The Axeboy's Blues (The Agents Of Book 1) by Andy Reynolds

Author:Andy Reynolds [Reynolds, Andy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-03-23T04:00:00+00:00

File 37 :: [The Angel of Death]

Like a needle she slipped between the beams of light and life, lifted by thoughts of the living, their moods and the charged waves between them. Descending, she landed among them and was nearly unseen – perhaps a flicker of light in the corner of an eye, or a tiny flock of shadowed thoughts flittering up to brush the left side of a human's heart. She looked up at the building which towered above her bathed in the sun's light. Ascending the steps, her night wings withdrawing to coil against her back like snakes, The Angel walked through the massive glass doors.

The clock-clocking of her shoes on the marble floor echoed up through the cathedral-like room with its chandeliers and desks and painting-lined walls. A lady sitting at a desk saw The Angel and quickly pushed a button on her phone, waving The Angel ahead. The woman tensed up and held her breath as The Angel passed.

As she approached the office door, it opened for her. “Ah, an unexpected visit,” said The Wellington, inviting her inside. “I do so love unexpected visits, especially when they are of the mesmerizing sort.” His pudgy face was beaded with sweat despite the cold air conditioning of the bank.

She walked into the office and there was a man with unkempt hair wearing a hideous Mardi Gras hoodie. “Hello, ma'am,” he said. “My name is Anthony Brillo.”

“Anthony here is one of my associates,” said Wellington. “You can trust him.”

“Is that so?” said The Angel. “Because his soul is insisting that his name is Dean Smith. I have a busy schedule, and will not waste my time with untrustworthy people. And if he enjoys his life at all, he'd be much better off not lying to me again.”

The man in the Mardi Gras hoodie smirked and she sensed that her threat had only made him start to like her. “My apologies know no end. I am currently hiding from everyone and everything, for reasons that would surely bore you, so I hope I have not offended you to any great extent.”

The Angel pulled off her thin brown jacket and hung it on a wooden coat rack by the door. Underneath she wore a black skirt and a long-sleeved white blouse. Her wings flexed a bit behind her, then coiled back up onto her back. She ignored Dean Smith and spoke to Wellington. “I've come to ensure that everything is set for the festival this weekend.”

“Yes, of course! Trumpet Fest will be quite extraordinary! The newspaper and radio stations are really hyping it up, and all the best trumpet players in the city will be playing a set. I have my people advertising on those 'social website' things that folks like so much these days. Yes, I've covered all the bases, so don't you worry.”

Dean Smith raised an eyebrow. “Trumpet Fest? So... you're fond of music then?”

“Something like that.”

Wellington pulled out the Trumpet Fest poster and unrolled it on his desk.

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