Dark Cotillion

One

"I met him once," Gabriel took a long drag off a cigarette. His eyes were glassy, searching for some long lost memory. Until that moment, I had been reading a book, and was completely clueless whom he was talking about. Especially, since he did seem to be talking to me, as opposed to talking to some imaginary person in the room. He hadn't spoken in well over an hour. His mind had been preoccupied with other things, possibly my safety, possibly not.

"Who?" I asked, after I put the bookmark in between the pages.

"Conan Doyle." He made a motion towards my book. I had been reading Sherlock Holmes stories.

"Was he as bright as Holmes?"

"No one is as bright as Holmes, except Mycroft, and even that could be debated." Gabriel stretched and yawned, before turning his vivid green eyes on me. "Pleasant man though."

"I see," I frowned at him. "Decided to break the silent treatment?"

"I figured it wasn't doing me any good to sit here chain smoking and trying to ignore you into submission, since you seemed to be rather casually reading."

"I'm slightly disturbed that it took you so long to figure it out." I tossed the hard back onto the coffee table. It made a satisfying "thunk" sound as it hit the wood.

"You shouldn't do that to your books."

"No, I shouldn't do that to your books, my books are nice hard bound editions that can be purchased at any local book store."

"Someday, your books will be like my books."

"Gabriel, no one's books will be like your books. What is it with Angels and book hoarding anyway?"

"We all have our idiosyncrasies." He gave a shrug. He was incredibly pissed at me. I had spent the last day or so feeling it vibrate off of him. It came in waves, slamming into my psyche before rebounding to fill the voids of the room. I was sure that in a month or so, you would still be able to find those pockets of anger hiding in corners.

Of course, in a month or so, it wouldn't matter. I wouldn't be holed up in this room with the angry Angel, or anyone else for that matter. I would be back to enjoying my life, whatever that meant.

Gabriel stood. He was impressively tall. Not as tall as my father, but then, few beings were. My father made Gabriel seem small, but the Angel was thinly built, his sinewy body belied the strength that was contained in the muscles just beneath the skin. My father was built like a brick wall, and almost the same color.

"Brenna," Gabriel frowned at me, "you still do not seem to be taking any of this seriously."

"Uh, Gabriel, I'm a Demon Half-Breed, and relatively speaking, immortal. Threats on my life really aren't anything new, and they certainly aren't particularly frightening."

"You will not be immortal during the Maturing."

"No, no, I won't, but I will be surrounded with an armed guard of very powerful beings, who can efficiently and effectively take care of me, everyone in my condo, and most of the people in this neighborhood by batting an eyelash. All of us have gone through it." I looked at him finally. "You forget, I've had two brothers and three sisters go through the Maturing. My parents are still breeding like rabbits, so I imagine there will be more of us in the future."

"Zealots," Gabriel spit the word out as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. It probably did, when you thought about it.

"I've been dealing with zealots, fanatics, and lunatics all my life. Not to mention my peers haven't been real thrilled with me either."