Convoke

Chapter 6

The village library was in a small building that had once been a place of worship for the angels. Tom had always liked the familiarity of the building, and the smell of books that reminded him of school. He found the book he was looking for in the first ten minutes of being there. "The history of Wileshire Village," he read aloud, turning the book over to see an old photograph of the village water fountain.

He headed back through the rows of bookshelves and stopped at the reception desk. "Hi Haisley," he said with a warm smile. He had known the librarian all his life. She used to read to their class through primary school. She also ran a book club that he was once a part of, and she helped schedule study zones when he was at college.

"Tom O'Connell!" Haisley beamed, looking up with surprised green eyes that wrinkled at the corners. She pushed her glasses up onto her head. Brown curls with greying roots were scraped out of her face. "I haven't seen you step foot in this library for years!"

"Has it been years already?" he said with a polite chuckle.

"Yep. The last time you were in here, you were showing me your A-Level results." She tapped her own temple with a dark purple nail. "You're a smart one Thomas. That brain needs to be put to good use."

The last four years had gone by so fast, but Tom felt a little ashamed to have nothing to show for it, other than improved fighting skills and excellent small talk. "Maybe one day. I saw that guy handing out leaflets for the online learning stuff."

"Did you take one?"

"I did."

Haisley nodded knowingly. "Well, if you have questions, I know quite a lot about it."

"I'll keep that in mind, thank you." Tom handed her the book. He had rehearsed what he would say if she asked why he was reading about the village he had lived in all his life. He didn't have to make an intricate lie, he just had to lie simply.

"Oooh, a very informative read," Haisley said, flicking through the pages of the history book.

Tom checked his watch. He needed to leave otherwise he would be late to meet Ezra. "Yeah uh, I just thought I'd catch up on stuff so I can talk to tourists in the pub. You know, for the village fair coming up and everything."

"What an excellent idea! I should come for a drink soon. How's your mother?"

Tom knew she would never drink in a demon-friendly pub. He was glad she believed his little lie and edged closer to the door each time she asked about his family's health and what they were all doing, and whether his sister had moved into a new house. Then the topic changed into lovely cottages that a friend was selling ten miles away.

Tom had pursed his lips and stood by the door listening and nodding and smiling through the pain, until the door opened into his back.

"Goodness, I'm terribly sorry!" a soft voice said.

Tom knew it was an angel before he even turned around. He felt his presence wrapping him in a calm warmth. All tension left his body as he smiled and said, "No worries. I was standing in the way."

The angel was an old man with a thick head of silver hair, papery thin skin that wrinkled without him moving a muscle, leaky eyes, and a drooping neck that wobbled with each step. He wore a cream robe that was tied at the waist and soaking up the morning dew on the bottom.

Old angels were highly respected because they had lived for so long. For every ten years that Tom lived, an angel's body aged only one year. For demons, they aged one year every five years. Nobody knew why, but humans had always been frustrated to have such short lives compared to them, especially the demons.