Death and the Maiden

But only one dry, pathetic sob escaped her.

The penny dropped at last.

This was no friend.

No.

This was something far worse.

I'm not always quick on the uptake, I don't often do nuance well, but the signs were clearer now.

"You loved her," I said. It wasn't a question.

She squeezed her eyes tightly closed.

"You loved her more than life, but never told her," I added.

People were so very good at hurting themselves, I thought sadly.

She scrubbed furiously at her eyes, tried to find words, bit her lip until it probably drew blood.

"Stop," I gently scolded her. "It really won't help..."

"You're so fucking cold," she hissed. "She's dead and... and you... you don't even have any fucking sympathy!"

"Yes. You're right. She's dead. That much of what you said is true. And it feels like you're dying. And you want to lash out. You want to feel pain because you're scared you're not feeling enough. Because she's gone, and you're not, and how can that be right when she was the centre of your life and you loved her as much as you do?"

She stared at me for a moment, then drew breath to say something she no doubt intended to be cutting.

"What would she do if she saw you hurting yourself like this?" I asked.

That stopped her cold; her face crumpled and she clutched herself again.

I sighed, sipped my Arabica again. Machine coffee - hot plastic and an aftertaste of bleach. Delicious. Lucius's Kaffa was far better, I thought. I pushed my cup aside; I had no stomach for it any more.

"I do this a lot," I continued. "I'm there for... for a lot of people at this time. I see a lot of Death. Nearly every day, in fact. Listen to me: I wish you'd got more time with her, I really do. Believe me when I say I know what it feels like. Your world has ended. It's okay to be angry. It's okay to grieve. But don't cheapen her memory by... by wallowing in unnecessary pain. She'd never have wanted this..."

"She was my light," she whispered. "She was all that I had that was good... "

"I think she loved you too, you know," I said. I didn't know if it was true or not, of course, Rhiannon wasn't around to ask. But... sometimes it's a kindness to tell people what they need to hear. Not quite a lie, not quite the truth either.

"How would you know?" she moaned.

"Sometimes I just do. Maybe not in the sense you wanted, but it was love all the same."

I watched her for a moment.

Her hair was as dark as the spaces between stars, her eyes...

A pang of conscience as my internal alarm clock nudged me. I had somewhere else I had to be.

I sighed.

"I have to go," I said, suddenly hating the duty that I'd let be thrust on me. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah. Sure," she whispered. She sniffed, wiping her nose on her jacket sleeve, and resolutely avoided my eyes.

I pulled my shawl tighter over my shoulders and slid off the chair.

"See you sometime, maybe, Caitlyn Iona Monroe," I said, softly and stupidly.

She jumped, spilling her tea.

"How... how do you know my name?" she gasped.

Shit.

I smiled to hide my panic, and turned, and scuttled away.

"Wait!"

I heard her kick the table as she struggled to stand.

Double shit.

This had been a bad idea. Monumentally unwise...

I increased my pace. I couldn't shift from in here, too many people around who'd freak the actual fuck out...

Triple fucking shit...

She managed to catch me just outside the front door.

"Wait, wait, wait, oh God, please, wait," she was panting and crying. "How... tell me how..."

"Gotta go, sweetie," I answered. "Got someone else I've got to go see before I'm done."

"Wait, please," she cried, "Please, tell me what the fuck is going on..."

"No, honey," I said, sadly.. "Can't do that. I'm sorry. Good bye, now."

She grabbed my arm again, plucked desperately at my tatty linen sleeve with her other hand.

"How will I find you!" she cried. "Please! I need to know..."

I stopped, and turned, and faced her dead on.

I felt my Aspect come upon me.

Grey gull wings, ephemeral and intangible, spread out either side of me, distorting the world around us with the lines of intent that they cut through Reality.

Oh, wasn't that just perfect timing, came the bitter thought.

Her mouth fell open, then closed again.

"Oh Jesus," she whispered.

"No," I said. I leaned forward, kissed her forehead in gentle, benevolent benediction and farewell. "But I see him around from time to time. Caitlyn, it's time for me to go now. Stop hurting yourself. Please. Rhiannon's in a better place. Trust me. I know."

And I concentrated and I shifted away from her plaintive wailing "Wait!"

I put my hand against a grimy brick wall.

And I bit down the sudden self-pitying tears.

A breath or two, and I squared my shoulders again.

I concentrated hard, cursing under my breath, then gave up. Wings it was for this one, then. Fucking stupid traitorous fucking things.

And I took another moment to just breathe some more in my stupid and unnecessary way.

I wiped my eyes viciously, unwilling to break. Not just yet.

Then I looked up at the run down slum ruin in this foetid stretch of the underbelly of Marseilles.

Upstairs, under some cardboard and pigeon shit, Jeanne-Marie Bardet was nearly done dying from the effects of black tar heroin cut with rat poison - an unnecessarily spiteful little coup de grâce from some dickhead middleman somewhere along the way.

It had been agonizing for her, and nobody had heard her screams and, later, piteous moans.

Same old story.

But the pain was almost over, now.

She was in the midst of a dying dream of her younger sister, and would have been be smiling through her tears if her mind were still in control of anything.

She would need a kind hand and a shoulder to sob against.

The poor girl had had no chance at this life. Not really.

I would bear the burden of being both for her and see her safely away.

And then I'd go back Above and face the music.

Or, as it turned out, the symphony.

"Fuck," said Azrael.

I flinched.

He stared at me for a moment.

Then he shook his head again.

"Fuck," he repeated.

It wasn't any funnier the second time around.

"I messed up," I admitted.

"That is a... succinct way of putting it. Did you tell her what you were?"

"I mean... with words? No. But..."

His eyes narrowed.

"But what, Gwenhwyfar?"

I winced. He never called me that unless he was really pissed.

"My Aspect came upon me."

"Fuck! Gwen! We've talked about this!"

"I can't fucking control it, for... for fucking fuck's sakes!"

(No Blasphemy up Above - you get a snotty talking to from one of the Saints, usually Saint Gregory, and he is tedious beyond belief. Though it's almost worth it when you're watching him lecture a furious Seraphim on appropriate language.)

Azrael put his head in his hands and rubbed his temples

"No chance she didn't see them, I suppose?"

"Magic backlit mystical grey Gull wings the size of a sodding bus?" I answered, sarcastically.

"I suppose that was a stupid question," he admitted, wryly.

"Why... why couldn't I have had... canary wings, or butterfly wings, or a fucking... I don't know... tinsel ribbon on a stick or something?"

"Speak to the Boss," he muttered.

"Ineffable?"

"You got it in one."

He sighed.

"Azrael?"

"Yes?"

"How did she see me so clearly? I thought we were supposed to blend in..."

"It happens sometimes. Some of them are just very good at noticing things that are... out of place."

"How... often?"

"Sometimes is the best answer I can give you. It's my fault, I should have warned you. It hasn't happened for a while."

"How long is a while, Azrael?"

He raised his eyes; I swallowed, nervous, as I stared into those infinite orbs, seeing the flash of the star-studded wings of Eternity behind them.

I still sometimes forgot who he was; his avuncular gentleness was a very effective camouflage.

One got bitchy with the Angel of Death at one's own dire peril.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "I'm just... really spooked."

He nodded.

"Two hundred and forty years, give or take," he said.

"What... happened?" I whispered.

"William Blake happened."

"Fuck."

"Yes," he echoed. "Your effect on this girl is likely to be extremely... perturbing, Gwenhwyfar. But, in your defence, it... well, it wasn't really your fault, was it?"

I raised my arms, then let them fall.

Helpless.

"I... should have..."

"If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride."

"Can... can I do anything..."

"Yes."

"What? Name it! Anything! I'll do anything!" I said, desperate to fix things any way I could.

"Never see her again."

The words were cold, monolithic, the conversational equivalent of a polished stone slab with a name and some numbers engraved upon it.

I shivered, and clutched myself, and turned away.

"Jenny."

His pet abbreviation for me was soft, and filled with warmth.

I turned partly back to him, and surreptitiously tried to wipe my traitorous eyes.

"Don't be hard on yourself. You didn't know. Go, get some rest. You've earned it."

"Okay," I answered him woodenly.

And then I stumbled down from the central cupola in the great Reliquary and made my way to the door.

Lucius was waiting outside; he didn't say anything, but his dark, gentle, weathered hand was a brief but welcome comfort in the black storm clouds of guilt that swirled around me.

"Well, shove a fist up my arse and twiddle my tonsils," Jezebel said, in her usual profane way. "Here," she added, as she poured an extra double of Don Julio into my already well-lubricated tumbler. "We're going to need this."

The bottle clinked as she set it down; the table's candle's flame shivered from the vibration.

I stared at her - sultry, curvy, cinnamon-skinned, and actually at the heart of it quite gentle - wholly unlike the horror that the word Demon would usually conjure.

Blurry too - tequila always hit me hard.

She took my hand and squeezed it. Her hand was always so nice and warm; I always enjoyed her caresses.

"I fucked up so badly," I managed. I leaned onto one of the "Flutterin's" worn and slightly sticky tables and stared down into the off-gold liquid as it rippled.

She shifted around on the semi-circular padded bench until her warm, cotton-sheathed thigh was pushed up against me. She leaned in, unsteady and conspiratorial.

"No, Feathers, they fucked up. Nobody told you about the potential side effects of helping out down there."

"She'd just watched the love of her life die and then I went and gave her a..."

I paused, groping for a word.

"Traumatic Existential Crisis," she said, slowly and carefully, She smirked.

"Exactly," I slurred. "Gwenhwyfar the Ungainly, lesser Angel of Cock-ups."

Jezebel grinned and shrugged; her wayward vest's narrow strap dropped off her shoulder again, exposing more of her lovely, round breast. I leered. She noticed and glared down at it. "Stupid thing," she grumbled. "I knew I should have worn the tighter one."

I smiled slyly. "It can't help it," I quipped, "it just wants to be off you. Can't hold that against it. And anyway, that one's already plenty tight. Shows off your rack very nicely. You do have the nicest one of anyone."

She preened for a moment, then fixed me with an amber-eyed stare.

"So what are you going to do?"

"How the hell..."

She winced.

"... sorry."

"It's fine, it just tickles when anyone says that."

"Hell, hell, hell."

"Stop," she laughed, squirming against me. "Actually... don't. That's quite a nice spot it's hitting..."

"Oh, you."

"Got you smiling though."

She turned aside, sighed. "Listen, sugar-tits. I'm just a garden-variety home wrecker..."

"There is absolutely nothing garden variety about you..."

"That's sweet, but we both know I'm small fry. Jenny... this is serious business. That human's got an uphill battle coming her way. I can't believe nobody told you. What a fuckup. We're lectured on it non-stop. Do anything you want, except be discovered. Ba'al goes on these massive rants on the subject. No manifesting wings, claws, teeth or Brimstone, or it's the Pit for you and no more playing for at least a millennia. Can you imagine a millennia without sex? I can, and it's a terrifying idea."

"Maybe they did and I was just too dense to understand. Don't Scare The Humans, It Causes Problems," I intoned, in a reasonable alto imitation of Azrael.

She sniggered.

"I suppose you could also interpret that as, don't be seen. Oh well. Too late to do anything about it now. As I said, dense," I sighed, theatrically.

She leaned in closer to me; I snuck a glance at her perfect cleavage.

She smirked.

The tequila had had its usual effect and enhanced the flickering flames in her glorious, captivating eyes.

Her breath was like rich spices over hot desert sand, and I was reminded again of one of the long list of reasons I liked her so much.

"Dense, Gwenhwyfar Carew, is not a term I'd ever let anyone apply to you," she purred.

She reached out, gently caressed my uppermost inner thigh, one finger questing...

I sighed, covered her hand with mine and squeezed it. "Sorry, Bella. Not really in the mood today, as much as I wish I was..."

"Oh, okay."

"Sorry..."

"It's fine, I understand. I'll take it out on my next mark."

(Jezebel's specialisation is seducing married men and women. Demons don't really pay much attention to gender, it's all part of the job, as Bella says, and she obviously doesn't lose much sleep over the morality either. As she puts it, they don't have to say yes. She has a treasure-trove of stories when she's liquored up. Real life of the party... unlike me.)

"Sorry," I repeated, still feeling like I'd... hurt her, somehow.

"Oh, honey, I'm not upset," she said, with a warm smile. "You and me is nice with a neon N, but it's strictly invite only, yeah? Not like I haven't told you to bugger off before, right?"

I leaned in and briefly leaned my head against her.

"Love you, you know," I breathed.

She laughed deep in her throat. "Humans," she said. "You're such silly, sentimental creatures sometimes."

But I could tell from the way she stroked my cheek that she was thoroughly pleased all the same.

"I'm not human," I protested.

"New girl, you still breathe. You can't tell even tell those silly, lovely silver wings of yours when to sod off. You're never really going to be one of us; part of you will always be down there."

"You think so?" I said.

"Yeah, I do," she said, wistfully.

I snorted. "And anyway, stop trying to be smug. Your wings have feathers too. Beautiful iridescent ones. Wish mine were as pretty..."

She laughed, and leaned over, and kissed me.

I may not have been interested in anything else right then, but a kiss from her was literally one of my favourite things.

And she laughed again at the way I moaned, and lifted me and placed me (squealing) onto her lap.

And I forgot my troubles for a cinnamon-spiced moment.

Alright... maybe make that two.

The breeze stirred the leaves high above me, and played with one or two loose strands of my scruffy brown ponytail.

A butterfly of some sort got briefly tossed around in an eddy before fluttering off in irritation.

I dug my fingers into the grass, enjoying the cool green scent of my garden.

Arcadia is a strange part of Above. It can be whatever you want it to be; a memory, a perfect representation of a real place, a surreal world of oil pastel and golden light... whatever you need. It can be affected by your mood, who you're with, what you ate...

It's a blank canvas, but what it ends up presenting you is not always what you expected.

So I sat on the gentle slope and stared at the old oak that had been a young oak when I was buried beneath it.

I hadn't consciously meant to come here, and yet here I was.

By my graveside, as such.

How stereotypical - an Angel of Death lurking somewhere like this.

Though I doubt even the most stoned romantic would have visualised my Hello Kitty tee shirt and pink cotton shorts.

I thought about Rhiannon.

And then, of course, my thoughts slid onwards like a school of minnows.

To Caitlyn.

And how strange it had been to feel her, alive, in my arms for that brief, supremely-unwise period.

I sighed.

Lucius was somewhere, I suddenly knew. Looking for me. I'd need to announce myself before he'd find me. Arcadia has rules, see: no voyeurs allowed.

My lip twisted upwards into something someone who didn't know me might have mistaken for a smile.

"I'm here," I said, softly.

"Hello, Gwen. May I join you?"

"Yeah, come on in."

The trees and woodland grasses of my scene blurred and rippled as Lucius shifted into my version of Arcadia. He glanced around, frowned, then squatted down on his haunches beside me, his aquiline ebony face creasing with stark lines of concern.

"I know this place," he said softly.

"This is where it happened. This is where they did it."

He frowned at me..

"Right over there," I added, pointing towards a small patch of wild-flowers. "Give or take slippage. Two knives, I think, but it was three different men. I was so young. So innocent. So... stupid. Not much has changed, I guess."

"This is not wise," my friend said in his rich, rolling intonation of the highlands of Ethiopia.

"I know," I whispered. "But... I can't help it. Not now, and not today."

He reached out and wrapped his wizened arm around me, pulling me in towards him; I buried my face in his neck and let out a single soft sound of... quite what, I don't know. Sadness? Regret? Something along those lines, anyway.

"Ugh. You reek of Tequila," he complained. "And... oh, of her too. Lucky girl."

No judgement in his words; Lucius knew how the game was played. It wasn't like he and Jezebel hadn't had their own little shared and sordid moments back before I came along.

A little touch of jealousy that I quickly suppressed; I had no right.

I sniffed, rubbed at my eyes.

"Sorry. I'm... fragile today."

"You should leave this place, Gwenhwyfar. Come back to Wales if you must, but stop coming here to Kilryden. It just hurts you, my dear friend. Why are you even here?"

"Because of Caitlyn Monroe," I said. "That's her name, you know. The girl at the passing... I needed somewhere to think. To deal with it, where fewer eyes are watching. And... I guess my subconscious decided I needed to be here."

"You shouldn't be thinking of her."

"I've messed up her life..."

"Thinking of her will not change that. It will just create newer, greater problems..."

"I should check...."

"No, you shouldn't. Gwenhwyfar, my dearest friend. Listen to an older and wiser voice. We are not meant to mingle with them. Wash your hands of it and walk away. Nothing good will come of this."

"I can't stop thinking about her," I whispered. "The sound of the pain in her voice when her... when the love of her life died. She's twenty two, Lucius. Barely a woman."

His eyes were ancient; dark and sad.

"We cannot fix them," he said, softly, at last. "However much we might wish to, it's not our place."

"It's not right," I whispered. "It wasn't her fault."

"Nor was it yours. Sometimes... sometimes there's nobody to fix it, and nobody to blame."

"The Boss could fix it..."

"Perhaps. It's certainly within his power to change everything, of course - but what would the second order effects be? The third order? The ninth? He's the only one who sees it all. There must be a reason he lets this happen this way. I have to believe that."

I slumped forward and hid my face in my arms.

He stayed by my side, in that wonderful silent way he had of not intruding but just being there if I needed him.