City of Bones

Chapter Three

He could sense Death before he saw him.

He didn’t turn around, already aware that the entity would be perched upon his desk in his favorite position, instead grasping the pristine white rag neatly folded atop the tray next to his hip. It soon turned crimson, but his palms remained stained.

“You always pick,” He paused, throwing the rag over the face of the Angel, who had lost consciousness. “the most inconvenient times to show your face. Wouldn’t it be preferable for you, during I don’t know, breakfast or something? And you could give some sort of notice as well, it’s quite impolite not to knock.”

He faced Death just in time to see his face twitch, his slate grey eyes unamused. “You’d like to lecture me in manners after you just cut that poor fellow’s wings off? And in quite the sloppy manner, I’d like to add.”

He snorted. “If you came here to lecture me on my ethics, or lack thereof, you and I both know that you have wasted your time and mine, my friend. So please,” He gestured with his hand, “get on with it. I’m a very busy man.”

Behind Him, He could hear the distinct scrape of claws against the wood flooring of his office, clearing away the mess He’d created. He wondered idly if He should save the wings, but decided against it; that particular set was a bit more scrawny than He’d have liked. That Angel hadn’t been a warrior; a Guardian Angel would have held their own when He’d brought out the first knife, the tip of the blade digging just barely into the damp skin of his abdomen. Instead, this one had begun sweating, his fidgeting causing Him such irritation that He’d cut the game short, hacking off one of the Angel’s ivory colored wings.

The poor Keeper’s howls of agony still echoed in His ears, and he felt no sympathy for one who had once been his comrade.

The silence lasted for much too long, the two men locking eyes. They sized each other up once more, with Death looking away first; he hadn’t liked what he’d seen.

“Where is the child?” Death finally asked, his lips set into a thin line.

The question caused a smile to crack His face, but it was a disturbing one.

“Learning. I, of course, am willing to take you to her if you’d like. I doubt she’d appreciate the intrusion though, I’m not sure she-”

Sliding off of the desk, a scowl marred Death’s angelic face. It didn’t seem to belong there, and it after a few moments, it once more dissipated, leaving behind the blank slate that He was used to. The entity said nothing as he brushed past Him, throwing open the door of His office; He followed at a leisurely pace behind him, his lips tugging upwards.

The hallways of His home twisted and wound in a skillfully crafted labyrinth, but Death navigated the stone corridors as if he had built them himself.

They physically encountered no other being, but He knew that around every corner, one of His servants cowered before scampering off to just barely avoid His burning gaze. The thought caused His chest to swell with pride, if not also with minor irritation.

There was no hesitation when Death reached the darkened stairwell that led to the dungeons. The Angel’s footsteps made no sound, or at the very least were overshadowed by the loud, imposing thuds that belonged to Him.

Had He not been used to the air of the dungeons, he probably would’ve keeled over. The air felt almost alive, undulating and damp. The smell only made it worse; something akin only to the scent of rotting meat left in the sun.

On either side of them, large cells lined the walls, the only light source being a torch adhered to the wall every few yards. Despite this, it was impossible to see what was within each cage. As He passed, He could feel the gloom reacting to His presence, positively vibrating. His fingers brushed against a set of bars, the cool surface dully burning His skin.

Death had gotten away from him a bit, and He could no longer make out the Angel’s dark outline, only able to view the long white braid that traveled down the being’s back, contrasting with his environment.

The cells were much too quiet as his shoes came to a stop in front of the largest cell, housed at the very end of the dungeon. It took Him a bit to catch up, and once he did, he laid a hand on the Angel next to him. Death’s body was rigidly still as he peered into the cage, and He could feel the muscles underneath the skin bunching.

Inside the cage was as silent as any other, but He could feel the difference, and knew that Death could as well. Giving his shoulder a squeeze, He smiled.

“She’ll be perfection.”