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thatmexisaurusrex · 3 years

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The Shotgun Angel: Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2: THE DEVIL’S DEN

She was a good deal taller than six foot. From what Pearl could gander, almost seven feet. She, like Ortega, felt too perfectly put together to be real. A cloud of black hair, no loose threads on here maxi dress over a white turtleneck, vibrant stockings with thick socks and doc martens. She shouldn’t look so on point. Not with a hodgepodge outfit like that. Yet so she did, standing aloof behind Noel, following her like a lost puppy hoping for scraps.

“We need coupled blood for the look up, give me your blood,” Noel demanded at the priest and the fallen angel, flailing a knife at them casually and gesturing with a particularly copper bowl.

Like that was a normal thing to do.

“What,” was the only thing Pearl could muster before the priest interrupted with a groan.

“Again? Seriously? I feel like we should just ring out a pint every other month so that you don’t have to ask us every time you want to locate people,” grumbled Iker.

“Coupled? What does coupled mean?” Pearl asked, something in her brain short-circuiting.

Ortega curled his arms around the priest like a bad joke, like snakes on prey, eyes lingering on the man who leaned into his touch.

“We called each other our own gods,” boomed Ortega with a tantalizing grin, the priest choking on his own spit.

“That’s not what we did,” panicked Iker.

“Did I not kneel upon the alter of your shrine, invoking eternal and absolute love and devotion to your being?” growled Ortega, which, wow, were all angels this intense, “Bowing to you as my new religion, revoking my rite to holy power and immortality to be at your beck and call, as are you to me?”

Iker looked away as if shy.

“Can we not talk about this here,” he murmured, “It doesn’t help with how we look amongst the children.”

“We are gods to each other, my dear, to follow to the end of our days, and there is no shame to show love. We are stronger when we show and accept our emotions near the children,” drawled the fallen angel.

Noel waved the copper bowl and the knife, rolling her eyes.

“We going to talk about eternal love and happiness or whatever or are we getting this show on the road – they got married for a case, by the way. They just never got divorced afterwards. It’s helpful but also so annoying,” remarked Noel.

Iker grabbed the knife, doing a few impressive tricks before pricking himself and the fallen angel, allowing a few of droplets into the copper bowl. He wiped off the knife, tossing it back at Noel in an honestly unsafe way, but the cursed woman caught the knife and ushered for Pearl to take it as well.

“Excuse me?” Pearl queried.

“He’s your brother. To track him I need some blood from you too,” explained Noel.

Reluctantly, Pearl grabbed the knife. It felt lighter than Pearl assumed, and looking closer, there seemed to be runes etched into the edge. Pearl pricked her finger, allowing a few drips to flow down, mixing in with the blood already there.

Noel bounded about the place as if she commanded rooms, gathering strange herbs in weird hidden spots.

“Stop hiding your things around the place like a strange hoarder or a sneaky thief,” half-heartedly yelled Iker, “Just choose a cubby or something.”

Noel headed back, crushing whatever mess she was making with her bare hands.

“I don’t know, like, a good handful of those words. I mean, what even is a cubby?” grumbled Noel, tossing a lit match into the mash as white smoke bloomed from the bowl, going straight into her eyes and Pearl still wondered if what she said about not being a demon was true.

Noel wobbled, Dru reminding Pearl she was in the room by keeping the young woman steady on her feet. It made Pearl jump. But no one cared about Pearl’s reaction, though. Noel rested her head on Dru’s shoulder, frowning.

“Well. He’s in Hades House,” said Noel.

Pearl wouldn’t have said the room was exactly a pleasant atmosphere before, but the room’s tension felt as thick as a trifle now. Iker stomped towards his office.

“I’m going with you,” said Iker.

“What? No. I can do this. I don’t need a keeper,” said Noel.

“Iker, she can work a case,” said Ortega, stopping Iker, holding his arm, “You don’t do cases anymore.”

“But its Hades House,” growled Iker.

Noel shook off whatever fears her frown hid before, shoulders stiff as she glared at the Iker, grabbing Pearl and Dru as she backed them both towards the door.

“Yeah, so? Been there before. It’ll be no problem. Better than stepping into an unknown devil’s den,” said Noel.

“Don’t worry too much, I’ll be there for her,” said Dru, chiming in for the first time since she woke up from whatever bizarre coma she was in.

Noel pulled them out of that chapel into the streets, the children from before gaggling and giggling as they watched the three leave. There were a lot of those, weren’t there? Strange little children scurrying about the place. Noel swung around, keeping her hold on Dru as she walked to the left, deeper into New Town, down narrower streets.

“What’s this about Hades House?” asked Pearl, “And devil’s dens?”

There was a rage simmering in Pearl. She loathed this. Not knowing things. She made it a point to never be at the mercy of another person, yet here she was, being dragged deeper into what could possibly be a dangerous trap.

“They’re places where darkness lurks,” Noel explained, “Where daemons make their human homes, where deals are made to particularly powerful people. It’s a horrorfest. Best to keep close, for nothing good comes of them.”

Dru nudged Noel.

“I wouldn’t say nothing good comes of them. I met you in Hades House, after all,” hummed Dru.

And for a moment, Noel smiled wistfully up at her shotgun angel. As if she were human. As if emotions can be held in those topaz eyes. That poor girl was either pitifully naïve or obtusely ignorant. Angels could have no such emotions, even if that fallen angel Ortega seemed to be an exception to the rule. Pearl almost felt sorry for Noel.

“Yeah. I guess I did,” Noel said before clearing her throat, turning to Pearl as she added, “But I’m the exception to the rule, okay? Trust me, no good comes of them.”

The first thing that felt wrong was how pristine the building was amongst all the clatter. A tall, smooth, black obelisk of a building with fire spelling out the words “HADES HOUSE” atop, fire lighting the way to the front door. Pearl glanced over to Dru and Noel, hoping for some sort of guidance.

“So, we walk?” asked Dru.

“What? No. Never. Never walk through the front door – I keep telling you that,” said Noel.

Dru rolled her eyes. As if she could be annoyed.

“You keep saying that. It always feels rude,” Dru responded.

“Well, we’re not going for a visit and a cup of tea, are we? No. This is a wreck them up sneak attack, in and out,” said Noel, pulling them around the building carefully.

Dru was noticeably awkward in her sneaking about, despite how graceful her movements seemed to be up until then. Maybe it was the whole sneaking around thing? Pearl was sure angels rarely had to do such things. They never had to with the powers they have. Noel faltered, pausing for a moment and patting herself down, tossing Pearl a breathing mechanism.

“Wear the mask. It’ll filter miasma out,” Noel said.

Dru froze, gazing down at the mask.

“Miasma? I thought that only happened in films,” stuttered Pearl.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s how it is up there in Old Town. Very cushy, good for you. Unless you want long term magicks poisoning, wear that mask,” said Noel pointedly.

Pearl grumbled, positioning the ugly mask and adjusting the straps. It felt…filtered. The gross stale kind that one could smell in the particularly old buildings that hadn’t kept up to date on their air systems.

“Why aren’t you two wearing masks?” asked Pearl.

“Oh. Right. Well, angels have no need of it and, um…due to my particular cursing, miasma doesn’t impact me like most humans,” explained Noel, suddenly stiff, “Too much talk. We’re going in. Follow close. Stay near Dru, she’ll protect you.”

Dru gave an empty smile to Pearl that Pearl guessed was supposed to comfort her, but only made her feel worse about this whole situation. To be watched over by an angel? What a monstrous thought. But there didn’t seem to be any other option but to continue on through with them, close to the strange shotgun angel and the cursed woman.

It was gaudier than Pearl expected. Like some sort of hell-themed funhouse, with bright colors and strobing lights. Whatever mooks drew the short straw for back door duty looked like they dressed circus goes punk, intense exaggerated makeup and sharp yet tule-heavy varied uniforms, like someone went to an abandoned carnival and was told to make clothes out of the broken mirrors and leftover costumes.

One stood up, a man with a fuzzy hat and a tiger-onesy, pulling down his mirrored sunglasses as he blew technicolor smoke from his glass straw. Pearl wondered if this idiot was in charge of the rest of the band around.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t lil’ Noel Baird. Haven’t seen you around in a while. Heard you’re making a name for yourself. Whispers on the street,” he said.

Noel didn’t respond. There was a guttural noise, raw and instinctual, as she moved swift, punching the man straight in the throat. He choked for a second, stumbling, gargling, and falling on his back. His friends stood up, twirling their glass straws as they grew longer into glass-like beacons, like horns, horned instruments, something to blow through.

“No, don’t start,” the man tried to warn his cronies before they all began blowing that rainbow smoke like continuous soap bubbles, a woman with half a tutu, half an intricately woven golden clown costume bringing her hands up as she started ruminating words, pulling out a spell.

Spells were usually so innocuous. Blessings by street artists to make money off of crowds. Short films. Hallucinations of a summer day in a desert of red sand. Floating for just a moment. Pearl didn’t know what was happening here. She’d never seen such a spell before. It hurt to look at it.

Noel sucked in the rainbow smoke like a vacuum, the woman starting her spell convulsing and going into shock. For a moment she kept it in, held it as the people around stared in horror.

“Oh halos and harps, she’s a Sin Eater,” a woman with a one-armed, one-legged full body suit announced, horrified, her glass horn wilting back into a thin glass straw.

Miasma. That was what it was, wasn’t it? The rainbow. Daemon magicks. Miasma. They tried to flee. Pearl was sure of it. The only one smart enough to scramble a mask on was the first man who tried to warn the others, the one who knew Noel. Maybe he was able to because he knew this would be coming. The others had no chance, did they? And just like that, Noel blew the miasma straight at them, skin flaying in her wake, all of them crumbling in pain on the ground.

“You’re sick, you know that?” the man on the ground managed to cough, still impacted despite his mask, “To your own people.”

“You’re not my people,” Noel said, stepping over him and continuing onward, Dru pulling Peal away from the carnage in this room.

They stormed quietly through maze-like hallways that didn’t seem to have any normal logic to them, though, somehow Noel knew the way with ease. Maybe it was a disconnect. She was of daemon, even if she denounced it. How could a human swallow miasma like that and shoot it back out? What even was a “Sin Eater”?

They finally reached a door at the end of a diagonal hallway, ducking away from it and stopping. Noel gave Dru a glance, a talk amongst eyes, before Dru grabbed hold of Pearl. Pearl yelped. She heard of an angel’s touch before, sure. She heard about the odd tingly sensation that could come from it, but she didn’t expect it to feel like constant static shock. Pearl squirmed under the surprise of small pain. But neither Noel nor Dru seemed to care. Noel opened the door, hopping down.

When Dru pulled Pearl in too, that was when Pearl realized the gravity felt off, falling to the ceiling of a gold-plated throne room decorated with gem plant sculptures. He was there. Aria. With his stupid expensive quaff and elaborate three-piece suit. And in front of him, a woman with the most spectacular green eyes, like a grassy knoll. Green. Pearl wondered if green was something in all daemon’s eyes. Or simply a coincidence.

The woman was all muscles. A wall draped in an outfit that seemed made of a big top tent itself. She sat on a chair of funhouse mirrors, arms opening as she noticed the intrusion, smile filled with graded down sharp teeth. Noel stepped forward, glaring.

There was something familiar between the woman and Noel. A flicker between the eyes. Of pain, of hope, of humoring the other – both taking a beat before the lava cooled and malice set in between the two. Pearl wondered if this were a different world, then they would talk like it was normal, work out whatever those looks meant. But there obviously was no wiggle room in this world.

“The Baird child. We’ve missed you. Did you come for the price on your own head? How devious of you, I might have underestimated your gumption,” she said.

Pearl knew she should be paying attention or something, but all she could think about was Aria being stupid, kneeling on the ground, gazing upon this strange green-eyed woman with rapt awe.

“You really think that, Mara? That’s what you’re reading from the situation?” spat Noel.

Mara sighed, kicking Aria to the side casually. He toppled over, rolling several times. Pearl moved to do something, anything, but Dru kept her in place.

“I was hoping you’d grown smarter since then. I thought angels were supposed to be galaxy brains or something dumb like that,” Mara bemoaned, “Azazel won’t like this. He wasn’t happy before, but this? In his own abode? You insult him? Oh, you thought it was dangerous before. Let’s see what he does now.”

Noel shrugged, too casual, like she wasn’t scared of this woman. How could she not be scared? How could she be so cool near some daemon? She even looked like she was enjoying this.

“Oh, I’ve gotten smarter. Something I’ve learned from smaller devil dens is that people without your prowess, without your level of Miasma intake? They keep pockets to break over time. They save up and use wisely, unlike the house of gluttony you run,” explained Noel, “They have to, you see, with their limited resources, their lesser scaled magicks.”

Mara was definitely bored now.

“Your point?” groaned Mara.

“It’s like you always told me,” Noel said, circling the daemon, adjusting her stance, signing something so quickly Pearl wasn’t sure if that was ASL or just nervous ticks.

Noel snapped, electricity flowing from a miasma circle surrounding the daemon. Noel grinned for a moment, victorious, seeing Mara roar in pain. She was definitely loving this. There was something in her. There had to be something in her. It horrified Pearl, she knew Noel was not right.

Whatever success Noel earned was short, the ring of lightning quickly dissipating around Mara. Mara growled, turning to a surprised Noel as the lightning soaks into Noel much like the miasma did for Noel back in that first room.

“You spoiled, ungrateful child,” boomed Mara, her hand slapping Noel over.

Like a ragdoll. She flew, broken in the air, hitting the wall hard. Too hard. Deathly hard. She wasn’t moving on the ground. Was she even breathing? Did Pearl make a mistake choosing Noel’s services?

#writeblr #original writing #fantasy #dystopian #writing #Serial #The Shotgun Angel #Chapter 2

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