The Daughter of Death- *RAYOR*

Chapter 3: Angel Light

It was after my fifteenth reaping that day, and Aster's tenth, that he started tapping me on the shoulder.

"What day is it?" he said in a sing-song voice.

"Hmm, I don't know," I said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Perhaps- Wednesday?"

"No, silly," he said. "It's your birthday."

I smirked. Wednesday's child is full of woe. "I know that."

"You like your mind games," said Aster. "Let's go after the last one: the difficult subject. Then we can hang out, have a break!"

I held back a sneer, something I was unaccustomed to doing except around Gabriel. "I've always wanted to go to Russia. And I'll be taking my break in the palace."

"You're always taking your break in the palace. Try something new." Aster smirked. "You've learned every language there is but haven't gone to every country there is?" Aster tutted.

"Deystvitel'no. Eto mozhet izmenit'sya."

"Can I pretend I know what that means?"

"Indeed," I said. "That may change."

*

We reached there after the blink of an eye, Aster reaping two more souls and leading them to the Gates of the Underworld before we went to deal with the girl. I found the street immediately. It was cold and grey, with slate-roofed houses and dull pavement. It seemed like there was no life there. The chilly wind bit at my skin, and Aster eyed the houses.

We debated on whether or not to become invisible. It took a lot of effort, and could only be done in short periods of time. Then a girl came out, and I felt something in my chest catch.

If the street was colourless and deadened, she was vibrant and as alive as someone could be, with the same timeless beauty as Raphael, she seemed to be made of precious material: ivory and pearl and gold and gleaming cobalt, her eyes feathered by long, curling lashes. Aster and I yanked down our hoods to cover our faces.

"Who are you?" she asked, smiling expectantly. Like the angel, she emitted a sort of aura, fainter but there. There was also a dangerous, sort of pulsing energy.

I crooked a finger. She had to come just a bit closer before I had her in range of my scythe. "Come," I said.

"Who are you?" she repeated.

I stepped forwards, lifting a hand. My scythe glinted there, summoned in a breath of wind, and I swiped downwards. But she had already dived down, rolling into my knees and causing me to stumble, my scythe flying into the air, snagging on my hood and pulling it back. I knew, from the widening of her eyes, that she recognised me as a reaper.

"Stay still!" I said, annoyed. I hated it when they fought. "Aster!" I commanded. He was at my side, but the girl had, in one deft movement, rolled to her feet. I got up too. She was panting. The brief touch of her skin on my bare ankles had stung; she was warm and alive, her pulse beating for a fraction of a second on my skin. I had the notion that something wasn't right.

"It's not my time," she said. Her cheeks were flushed. I knew mine were too. Aster and I stared as her form seemed to flicker to become solid gold, wings at her back and a halo above her head, bright as fire and burning my eyeballs, before flickering back to her own. This was the angel's true form, I knew; so pure that it was deadly to behold. "You won't have me, Blakely. You'll never have me."

And she turned, and ran, up the street, disappearing out of sight.

*

"We're going to the palace," I said, my teeth grit. I tugged on Aster's sleeve. There was an odd feeling in the air, a pressing feeling, weighing down on my thoughts.