Fall Ch. 00-03

"I know him. I brought back some of the information that was put in the addendums. He's a piece of work but if you have to go up against one of the stronger angels I don't think there's a better demon to back you."

"That might be why she wants you to see this. You're comfortable with them. You need to be uncomfortable. If and when you're caught-"

"I work with them. A lot. I get sent against angels mostly, and against the strongest of either side when some weak sister like Jack tucks his tail and runs. Don't think I don't know what they are, or what kind of death I'm looking at." Verena frowned and looked at the scraps that were legible more closely. The writing was strange but she thought she might have seen it before. "What language is this?"

"Khmer. She thought putting it in her mother tongue would be security enough."

"She was wrong. If they don't know every language they learn it real quick." It looked like the paper had been written on and then torn. "Did she write and then tear? Wouldn't it be better to tear and then write?"

"She did, and most put them on completely unrelated slips of paper. Some do colors of ink to put them in order, some colors of paper, some have done tiny numbers." Bile studied her grimly. "The more you gather the more danger you're in."

"Can I send envelopes of scraps to you? It might help keep too much of what I gather from ending up illegible when I'm lying in a pool of my own blood."

"She wasn't lying in it, she was suspended over the desk." Bile snapped as if she were being disrespectful.

"Oh, I imagine I'll be a bloody pulp. Savmon must not have been fond of her if he left her alive. He got friendly with me and told me if I pissed him off I could expect to have my skull fucked and he'd drag me to hell personally."

"He..." Bile stared at her. "He didn't leave her alive. Her spirit clings to an object she prepared to prevent him from dragging her to hell. She was one of us and she causes no harm so we haven't allowed anyone to dispel her."

"Then maybe I was wrong. Demons have a different idea of friendly." Verena gave the older man a rueful smile. "They're nastier to people they like."

"Have you met all of them..." Something seemed to be dawning on him.

"Every one in every grimoire I've read."

"Ezenach?" He asked suddenly quiet, leaning toward her.

"I've worked with him. He's a quick one. The grimoire said we wouldn't encounter him but he's come twice when I put out the general call."

"He shouldn't have, he's a co-ordinator, not a-a-"

"Player?" Verena offered helpfully. "They're all players. They just have different roles. I think he came because he needed some things done. Things that needed a human game piece to complete."

Bile's face became unreadable as he leaned back. "I'll give you a name and address to send scraps to. You're going to start with the grey-the newly fallen?"

"I will. I'm not sure what to include, as far as I know, they can't be summoned individually."

"Names, and everything you've learned from them and about them."

Verena gave a tentative nod. "I've learned so much, picking and choosing what to write might be difficult." She rubbed her face. "I'll do my best. I'll be trying to find a way to scramble things as if I were writing about a demon too. I might have to try a few different things until I find something I like."

"They usually do. I doubt you can throw anything at us we can't decipher."

"I'll just try to keep it coherent enough for me then and trust you can figure it out."

°°°°°°°°°°

Three

Finding a place to write with a place she could inconspicuously drop her envelopes of paper scraps wasn't as hard as she thought. The public library was already a part of her normal routine. Verena had been given several big boxes of envelopes and she always kept one or two with her along with stamps. Paper she picked up anywhere, old newspaper, printer paper, legal paper, scrap paper out of a wastebasket.

How the librarians were doing deciphering it, or even if it had been deemed worth the work she didn't know. But she kept at it, she had plenty to write about. The more she thought, the more she realized she should add. The project, however, distracted her more than it should. Verena was jotting a few words on a piece of scrap paper when someone leaned close with their mouth next to her ear.

"I would almost think you were writing a grimoire, but you have no one to write about," the voice was like silk.

"If it were a grimoire I'd be dead, so I guess I'm glad it was a less dangerous task I was put to." Verena mentally kicked herself for not paying attention the way she should have been.

A man's manicured hand reached out to rifle through the scraps. "Writing about the newly fallen?"

"That was my task. They don't want to hear me talk but they want me to write it down."

"I'd be thrilled to hear you talk about them." He began to collect her scraps.

"Those are mine, and I don't know you so back the fuck up." She drew a small protective symbol on the tabletop with her finger and he withdrew his hand.

"I'm withdrawing my hand out of politeness. That little symbol isn't enough to drive me away." He sounded more amused than annoyed.

"Thank you." Verena gathered her unfinished scraps of paper and shoved them into the still blank envelope.

"I would have expected the dispellers to know a great deal about the newly fallen already."

"And you would be wrong. They still call them grey angels and why am I talking to you again?" She turned and faced him taking in his carefully constructed appearance.

His eyes were black flecked with rich brown like mahogany obsidian, the brown nearly matched the brown of his coiffed hair and well-kept beard. The closely folded wings were those of a bird of prey, a mottling of dark browns with hints of a lighter color beneath. He was dressed like a wealthy hipster in layers of snug-fitting clothes, mostly in earth tones, and a scarf draped casually around his neck.

"Because you have a soft spot in your heart for those who choose to do things differently."

"That sounds so odd coming from someone who looks like a GQ model."

He smiled and shrugged with one shoulder, "I was under the impression you liked pretty."

"I do. Pretty screams danger. What can I do for you? I'm not used to chatting with pretty unless I'm paying for it."

"You make us sound like whores." He smiled brightly.

"Uncle used to say, 'If the shoe fits, lace that bitch up and wear it.'" Verena couldn't help but grin at him.

"Dispellers. As if a john isn't as sinful." He grinned like a cheshire cat, while the teeth were human the smile was a little too wide.

"I don't think I said I had a problem with it. Pay for play has a long and storied history."

The demon began to laugh, "Child of breath, you have no idea."

"I've seen how far back the records go, and I'm not dumb enough to think we've ever been able to do this on our own." Verena watched his eyes widen with amusement.

"I would love to hear about those records as well."

"I bet you would. But my question still stands."

"You've been called a child of breath before."

"Often and fondly. But it's usually prefaced with, 'There is no creature as trying as a.'"

He laughed again, "Why don't we go somewhere more pleasant and talk about that."

"Nah. It's been nice, but I've asked twice and you've gotten all you're going to get." Verena gave him a smile and a shrug tracing a complicated symbol on her hand with her pen. A symbol she'd practiced so many times she didn't even need to look down to do it.

"You don't want to know what I want anymore? Or what I can offer you?" He looked at the symbol with amusement.

"You want to know what I know about the newly fallen, among other things. And you'll offer me whatever will get you what you want right up until you've got it, and then I'm as good as dead. Why you're curious does peak my interest slightly but not enough to keep engaging with you. So you can go now."

His head tilted slightly as he stepped forward reaching to touch her face, "Do you think-" He hissed and jerked his hand back as if it had burned him to come so close to her skin. "How much have you learned, child of breath?"

Verena gave him a mock regretful pout, watching him silently. The veneer of his face rippled like water for the briefest of moments before he inclined his head and departed. She sat for a moment deciding what she wanted to do next. A new place to write, possibly a new place to live, would be in order. The security office would be the first stop that would make sense, they would help get things straight.

Rising from her seat she checked her pocket for the envelope and the flat detachable wallet insert that held her ID, a ten, a stamp book, and a prepaid credit card. Everything was still there and she tucked it all back in with the pen. Her new used coat she pulled from the seat next to her and shook out. A phone fell out onto the floor. She left it lying there.

"Hey, you dropped your phone."

"It's not mine." Verena stalked out of the library paying closer attention to her surroundings this time. She was most definitely being watched.

"Spare some change?" A familiar voice inquired as she moved down the streets purposefully. Cehrael.

"I have a ten. If you're hungry we can split a sandwich or something."

His face crinkled in amusement, "I wasn't sure you'd stop."

"For you, always. I am in kind of a situation though. If I used my ears for something other than decoration..." She sighed, annoyed with herself.

"We're keeping watch over you, we know how you can be."

"I appreciate that. It's good to know that there's some truth to the rumor god looks out for children and fools." Verena gave him a wry smile and watched his lemon quartz eyes light up.

"Come sit with me."

"I have things that need doing, I need to get to the office." Verena stepped toward him as he held out a hand, taking it and letting him tug her down on the cardboard seat next to him.

"Show me what you were writing?" Cehrael looked at her curiously.

Fishing the envelope out of her pocket she handed it over and watched as he looked through the scraps with bemusement.

"You're writing about us?"

"Yeah, they, um, any time I ever tried to correct them or explain something they ignored me or made fun of me, except at the library. I was told to write it down. Practice like a grimoire."

He nodded with a smile. "It would be nice if they stopped calling us grey angels." Cehrael paused for a moment. "These sentences are unfinished."

"I was interrupted. You don't happen to know who the stranger was do you?" Verena asked hopefully.

"I do."

"Would you be willing to tell me?" She offered him an impish grin.

"If you would do something for me." His amusement was fading.

"I'm not supposed to be taking jobs from you. I know I've hopscotched over a couple of lines Cehr..."

"Just speak with him, that's all I ask."

"Speak with who?" Verena's grin had been replaced with a worried frown and the fallen extended a tawny wing and hooked it over her shoulder. "Now you're really making me worry."

"I know you dislike them, but please be polite."

A grim-faced older man in a sharp grey suit moved purposefully toward them. His white wings with the dark grey on the very tips were distinctive, she didn't need to see his pale morganite eyes to know Ezeviel no matter what he changed his human face to.

"Oh hell no. You need to let go of me, Cehr."

"Sit, child of breath. And hear the words." Ezeviel stopped in front of them glaring down at her, speaking in a voice that felt like ice-covered steel.

"No. Fuck you." Pushing Cehrael's wing off of her shoulder she came to her feet in a rush of adrenaline. "One of the two of us is going to walk away right fucking now, either you can step out of my way or you can just keep on walking."

"You will listen." Ezeviel spread his snowy wings.

Crossing her arms over her chest she began to mutter under her breath. This wasn't how she'd planned on using this particular trick but she didn't have anything else with her. The penned symbol on her hand began to burn and the lines of the UV tattoos on her skin felt like they were igniting.

"Armor. Child of breath, I-" A hint of interest flickered across Ezeviel's face before she uncrossed her arms and clapped her hands. The sound of the clap rattled windows and made him take half a step back. It had caught his wings like a gust of wind and he closed them promptly.

"Leave me." Verena stood glaring at the angel willing it to walk away with every fiber of her being.

Ezeviel studied her briefly and turned to walk away without further discussion.

She rounded on Cehrael, "Why would you do that? If I pissed you off that badly you can open your fucking mouth and tell me!" Her heart was pounding.

"I asked you to listen."

"Not to him. NEVER to him." The look of cold incomprehension on the fallen's face made her want to kick him. "I gotta go." It felt like her mind was burning like the lines on her skin, churning with frustration, exasperation, chaos, and anger.

The line in the middle of the street was under her foot when he stood and shouted after her, "How can you expect me to understand if you won't explain it?" He was using her own words against her.

Verena stopped and turned on her heel moving back toward him, she stopped in front of him looking up into his clear yellow eyes. "That one, Ezeviel, is the one who killed my Uncle. I know this job is going to get me killed. I know we don't have long life spans, even compared to other humans. I even know it shouldn't be personal. But it is." She struggled not to let the lump in her throat close it up, blinking back the angry tears. "I watched him put a sword through the chest of the one solid person in my life."

"The wound that does not heal." He sighed and wrapped his arms around her before enclosing her in his wings.

The sob wrenched itself out of her before she got control of herself again breathing deeply and holding on to him tightly under the warmth and protection. After a few moments she said softly, "Some wounds don't."

He crooned softly to her, "Some broken hearts never mend/ Some memories never end/ Some tears will never dry/ My love for you will never die."* One of Uncle's favorite songs that she'd listened to over and over again after...

She drew a juddering breath pressing her face into his dirty shirt again. "I love you too." For a few long moments more he held onto her and then released her. Taking a deep breath of the cold air outside of the confines of his wings she said tiredly, "Please never do that again. I hate surprises. If you want me to speak to someone give me some warning, and you won't ever get me to speak to him. Ok?"

"Ok." Cehrael nodded slowly, extending his hand he offered her the envelope back, she realized she'd forgotten about it entirely.

"Thanks." Verena offered him a small smile and he smiled warmly at her.

"Go, child of breath. And perhaps find yourself something to eat on the way." His warm concern put a more genuine smile on her face.

"I will. Thanks." She inclined her head respectfully before turning to go in a calmer fashion. There was a little place with cheap doubles not far out of the way and that sounded really good right now.

*Williams, Don. "Some Broken Hearts Never Mend." Visions, Wayland Holyfield, ABC-Dot, 1977, Side B Track 1.