Angel Eyes

by Al K. Line

  My limbs felt heavy, weighed down with magic that had not done what I wanted it to, which was my own fault for trying something not done for years. Making yourself invisible is no easy thing, especially when you're dressed, and I should have known better. I could have easily brought up a forcefield, or even sunk through the earth itself and hidden, but that underground stuff always freaked me out and I get claustrophobic. It served me right for trying to be a smart-ass.

  I clambered to my feet, feeling pretty damn stupid, just in time to witness something truly beautiful.

  The angel lifted his wings, they flapped gently, causing the air to ripple and a gentle breeze to tickle my face, the sound melodic, and then he launched from the wall and glided down. He landed in front of me.

  "Damn, but you're impressive up close," I said with a wistful sigh, deciding right there and then to visit Beast more often.

  "I am an angel," he said, confused by my admiration, as if it would be taken for granted.

  "Yeah, I can see that." I got a glimpse of angel private parts, and now that image is stuck with me forever. I hated him even more.

  "The book." He held out a hand as his wings acted independently and folded back and behind him. Their tips reached past his head, like horns protruding from his back, making him devilish and a little intimidating.

  "Sorry, no can do."

  "So be it." This heavenly body, this shaded angel of annoyance, he lost his appeal then. His handsome features contorted into a snarl of rage so base, so full of anger and annoyance that it was like he'd torn a mask off. Muscles spasmed and his nostrils flared as his eyes shone with silver pinpricks. His lips twisted and he snarled like a wild animal as the long, manicured nails on his hands sliced at my face without warning.

  I staggered back, hand going to the deep welts he'd gouged across my cheek and nose, almost taking out an eye. Fuck, he was going to kill me. So much for not being able to lay a hand on me. Guess I'd got that wrong and he'd just been playing mister nice guy.

  As blood dripped, so my anger surged, and my wand was out of my pocket and blasting before I had chance to consider my actions. He dodged a wild arc of bright energy that would have incinerated a human and as he did so I noticed that his nails were steaming. I paused, waiting to see what he'd do, and he cradled his hand as the steam grew thick like he was burning from the inside out.

  "You can't hurt me, can you? It does something to you, takes too much out of you. What, there a law or something? No harming humans that don't want to kill you?"

  "It's mine," he hissed, letting his arm drop. The nails fell silently to the ground, and new ones, just as shiny and perfect as the old, slowly grew from his fingers. What the hell was this, Hat vs Wolverine?

  "Sorry, buddy, but try again another day. Maybe if you told me what this is really about, what the book contains, why you need it, I might reconsider. But otherwise..." I shrugged, figured now was as good a time as any to get out of there, so, putting many years of on-off practice in action, I ran away.

  I got to the car and drove quickly to the main road out of the village, trying to get a handle on all this, what it meant and what I should do. I felt sorry for the guy, understood enough to know there was a lot I should know but didn't, and had half a mind to go back and give him the book. But something stopped me, some piece of knowledge niggling at the back of my mind that told me that would be a very, very bad idea.

  This was an angel, and they were sneaky buggers, and they never let you see their true selves. Sure, they could manifest as something we recognized, given the right circumstances, but what you saw was definitely not what you got. Not what they really were. Just the closest thing they could come up with that you'd understand.

  This was a creature born of the powers of creation, forged in a time when all was roiling energy, when magic and reality mixed, when demons and all the many creatures of the Nolands came into being. When fae and elves and all the rest burst into existence in the other places. Humanity came last, the leftovers, a poor cousin to the rich tapestry of immortal existence other races were graced with.

  And I felt sorry for him? Screw him. I had a code of honor I lived and sometimes died by, and I'd been paid. I had to deliver.

  Right then I made up my mind, threw indecision out of the window. No more playing with angels or feeling sorry for beings that had until the end of time to get over any slight I might inflict. This was my world, my life, my here and now, and I had to abide by my own set of rules, however imperfect they might be.

  Then the bugger slammed onto my windscreen and I drove off the road and hit a tree.

  Grrr.

  You Wanna Piece?

  I ripped my seatbelt off, my anger rising. What was with this guy? What did he think he could do? If he'd just talk rationally, explain, then maybe things would be different, but no way was I going to give him the book now.

  I tore open the door, slid on the bank of the ditch, and sighed as the crumpled car hissed and steamed. Great, now I'd have to walk.

  Maybe not.

  A ton of bricks landed on my shoulders and I slammed into the mud, slid down the embankment, and got a face full of fetid water. I grew livid as the weight on my back increased and shoved me harder into the sludge. I felt it rip at my clothes, searching for the book, the pressure on me increasing, warning me in no uncertain terms that I was no match.

  And then I laughed, and my shoulders shook with mirth, and the load lightened. I reached out a bruised arm and fumbled about for my wand, then smiled as I gripped the warm wood. I shunted will into the wood and a fat cushion of air inflated underneath me like an invisible ball, springing me and my passenger away from the ground.

  We whacked against the car, me not feeling a thing as it was him that hit, and then I hurtled forward, straight back into the dirt. Clambering to my feet, I whipped about only to find him staring at me, his shoulders already sagging, his face back to just annoyingly handsome rather than feral.

  "You're a feeder, right?" He said nothing, just stared, but I understood then. "You can only become a solid form if there's enough emotion. What, you need anger, or fear to became solid, but you need something more to actually try to interfere in the physical world? You need my own violence to hurt me. Well, tough luck, buddy. There isn't much that scares me, not much at all, and I don't want to hurt you. So take a hike. That's what I'm going to do."

  And with that I just walked away. Partly because I was still a little scared, and wasn't sure I was quite correct in my thoughts. But I felt that somehow he was feeding on emotions and the less concerned I was about him, the less he could do to me.

  I didn't turn at the pitiful wailing, but looked skyward as I felt a strong breeze tug at my hat, almost lifting it off my head. I scraped dirt from my eyes, cursing as I felt the deep slices in my face, and saw wisps of darkness dissipate as the angel sped away, losing solidity, until it was nothing, gone.

  With no other choice, as I didn't want to steal a car as it would mean walking all the way back to the village and I was halfway home anyway, I wiped myself down, patted the pocket still containing the book, and marched up the hill feeling a little sorry for myself. I had more questions than answers, but knew I had to find out, just for my own peace of mind.

  Half an hour later, bedraggled, face burning, no amount of magic seeming to heal the damaged flesh, and with infection worrying me, I unlocked my front door and took off my boots. The house was silent, the hour was late, but I had unfinished business. This time there'd be no dawdling, I'd do what I had to do and get answers at the same time.

  So I got cleaned up, changed clothes, focused on the welts as I stared in the mirror until they mostly healed over, and was back out the door in ten minutes.

  Time to go meet some vampires.

  That Tingly Feeling

  I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being followed. Probably because I was. Now the angel had a fix on me, it seemed it wasn't going to leave me alone. It didn't interfere, did nothing at all in fac
t, and it wasn't as though I could see it. But I knew it was there, following George's Mini Cooper as I drove to the barn. How the hell did she fit in this thing? My legs were squashed up by the steering wheel, there wasn't enough head-height to wear my hat, and I generally felt ridiculous, as though I was driving Noddy's car.

  But it was nippy, got me there super-fast, and just as well. My nerves were frayed. I didn't know what I was dealing with any longer as my assumptions were clearly mistaken, and I had the terrible suspicion this was far from over. I needed information, but was in no mood to go waking people up who could offer me some insight into this.

  I closed the barn and performed a familiar ritual. Through the gate, into the kitchen in my city house, check the wards, out the front door, walk a few streets, get into yet another car, never quite sure if it was one of mine or not as they changed so fast, then off I drove, feeling almost like I was floating through the sleeping city, buoyed yet increasingly worried by the whole debacle. I didn't like encounters with things I didn't understand, and this angel, this feeder, was concerning me.

  Regardless, I made a call to Ivan. Judging by the way he answered so fast, he'd been waiting for it. He said to come to his new place, and gave me the address. Very swanky. I knew he'd moved but hadn't been there, just got regaled with stories of how amazing it was from Vicky.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was at the entrance to an exclusive building where a doorman nodded at me, smiled, and let me in. Guess I was expected. I knew instantly that the rumors were true, that this was no normal upmarket apartment building. This was gangster territory, Ivan's territory, plus vampires. Lots, and lots, of vampires.

  They'd kept a low profile, even lower than normal, since their old place burned down and Mikalus had been resurrected. They'd simultaneously upped their game, taken a tighter grip on their businesses, expanded and increased their holdings, partly because of Mikalus' influence, but also because Ivan was one seriously smart dude. I knew he was deeply entrenched in the life and culture now, but they'd also become even more secretive than ever, with hardly a whisper about them even in the magical community as nobody knew what they were up to beyond wild speculation or little pieces of information it was tough to believe were true.

  But as I passed people in the lobby, checking mail in the rows of gleaming boxes, as others came and went from the spacious elevators, and doors opened and closed as I took the stairs and wandered the halls slowly on my way up, just to get an idea of what this place was, it became evident this was a building occupied by vampires. Important vampires, gangsters, bodyguards, and many familiar faces I knew helped Ivan run his business.

  I was in a gangster/vampire den, and that was no place to be.

  Finally, I made it, puffing and panting, to the eighth floor. Ivan obviously didn't get the penthouse on level nine, and that made me wonder. How did we know so little about them all? It had always been like this. They were secretive beyond belief, more than Cerberus, so little known about how it all worked, let alone what they all did, the extent of their power, that often they were dismissed as not even bit players on the supernatural scene. Yet we all knew they had immense influence before, and who knew how much now Mikalus was back running the whole shebang, with Ivan doing a fab job of improving their finances and their grip on the underground?

  Down a plush red carpet, with potted plants next to the apartment doors, and expensive paintings on the walls, I finally came to the last door. Two large bodyguards stood to attention outside. Alert, pale, violent. Vampires. I nodded to them, they did likewise, then one knocked.

  The door opened moments later, there was a brief conversation while I was held to the side, then I was ushered in with a sweep of a meaty hand.

  "Fucking hell, Ivan, this place is a palace."

  Ivan, dressed in a black silk dressing gown, making him look like a pencil, frowned at the room, or series of rooms as far as I could tell through the arches that led off to even more luxury, and said, "It's what is expected. Where I meet some of the more self-deluded bosses, and what the First feels is befitting my position."

  He clearly didn't like it, and it was understandable. Ivan came from nothing, had lived down amongst the lowlifes, worked for his old boss for years in seedy dives, hands-on and immersed in street-level life, this was a whole other ballgame.

  "You've definitely come up in the world." I took in the lavish furniture, the impressive rugs, the lamps and the designer sofa, the expensive paintings, the rich drapes, even the bloody light switches looked like they cost more than my kitchen.

  And, oh, the kitchen. I wandered over without being given permission, ran my hand across the cold marble counters, lusted over the double oven set up, gasped when I saw the sink tap, something I knew cost thousands, and the coffee maker would make any barista drool.

  "This is fucking ace."

  Ivan came over and scowled at the kitchen. "I hate it. I don't even cook. I just use the microwave. I'm moving, and soon."

  "Guess it's down to what you like. Why'd you move here if it's not your thing?" I asked, intrigued despite how keen I was to get business done and to leave.

  "Mikalus needed me, needed us all close. The Second, the true Second, he wanted everyone together. Safety in numbers I guess." Ivan shrugged then wandered off into a bedroom. I got a glimpse of silk sheets and a bed larger than most apartments before he closed the door. It snicked closed with perfect engineering. I could open and close a door like that all day. There was something immensely satisfying about it.

  While he was gone, I occupied myself with exploring what turned out to be mostly empty cupboards, just to watch the doors close softly. I admired the cutlery drawer and felt envy when I found a stack of designer tea towels. But it was all too clinical even for me. Ivan wasn't lying when he said he hardly used the kitchen. Everything was brand new, most of it never used.

  Like me, he came from the streets, where the world had a tarnish and was rough around the edges. Sure, I liked nice things, especially the kitchen, and Ivan liked smart, tailored clothes, but you had to keep it real, be true to yourself. He looked more at home, certainly more at ease, in his small office in the factory than he did in what was meant to be his home, somewhere to relax and be himself.

  Ivan emerged wearing a smart but casual dark blue suit, no tie, and joined me at the kitchen counter which I was stroking lovingly.

  "Sorry about leaving you. I have responsibilities. People depend on me, and Mikalus needs me."

  "No problem. I was pissed, but I get it. You're a bigwig now, more valuable than lowlife wizard thieves."

  "Don't sell yourself short, Arthur. You're the best at what you do."

  I turned and studied him. He looked preoccupied, almost haggard. "I'm not selling myself short. I know who I am, what I am. I understand the game and how it works. That there's always a boss. Do you?"

  Ivan sighed, his shoulders sank, and he nodded. "I do. This is a trying business I find myself in. Being the boss of so much of this dark world is exhausting. Do you know how much scum there is in our world? I wasn't aware of just how despicable so many of the criminals truly are. Now I know."

  "Now you know," I said with a nod. "Anyway, to business. Yours, I believe. Now we're done, and it's your problem. And it's a massive one. Problem that is." I pulled out the book, slapped it down on the marble, and made to leave.

  I felt instantly lighter. Ivan and the vampires could deal with the bloody angel now, it was no longer my problem. And good riddance. Basically, I was annoyed at him because I had to be annoyed at someone.

  I got halfway to the door before Ivan stopped me. "Don't you want to know what's inside?"

  "No!" I turned, but it was too late. Ivan pulled the small black book from the plastic baggy, and flipped it open.

  "You fucking dipshit."

  Blame Me

  It was my own fault. I should never have taken the wards down until I was at the door, preferably the other side of it. Maybe the door to the building. But I'd lifted them
when I handed it over, thinking it best to remove anything that linked me to the book. This was what the angel wanted, not me. I'd just assumed, foolishly, that it would take a while for the angel to home in on its property.

  What I hadn't taken into consideration was that Ivan wasn't that involved with magical items and to him it was all rather novel. Plus, he'd obviously forgotten he used to go by the name Brains, as he'd clearly left them far, far away.

  "Are you nuts?" I shouted, running back and slamming my hand over his, closing the pages.

  We looked at each other, him in shock, me with worry, and I knew we both felt it. The power contained within the black pages. The glimpse of the spidery white writing, written by a practiced hand in scratchy script with embellishments on the page I saw, in a language I neither understood nor cared to, was enough to do something to us, to the room, maybe to the world as a whole.

  This was heady stuff, powerful. Words with meaning, words with power, a tome of incredible potency.

  "I just wanted to see what all the trouble had been about. Don't worry, the building is well protected. We have wards too, Arthur, put in place by the best practitioners in the world. You may not know it, but some vampires are adepts too."

  "Yeah, well, that's great news and I'll file it away in the drawer labeled stuff I never knew about vampires until someone did something really fucking stupid, but there's a rule about weird-ass magical books belonging to angels. And the rule is, you let some other twat open them."

  "Did you see it?" Ivan had a familiar gleam in his eye. I'd seen it before, on many faces, and when I looked in the mirror sometimes, and it always meant one thing. Trouble.

  I took a deep breath then sighed. I should get out of here. Whatever Ivan thought, however well the place was protected, the angel would be on the trail now. Better make this quick.