Page 39 of Obsession

“Why?” I ask.

“The scythe opens the portal to escort newly departed souls off this realm. I’m not going to lie; the work can be stressful. You try dealing with a soul who doesn’t want to go. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard ‘it’s not my time’ or ‘I’m not ready.’ Or my favorite, ‘you’ve got the wrong person.’ And yes, that happened one time; cut me some slack here, people!”

“I’ve got to admit, you’re not what I expected,” I tell him.

“What did you expect?” he asks excitedly.

“Black robe, skeleton face, solemn countenance?”

“She watches too much TV,” Damion informs Azrael.

Azrael chuckles. “Why should I be all gloom and doom? It’s not my final curtain, after all. I’m just the stage manager of the now belly-up off-Broadway play. It just so happens I did escort a stage manager from a belly-up off-Broadway play at my previous post in New York City. Talk about a drama queen, that one.”

“What does your scythe look like?” Damion steers him back on track.

“It’s about yea high.” He motions to his shoulder. “Blade’s about yea long,”—he holds out his outstretched hands—“and solid gold. If I’m going to do something, I do it with style.” Of that I have no doubt.

“When’s the last time you saw it?” I ask.

“Two days ago. It was literally my first day on the job here in Memphis,” he explains. “One minute I’m at the Peabody enjoying a cocktail, the next minute I’m swimming with the ducks!”

“You mean swimming with the fishes?” I ask.

“I mean ducks.”

“I’m not familiar with that phrase,” I admit.

“Darlin’, you’re not getting me. I woke up in the hotel lobby fountain. And let me tell you, those ducks look cute and sweet, but they get downright vicious about their turf. A word of warning—do not ruffle their feathers.” I try not to laugh, because again, Angel of Death. “Anyhoo, that’s when I called Zazel. I’m telling ya, without my scythe, there’s already a huge backlog of souls. Ghost sightings in Memphis are gonna go through the roof!”

“Why just in Memphis?” I ask.

“Once upon a time there was one Angel of Death. But as you can imagine, the worldwide caseload was a killer.” And with that terrible pun, I know this angel and I are destined to be fast friends.

“Can you think of anyone who would want to take your scythe?” Damion tries.

“Anyone who knows the power it holds and wants an express pass off this hunk of rock.”

“And you have no idea who summoned you?” I ask.

“Nope. If I were a bettin’ man, I’d say a powerful witch or sorcerer. Or possibly a demon.”

“Do you have any demonic enemies?” Damion asks.

“Not that I know of. I just escort souls to the departure terminal. Who claims dibs on them from there is outside my job description. Ghouls are a big fan of my work, though.”

“Ghouls?” I ask.

“A caste of demons who dine on the flesh of corpses,” Damion informs me. Sorry I asked. “Any idea where you were summoned?”

“It’s all very hazy, but I think it was a wooded area.” He reaches into his suit pocket and produces a small glass vial. “Here’s a speck of dirt I found stuck to my wing.” A large shopping bag appears in his hands. “And here are the clothes and shoes I was wearing. I want those back,” he quickly amends.

“Thank you. If you think of anything else, please contact us,” Damion says as he takes the bag.

Azrael nods and then says, “Welp, guess I’ll be gettin’ on down the road.”

“Better,” I fib.

He smiles, and with a spring in his step, the Angel of Death walks out the door whistling a show tune.

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