If Demons Could Feel

1

Y/n's POV

"Hey Michael, we need to be leaving soon," I smiled as I entered my boss's and best friend's office.

"Where are we going again?" He frowned, looking back at his laptop.

"Outpost three," I sighed, closing the lid and picking it up, before dropping it into his bag.

"Why do we have to save anymore?" He groaned, and pulled himself up from his chair, to take his bag off me.

"We don't, we just have to show up. We don't have to bring any back," I reasoned with him, poofing his bag back into my hands to finish packing his laptop away.

"They're all dumb," he frowned, taking his bag back again, but I was faster and poofed it closed and locked so he couldn't protest, "stop using your magic!"

"Stop being a petulant child and I'll consider it," I sighed, dragging him to the door.

"I don't wanna go!" He whined.

"Michael Langdon, get your arse upstairs and into the carriage, before I do it for you," I warned him, and he left the room in silence.

"Who's the leader for this one?" I asked after ten minutes of travelling to the outpost.

"Wilhelmina Venable," he smirked.

"Hot?"

"Reasonably," he nodded.

"Wonderful, this trip's going to take a while, just so you're aware,"

"How long?"

"Seven to eight hours," I sighed.

"Can't you just use your magic and get us there now? I mean, you're the angel of death, you must have a bit more magic than you let on," he laughed.

I only ever used my magic if I needed something done. I'd never shown Michael the full extent of my abilities, because I'd never needed to, but if I'd wanted to, I could have killed everyone on the planet in seconds, with no survivors at all.

Being the Angel of Death may sound exciting, but it's not really, in fact, it's relatively boring. Of course, Michael used his magic a lot, but I preferred to keep mine to myself, only using it for simple tasks or jobs, such as cleaning or packing.

"Moving a carriage this size that far would drain me,"

"You have crystals in your bag, just recharge yourself," he rolled his eyes.

"It doesn't work like that!" I laughed.

"Well how does it work then?" He laughed back.

"I was joking! I don't have limits as to what I can do. I can get tired but I just need to sleep," I smiled.

"Oh," he laughed again, "I mean, you do have limits,"

"What do you mean?" I frowned, a smile still playing at my lips.

"Well, no one can create life, or food, or emotion,"

"I can." I whispered.

"No you can't,"

And with that, I closed my hand into a fist, and when I opened it out again, a singular black butterfly flew from my palm and onto my nose, making me giggle.

"You're the angel of death but you can create life. How ironic," he laughed, as the butterfly landed in his hair.

"Do you really want me to get us there now?" I sighed.

"Please,"

And with a slight nod, we were both in hazmat suits outside of outpost 3.