Repossessors of Souls: Expendable Pawns

by Danae Ayusso

  “Shut up,” I groaned. “I know what Central Park is, asshole.”

  “Then why the dumbfounded expression and the sentiment of, huh?” he countered and raised an eyebrow so I bit at his foot, getting a hard smack on the top of the head for my effort.

  “Ow,” I complained.

  “You will not get treated like a temperamental lap dog if you do not act like one. Understand?”

  This angel was second on my shit list.

  “I understand that I’m going to kick your ass once I can feel my body again,” I said.

  “I welcome your attempt.”

  He was so moving up the list and quick.

  “Meteor?” I asked slightly sincere, trying to get him to tell me what in the hell happened and why I was here.

  “A meteor is the visible streak of light that occurs when a meteoroid enters the Earth's atmosphere. Meteors typically occur in the mesosphere-” before he could finish his level explanation, I attempted to attack him.

  When I say attempted, that was just what I meant. There was no grace, no fluidity, no coordination, not even an attempt really. I lunged at him with my upper body. He saw, and quickly stopped my attempt, his long slender hands grabbed onto the sides of my arms, and he reversed my momentum and slammed me back down to the floor, my head bouncing against the concrete a few times. I choked and gasped, trying to catch my breath as my eyes rolled around in my head from the concussion I now had.

  “Are you done?” Angelus spat through clenched teeth; his body was on top of mine, pinning my arms down, his bare muscular chest pressing against my breasts, his knee split my legs, and his face so close that I could see my reflection in the beads of sweat dotting his hairline.

  “Never,” I snarled in return, just to be a bitch.

  “Stop with the childish games, Zion,” he hissed, his words caressed over my lips as if he was violently attacking them with his. “A streak of white illuminated the night sky and touched down in Turtle Pond. I saw it while I was finding solace at Belvedere Castle. When I investigated, I quickly discovered that it was not a rock falling from the heavens. Instead, it was an annoying little girl that never shuts her damn mouth and always seems to ruin the only places I can go to find the mental peace that I so desperately need. And once again, you have ruined another place of solace for me.”

  I started to tell him off, but stopped and shut my mouth.

  “There’s a first,” he said and glared at me—does this angel ever smile—“What were you doing that got you rebounded to a pond?”

  Damn, that explains what happened. Perhaps I should have thought that through better.

  I haven’t used a sigil in centuries. Not many demons were powerful or skilled enough in the art of Goetic Theurgy to properly execute a gateway sigil.

  Sigils are graphic symbols that identify and represent spiritual beings. Often, but not always, they are generated from the names of spirits using mechanical methods, so that each letter in the name gives rise to a particular part of the symbol. In this case, I utilized the unknown sigil of Adramelech, and since he was such a high ranking badass in Hell, his sigil carried one hell of a punch.

  “Obviously my dossier didn’t say what Adramelech had me read aloud,” I grumbled.

  Angelus’ head tilted to the side. “Dossier? You are up for repossession?” he whispered, the color seemingly draining from his face.

  I shook my head. “Clerical error,” I whispered.

  “Are you sure?” he snarled then rolled off of me. “Knowing you, you would trade your soul for a stupid pair of shoes.”

  Angelus was neck and neck with Karael on my shit list now.

  “I’m positive. I don’t own my soul to begin with,” I mumbled the latter under my breath and pulled the sheet off of the bed.

  “You already traded it,” he hissed under his breath, and sulked back towards the tiny kitchenette—if you wanted to call it that—across the room.

  “No…you know what? It doesn’t matter. And why would you care?” I pulled myself up into the sitting position and wrapped the sheet around my exposed body.

  “I do not care,” he informed me. “Someone tried to repossess your soul because of a clerical error and you did what, killed them?”

  I should have.

  “I had to make a quick escape from neutral territory,” I explained even though I didn’t know why I was explaining anything to him.

  “What does that mean exactly?”

  I looked down at my bandaged hand, the white gauze was dotted with red; obviously Angelus had tended to me. “Sigil Adramelech,” I whispered and he spun around to face me. “I had no choice. It was either that or let Karael take my soul.”

  “Karael,” he snarled, “is in the city?”

  “Yeah, he said his name…it doesn’t matter. I just need to get this mistake taken care of. Thanks for fishing me out of the pond,” I grumbled under my breath and attempted to get to my feet. As soon as I put weight on my right foot, a severe stabbing pain shot up my leg, and I collapsed; blinding white flashes flooded my vision and I felt like I was going to throw up as the room spun around me.

  “That would explain where the holes in your leg came from,” Angelus said. “You might want to stay off of your feet for a few days,” he added as more of an afterthought.

  “Gee thanks,” I groaned, halfway on the bed, halfway on the floor, and honestly, I didn’t care anymore. “Will you call your little buddy Karael and tell him to come and repo my soul? I’m done.”

  Angelus appeared in front of me and hoisted me up, tossing me back on the bed. “He is not my friend, and I would not worry about him repoing your soul any time soon.”

  Um…okay, he sounds like a complete level-toned sociopath, but I’ve got to know.

  “And why is that?” I reluctantly asked.

  His head tilted to the side, and he blindly pulled the sheet up around me so it was covering what I didn’t realize was hanging out. “Because when I see him, I will kill him.”

  Yeah, for some reason that doesn’t make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

  This was strange. Believe it or not, it was even stranger than all that crap that transpired seventy-two hours ago. Angelus informed me that I was out of it for a couple of days.

  Sitting naked, a sheet pulled up around my body, watching the irritating and extremely bitchy angel carefully clean the blood off of my leg from the stitches I accidentally ripped out in my anything but graceful dismount and failed attempt at angelcide, was awkward. If I overlooked the fact that he was a disgusting angel and that I was planning on killing every last angel when this was over, he wasn’t entirely bad looking...if he’d smile. Angelus said very little, but when he did it was always subtle condescension. His seemingly caring nature for my partial well-being was a surprise. He didn’t have to save my ass from drowning. He didn’t have to patch me up. He didn’t have to keep a vigil over me.

  So why did he?

  “What do you have against shoes?” I asked, trying to keep from smiling at how ridiculous this was. His callused fingers softly caressed the back of my calf as he held my leg up, and the other hand held a washcloth that he used to wipe away the blood that had trickled down my knee and down the back of my thigh. His eyes watched what he was doing with religious-like devotion, and of course he was taking his time—not that I was complaining, it actually felt good in an awkward way.

  “Nothing,” he said in a clipped tone.

  Evasive much?

  “Mmm, shoes, those dirty, double-crossin' rats!” Of course he didn’t find my James Cagney impression funny—I have to admit, it was pretty damn bad. “Shirts?”

  “Nothing.”

  Okay.

  “That’s a pretty bracelet you have there,” I commented, eying the polished brass cuff around his wrist.

  His grip on my leg tightened and his eyes narrowed.

  That’s a touchy subject, obviously.

  “You’re hurting me,” I calmingly informed him.

&n
bsp; He released my leg. “Sorry.”

  Damn it, he didn’t have to do that.

  “This is your place?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Fifty-four,” he said, sliding off the edge of the bed.

  Why does he always give me one-word answers?

  “I’ve always been partial to the number thirteen,” I said. “I think that’s because it’s supposed to be unlucky...er, well, no, I just like it.” I smiled wide and he ignored me; he was really good at that.

  “Your bed is really soft, and the mattress is surprisingly springy,” I said and bounced up and down on my ass, correction, according to him, my fat ass.

  Again he ignored me, acting as if he was oblivious to me even being in the same room as him.

  “Are you a eunuch?” I blurted out.

  “Yes,” he said quickly as he washed up in the stainless steel sink in the kitchenette area.

  That isn’t disturbing at all—ew.

  “So you’re like a Ken doll down there,” I surmised. It painted a really bad mental picture.

  “I suppose,” he said, but there was a slight infliction in his usually level tone.

  Is that a smile? There might be hope for him yet!

  When he turned the water off, he stood with his hands braced against the edge of the sink, his head tilted back slightly as if he were praying or trying to figure out what to do or say. I didn’t think that I was that intimidating, but to render a cocky angel speechless was an accomplishment to say the least.

  “Fifty-four what?” I ask. “Oh, is this the old Studio 54 location? It kind of went downhill,” I said as I looked around the area. I practically lived at Studio 54 back in the day—disco, blow, sex, drinking, partying until you couldn’t remember your name...it was awesome!

  Angelus sighed and pulled his hands over his shaved head. “This is location fifty-four. I have over seventy residences that are off the grid in and around the city, and in both spectrums.”

  My little Freudian mind speculated that someone was paranoid as all hell. But it was proving to be useful at the moment.

  “It’s,” I started then gnawed on my bottom lip, trying to find the right words to describe the large, open warehouse: metal beams spanned the entire width; stained concrete floors went as far as I could see; and everything was compacted into a twelve-by-fifteen space. “It’s shitty,” I finally found the word, and shitty was the word of choice.

  “It is keeping you alive,” he pointed out.

  Damn it, he’s right.

  “I’m sorry. It’s a shitty looking lifesaver,” I offered. “However, I appreciate it very much. Where do you shower? How long do you stick around before you relocate? Why do you have so many places? Did you sell your soul and are running? Why don’t you smile? Are you a virgin? Did you get laid at least once before you chopped your growing angelic sword of justice off and turned into a smooth as a baby’s ass Ken doll-”

  “Do you always ask so many questions?” he interrupted then sat on the floor next to the bed and looked at his hands.

  “You only give me one word answers to nearly everything I ask, so my thinking is, I have to ask fifty questions at once in order to get an incoherent sentence from you,” I said.

  Angelus nodded. “Are those really the answers you seek?” he said and cocked an eyebrow, looking up at me.

  “I have a million questions,” I admitted. “And since I’m a girl and all, I tend to run my mouth and like to be a know it all, and I never know when to shut up, and if you don’t tell me, I’ll just keep asking and talking for hours and hours and hours until you break.” I smiled wide, and he rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. Why is this man so damn difficult? “Fine, I will answer a question in exchange for a question answered from you,” I offered then wagged the tip of my tongue at him.

  He shook his head. “I should have cut you off.”

  “Coffee?” I smirked.

  “What else was it?”

  I believed that was a rhetorical question because I drank like fifteen cups of coffee in an attempt to shake the grogginess from my head while he stitched my leg back up.

  “Sorry, I tend to drink lots of coffee when I’m bored, nervous, agitated, and trying to get laid,” I admitted.

  He looked back to his hands. “Are you trying to get laid?” he sounded almost disgusted.

  “No, I’m not a Barbie doll, Ken, and as you saw, I have working parts. Fat ass and all.” I made a face at him.

  Angelus nodded.

  I threw my head back and arms out wide. “Ask of me angel, and you shall receive!”

  I had forgotten about the sheet covering my body and it fell down around my waist.

  “Would you like something to wear?” he asked.

  “You don’t believe in shirts,” I reminded him, pulling my sheet covered knees to my chest and hugged them. “What happened to my clothes?” I really should have asked that sooner.

  Angelus shrugged. “I burned them.”

  Now I knew without a doubt that he had something against shirts and shoes. That was a five-thousand dollar outfit!

  “If you wanted to see me naked, you only had to ask,” I teasingly sang.

  Not really, but whatever.

  “It was not that,” he assured me. “Did Karael touch them or you?”

  Well yeah, if he wouldn’t have slipped up, he would have thrown it in me.

  “Yeah, why?” I guardedly asked.

  “You were tagged,” he explained. “Higher level angels have the ability to mark a person or soul. Because you are what you are, he was only able to tag your clothes. The pond water would not have washed his tag away.”

  That sucks, just another reason to kill Karael. He so owes me a new outfit first.

  Wait....

  “You acted as if you didn’t know what happened to me, but you burned my clothes. Explain why,” I demanded.

  His eyes snapped up to mine and they narrowed. “You reeked of angelic pheromones. That alone was stomach turning in itself.”

  Um, what?

  “Angels spray like cats?” I asked then cringed; that revelation was wrong on so many levels.

  “In a matter of speaking,” Angelus said indifferently. “It is a means to mark those that are of interest to the angels. At one point in time, it was used as a means to track souls between worlds, though it proved to be ineffective, but that is not important at the moment. It is forbidden to use, however Karael does what he likes whenever he wants.”

  “Again, he sprayed me like a cat?” I asked again.

  “That is all you got from that?” he retorted.

  Well, yeah.

  “Wouldn’t you be pissed if some dude sprayed you like you were a piece of furniture or something?” I countered.

  “Did you have sex with him?”

  “No,” I answered quickly.

  “Why not?” he pressed. “Karael was presenting what your dossier noted that you found attractive, he even masked his appearance so he registered as a human since you loathe angels. Women always fall for his wiles, and yet you did not. Why?”

  It was close, holy hell it was close.

  “Why do you care?” I asked, answering his question with a question.

  “I did not say I did!” he snapped at me.

  I pulled my hands through my hair, separating the curls with my fingers then studied a lock and the way the horrible overhead lights reflected off of the highlights and lowlights. “It was close,” I admitted. “Was he hot? Yes. Was he perfect? He appeared that way, before he tried to repo my soul,” I quickly added. “But there was something off about him. Sure, he said all the right lines, and he stimulated what needed to be stimulated with just a look and smile, but it felt wrong. Does that make sense?”

  “No,” he said in a clipped tone.

  Didn’t think so.

  “What about you, do you have a girl or wife or something?” I asked.

  “No.”

  Okay.

  “Would you re
po my soul if it came up on your list?” I asked, and batted my lashes at him.

  “That answer would have depended on when you would have asked me,” he admitted.

  Is there an Angelus to Zion translator available?

  “What do you mean?” I asked and rested my cheek on my knees so I could look at him.

  Reluctantly he looked up at me, his smoldering eyes burned into mine, but they were pained. “Before you repossessed Father O’Malley, I would have repossessed your soul and not given it a second thought. I was ready to kill you, regardless of you doing your job or not, I was prepared to kill you for taking his soul.”

  That sucks.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  He looked at the brass cuff on his wrist, and traced the delicate pattern that was engraved into its polished surface. “You gave him an option,” he whispered. “You did not have to be polite and cordial like you were. You did not revel in what you were doing. Any other demon would have been ecstatic to repossess the soul of a man of the cloth, but you were pained by it.”

  “I didn’t want to do it,” I assured him in a whisper.

  “I know,” Angelus said and looked up at me. “You are a very strange demon and an even stranger woman. I have never seen another repossess as you do. You talk to the appointment, show them respect and give them an unheard of curtsy. You could have slit Father O’Malley’s throat, or stabbed him in the stomach and twisted the blade to cause him unimaginable pain, but you did not. You simply pricked his finger. It was completely painless for him, and I should thank you for that. So, to answer your question, could I repossess your soul after seeing you repossess Father O’Malley? No. Would I?” he looked back to his bracelet and studied it as if it is the first time he’d ever seen it.

  Eventually he answered. “No.”

  That’s good to know.

  “So now what?” I supposed that question was as good as any.

  “I do not know at the moment. You should be able to hold your weight in a day.”

  Again, is that his subtle way of telling me that I’m fat?