hear your story right now. I’m sure how you died was sad and tragic but—”

Amy cut him short. “How I died?” She put her hand on her chest. “Are you saying I’m dead?”

Con scrambled for an answer, his mouth hanging open.

“Uhhh...”

Amy smiled. “I’m just kidding.”

Con cracked a smile. “Funny. You got me there.”

“I can see you, you know,” Amy continued. “I can see who you are in that other body you’re wearing.”

“That’s nice,” Con sipped his last drop of whiskey.

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