Free Phoenix Contract: Part Two (Fallen Angel Watchers) by Melissa Thomas Page A

the only one who would mourn the priest’s passing.
    “I haven’t altered your mortality, only delayed your death.”
    “Do you know for how long?” Matthew asked.
    Magnus shook his head. “For however long the power I gave you lasts. It won’t be for long,” he warned. Mortals passed in and out of the Celt’s life, as transitory as raindrops. He had exactly one friend and was unprepared for grief. It explained his petulance but did not excuse it.
    Matthew remained silent for so long that Magnus braced for condemnation. “Thank you,” Matthew said finally. “I might be ready to meet my maker, but Aiden needs more time to prepare. I’d planned to speak with her today.”
    Magnus exhaled. An ironic smile twisted his lips. His old friend had found a way to turn a selfish act into a noble deed. Magnus would not argue. “The offer stands. In all the years I’ve known you, I always thought you’d change your mind in the end. In over two thousand years, you’re the only person I’ve offered immortality to.”
    “Thank you, but I won’t change my mind,” Matthew said. “You’ve been a good friend, Magnus, but I’m not suited to eternal life. I’m prepared to end the suffering this wretched shell endures.”
    Magnus ground his teeth, suppressing his anger at the sheer waste of his friend’s decision. “You’re right. The sun is rising. I should go.”

    The eastern sky warmed with shades of rose and gold, heralding the coming of the sun. Magnus left the hospital and headed home on foot, choosing to walk instead of fly because the increasing light would not conceal such activities. He enjoyed the sweet release of being outside again after hours indoors, and so he tarried, ignoring the burning sun rising at his back. He plodded, experienced the slap of each step on the pavement, lumbered with the grace of a mortal, indulging a morbid curiosity. What would it be like to be so fragile, so transitory?
    Taking a shortcut, Magnus ducked into an alley between two warehouses which sufficiently shaded him and provided a welcome relief from the deadly rays of the sun. He resided on the river close to the seaport because he liked being close to the water. Huge utilitarian warehouses towered to either side, dwarfing the small building he called home.
    St. Sabbas was constructed from cut stone in Gothic style with a highly wrought façade. Originally built in 1826, St. Sabbas functioned as a Catholic church until a fire gutted the building in 1910, killing three clergymen. It stood vacant until 1918 when the son of a wealthy industrialist purchased the church and converted it into a playhouse. The redesign of the church into a theatre had resulted in the extension of the chancel to create a thrust stage and a proscenium arch. The business folded a few years later, and the building often stood vacant. Temporary tenants came and went with the years, and only the historical preservation foundation's success in having the property declared a local landmark had protected it from being razed by developers.
    Like the grand cathedrals of Europe, St. Sabbas faced west so Magnus entered via the front of the church in order to keep out of the direct sunlight. The rooms he used for administration and as living quarters lay beyond the building’s easterly altar.
    Upon entry, Magnus paused in order to look and listen, extending his awareness through all parts of the building, both board and beam. The old walls contained almost two hundred years of history, whispered tales of mystery and misery, sanctity and sin. Finally, he locked the front door behind him, content his sanctuary remained free of intruders.
    Magnus passed through the auditorium where a couple of dozen of the church’s original dark alder pews intermixed with the theater’s black pine bench seats. St. Sabbas retained some of its hallowed air thanks to the stained glass windows depicting biblical scenes. Filtered sunlight streamed through midnight skies and white angel