Angel Dust (6 page)

‘But,' I said, sighing, folding my wings in around my sides. ‘Joey didn't.'

‘I know,' said Larry, ‘believe me.
I know
, and I feel
so
bad
about it. And by the way I'm an Independent Celestial Advisor. I broker all sorts of Heavenly deals.'

‘I see,' I said. I didn't see anything – except that there were further huge embarrassing gaps in the Cloisters' Angelic Curriculum.

‘I really feel very bad about the Rate of Exchange,' he said. ‘But it's beyond my control. Now if you could have placed your deal earlier, I could have spared you the un-pleasantries.'

‘So you're a Business Angel,' I said.

‘Sorry,' he said, ‘but someone's got to broker loans, manage repayments, work out interest levels. Someone's got to be ready to sue for compensation in the Halls of the Dead.'

I sighed. Of course. I should have realised Extensions were far too simple to be true.

‘Look, next time call me first. With a bit of time there could have been more choice. Here's my card: Claim Souls Direct.'

More choice? Did he mean he could have selected some other poor unfortunate being to send to Hell?

‘None of it's personal,' said Larry dejectedly, ‘but business is so cut-throat these days. Other celestial dealers would have demanded much tougher terms. It's no wonder I don't make any profit.' He put his head in his arms.

He sounded so upset. I put out a hand and laid it on his shoulder. ‘Don't worry, this isn't your fault. I shall take the blame,' I asserted very magnanimously.

Larry looked at me through grateful eyes. ‘I saw you and Marcus together. I saw a glimpse of a glorious future for you both. I love happy endings.' He sighed and looked sadly into his glass. ‘I never had a chance at a happy ending.'

There was something in his voice, something broken and immeasurably moving that cut straight to my heart. He wasn't just giving me any old sales patter. He really meant it.

‘I'm sorry,' he whispered. ‘All I did was cause a bit of chaos; get the kids to cluster a bit more around Joey, so there was a clear path to Marcus when the meds came in. You really shouldn't blame yourself. It was the paramedics who decided which one to save.'

I felt too ashamed to follow his logic. How could I blame it on the paramedics? Here I was drinking champagne, in a nightclub, after having
not
Collected the soul that I was charged to Collect, after having signed an Extension Contract,
without
having read the small print. And now I was being talked into sending the best friend of the boy I'd pledged on my Holy Oath to watch over – to Hell. How could I blame all that on the paramedics?

I despised myself.

I was the worst, sloppiest, most despicable kind of angel ever.

Suddenly Larry looked like he'd swallowed a hedgehog. ‘Christmas!' he said. ‘It's a bit late to get upset now,' and he gestured behind me.

I turned. I saw Joey stretched out. The paramedics were giving up. One of them started to lift the thermal blanket up, to cover Joey's face. Another was unpacking a body bag.

Joey was already dead!

What the Hell was I going to do now?

Joey was dead. How could that be? Hastily I scanned the room to see if another Angel of Death had arrived. Nobody.

It was quite extraordinary. Joey had died all by himself.

‘Why don't you go and give him a nice send-off, Kiara? That'll make you feel better. It really
wasn't
your fault,' urged Larry.

I should go straight to the Pearly Gates. I should tell St Peter immediately. I knew I should. But if I left Joey's soul unattended to, the demons would get it. I could see they were back already, greedily stretching out their diabolical tentacles towards him.

I could hardly believe he hadn't been provided with an angel. How could I abandon him? Leave his soul for those foul spectres to suck up? He was Marcus's best friend, for God's sake! I wouldn't leave a dog for those shades to feast on. I had to decide. Joey was Passing Over
right now
. I could see his soul hovering, peeking out from his body, scared, shocked, alone.

‘Probably be a good idea to help him out,' repeated Larry, nodding at the wisp of grey bobbing up from the stricken corpse.

What else could I have done? How could I have forsaken him?

‘If you leave him to the beasties, you'll be in even worse trouble,' whispered Larry.

I thought about it. He was right. To switch Joey with Marcus, for somehow I knew that's exactly what had happened, then condemn him to Hell without a chance to repent
and
leave him unattended to,
and
allow Lucifer's hordes to get him first. It was unforgivable, like being drunk behind a wheel and hitting someone and driving off at top speed and not reporting it. The Superiors at the Cloisters had certainly told me about
that
kind of wickedness. The sin of neglect. The sin of cowardice. The sin of being self-serving. No, I must help him. I had to do my best to put right the wrongs I'd created.

So I got up off my bar stool and hurried to Joey's side. The paramedics had already given up. Police were everywhere: taping off the dance floor, inspecting the corpse, chalking round the body. Obviously they couldn't see Larry or me.

Without a second thought I took up a fighting stand. Those demons as sure as Hell were going to get it. They crept forward, vile things. First I sent a volley of thunderbolts at them. Then I shook my tresses and summoned the great airy storms of Elysium to sweep them away. They turned tail and fled.

Then I caught the grey wisp in my arms. Joey Bigga's soul. I would help him for Marcus's sake.

‘Hey Joey,' I called softly.

It turned and, seeing me, began to tremble like a naked child.

I unfurled one wing and sheltered it. I allowed it to recollect itself, to know that it was going to be protected. It grew stronger and more defined under my touch. At last it managed to shake itself free of its body (always those last few wisps) and assume the full size that had been Joey. It clothed itself in the memory of its garments, and started to look again like Joey Bigga. Yes, Joey in his leather jacket, his designer sunglasses, his jeans and high-tops.

‘I'll look after you,' I said, filled with pity – for as I spoke Joey hunted about him. On his face was disbelief, astonishment that all the good times had ended, surprise that the reckoning hour had come.

I took in his measure. Yes, Joey's soul was not overly large. He'd done a few good deeds in his life, but nothing remarkable – just little acts of friendship mostly inspired by self-interest. My heart eased a bit. There wasn't one spotless wisp of pure white on his soul. Perhaps Larry was right. I hadn't made such a huge blunder. Joey was damned anyway, and the world was well rid of him.

Nevertheless it was only right that I make amends. ‘Would you like to repent?' I asked very gently.

‘Repent what?' said the soul of Joey, checking himself out, patting his arms and chest. Souls like to do that. They find the Passing Over hard; the transition between corporeal reality and the nether world alarms them.

‘Just repent,' I said. ‘Atone for wrongs done, apologise for pain caused?'

‘Repent?' He raised an eyebrow and peered at me. ‘Repent all the good times? All the thrills, the spills, the guns, the game?' He shook his head. ‘All those wild nights? Those hot babes! Why?' He looked around as if he expected to see a procession of wild nights filled with hot babes yet to come.

I clucked my tongue at him. How shameless he was.

‘So I can save your soul,' I said. Although now he was already dead I doubted if I could. Technically you're supposed to repent whilst you're still alive. I'd never tried it the other way round. And actually you're not supposed to enter into any debate about it either.

‘Nah,' he said shakily. ‘I mean, OK.' He seemed unsure. ‘I wanna go where the bad guys are.'

‘Just as well,' hissed Larry from the bar. ‘Breaking the contract could be messy.'

‘Well,' I said, not quite knowing how to handle this, ‘you have to be sure. Are you really sorry?'

Joey eyed me suspiciously as if I were trying to trick him.

‘No comment,' he said.

I shot a desperate look at Larry. He jerked his head as if to say, Well, the chips are up for him, then.

‘Joey?' I tried again. ‘This is your last chance.'

‘No comment,' he repeated as if he were being cross-examined by the police.

‘Then you must come with me,' I said. He was going to go to Hell anyway – no need to continue the charade. ‘I'll show you the way.'

With a heavy heart I took his hand. He'd been so nearly there. If the circumstances had been different – perhaps with some extras – a choir of cherubim?

‘You mean I've got to leave all this fun at the club, right now? I never even got going,' he moaned.

I smiled. I didn't like to tell him there would be no ‘getting going' where he was bound. Instead I said, ‘Well, looks like the fun here is done for tonight. We shouldn't leave it too long. There's a kind of schedule involved. There might be a queue by the time we get to the river.'

‘A queue?' he said, raising his eyebrows. ‘Hell sure is a banging hot place, eh? All da crews lining up to get in?'

I nodded. Absolutely. It was a very banging hot place indeed.

Joey looked around and seemed to remember something. ‘Where am I?' he said.

‘Still at The Mass, the nightclub,' I said.

‘No,' he said. ‘Where am I? I mean
me.
' He tried to slap at his arms. ‘Me. You know – Joey Bigga.'

‘I think,' I said slowly, ‘the paramedics took you away.'

‘Then I must get me back,' said Joey. ‘I can't die. You've got to save me.
I don't want to die . . .
' His eyes took on a haunted look.

‘I'm sorry,' I said. ‘You're already dead.' Then, more reassuringly: ‘The worst is over.'

‘No!' All his bravado was gone. He grabbed at me. ‘I'm sorry, OK? You've got to help me. I can't die. I can't go to Hell!'

I looked down at him. Poor Joey.

Larry gave me an encouraging thumbs-up. He mouthed,
‘That's my girl.'

I tried to feel encouraged. ‘Come,' I said, taking Joey under my wing. ‘I'll keep you company. There aren't many hotter babes than me. We'll cruise on down the Highway and chat. You can have your pick of music – a few strains of the harp, perhaps? I'm good at the harp.'

Joey gave me an odd look, so I let some Welsh harp music drift across the street and swirl up into the club.

‘That. Is. Total. Crap,' said Joey.

I didn't try again. Instead I led him off the dance floor, out of the club, past Larry (who smiled at me again, said, ‘Good girl, Chiara, catch you later by the river'), and up the narrow stairs. We passed the bouncers' bay, the cloakroom, the upstairs café and stepped out into the still night of the city.

Between you and me, Joey wasn't the easiest person to play Guiding Angel to. He clung desperately to his human form, and he couldn't seem to quit weaving around and galloping forward.

‘Hey, Joey,' I said, ‘you'll get the hang of being dead quicker if you try walking first, and accept that your “body” now belongs to a different realm.'

As I said that, Joey launched forward and bumped into another soul and knocked it for six. He did it again. I found myself saying, ‘Sorry,' and, ‘He's so new to this,' to the other Seraphim escorting their charges down to the river. (In our own realm, sadly, we can't travel in the beat of a wing.)

‘Taking it badly, is he?' asked a Seraph, someone I knew vaguely by sight (the Cloisters? Last year? Trumpet practice?).

I nodded, but what if Joey's erratic progress was less to do with him taking it badly, and much more to do with him taking it at all?

I smiled at the other Seraph and shrugged my shoulders. But I didn't feel as upbeat as I looked. The thought of St Peter's disappointment, his slow ponderous questioning, his melancholic disapproval sent shivers into even my most fiery bits. I'd have to confess, of course – but I
was
beginning to wonder if . . . you know . . . if everything went OK, with Joey, whether I couldn't put it off a bit? At least until Marcus had repented, and I could show some positive outcome?

My fellow Seraph smiled back. I liked her immediately.

I didn't much like the Highway, though. It was broad, of course, and they'd newly resurfaced it with lovely dark slate. On either side fields stretched away, filled with ripe corn, red poppies, myriads of wild flowers. But the Highway – gorgeous as it was, always sloping downhill, winding beside streams, curving out on to wide plains – was not a nice place. Its breezes were not the gentle winds of Heaven; they were stifling blasts of dry, hot ventilation. And they smelt.

‘Hey,' I said, catching Joey, as he stumbled into a weary trudge. ‘You've almost got the hang of it now. Brilliant!'

He gave me a scathing look. ‘Don't need to patronise me,' he said. ‘I'm the One and Only Joey B.'

How delightful he was! Calling himself Joey B. like that. Especially when he was just a puny little (dead) human. I wondered if the demons in the pits would like his charming arrogance.

‘Tell me about yourself, Joey,' I said, trying to humour him.

‘Why?' he said. ‘You in league with the Feds?'

‘The Feds?' I said. Did he mean cannibals? I shuddered. Maybe they were something like zombies.

‘I'm happy to tell you I'm not in league with the Feds,' I said, smiling. ‘Or anything else related to the undead.'

Joey gave me a funny look.

Of course, I was just longing to talk about Marcus, but I couldn't seem to find a way in. Every time I tried, Joey said something random that threw me off. I wasn't going to be defeated, though. At last I just burst out with it. ‘Are you Marcus's best friend?'