A Demon With Wings

One

Hey guys, it's T.C.,

Just wanted to say that from now on, I'll try to update daily. And by the way, if you see an update early in the morning, that means I'll most likely post twice in the same day.

Please note that requests for Orson's signature story-telling will mostly be accepted, and feel free to ask. But also, please do not offer cookies as part of the deal (allergic).

I rated this story mature, but mainly because of the swearing. Otherwise, I would have to put stars every single ******* place. But honestly, it's mandatory to check that box, to not type out stars every time, and confuse everybody. Like, do you guys know what the stars stand for?

(It stands for 'fucking')

Then again, thank you my dear readers for 0.2 k reads for my first book. You guys rock!

P.S.: that sounds nothing like me.

T.C.

"The time?" I ask.

"Three thirty in the afternoon," replies Evangeline Youngspire.

The summer sun shines in the distance, flashing like a gold curtain string on a silky blue drape, and believe me, I've seem enough of both of those in the sapphire conference room. The view outlines her ashy brown hair, and brings out her gleamy dark eyes.

Yeah, 'gleamy' is not a real word, but who cares.

"Cool, Angel," I say. "We get three more hours to spend before the assembly."

"Don't call me Angel."

"Your name is Ev-angel-ine."

Yeah, Evangeline and I started dating. Sort of. It's mainly just show for the kids.

The kids.

Maybe I care more about them than I thought.

Goodie sits down next to me. He grabs a grilled cheese and chicken sandwich from the platter, and starts inhaling it.

"Goodie? What are you doing here?" I ask, trying to sound pleasant.

That's big talk for 'What the fuck are you doing here? You little shit, get the fuck out of here!'.

"I have good news. I got promoted to field agent!" Goodie says happily.

I sigh and clap for him, while he helps hinself to another sandwich.

"What weapon do you use?" Evangeline asks kindly.

"I use a spear!" announces Goodie proudly.

Evangeline and I share a panicked look.

For Jezebel Chesterfield also used a spear.

"Oh," says Evangeline. "Why though, darling?"

"Because I heard that a girl called Chestnut used a spear, and she died a few months ago to protect the rest of us. I want to be like her! I want to save lives! I want to be Goodie Pan of Neverland!"

Yes, I told him and the other psychos that tale days ago, and he's been fanboying over it ever since.

Neither Evangeline nor I know how to answer to that. Jezebel's memory was so painful, we both preferred it if we didn't bring her up.

To Evangeline, Jezebel was the sister she could have got.

To me, Jezebel was the friend I could have made, the girl I could have treated better, and the soul I could have saved.

Now, when all we can do is honour her memory and pronounce her a hero, it just feels wrong.

I should have died, I say to myself. I could have saved both her and her soulmate, Amber. That way, my debt to her would have been paid. I don't like breaking promises. I promised Jezebel to keep her letter safe, and yet I tore it up in a fit of rage. I feel like I owe her something. And one life for two is a very good bargain.

"Miss Orson?"

"I'm not a girl."

"Orson, then. Can you kiss Miss E-van-ni-la for me?"

"It's 'Evangeline', not 'Evanilla'," Evangeline pointed out, but Goodie can't remember her name.

"Goodie," I say sternly. There's no way I'm kissing Evangeline! "Kisses shared in public are considered disgusting."

"Sorry, Mi- I mean, sorry, Orson."

I just shrug. "Meh."

Instead of the sapphire conference room, this time, we use the ruby one. That one is just for 'elites': powerful, influential members, or leaders of the organization, and successful field agents from quests.

The walls are painted soil brown. The drapes are rich crimson velvet, and the carpet is bright.

In contrast from sapphire, we sit around a long table in quaint, sleek silver thrones. The seat of honour is occupied by the All-Father, in splendid silver robes.

Evangeline sits between me and Kevin Whitehunter, and for some reason, Goodie is also present, and begs Evangeline and I to tell him a story.

I view the others at the table. I count about twenty of them. They all sit idly and stare blankly at the wall opposite them. I am about to talk to the guy on my left when I suddenly realize who he was. Starting from then, I don't dare make conversation with any of them.

They're all heroes. They are the true elite. Kev, Evan and I don't count, not to mention Goodie.

The guy on my right is staring with a bored expression on his long face. He's Ian Montenegro or something. I've heard tales about him saving a bunch of humans all my childhood.

I try to catch the eye of the girl opposite me. She's staring angrily at the air a few inches above my head. Assassinated several of Satan's most loyal servants. Felicity Oakheart.

Next to Oakheart is Daniel Yorkshire. Daniel's face is neutral, but that's where he gets his name, 'mama's biggest boy'. He fought tons of monsters, won tons of battles and saved tons of people. Just the look of his face, completely devoid of emotion and lithe, and his huge muscles (I swear, he's a twelve-pack, but so far, I haven't found anybody willing to bet with me) would make Underworldians run back to their mamas.

I look around. My friends and I look like nobodies, for I know who deserves to be here: Jezebel Chesterfield. She returned from a successful quest, and would lay down everything she lived for; her life, her family and her love; if she was asked to. The only mistake she made was to take my place as sacrificial bull.

No, even that title overstates me.

"What do you want, All-Father?" someone asks.

The All-Father bows his head and starts addressing us.