Prologue: The Harbingers of Death
"What the fuck do they think we are? We're not saints," Anthony grumbled, rolling onto his stomach. He gently stretched his wings. Cramping them in such a tight place for this long was hard.
"Well Anthony," Olivia began snidely, "What would you think if you saw two beautiful creatures with gorgeous, pure white wings?" Olivia was more used to small areas, so she had her wings calmly tucked around her body. Anthony pulsed his feathers within a inch a her face for the umpteenth time and she snapped, before he could answer, "Will you stop that! We will be out soon enough!" Remembering her question, she repeated, "So, what would you think?"
Anthony snorted. "Well," he said, his voice already thick with sarcasm, "knowing as much as I do about history, I can't fairly answer that question. Me, personally, I'd get the fuck out of there, but that's only because I know beauty equals trouble."
"Just shut up Anthony. You know nothing about the human psyche. I've have devoted years of study to it. You barely have thirty years. That's young even by human standards. It's pathetic. Your true name is actually Anthony for God's sake." She shook her head, laughing. "I existed long before I even had a name. I didn't receive one until the Sumerians came up with a written language.
"Siduri!" he shouted, "Just because you name is older means nothing. My name has pretty deep roots too bitch."
"You didn't earn those roots those. Your mother just didn't want you to be picked on for having a fairly new name. I should know; I was there. She-" Olivia stopped dead the moment the van door opened. This was not the time for talking. It was the time for silence.
She hopped lightly out of the van, letting her wings unfurl calmly as she did so. He pulled his wings around himself to fit through the door. When his wings unfurled, it was without the elegance and grace that Olivia had displayed. Living thousands of years gave you a lot of time to practice.
As he flew in through the window, he recalled his earlier conversation with Olivia. "I have been given instructions. You are to kill him," she had said. He knew where the instructions came from.
He felt an eerie thrill in the pit of his stomach. They say your first kill is not one you ever forget. He had been going on these mission the past ten years and still had not killed.
He clutched the knife in his hand causing his conciseness to reenter the room. Olivia was standing in the far corner. The first time an angel releases a soul is always observed.
He grabbed the hilt of his knife with both hands. Then, gently, slowly, he pushed it into the sleeping man's chest. The man gasped, but his eyes stayed closed. Anthony could see the large cut in his chest, but no one else would. No blood leaked from the wound. His soul had departed into the world the moment the dagger entered his chest. It was a wound only an angel could inflict and thus only an angel could see it.
He pulled the knife back and hurried after Olivia out the window. When they got into the van, she congratulated him. She made the joke that he was now a real angel. And they both laughed.