Read Killing Pretty for Free Online

the glamour,” I say. “So, you really are an angel.”
    He nods.
    â€œThe oldest, known to mortals as the Angel of Death.”
    â€œYeah. You said that the other night.”
    â€œAnd you don’t believe me.”
    â€œI’m not saying I don’t believe you, but I’ve met my share of, let’s say, unstable angels.”
    â€œYou mean Aelita.”
    â€œThere were others but, yeah, she was the worst.”
    â€œI’m not mad and I have no desire to be here or to be a burden.”
    â€œThen why are you here? And why come to me?”
    Death touches the gauze bandages over the hole in his chest.
    â€œYou closed the wound.”
    â€œNot me. It was friends. And you haven’t answered my question.”
    â€œIt hurts,” he says, rubbing his chest. “Everything hurts. I’d forgotten what pain is. Do you have anything for it?”
    I take out my flask, unscrew the top, and hand it to him. He takes a swig and coughs, practically spitting the Aqua Regia all over himself.
    â€œThis is Hellion brew,” he says.
    â€œThat’s right. Drink up. It tastes like gasoline, but it’ll help with the pain.”
    â€œI’m not sure it’s permitted.”
    â€œI don’t think anyone would hold it against you,” says Candy. “It’s not like you’re here to party.”
    He looks at Candy for a few seconds, then drinks. He keeps it down better this time, but he’d probably be happier with an aspirin. Fuck him. I drank Aqua Regia for eleven years in Hell because there weren’t any angels to help me. Death can choke down a ­couple of mouthfuls.
    He hands me back the flask.
    â€œFeeling better?”
    He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou will.”
    â€œThe brew smells interesting.”
    â€œHuh. I never thought of that. I guess it does.”
    Candy gets in closer to him.
    â€œWhy did you come here?”
    â€œI was looking for Sandman Slim.”
    â€œWhy?” says Candy.
    â€œI need help.”
    â€œBecause you’re in a body.”
    He nods.
    â€œAnd someone has murdered it. Murdered me.”
    I say, “Why not call one of your angel pals?”
    He closes his eyes again.
    â€œI don’t know who to trust.”
    â€œBut you trust Stark,” says Candy. “Why?”
    â€œBecause Father trusted him.”
    Father. Mr. Muninn. God.
    The bloody, dirt-­streaked trench coat he had on when I met him is in a pile on the floor. I pick it up and go through the pockets. He doesn’t object.
    I say, “Why not go to Mr. Muninn if you need help?”
    He shrugs.
    â€œI’ve called and called to him, but all I get is silence.”
    There’s a knife in one of his coat pockets. I’ve never seen one quite like it. It’s over a foot long, double-­bladed, with a black wooden grip. Sort of like an oversize athame ritual blade, but with a silver eagle on the grip. There’s what looks like a glob of tar by the pommel, maybe to hold it in place.
    I hold it out to him.
    â€œWhat’s this?”
    â€œThat, I believe, was what killed me.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œBecause someone pulled it out of my chest and I awoke.”
    â€œWho pulled it out?”
    He holds up a hand and gestures vaguely.
    â€œI don’t know. I get the impression they were teenagers having some kind of party. By their startled reaction when I awoke, I don’t think they were looking for me.”
    â€œOkay,” I say. “It’s New Year’s and some kids are out partying. They find you and pull the sword out of the stone like King Arthur. Then you came and found me. Is that pretty much it?”
    â€œI think so,” he says.
    â€œAnd you’ve never seen this knife before?”
    â€œNot before I woke up.”
    â€œHow did you find me?”
    He’s closed his eyes again. We’re losing