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| Sincerity And Sass by Beki Yopek |
Souls gushed forth from Madrid in early 1939, and the Seraph Police Department was so overloaded that the Chief Seraph herself had called Reap’s office. The Pneuma Coalition’s flocks of demon thieves had swelled to include more fallen angels. Everyone on their side smelled the war on Earth coming like a delicious meal someone else was cooking. The Reaper and I finished up with the Chief Seraph and took the Motery Center’s hell divide, flying out the other side into Madrid’s University City area.
Fresh souls and bullets peppered the Spanish street below, permeating the air with the odors of hot gunpowder and blood and salt. We soared over the raging shootout between the human Nationalists and Republicans, with me in my usual blazer and blouse, and The Reaper spinning Seversoul to catch the deceased souls as soon as their bodies expired. The skies were empty of demons or fallen angels. No Seraphs were around to keep an eye on the place either.
Back then, it made me nervous as all get out, but now I know a few things to look for while writing this.
I flapped in a circle around three city blocks, drawing a haloxite knife and expecting demons to blitz out of a building or a residential area. Wind whipped at my hair and blazer, the noise lost among gunfire and The Reaper’s cackles while he harvested souls by the dozen. Metal rounds bounced off both of our bodies and clothes while we worked. Thank you, brimstone horns. Once the main streets were harvested, we drew up and hovered in a back alley.
I drew the Blood Magic folio out of my inner blazer pocket and flipped to the space between the ‘strength’ and ‘weight’ sections. “They’re shooting the hell out of each other and no Coalition thieves are around? This sounds exactly like Avarice or Jack set it up.”
The Reaper’s hood had fallen off during the flight, and he raised the brown cloth over his ram’s horns and ebony skull. “Those two take advantage of mass amounts of death in unexpected places.”
“Unexpected?” I asked, gouging my left hand with the haloxite knife and wincing while the orange blood welled up. “They come for us every few years. It’s always on battlefields or outside the major Earth cities. They go there because the Seraphs aren’t there.”
“No Seraphs are here either. When we harvest big cities, the presence of the SPD is strong enough to make our work a simple matter of plotting fast routes through the urban sprawl.”
“Love those four hour work days.”
The Reaper glanced at the carvings on both sides of his two-toned scythe. “The cities we scour are scheduled for us. We adhere to our own plans when it comes to harvesting the individual city.”
“Wait, I thought you knew where the most souls were on Earth. Like it was an instinct or a white collar power like the Septuplets work with.”
He shook his hood. “You think I have time to visit each human city and analyze the soul count myself? Never.”
I took a handful of bomber plane pictures from the Folio and pocketed it. “So someone high up in the Motery Center scouts the cities for us, and then we go there and harvest.”
If The Reaper had eyebrows, he’d have raised one. “Someone with the abilities of a Septuplet must do the same type of duty for The Pneuma Coalition.”
“Wait, you took almost sixty years to tell me that someone else scouts the cities. Is that why the Chief Seraph was so eager to work with us? For first knowledge of where fresh souls are located?”
“Listen, Avaline. Knowing what you just learned does not change your job description. You are my bodyguard, and you work for me alone. Not the Motery Center, not the Volunteer Guardian Angels, and not the SPD. Think about what I just--”
Spaniards charged through the street next to us and flooded into the alley. Unless they prayed or summoned recently, they’d never be able to see us. The Pneuma Coalition had stopped using summoners for decades now, so I waited patiently while they ran. Soon another group would pursue them, followed by a shootout and then the harvesting business as usual.
All of the men were Nationalist rebels. They were the ones charging into Madrid and gaining ground with every hour that passed. I’d seen that much while The Reaper and I harvested back on the main streets. More and more Nationalists poured into the space and before too long, I couldn’t see the brickwork of the road.
One more man in the uniform of a general rounded the corner, waving two fliers into the cramped alley.
Avarice and Jack Te-Konos. Avarice had ditched her flouncy lolita dress for an off-white night gown unbuttoned so far you could see her cleave from England. Jack shed his torn blazer and flew next to her in just his ruffed shirt and slashed dress pants. A red aura around his left fist died out almost before I noticed it. He dove for the nearest soldier’s rifle and snatched it at the same moment I readied the Blood Magic.
Jack twisted the rifle to hide the crimson words etched on the stock and Avarice bellowed at the general. “Fire skyward, now.”
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