“Fuck,” said Azrael.
I flinched.
He stared at me for a moment.
Then he shook his head again.
“Fuck,” he repeated.
It wasn’t any funnier the second time around.
“I messed up,” I admitted.
“That is a… succinct way of putting it. Did you tell her what you were?”
“I mean… with words? No. But…”
His eyes narrowed.
“But what, Gwenhwyfar?”
I winced. He never called me that unless he was really pissed.
“My Aspect came upon me.”
“Fuck! Gwen! We’ve talked about this!”
“I can’t fucking control it, for… for fucking fuck’s sakes!”
(No Blasphemy up Above – you get a snotty talking to from one of the Saints, usually Saint Gregory, and he is tedious beyond belief. Though it’s almost worth it when you’re watching him lecture a furious Seraphim on appropriate language.)
Azrael put his head in his hands and rubbed his temples
“No chance she didn’t see them, I suppose?”
“Magic backlit mystical grey Gull wings the size of a sodding bus?” I answered, sarcastically.
“I suppose that was a stupid question,” he admitted, wryly.
“Why… why couldn’t I have had… canary wings, or butterfly wings, or a fucking… I don’t know… tinsel ribbon on a stick or something?”
“Speak to the Boss,” he muttered.
“Ineffable?”
“You got it in one.”
He sighed.
“Azrael?”
“Yes?”
“How did she see me so clearly? I thought we were supposed to blend in…”
“It happens sometimes. Some of them are just very good at noticing things that are… out of place.”
“How… often?”
“Sometimes is the best answer I can give you. It’s my fault, I should have warned you. It hasn’t happened for a while.”
“How long is a while, Azrael?”
He raised his eyes; I swallowed, nervous, as I stared into those infinite orbs, seeing the flash of the star-studded wings of Eternity behind them.
I still sometimes forgot who he was; his avuncular gentleness was a very effective camouflage.
One got bitchy with the Angel of Death at one’s own dire peril.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I’m just… really spooked.”
He nodded.
“Two hundred and forty years, give or take,” he said.
“What… happened?” I whispered.
“William Blake happened.”
“Fuck.”
“Yes,” he echoed. “Your effect on this girl is likely to be extremely… perturbing, Gwenhwyfar. But, in your defence, it… well, it wasn’t really your fault, was it?”
I raised my arms, then let them fall.
Helpless.
“I… should have…”
“If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.”
“Can… can I do anything…”
“Yes.”
“What? Name it! Anything! I’ll do anything!” I said, desperate to fix things any way I could.
“Never see her again.”
The words were cold, monolithic, the conversational equivalent of a polished stone slab with a name and some numbers engraved upon it.
I shivered, and clutched myself, and turned away.
“Jenny.”
His pet abbreviation for me was soft, and filled with warmth.
I turned partly back to him, and surreptitiously tried to wipe my traitorous eyes.
“Don’t be hard on yourself. You didn’t know. Go, get some rest. You’ve earned it.”
“Okay,” I answered him woodenly.
And then I stumbled down from the central cupola in the great Reliquary and made my way to the door.
Lucius was waiting outside; he didn’t say anything, but his dark, gentle, weathered hand was a brief but welcome comfort in the black storm clouds of guilt that swirled around me.
“Well, shove a fist up my arse and twiddle my tonsils,” Jezebel said, in her usual profane way. “Here,” she added, as she poured an extra double of Don Julio into my already well-lubricated tumbler. “We’re going to need this.”
The bottle clinked as she set it down; the table’s candle’s flame shivered from the vibration.
I stared at her – sultry, curvy, cinnamon-skinned, and actually at the heart of it quite gentle – wholly unlike the horror that the word Demon would usually conjure.
Blurry too – tequila always hit me hard.
She took my hand and squeezed it. Her hand was always so nice and warm; I always enjoyed her caresses.
“I fucked up so badly,” I managed. I leaned onto one of the “Flutterin’s” worn and slightly sticky tables and stared down into the off-gold liquid as it rippled.
She shifted around on the semi-circular padded bench until her warm, cotton-sheathed thigh was pushed up against me. She leaned in, unsteady and conspiratorial.
“No, Feathers, they fucked up. Nobody told you about the potential side effects of helping out down there.”
“She’d just watched the love of her life die and then I went and gave her a…”
I paused, groping for a word.
“Traumatic Existential Crisis,” she said, slowly and carefully, She smirked.
“Exactly,” I slurred. “Gwenhwyfar the Ungainly, lesser Angel of Cock-ups.”
Jezebel grinned and shrugged; her wayward vest’s narrow strap dropped off her shoulder again, exposing more of her lovely, round breast. I leered. She noticed and glared down at it. “Stupid thing,” she grumbled. “I knew I should have worn the tighter one.”
I smiled slyly. “It can’t help it,” I quipped, “it just wants to be off you. Can’t hold that against it. And anyway, that one’s already plenty tight. Shows off your rack very nicely. You do have the nicest one of anyone.”
She preened for a moment, then fixed me with an amber-eyed stare.
“So what are you going to do?”
“How the hell…”
She winced.
“… sorry.”
“It’s fine, it just tickles when anyone says that.”
“Hell, hell, hell.”
“Stop,” she laughed, squirming against me. “Actually… don’t. That’s quite a nice spot it’s hitting…”
“Oh, you.”
“Got you smiling though.”
She turned aside, sighed. “Listen, sugar-tits. I’m just a garden-variety home wrecker…”
“There is absolutely nothing garden variety about you…”
“That’s sweet, but we both know I’m small fry. Jenny… this is serious business. That human’s got an uphill battle coming her way. I can’t believe nobody told you. What a fuckup. We’re lectured on it non-stop. Do anything you want, except be discovered. Ba’al goes on these massive rants on the subject. No manifesting wings, claws, teeth or Brimstone, or it’s the Pit for you and no more playing for at least a millennia. Can you imagine a millennia without sex? I can, and it’s a terrifying idea.”
“Maybe they did and I was just too dense to understand. Don’t Scare The Humans, It Causes Problems,” I intoned, in a reasonable alto imitation of Azrael.
She sniggered.
“I suppose you could also interpret that as, don’t be seen. Oh well. Too late to do anything about it now. As I said, dense,” I sighed, theatrically.
She leaned in closer to me; I snuck a glance at her perfect cleavage.
She smirked.
The tequila had had its usual effect and enhanced the flickering flames in her glorious, captivating eyes.
Her breath was like rich spices over hot desert sand, and I was reminded again of one of the long list of reasons I liked her so much.
“Dense, Gwenhwyfar Carew, is not a term I’d ever let anyone apply to you,” she purred.
She reached out, gently caressed my uppermost inner thigh, one finger questing…
I sighed, covered her hand with mine and squeezed it. “Sorry, Bella. Not really in the mood today, as much as I wish I was…”
“Oh, okay.”
“Sorry…”
“It’s fine, I understand. I’ll take it out on my next mark.”
(Jezebel’s specialisation is seducing married men and women. Demons don’t really pay much attention to gender, it’s all part of the job, as Bella says, and she obviously doesn’t lose much sleep over the morality either. As she puts it, they don’t have to say yes. She has a treasure-trove of stories when she’s liquored up. Real life of the party… unlike me.)
“Sorry,” I repeated, still feeling like I’d… hurt her, somehow.
“Oh, honey, I’m not upset,” she said, with a warm smile. “You and me is nice with a neon N, but it’s strictly invite only, yeah? Not like I haven’t told you to bugger off before, right?”
I leaned in and briefly leaned my head against her.
“Love you, you know,” I breathed.
She laughed deep in her throat. “Humans,” she said. “You’re such silly, sentimental creatures sometimes.”
But I could tell from the way she stroked my cheek that she was thoroughly pleased all the same.
“I’m not human,” I protested.
“New girl, you still breathe. You can’t tell even tell those silly, lovely silver wings of yours when to sod off. You’re never really going to be one of us; part of you will always be down there.”
“You think so?” I said.
“Yeah, I do,” she said, wistfully.
I snorted. “And anyway, stop trying to be smug. Your wings have feathers too. Beautiful iridescent ones. Wish mine were as pretty…”
She laughed, and leaned over, and kissed me.
I may not have been interested in anything else right then, but a kiss from her was literally one of my favourite things.
And she laughed again at the way I moaned, and lifted me and placed me (squealing) onto her lap.
And I forgot my troubles for a cinnamon-spiced moment.
Alright… maybe make that two.