Death Angel

Chapter 11: Hot Date

I was late for my date with Daniel.

Just enough time had passed in the real world for me to miss it by more than an hour. I rushed to Broussard’s on Conti. I really needed to get myself some modern amenities: a watch and a smartphone for instance. I really missed both.

Back when I was Vanessa Hunter, I was practically married to my smartphone. Running a company left me very little time to myself and so the smartphone was a way for me to keep track of the ins-and-outs of running Hunter Robotics. I could kill for access to a smartphone right about now.

Part of me remembered the hustle. It was very much a part of who I was, the Vanessa Hunter that was very much still a part of me. It hadn’t been easy to slide into obscurity; into this new life of relative unknown.

Still, this new existence brought its fair share of challenges, and though I wasn’t entirely ready to admit it, my most recent run-in with the demon Azazel had left me feeling stretched more than just a bit beyond my comfort zone.

I had spaced out again, I realized.

I found myself staring right at the beautifully laid out sign at Broussard’s, and the restaurant itself, with its peach-colored facade, wrought-iron roof and ebony columns. I couldn’t recall why exactly it was that I knew the difference between a Dorian column and a Corinthian column, but I just did. Blame it on Dad and his many lessons, or blame it on good ole’ Vanessa Hunter and my insatiable appetite for learning.

I was a lifelong learner. Even back then, when most children of the elite were content to play croquet or shoot rifles at random targets, all the while yelling ‘Pull!’ while idly talking about the stock market and how the latest venture they were funding was doing, I focused on books instead, choosing a variety of topics to become good at. I was fairly antisocial in my younger days. Dad was inwardly a social deviant, and I supposed a part of that rubbed off on me, even if just a little.

Donnie Hunter enjoyed the darker side of life. Among the many unhealthy obsessions he had given his daughter was the interest in the occult; in things not of this world. Angels and Demons, and everything in between. I guess that interest is paying off now. If only Dad could see me now.

I tried to make myself look presentable before walking in. I smoothed my dark, frilly dress and did my best to look sharp. I had decided against wearing white, just in case I ran into a Rina or an Azazel again. I had to make an emergency stop at Death’s little boutique, but he was more than happy to help prep me for my big date. I prayed that Daniel was a patient man. An hour was a long time to wait for a complete stranger.

Broussard’s was an iconic New Orleans restaurant. Built in the 1920’s, the restaurant’s edifice was an eclectic pastiche of various artistic structures. The original proprietor, Joseph Broussard, had an intense fascination with Napoleon Bonaparte, and that influence permeated throughout the restaurant to this day. From the rich wallpaper to the carefully selected and finely arranged furniture. But the food was what drew the clientele in, of course.

The maitre’d greeted me as I walked in door.

“What can I do for you this evening, Madame?” he smiled with an affable old world charm. It reminded me of a certain someone whose company I must admit I was glad to be rid off, if not momentarily.

“I have a reservation under Daniel Ashcroft,” I said.

The maitre’d smiled. “Ah, yes, he has been waiting for a while. He’s seated himself at the outdoor patio.” He motioned to one of the waitstaff, a pretty blonde in a clean, smart, but nonetheless tight-fitting uniform that complemented her exceptionally well. The waitress smiled at me as she responded to the summons.