Angeli: The Pirate, the Angel & the Irishman

by Amy Vansant

  “Will do, Annie.”

  Anne put her hands on her hips and scanned Con from head to toe and back.

  “You’re Irish?”

  “Aye,” said Con, standing a bit taller. “How can you tell? Was it my rugged good looks or my charming personality?”

  Anne ignored his comment and continued her line of questioning.

  “How long have you been a Sentinel?”

  “You know, this Perfidian might be a tough one,” Con said, deflecting her inquiry. “Maybe this Robert is a handful. I guess we’re meant to work together on this one, Annie.”

  “Anne.”

  “Right. That’s what I said.”

  Con walked to a cleat and tugged on the line. He had no idea what it should feel like, but it felt tight, and he thought that was probably good.

  “Nice and tight,” he mumbled.

  “Mr. Carey, how long have you been a Sentinel?” asked Anne, the agitation in her voice rising.

  Con turned to her and offered his most charming grin. “Oh, you can call me Con.”

  Anne stared at him, awaiting her answer.

  “A while,” said Con. He looked at Anne’s shirt and scratched at his own linen one. He made a mental note to get himself cotton cloth as soon as he was able. He’d met a few other Sentinels who had amassed quite a bit of money in their years in the service, but it seemed his own coinage left his pockets as fast as he gathered it.

  “This is your first hunt.”

  Con noticed Anne said this last sentence as a statement, not a question. He forced a laugh.

  “You’re off your nut, Annie, my luv. I’ve been cleaning up Perfidia since they turned me twenty-five years ago.”

  “The training period is anywhere from thirty to seventy years.”

  She put her hands on her hips.

  Con fidgeted. “Well, once they saw my skills they made an exception.”

  Anne smiled.

  “I am your partner, and you are in training. Michael told me I’d be meeting a young Sentinel on the dock. When I saw Robert getting away, I figured I would just have to take care of this one on my own and catch up with you later. I’m glad you finally made it.”

  Con felt his face flush. He’d only known the girl for twenty minutes, and she’d already caught him in a lie. Usually, it took the ladies a full evening before they questioned the lines he fed them, and by then he didn’t care.

  “It’s only my fourth reaping,” said Con, offering her a sheepish grin. “You got me.”

  Anne shook her head.

  “Virgin.”

  Con flinched. He opened his mouth to argue, but meeting Anne’s piercing green eyes, deflated. He sighed.

  “All right. You have me. This is my first.” Con held up a finger, two feet from Anne’s face. “First time reaping a Perfidian, that is, missy,” he added. “I’m no virgin, I promise you that.”

  Anne smirked, her eyes twinkling with amusement and Con felt as though their relationship was quickly spinning out of his control.

  “Virgin,” Con spat, turning and removing his thin shirt. He used it to sop the sweat on his brow and wipe his armpits. He flexed as he did so, letting Anne feast her eyes on his broad, square shoulders and muscular back. He turned to offer her a full view of his manly chest as well, only to find her gazing at the horizon, oblivious to his physical charms.

  Con’s shoulders slumped.

  “I have a plan,” Anne announced, turning her attention back to Con.

  Con straightened, cocked his right arm and pointed in the direction Anne had been watching, flexing his large biceps and pectoral muscles as he did so.

  “Do you think he went that way?” he asked, mid-pose.

  Anne paused, her eyes falling on Con’s biceps and following through to his naked torso. Without further reaction, she looked in the direction to which he pointed.

  “Well, obviously he went that way. You’re pointing right at his ship.”

  Con’s gaze turned where he pointed and saw they were closing in on the Perfidian’s ship. He turned back to Anne, who stood staring at him, her full lips pursed as if she were annoyed.

  “Well, obviously,” Con said, stretching to slip back into his shirt in a way he thought would best draw Anne’s attention to his washboard abdomen. “I mean do you think he’ll continue to go that way.”

  Anne yawned and rubbed her eyes.

  Maybe Anne was tired, thought Con. That would explain her distracted nature. Usually by now, he would have received a nervous giggle or some sign of desire, but this Sentinel bit of skirt was proving a tough nut to crack. His own Sentinel energy made him nearly irresistible to the human ladies, not, Con thought, smiling to himself, that he’d had any problem in that area before becoming a Sentinel. He’d been a boxer with the physique to match. In fact, by the time he was seventeen—

  “Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

  Con snapped his attention back to Anne.

  “What’s that?”

  Anne sighed. “I said, we’ll pass Robert’s boat, put ourselves in his path, dive in, swim to Robert’s sloop, and sneak on board.”

  “Are you mad, woman?” Con opened his eyes wide to demonstrate that he thought she was. “How are we going to swim to, and hoist ourselves onto, a ship under sail?”

  Anne crossed her arms in front of her chest and cocked a hip.

  “You’ve been training. By now you must know how strong you are.”

  Con opened his palms in a pleading gesture.

  “Yes, but—”

  “So we’ll swim to the ship and hoist aboard. I can see from here he’s dragging a line.”

  “Yes, but Jaysus in heaven, you can’t think—”

  Con cut short as Anne whirled on her boot heel and walked away from him toward the bow of the ship.

  The decision was made.

  * * *

  Con and Anne passed Robert’s ship, leaving a good distance between them, so as not to appear in pursuit. Anne then cut into the path of the other sloop, putting them in place for the other ship to approach.

  When the timing seemed right, Anne slipped into the hold. The sloop’s owner sat curled in the corner beside the ladder, his hands and feet tied with line.

  Anne crouched down and stared into the greasy man’s eyes. A hunk of sail cloth hung from his mouth and another piece wrapped around his jaw to hold the first in place.

  “I’m freeing you,” Anne said, untying the gag and slicing the lines that bound his hands. “Go up top and take the wheel. Keep the ship headed northwest for another half an hour, or I’ll come back when you least suspect it, and you’ll wake up with your head in a bucket.”

  The captain could hear Anne’s words, but his attention remained trained on Con. The Irishman hovered behind Anne, pointing aggressively and mimicking Anne’s angry speech.

  “Do you understand me, Captain Heath?”

  The man nodded and licked his lips as Anne removed the gag.

  Feeling she had made her point, Anne turned to leave, nearly knocking into Con. Con smiled, stepping from her path with a gallant flourish. As Anne passed him, Con turned and made one last threatening gesture at the captain by pantomiming cutting his own throat, and then followed her topside.

  “You’re going to leave the man’s head in a bucket?” he asked, as they pulled themselves up to the deck. “Really? Is that something you do often?”

  Anne stepped to the edge of the sloop.

  “You had a better threat in mind?”

  “No,” Con pulled at his stubbly chin. “That is a good one.”

  Con looked over the rail, releasing a deep, dejected sigh.

  “I hate water.”

  “I suspected as much,” mumbled Anne.

  “What’s that you say?”

  Anne shook her head. “Sentinels have a naturally sweet smell, and for some reason you smell like a goat.”

  Con scowled and plucked at his shirt, sniffing at it. He looked back at Anne.

  “I’ve b
een on the road.”

  “With a goat,” Anne mumbled loud enough for him to hear. “Are you ready?”

  Con looked at the water and then back at Anne.

  “As ready as I will ever be.”

  The two of them dove into the water.

  Anne and Con positioned themselves in the path of the Perfidian Robert’s oncoming sloop. The two of them stayed low in the water as the vessel approached, springing to action as it nearly ran over them. Con grabbed some netting and then caught Anne’s shirt with his other hand, until she too could climb up his arm and torso and grasp the ropes. They pulled themselves out of the water and clung there a moment, catching their breath.

  “I can’t believe we did that,” said Con.

  Gripping tightly to both the netting and Con, Anne grinned.

  “Never a doubt.”

  Con noticed Anne’s white cotton shirt was soaked. It clung to her breasts, the rosy pink of her nipples visible through the thin cloth. Anne caught him staring and freed a hand to fluff her shirt away from her flesh.

  “Pay attention,” Anne hissed.

  “Oh, I am. I am,” said Con, delighted to see her shirt suck back to her flesh nearly as quickly as she removed it.

  Using the rope netting, Anne climbed the side of the boat and squinted through the rails.

  “I see two men on the deck,” she said after climbing back down to Con. “One steering and one huddled beside him. The deck is covered with blood. A body is lying near the aft. It looks as though Robert dispatched most of the crew and kept two to handle the boat.”

  Con nodded.

  The Sentinels scrambled up the netting to the rail and silently slipped over the edge, behind the men at the wheel.

  “I’ll try not to hurt them,” whispered Con moving forward. Anne put her hand on his chest and stopped him in his tracks.

  “Let me.”

  Con paused, more in surprise than obedience. Anne tiptoed her way behind the two men and simultaneously laid a hand on their shoulders. Both men crumpled to the deck. Anne found a line and tied the wheel into place so the boat would not lurch and alert the Perfidian below deck.

  Con stood from his crouched position and made his way to Anne as she worked with the lines. He studied the men on the ground, each sleeping peacefully.

  “In the name of Mary, how did you do that?”

  “I gave them a little shock, enough to knock them out. All this extra energy we have can be useful against humans when necessary.”

  Con gave a low, quiet whistle. “You’ll have to teach me that one.”

  Anne hunched over the men and quickly tied their hands.

  “Hasn’t anyone shown you how to use your extra energy?”

  “Only when I fight,” said Con, shadowboxing. “My punches pack an extra wallop.”

  “Ah, you’re a pugilist.”

  Con stopped punching the air and cocked his head.

  “What’s that now?”

  “You’re a fighter. A pugilist is another word for a fighter.”

  “Oh, aye. An Irish bare-knuckle boxing champion.” Con offered another demonstration, bobbing and weaving as he threw a few quick jabs into the air.

  “That backs my theory,” said Anne, standing up and brushing off her hands. “I’ve found the other Sentinels I’ve met all seem to have two things in common. First, they have special skills they learned as normal humans. Boxers, swordsmen, thieves—”

  “What are you?” asked Con, cutting her short.

  “I’m a natural with a blade.”

  Anne scanned the deck. Con cast a wary eye towards Anne’s weapons as she did so. Her comment explained all the knives on her person.

  “What’s the other thing?”

  “Pardon?” said Anne, returning her attention to the Irishman.

  “You said the Sentinels you’ve met had two things in common.”

  “Oh,” Anne fluffed her shirt again and pushed away the hair clinging to her damp face. “Fighting skills and moral ambiguity.”

  Con nodded as if he understood and looked away to avoid Anne’s eyes. He said the words moral ambiguity in his head a few times, trying to memorize the phrase so he could later ask someone what it meant.

  “Moral ambiguity means our consciences don’t keep us up at night. We don’t carry a lot of guilt for the things we do,” said Anne.

  “Right, right. I know.”

  He squinted at her.

  “Did you go to school?”

  “I did, but only as a child. I read on my own now. I decided a long time ago that if I was going to live for a thousand years, I’d rather not live as a fool.”

  “Aye,” said Con, scratching his head in thought. “You might be on to something there.”

  Anne clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Robert must be below. We best stop gabbing and get on with this.”

  The two of them stepped down a short flight of stairs located in the center of the boat, to find two closed doors. Con reached for the latch, but Anne stopped his hand.

  “I’ll open the door,” said Anne, whispering. “You grab hold of him and then I’ll jump in as well.”

  “Good a plan as any.”

  Anne crept to the first door, and on the silent count of three, flung it open. Con prepared to jump, but the room proved small and empty.

  “Shite,” said Con. “We guessed the wrong door.”

  Before they could attempt their plan on the second door, the portal burst open. Robert stepped into the tight hallway. Con saw the anger flash in the Perfidian’s face as he realized the intruders were not the humans he’d left on deck, but Sentinels sent to kill him.

  Robert was a medium-sized man, with beady eyes that trained themselves on the Sentinels like lasers as his green light filled the hall. With a guttural growl, the glowing threads that made up his wings unfurled around him, the tight hall preventing him from stretching them to their full potential. Con dove in front of Anne to protect her from the Perfidian’s reach, enabling Robert to ensnare his arm. At the Perfidian’s touch, Con felt a sharp pain. He could see the other wing reaching for him and knew he had to escape quickly, or his pain would only increase.

  “Duck!” screamed Anne.

  Con twisted in the Perfidian’s grasp, curling down and away as low as he could at Anne’s command. There was a flash of red light and the pain of Robert’s grip on Con’s arm ceased.

  Free, Con scrambled to his feet and prepared for the next attack. He found Robert had been pinned to the far right wall by a dozen glowing red knives. The shining daggers slowly dimmed as the roaring Perfidian struggled to release himself.

  “Grab him now!” barked Anne.

  Con moved in and slammed Robert with two powerful blows to the head. Pulling back his fist to continue the beating, Anne grabbed Con’s fist in the air.

  “Don’t hit, siphon while he’s pinned!”

  She released Con and stepped forward, ripping open Robert’s shirt. She placed her hands on the Perfidian’s sweaty chest.

  Con did as he was told and grabbed the Perfidian’s neck, simultaneously choking and draining the man. With both Sentinels pulling energy from the trapped monster, Robert’s wings soon faded, followed by a burst of white light as his core energy dispersed.

  Anne fell back, sliding down the wall to sit. Con too stumbled backwards away from the flash and found himself sitting beside Anne in the narrow stairwell.

  “How’d you do that?” Con said, still panting. “Pinning him with the red lights?”

  Anne looked up at Con. “I use my own energy to create a knife. Usually, it goes right through them, disrupting them enough to gain an edge. This time I—”

  Anne stopped short and looked up at the wall where Robert had been pinned.

  “Honestly,” she said, “I panicked a little when I saw he had a grip on you. I threw the knives. I had no idea they would pin him the way they did.”

  “Do you think I can do that? Throw knives?”

  Anne shrugged.
“I don’t know. We all have our talents. I can’t punch like you, so maybe not. You nearly knocked his head clean off.”

  Con grinned. “That I did.”

  Anne fell silent, holding Con’s gaze. He could see she was coursing with the same energy he felt flooding his veins.

  “Not bad for a first time,” she said. “Thank you for taking the brunt of his attack.”

  “I do what I can, m’lady,” Con said, bowing his head.

  Anne smiled.

  “You’re actually my first trainee,” she confessed.

  Con chuckled.

  “Virgin,” he said.

  She giggled.

  There it is. Got her to laugh.

  He held her gaze with his most smoldering stare.

  “I feel feckin’ amazing,” he said.

  “I know. It’s all this extra energy...”

  “It makes you crazy,” whispered Con, leaning towards her.

  Con lunged forward and kissed Anne. Anne leaned back into him, practically tackling Con as they rolled on the floor, limbs entwined, kissing hard. In the cramped space Anne’s head struck the wall as they rolled from side to side, thrashing with the urgency to touch each other. After her head struck the wall a second time, Anne sat bolt upright and Con followed, frantically trying to remove her shirt.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” said Anne, holding his hands, and her shirt, down.

  “What?” asked Con, slowing. “For the love of Jaysus, what?”

  “It’s all this energy...we have to calm down.”

  Con held Anne’s eyes to judge if she was serious.

  “Really? Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “So...” Con nodded his head. “We're sure sure? Definitely sure?”

  Anne laughed and stood. She held out her hand and Con took it as she helped pull him to his feet.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Let me just take my shirt off again one time,” said Con, pretending to start to disrobe.

  Anne laughed and made her way to the top deck. Con watch her go and offered a low whistle of admiration.

  He was going to like being a Sentinel.

  Chapter Seven

  Mexico City, 1910

  Anne celebrated the reaping of yet another Perfidian alone. Wearing an oversized duster and men’s trousers, she sat tucked into the corner of a bar, her long hair hidden beneath a Stetson. The dark saloon occupied the bottom floor of a hotel, and Anne sat, drinking, hoping to be mistaken for a drunken cowhand and left alone. It was her job to protect people from Perfidia, but that didn’t mean she wanted to talk to every person along the way.