the
pier.
Evie yawned. Today
had been a very long, strange series of events, she reflected, even
for an Avenging Angel. In fact, particularly for an Avenging Angel.
The past twenty-four hours had been full of lessons. Whether those
were lessons she was teaching or learning remained unclear. Tonight
the fuzzy logic of the afterlife was particularly impenetrable.
Around two a.m. the
bars emptied out and the taxis waiting a block away filled up.
Trick strolled out of the apartment building, hands thrust into the
pockets of his jeans, apparently in no hurry. Crossing the Strand,
he headed towards the beach. There was a damp chill in the air
though the fog bank still hung far from the shore. Evie shivered.
Not quite understanding what she was doing or why, she silently
spread her wings and soared into the air, the night wind in her
face.
He
went to the water's edge and stood there for a long time, just out
of reach of the bright, white foam on the breaking waves. The beach
and the town were very quiet. Turning, he walked along the shore
almost until the breakwater where the air blurred every so slightly
around him. Pulling a glamour over himself, Trick trance jumped almost lazily
across the sand heading south.
Evie
followed from on high, flying in wide circles. There was no sign of
the Death Mark. Roman Barracuda probably had more to do with that
than a Celestial slip-up. Trick jumped past the giant power station
squatting incongruously on prime ocean-view real estate. The tall
towers stood like exclamation points, thick plumes of white smoke
drifting up into the sky. At Redondo Beach Pier, the Reaper stopped
to scatter a flock of pelicans squatting like vultures over the
Korean fish restaurants crowding the wharf. Slipping off his glamour , he chatted with
several of the night fishermen, sipping coffee from a styrofoam cup
one of the elderly men pressed on him.
Hugging the coast,
Trick came after a time to the more rugged terrain of Palos Verdes.
Here, the Reaper finally stopped on a lonely stretch of beach. The
inlet was inaccessible from above and only barely visible from a
walking trail twisting on top of the cliff. Evie circled the beach,
checking for a trap. When she was satisfied there was no one or
nothing else except the Reaper, she drifted down through the few
low-hanging clouds just beginning to move in, to perch lightly on a
rough jumble of rocks near the water. The heavy seaside smell of
kelp, salt, and sand which Evie associated so closely with
California beaches was strangely absent, as though swept out with
the night tide.
Trick knew she was there. He had felt her presence on Pier
Street as he returned from the market. Knew she was watching his
apartment from across the street. That evening he had made one of
his favorite meals: pasta with a spicy arrabiata sauce smothered in pancetta
bacon and parmesan cheese, with crusty bread and a robust Tuscan
Chianti. He'd laughed at that, sitting in the little dining nook of
his place, watching the sunset. Trick McKitrick had come a long way
from his Arizona pan-fried steak and biscuits roots! Maybe that
wasn't necessarily a good thing. Life and death had certainly been
simpler then.
The sea always calmed
him. Made him feel that his problems were small and insignificant
in the greater scheme of things. Washing clean the evil he had seen
and done. He gave a bitter laugh; as if that were possible. To be
clean again. At the inlet he shed his clothes and walked out into
the waves. Diving into the sea, he surfaced swearing as the cold
hit him The bite of the water eased as he swam back and forth
parallel to the beach, lap after lap until he was out of breath.
Turning on his back, Trick let the sea carry him as he floated,
watching the stars, picking out the few constellations he knew. The
clouds were moving quickly now and as he floated, the gray wall
crept slowly forward until it blocked out the heavens
completely.
When he was very
small, he and his mama would pull the
pier.
Evie yawned. Today
had been a very long, strange series of events, she reflected, even
for an Avenging Angel. In fact, particularly for an Avenging Angel.
The past twenty-four hours had been full of lessons. Whether those
were lessons she was teaching or learning remained unclear. Tonight
the fuzzy logic of the afterlife was particularly impenetrable.
Around two a.m. the
bars emptied out and the taxis waiting a block away filled up.
Trick strolled out of the apartment building, hands thrust into the
pockets of his jeans, apparently in no hurry. Crossing the Strand,
he headed towards the beach. There was a damp chill in the air
though the fog bank still hung far from the shore. Evie shivered.
Not quite understanding what she was doing or why, she silently
spread her wings and soared into the air, the night wind in her
face.
He
went to the water's edge and stood there for a long time, just out
of reach of the bright, white foam on the breaking waves. The beach
and the town were very quiet. Turning, he walked along the shore
almost until the breakwater where the air blurred every so slightly
around him. Pulling a glamour over himself, Trick trance jumped almost lazily
across the sand heading south.
Evie
followed from on high, flying in wide circles. There was no sign of
the Death Mark. Roman Barracuda probably had more to do with that
than a Celestial slip-up. Trick jumped past the giant power station
squatting incongruously on prime ocean-view real estate. The tall
towers stood like exclamation points, thick plumes of white smoke
drifting up into the sky. At Redondo Beach Pier, the Reaper stopped
to scatter a flock of pelicans squatting like vultures over the
Korean fish restaurants crowding the wharf. Slipping off his glamour , he chatted with
several of the night fishermen, sipping coffee from a styrofoam cup
one of the elderly men pressed on him.
Hugging the coast,
Trick came after a time to the more rugged terrain of Palos Verdes.
Here, the Reaper finally stopped on a lonely stretch of beach. The
inlet was inaccessible from above and only barely visible from a
walking trail twisting on top of the cliff. Evie circled the beach,
checking for a trap. When she was satisfied there was no one or
nothing else except the Reaper, she drifted down through the few
low-hanging clouds just beginning to move in, to perch lightly on a
rough jumble of rocks near the water. The heavy seaside smell of
kelp, salt, and sand which Evie associated so closely with
California beaches was strangely absent, as though swept out with
the night tide.
Trick knew she was there. He had felt her presence on Pier
Street as he returned from the market. Knew she was watching his
apartment from across the street. That evening he had made one of
his favorite meals: pasta with a spicy arrabiata sauce smothered in pancetta
bacon and parmesan cheese, with crusty bread and a robust Tuscan
Chianti. He'd laughed at that, sitting in the little dining nook of
his place, watching the sunset. Trick McKitrick had come a long way
from his Arizona pan-fried steak and biscuits roots! Maybe that
wasn't necessarily a good thing. Life and death had certainly been
simpler then.
The sea always calmed
him. Made him feel that his problems were small and insignificant
in the greater scheme of things. Washing clean the evil he had seen
and done. He gave a bitter laugh; as if that were possible. To be
clean again. At the inlet he shed his clothes and walked out into
the waves. Diving into the sea, he surfaced swearing as the cold
hit him The bite of the water eased as he swam back and forth
parallel to the beach, lap after lap until he was out of breath.
Turning on his back, Trick let the sea carry him as he floated,
watching the stars, picking out the few constellations he knew. The
clouds were moving quickly now and as he floated, the gray wall
crept slowly forward until it blocked out the heavens
completely.
When he was very
small, he and his mama would pull the
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