Free Charm City (The Demon Whisperer Book 1) by Ash Krafton Page B

brushing the grass from his pants. "Thanks for your patronage and we look forward to you joining us again next week when we present another episode of The Celestial Prophesy show."
    A crunch on gravel behind them made them both spin. Mack stood serenely behind them, hands folded in front of his waist.
    "Jesus, Mack. I hate when you do that."
    The angel clucked his tongue at the blasphemy. "I have a message."
    "I figured as much. Well. Go on with it."
    Mack remained silent, shifted his gaze toward Chiara.
    "Oh, what? Her?" Simon scoffed. "Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of her."
    "That's not how this works."
    Simon heaved an exasperated sigh. "Sorry, kid. Mack here is shy in front of girls. They make him nervous, if you know what I mean."
    "And that isn't what he means," Mack intoned.
    Chiara raised her hands. "Hey. No worries. I'll just be over there, admiring the view of—actually, I'm not sure what that is."
    "A gopher hole, from the looks of it. Enjoy." Simon watched her walk out of earshot before swinging a pissy look at Mack. "Satisfied?"
    "Not my rules."
    "Yeah, yeah." He took a tissue out of his pocket, ripped it in half, and wadded it, stuffing it into his ears. "Try to leave me in one piece this time, 'kay?"
    Mack closed his eyes a moment.
    When he opened them again, the pupils were gone, lost in a uniform metallic sheen. They glowed a magnificent brightness, like gold in the sun, just this side of painfully bright.
    That was a beautiful thing. Always was. There was never a time that Simon took a message that he wasn't left feeling scoured and scrubbed by a gentle holy hand. It was like the sun shone only upon him, that he alone was worthy of the warmth. He'd never actually admit it, but it was a brief return to complete innocence, of being utterly worthy of the Creator's attention.
    But, as with everything, there was a downside. The racket.
    Mack's mouth opened impossibly wide, a veritable megaphone, the herald of God. The brightness streamed forth from his lips, that same golden glow. A cacophony of trumpets sounded in a blast that was not exactly meant for mortal eardrums.
    The voice that thundered from Mack's unmoving lips was not his voice.
    " Light's scion, tarnished…Love's betrayer…A crushing blow will deliver to the lone-heart, the mortal savior of souls. "
    The light and the voice faded and Mack closed his mouth and eyes, falling in on himself a little before regaining his posture. It was the only time Simon ever saw a weakness in him. When he opened his eyes again, he was himself.
    Simon squinted, pulling the tissue out wiggling his pinkie finger into his ear to soothe it. "Really, Mack? Another riddle?"
    "Don't shoot the messenger, Simon. Metatron follows time-honored traditions."
    "He also thinks I'm hard-of-hearing." He rolled the tissues between his palms and stuffed the wad into his pocket. "And a poet, too, apparently. Does he think I can interpret sonnets? Or that I even want to?"
    Mack grabbed Simon's shoulder as he tried to turn away. "Don't be foolish. This message came high priority for your ears only. You were meant to know this. You are expected to stop this."
    "It can mean anything, anyone. You know what I think it means? The Metatron gets a real charge out of delivering vagueness."
    "I watched your face as you took the message." Mack took a step toward him, his face alight with eager empathy. "I saw your expression. What does your gut say?"
    "You think it's me." He took a step back and rubbed his mouth. "Nah. Too poetic to be me. The lone-heart? Savior of souls?"
    "You're a terrible liar. You resonated with the message. It's all in your eyes."
    "Which reminds me," Simon said. "I need a new pair of shades. I'm still seeing Metatron retina burn."
    "Do the right thing, Simon. Please. And…be careful."
    "When aren't I?"
    "I have to answer that?"
    "Yeah, yeah. Off with you."
    Mack turned as if he might walk away. The ghost of his wings thickened around him in a velveteen