Daughter of Angels II

SALATRIAN

"I'll go to Gezrah next," Salatrian stated as he fingered the chain that held the ring inside of his shirt.
"Do you want company?" Telepyleia asked. "Or backup?"
"No, I'd rather tread lightly. More Vigilants will only attract attention. What's one more death in Oldtown in the end?"
"Okay, screw backup then, but I'm coming with you nevertheless," His sister snorted and tugged her coat straight.
"Fine by me, if you think no one would look twice at two Seraphim passing in the dusk."
"As long as we keep our faces away from the lantern, it will be fine," Telepyleia reminded him.

Outside, the night smelled of cold rain and wet concrete, and the cobbles glistened under the streetlamps. In the distance the red flames of the smelting plants painted the overcast sky in crimson, orange and purple, like reminders of hell. Salatrian's breath frosted as he sighed, the wet chill of late autumn was still more pleasant than the unnatural dry cold of the nether vaults. Morona was a quiet neighborhood after midnight, clerks and bureaucrats long safe in bed. Shadows draped the columned façade of the Temple of Light and the twin bulk of the Justiciary across the plaza but the unknown soldier's monument was floodlit as usual. As he descended the broad steps he felt the unblinking granite stares of statues of the Elders.

Across the street from the duo, a bright red taxi was idling, the driver reading something in the lamplight, and Salatrian and Telepyleia thankfully set course for the vehicle.

"Speaking of distractions," Telepyleia said with a grin, "I saw your minstrel friend at Maledia's tonight. Maybe I should take him in for questioning."
Salatrian snorted. "Is that the only way you can start a conversation with a man?"
"Better than calling them from their tombs," she opened the car door. "Let me know what you find! I'm sure it will be interesting."
"This job always is," he smiled as he pulled herself into the back seat of the car and Telepyleia shut the door behind them. Then she turned towards the driver, dropping an address in a low, pleasant voice.

AGATHINE

Agathine was closing the till after her latest customer when the shop door chime played its cords again. Before she could even look up, a wicked sensation ran down her spine and she turned to greet the new customer who stepped through the doorway. Agathine didn't know WHO the woman was; however she knew fully well WHAT she was. Only the most prominent of the Elder Races had that level of power and only an Elohim would trust herself to be using it out among the humans in broad daylight.

The Elohim both looked like the humans and did not. The differences were mostly subtle. Most were tall and more slender than the average human and their pigmentation range were narrower, they ranged from olive skinned to light mocha and the majority had green or hazel eyes. Their ears were ever-so-slightly pointed, their hands long-fingered. But the main difference was that the Elohim were radiant, although not in the visible spectrum, not for most people at least. It was a power they used to influence others with, or as a weapon to overcome another's mind and will.

This woman who crossed the threshold to the shop was as beautiful as a warm dawn after the harshest of winter nights, every delicate feature perfect, her hair spun midnight, her skin a flawless mocha. Her eyes, green like the depth of the ocean, sparkled as they glanced around the store. Her black suit matched her hair, just as the silk blouse beneath the jacket matched her hair. The entire outfit had been tailored to emphasize slender curves and long, silk-clad legs. Agathine might have been raised in The Seraphim Realm, yet she wasn't completely unaffected by this woman's glamour. The Aura was one of the qualities of the Elohim, a dangerous influence that could lure the unwary into betraying all they held dear. Undoubtedly every single human this woman had passed in the street had stopped, staring dumbstruck in her wake, eyes gleaming with admiration and perhaps yearning awe.

"May I help you?" Agathine kept her voice neutral and pleasant, her smile sincere. Few of her people lived in the human lands and it might actually be pleasant to speak to someone from back home. While there had been a time when she'd envied the pure-blooded their Aura, that was long past. Her mother's Ishim blood and Ishim magic gave her strengths and skills a pure Elohim couldn't match and enabled her to live comfortably and invisibly on Earth in a way that few Guardians of higher castes were unable to, at least for lengthier times.

The Elohim woman had stopped to study a marble griffon statue standing between the front door and the picture window. The griffon was short and squat, its body as heavily muscled as a Rottweiler with a muscular forked tail ending in a trio of sharpened barbs. His back legs ended in paws with curved claws, his front, in something very close to hands and his wings were folded close to his back. His face was both that of a lion and that of a bird with a huge raptor beak.

Briefly, the Elohim shifted her attention to glance at Agathine before she turned back to the marble griffin and reached out with her hand over its head. Agathine felt the subtle surge of power as her customer tested the air surrounding the statue, then gave a small, satisfied nod. At the same time Agathine felt it as a stab in the back of her cerebellum, as if someone had forced an icicle right into the nape of her neck. She knew well what that meant.  

"How much for the statue by the window?" the woman asked as she strode over to the counter, high heels clicking against the quartz tiled floor. In one smooth move, she pulled the designer handbag from her arm, set it atop the glass display case and opened it in preparation for payment. She was smiling, utterly confident.
"It's not for sale," Agathine kept her voice neutral and calm. She didn't want to get into a metaphysical shoving match with this woman. She might lose. At the same time she knew that it was indispensable that the Elohim didn't get hold on this very griffin. She had felt the accumulation of power in the room and the hazard that represented.

"I want it," the woman bit off each word, forcing out her power to coat every syllable of her presumptuous and intrepid statement. If Agathine had been human she'd have fallen to her knees and worshipped this glorious creature as a goddess, done absolutely anything to please her. Which was doubtlessly the point. Now she was able to stand her ground though, even if she felt sweat break out on her forehead and an indefinable pain pull at her throat.
"He is not for sale," Agathine repeated, softly, but clearly, putting a touch of her own force behind each separate word.

The Elohim's hand froze above the Amex black card she'd set onto the countertop, her eyes widening. She gave Agathine a measuring look, taking in every detail of the shopkeeper's appearance, the high-heeled white sandalettes, the black suede trousers, the bright red brocade camisole with a sweetheart neckline that accented curves not delicate enough to be Elohim. She then stared for a long while at Agathine's face, the high cheek bones, the tiny nose. The colouring, too, might be Elohim. Or not. Cafe-latte coloured skin and shoulder-length, curly hair that was true black with highlights of the kind that looked blue in daylight. Eventually her eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?" she hissed. She said 'who' but it was clear she meant 'what'. No ordinary human could've withstood her and they both knew it.
"Well, who are you?" Agathine returned as she glanced at the credit card on the countertop, seeing the letters of the woman's name blur, shift and reform. One moment the card read Irma Kaenkani, then Nadia Natalova, then Olga Fari. Illusions, illusions, yet solid as the floor beneath Agathine's feet. Impressive. Unethical, too, but Irma/Nadia/Olga/Whoever was obviously not the kind to sweat that sort of thing.

Irma/Nadia/Olga/ didn't answer, instead, she cranked up her power, creating a brute force meant to crush Agathine's resistance. It was breath taking and cruel and the Elohim didn't even appear to be working up a sweat. But outside somewhere a car alarm went off. It was hard for Agathine to not show how badly that lash of power hurt, but she managed despite pain that burned across sensitive nerves beneath her skin. "I'm the owner of this shop and that very statue is not for sale. We do have several plaster versions of similar design though," she managed to sound completely blasé.

In response, the Elohim's hand shot out like a snake, trying to grab Agathine's arm. A touch would make the spell much stronger and more effective. Agathine stepped back though, out of reach and put up her best shield. Just in time since a blow of pure magic and willpower assaulted her defences. The impact didn't stagger her though, but it came really close. She was already preparing her return strike when a shadow blocked the headlight. Next thing Ludwig stepped into the space between the two women.

"You heard my boss," he said in a dry voice, laying his hand upon the Elohim's arm. "Now, I suggest you leave."
"Don't you dare lay your hands upon me!" the retort lashed like a whip.
"Oh please," sighed Ludwig. "Not that kind of drama at this early hour."
"I'll make you eat your words!" rage blazed in those jade eyes and her small hands were clenched in fists.
"Can I have them with ketchup?"
"It's okay, Ludwig," Agathine softly said and the tall man took a step back, lifting his hand apologetically.
"Okay, sure boss," he responded.
"This isn't over," the Elohim hissed at the same time before swirling around and leaving in a flurry.

"Wow! What was that all about?" Ludwig's eyes were a little too wide as he stared after the closing door.
"Elohim bullshit." said Agathine as she stared after the door falling closed behind Irma/Nadia/Olga/.
"And she seems to have been full of it," he huffed and rolled his eyes.
"Perceptive, as always," she admitted. It was one of his best and most annoying qualities and was probably part of why her precursor had hired him five years earlier.

Ludwig Steele was six feet tall and willowy, with dark brown curls kept just long enough to frame a face dominated by luminous dark eyes behind oblong, silver-rimmed spectacles and a very kissable set of lips that were smiling more often than not. A small goatee completed the face and add to that a dress code of brown or blue corduroy pants, too long skirts under small pullovers and short neck ties and you had the model 1A hipster neatly boxed and tagged. In his spare time, Ludwig played keyboards in Demised, a band which did vintage-sounding indie, but with an updated and blippingly electric twist to it. Demised played mostly at clubs and bars or on YouTube videos shot in old deserted warehouses, Actually YouTube was Demised's main arena. Ludwig was confident about his abilities both as the assistant manager and as an artist. And he should be, as he had brains and talent by the truckload.

But that wasn't the best thing with him. The best thing was that he had THE SIGHT, a trait that was growing rarer and rarer among humans for every generation, and even more rapidly since the dawn of industrialism. Once THE SIGHT had been so common that about ten percent of humanity displayed it, these days you were happy if you found one in thousand.

THE SIGHT enabled you and perceive and understand magic, and sense otherworldly and magical beings. Including Elohim and similar races. Sometimes THE SIGHT came with THE TRAIT, the even rarer ability for humans to perform actual magic. Those genes were almost extinct these days, Agathine might have lived on Earth for a decade now, yet she had still to meet a human with THE TRAIT. But THE SIGHT was second best, and that was why it was so great to have Ludwig in her pay. She could tell him everything about her background and the people who sometimes entered her shops. And last but not least, Ludwig had introduced her to his older brother, Simon.

Tearing his eyes from her assistant, she stared at the statue again. Could it really have been? She took a step closer, sensed in the air, but nothing. Agathine shrugged it off, realizing she was just being paranoid. The Elohim had shaken her. Having lived long enough in the human world, away from The Seraphim Realm, Agathine had let down her guard, but it wasn't a mistake she'd be making again, as it reminded her all too clearly just how dangerous it could be. Mentally debating the issue, Agathine looked around the room. The front of the shop was all about appearances and customer comfort. The place was well lit, with the goods tidily displayed on shining glass shelving. Sparkling crystals, soft fabrics, a moderate waft of incense and gentle music added to the pleasant atmosphere.

Pulling herself together, she decided on business as usual and informed Ludwig that she needed to make some phone calls and asked him to mind the shop meanwhile, before turning around and heading through the oak door to the back office. This place was her personal work area and it had been modelled to her specifications. The wall dividing this area from the shop itself was covered with shelving that held hundreds of books, ranging from modern paperbacks to very old and very dangerous, leather-bound volumes. The latter were kept on the highest shelves, hidden behind locked doors, a very effective guarding spell and an illusion making it almost impossible for them to be seen. Spell components were stored along the eastern wall, in a cabinet six feet long and twelve feet high. The cabinet's 'drawers' were all filled with various spell components.

A perfect circle had been inscribed into the main section's floor while the concrete was still wet. Once it had dried, Agathine had painted it with designs that incorporated the circle, making it look decorative. However, it was a circle of power and protection, which was why her work table stood in the centre of it. This was Agathine's keystone and here she was safest and strongest. Still, it would be foolish to let that go to her head. No Elohim ever made an idle threat; nor would one willingly take 'no' for an answer. That Elohim woman would be back, of that Agathine was convinced. And the next time, she might possibly bring friends as well.

SALATRIAN

The driver stopped a street away from Gezrah and Salatrian and Telepyleia stepped outside. The latter pressed a tarnished silver Circil into the driver's hand and a whisper of forgetfulness into his mind.

The ring swayed heavy against Salatrian's chest as he walked. A treat for the gossips and rumormongers, certainly, but he doubted that the scandal would grow teeth. This was likely an old ring, stolen or lost and fallen into careless hands. He just needed to convince himself of that.

Nights in Gezrah, or Oldtown, as it was often called, were never quiet. Music spilled from taverns, voices raised in song and anger and drunken confusion. Vehicles roared their engines and blew their horns and visitors and residents still walked the streets. Some looking for fun, others for trade others yet going home after late shifts. Salatrian remembered the rhythms, though he'd lived elsewhere for so many years.

With Carzma's empty eyes fresh in his mind, he noticed the differences too. More pale faces in the crowds, flaxen hair flashing beneath caps, hats and helmets, the breathing masks looking more modern and comfortable these days too. As he listened to the voices instead of letting them wash over him, he heard the curious mix of clipped, heavy words and musical trills that marked Uvnondan, much more prominent than the usual Seraphim curses. The smell of cabbage and beef wafted from vendors' carts and drifted from open windows, Cabbage Town having become the vulgar name for the refugee neighborhood otherwise known as Nibelon.

Climbing roses covered the crumbling walls, worming into moss-eaten mortar. The scent of the last autumn blossoms reminded him of the morgue but it was better than the usual street stink. Light glowed through windows and from street signs, lamps burned on street corners. The reek of death hit them as they turned the corner onto Mayin Street. Not a real stink, not blood and bowel, but a tingle of otherwise senses, a chill down Salatrian's back. But not as strong as it would have been if someone had recently died here. Saying nothing he turned to face his sister and Telepyleia raised one eye brow but remained silent as well. Having known each other their whole lives, there were often no need for words between the two of them. Lovers, consorts and spouses may have passed, children might have been born and grown and moved out but a sister and brother were always a sister and brother and Telepyleia and Salatrian were thick as thieves these days.

News had spread; the street was too quiet for the hour. Salatrian followed the unscent to a narrow alley cordoned by orange ribbons. His skin crawled as he faced the dark mouth. The night weighed inside his head; violence, death, and more.
Intention. Plans, cold and cruel. Salatrian's ring chilled as Telepyleia and he walked into the shadow of the alley, boots splashing in puddles, coat skirts slapping around ankles. The air smelled of wet stone and even his mage-trained eyes saw nothing but dark. Still no trace of Carzma's ghost. Usually the young and violently killed were the more likely to linger. Gezrah was crawling with specters, more than the exorcists could ever lay.

Salatrian recalled the taste of Carzma's blood as he whispered a word, hoping for a response.

Nothing. Wherever the woman had bled out, it wasn't here.

He let out an annoyed breath and turned around. And froze. Beyond the alley mouth stretched a familiar skyline. Sunset colors were long faded, only the stain of streetlamps against the low clouds to outline the buildings, but the angles were the same. Carzma had stood here when she was kidnapped, and been returned after her death. At least the murderer had been tidy.