Azrael

One

Azrael searched for a ghost in a sea of the living.

Seated on a tall stool at the bar, she had a good vantage point to scan the many faces that filtered in and out of the club. The bar area was crowded and noisy, with pulsing music and the chatter of many drunk conversations overlapping. Colored lights flashed and swept across sweating bodies on the dance floor that stretched out before her. She blended in quite well with the crowd in her leather apparel and boots, barely attracting any attention when she sat at the edge of the bar for hours.

A few idiots swung by and offered to buy her a drink, but a disinterested look and a quick no drove them away.

She chose to entertain a short red head who kept on babbling about a trip to the Maldives later in the week. Azrael did not miss the subtle fact that she was being invited to come along, and at another time she might have accepted. Instead she feigned being swamped with work and family plans, an excuse that was not entirely a lie.

All in all, Azrael liked the soft overtones of her voice, and her large doe eyes were pretty to look at.

A movement out of the corner of Azrael's eye caught her attention. A pair of armed guards shoved their way through the crowd, making way for a plump man in a dark suit.

Victor Arlington.

One of his hands was snaked around the waist of a petite brunette who laughed animatedly at something he whispered in her ear. His bodyguards elbowed past dancers and drinkers, and the pair disappeared up a set of gleaming metal stairs toward the privately rented rooms above.

Azrael got to her feet.

“Are you leaving already?” the woman asked, taking hold of Azrael's hand.

“I have business to attend to,” Azrael replied, pulling her hand free.

“You haven't even touched your drink.”

Azrael put a finger under the woman's chin, lifting it up so she was looking directly into her eyes.

“I don't know who sent you, but I am familiar with how difficult it is to obtain and prepare Winterwood. I certainly can't let something so delicate go to waste.”

Azrael grinned as she saw the woman's eyes widen.

“Wha-” she stuttered.

Azrael lowered her hand so her hands were wrapped around the woman's neck ever so lightly, and brushed her thumb against the butterfly tattoo there.

“What do you want?” The woman whispered. Her words would have been inaudible over the din but for Azrael's hearing.

“What's your name?” Azrael asked. “Your real name.” 

“Gina.”

“Gina. Pretty name. I want you to drink the wine.” Azrael said as she leaned closer.

Azrael watched as Gina slowly reached out and held the glass with shaking hands, sending ripples across the surface of the wine.

“Careful, don't drop it,” Azrael encouraged as Gina tipped the glass against her lips, slowly tilting it back.

Azrael maintained eye contact, relishing the way Gina's pupils dilated and feeling her pulse quicken as the dark liquid got ever closer to the edge of the glass.

Azrael stopped her, putting a finger against the bottom of the glass just before the wine touched Gina's lips, and taking it from her.

“You're brave, for a human,” Azrael told her. “I would suggest a different line of work. Go home.”