Death's Angel
Chapter One: Watching
Deirdre watched, her blonde hair curling around her shoulders. Old man Justin would die today. He hobbled along the street, his walker in front of him. The man was well past his prime, the flesh was old and wrinkled, but still he was quick and not afraid to use his walker as a weapon. She had watched him grow up. She remembered the luster of his brown hair and his sleek body. Time had done Justin well. Deirdre walked across the street, just as Justin fell, clutching his chest. He looked up at her. They only ever saw her in their last moments.
"Who are you?" he croaked.
"I am Pale Death. The Reaper. Your end," she hissed, plunging the scythe into his heart. He gave one final gasping breath, fingers curling around the blade protruding from his body. A paper materialised in her hand. "Jemal Scarlet, age 21," she mused. He was her next job. She strode away as the mortals crowded around the man. Justin had always been alone, except for Deirdre's watchful eyes.
She stood tall, almost six feet, as she allowed herself to be seen. Mortal's always stared at her eyes, as she walked past them. They were a lavender, a pale violet. She wore black leather, stilleto heeled boots and her scythe had transformed into a choker, which wrapped around her pale throat. The punk kids nodded at her, the goths called to her and the emos watched her passing with silence. They knew who she was. They alone could see the skull and crossbones on her palm. She nodded in return to each of them. Everyone else pretty much moved away from her, like she was poisonious. Deirdre was so tangled up in her thoughts that she ran head first into a young man.
"Oh," she said, falling on her bum. She looked up to see who she had ran into. A young man stood over her, blue hair spilling over his forehead.
"Are you okay?" he asked, offering her his hand. She took it, her gloves preventing him from her death touch. She brushed off her rear. A back ally of Reno was not where she needed to be. He looked at her, his eyes were like ice. A cold, crisp blue. "Are you okay?" he repeated. Startled she broke his gaze. He was at least six foot five, even in her heels she was an inch shorter then him.
"I'm fine. What's your name?" she asked. Deirdre had a silver tongue, words like honey would flow from her mouth, compelling people to tell her what she wanted. He looked her up and down, his gaze raking over her body. Oddly, heat rose to her cheeks, coloring them for the first time in decades.
"Depends on who you're looking for," he said slowly, as if being cautious with his words.
"I'm looking for Jemal. I'm a friend of a friend," she said. Apparently this caught his interest.
"Follow me, lady. Jemal's got a date with death and if you're a friend, then you're not going to want to miss this," His gaze raked up her body again. She followed him severeal blocks, he would pause as if he were waiting for her, though she kept pace with him easily. You didn't become a Reaper if you couldn't keep up with teenagers.
Knives flashed in the dark as two boys advanced towards each other in a clearing, where the boy stopped.
"Think you can stop them?" he asked. Something about Jemal, she just knew which one he was. She stepped forward and he hit her like a ton of bricks. She put a hand to her head. "Lady, you okay?" She shook her head, eyes locked on Jemal.
He held her in his arms, smiling down at her, bright green eyes looking into her brown eyes.
"Deirdre, never forget me," he said. She smiled up at him. Lips inches from his.
"Never, my heart," she murmured, closing the distance and kissing him, arms tightening around his neck.
"Promise me, regardless of how many centuries pass, your spirit will always remember me," he murmured against her lips.
"I promise," her corset was tight around her chest, as she thought about the upcoming war. No doubt she would lose her Jamie. I can't lose him, she thought.
Deirdre stumbled forward, her arm raised to ward off the blow of the enemy.
"Jamie!" she screamed. The knife dug into her arm. She threw the man back, pulling her choker off, Onyx forming in her hand.
"Lady! You're going to get yourself killed!" the kid yelled. Jemal looked up at her, the blow would have been fatal, if she hadn't stopped it. Black blood was running in rivults down her arm. What in the hell am I doing? I reap souls for Lucifer. How can my soul remember that? she wondered, her scythe in her hand.
"Miss," Jemal said. "Do I know you?" he asked. Deirdre's world spun. He didn't remember her. The man who had attacked Jemal stood up, groaning. Deirdre hissed, sinking into a defensive position. He ran and Deirdre turned to Jemal.
"You don't know who I am?" she asked. He shook his head slowly. "I'm going to get into enough trouble as it is," She rubbed her temples.
"Then hide with me," he said, offering her his hand, black hair hung in front of his eyes. She pushed his hair from his face, pulling him close in one swift motion. His eyes were Jamie's eyes. "Lady, you're crazy, but pretty," he chuckled. "Let's go," Was there anywhere she could go that Lucifer couldn't find her? He pulled her away.
"Who are you?" he croaked.
"I am Pale Death. The Reaper. Your end," she hissed, plunging the scythe into his heart. He gave one final gasping breath, fingers curling around the blade protruding from his body. A paper materialised in her hand. "Jemal Scarlet, age 21," she mused. He was her next job. She strode away as the mortals crowded around the man. Justin had always been alone, except for Deirdre's watchful eyes.
She stood tall, almost six feet, as she allowed herself to be seen. Mortal's always stared at her eyes, as she walked past them. They were a lavender, a pale violet. She wore black leather, stilleto heeled boots and her scythe had transformed into a choker, which wrapped around her pale throat. The punk kids nodded at her, the goths called to her and the emos watched her passing with silence. They knew who she was. They alone could see the skull and crossbones on her palm. She nodded in return to each of them. Everyone else pretty much moved away from her, like she was poisonious. Deirdre was so tangled up in her thoughts that she ran head first into a young man.
"Oh," she said, falling on her bum. She looked up to see who she had ran into. A young man stood over her, blue hair spilling over his forehead.
"Are you okay?" he asked, offering her his hand. She took it, her gloves preventing him from her death touch. She brushed off her rear. A back ally of Reno was not where she needed to be. He looked at her, his eyes were like ice. A cold, crisp blue. "Are you okay?" he repeated. Startled she broke his gaze. He was at least six foot five, even in her heels she was an inch shorter then him.
"I'm fine. What's your name?" she asked. Deirdre had a silver tongue, words like honey would flow from her mouth, compelling people to tell her what she wanted. He looked her up and down, his gaze raking over her body. Oddly, heat rose to her cheeks, coloring them for the first time in decades.
"Depends on who you're looking for," he said slowly, as if being cautious with his words.
"I'm looking for Jemal. I'm a friend of a friend," she said. Apparently this caught his interest.
"Follow me, lady. Jemal's got a date with death and if you're a friend, then you're not going to want to miss this," His gaze raked up her body again. She followed him severeal blocks, he would pause as if he were waiting for her, though she kept pace with him easily. You didn't become a Reaper if you couldn't keep up with teenagers.
Knives flashed in the dark as two boys advanced towards each other in a clearing, where the boy stopped.
"Think you can stop them?" he asked. Something about Jemal, she just knew which one he was. She stepped forward and he hit her like a ton of bricks. She put a hand to her head. "Lady, you okay?" She shook her head, eyes locked on Jemal.
He held her in his arms, smiling down at her, bright green eyes looking into her brown eyes.
"Deirdre, never forget me," he said. She smiled up at him. Lips inches from his.
"Never, my heart," she murmured, closing the distance and kissing him, arms tightening around his neck.
"Promise me, regardless of how many centuries pass, your spirit will always remember me," he murmured against her lips.
"I promise," her corset was tight around her chest, as she thought about the upcoming war. No doubt she would lose her Jamie. I can't lose him, she thought.
Deirdre stumbled forward, her arm raised to ward off the blow of the enemy.
"Jamie!" she screamed. The knife dug into her arm. She threw the man back, pulling her choker off, Onyx forming in her hand.
"Lady! You're going to get yourself killed!" the kid yelled. Jemal looked up at her, the blow would have been fatal, if she hadn't stopped it. Black blood was running in rivults down her arm. What in the hell am I doing? I reap souls for Lucifer. How can my soul remember that? she wondered, her scythe in her hand.
"Miss," Jemal said. "Do I know you?" he asked. Deirdre's world spun. He didn't remember her. The man who had attacked Jemal stood up, groaning. Deirdre hissed, sinking into a defensive position. He ran and Deirdre turned to Jemal.
"You don't know who I am?" she asked. He shook his head slowly. "I'm going to get into enough trouble as it is," She rubbed her temples.
"Then hide with me," he said, offering her his hand, black hair hung in front of his eyes. She pushed his hair from his face, pulling him close in one swift motion. His eyes were Jamie's eyes. "Lady, you're crazy, but pretty," he chuckled. "Let's go," Was there anywhere she could go that Lucifer couldn't find her? He pulled her away.