Angelic (Book 2)

One

Angel looked out the window of the FBI building, arms folded, mouth pinched into a dissatisfied twist. It was raining—storming, actually—but that wasn’t what bothered her.

            It was her meddlesome twin that was putting her in such a bad mood. That stupid, goody-two shoes twin of hers who wanted to be normal. Normal. It made her fucking sick just thinking about it.

            “Miss Angel.”

            She released a heavy sigh, turning to stare at her new right-hand man, Rex. The name fit him, she supposed. Huge and lumbering, but dumb as a sack of bricks. He was a Prophet—or, former Prophet—and slowly she was busting through their ranks and turning each idiotic one of them. “What, Rex? Can’t you see I’m in a bad mood?”

            He swallowed hard, and Angel thought the whole situation had a comical twist. This man could pulverize her without breaking a sweat, but she had a greater a power; a power that would keep him from getting anywhere near her. And this was why he cowered. This was why everybody cowered, because they were no match. And she loved it that way.

            “Some of your . . . people, are wondering when we will strike the Ellie Armstrong girl. We’ve known where she’s been for a couple months now, but you aren’t doing anything.”

            Angel flexed her shoulders, popping her neck. “Tell them to screw themselves, Rex. I make the decisions around here. If they’re tired of waiting, they can leave.”

            “But—”

            “Do me a favor and look around you, Rex. Tell me what you see.”

            She already knew what was all around her. Carnage. A bunch of well-trained FBI agents lying scattered through the building, all dead. And those who weren’t were well under her influence. It was amazing, how easily people could be manipulated. “Dead people,” Rex finally said, voice slightly hoarse. “I see a whole lot of dead people.”

            “Good boy. That will be you, or anybody else, who dares question my authority or stand in my way.”

            Another audible gulp. “Yes, ma’am.”

            “How is our prisoner?”

            A flicker of a smile appeared on Rex’s lips. His hostility and blood-thirsty nature were two of the real reasons she kept him around. “Well kept, Miss Angel. Would you like to see him?”

            She nodded. “Yes. Take me there.”

            So Rex led Angel through the maze of lifeless corpses; through the stairwells and to the makeshift holding cell in the bottommost bowels of the building. The room was cleared out, holding nothing but a man shackled to the wall and a meager light bulb flickering overhead. Angel smirked.

            “Leave us,” she said, and Rex promptly walked out.

            Angel clicked forward in her heels, smiling coolly down at the old man crumpled against the wall. His hair was grey and scraggly, hanging in rattails around his face. He smelled of blood and sweat. She curled her nose.

            “You’re a sad old man,” she commented, stopping a couple feet away. “Sad and pathetic.”

            Jim Grayson lifted his head, lips pulling up as he flashed her bloody teeth. “Insult me all you want,” he rasped. “You’ll never be anything like her.”