Two Songs This Archangel Sings m-5
Page 30
It was dark by the time I reached the East Village, and the streets were crowded with people of all ages, types, colors, and dress out enjoying an unusually balmy early spring evening.
The crowds thinned out and finally disappeared by the time I reached Veil's street. I parked my car in front of his loft, smiled when I looked up and saw the white light spilling out all the windows; injured arm or not, Veil was back to work, painting. It would be interesting, I thought, to see what changes, if any, would now show up in his style.
And then the lights in the loft, and all along the block, winked out. The rest of the neighborhood appeared to be unaffected, and I could see the lights of the skyscrapers in midtown continuing to glow, but I was left sitting in a car in the middle of a rectangular piece of unrelieved night. I quickly ducked down behind the dashboard and drew out my Beretta. I pushed open the door on the passenger's side and sucked in a deep breath. Then I rolled out of the car and, keeping low, sprinted across the sidewalk toward the steel door below Veil's loft, which I somehow knew would be open.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-a607ff-9ddc-394b-0089-86e5-234c-49f5e9
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 12.10.2012
Created using: calibre 0.9.2, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
George C. Chesbro
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