"Thomas E. Sniegoski - Aerie" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sniegoski Thomas E)

The laughter seemed to come from allaround him.

Alastor whirled, startled by the harshness ofthe sound. His eyes immediately went to thebox, but
something told him that the sound didnot come from there. Had his psychosis manifested in another way,
or was he no longeralone? The angel's mind raced as he scanned thecluttered basement area before him.

A figure clad in crimson armor emerged frombehind the curtain of coats hanging on pipes that ran across
the cellar ceiling. Alastor gasped. Theway the figure movedтАФstealthy and silent,almost as if he were
watching something createdby the madness of his own mind. Was it possible?Had his troubled thoughts
created this specter inred? Something else to torment him?

But then it spoke, pointing a gauntlet-covered hand. "You try to hide, covering your pretty angel stink
with the smell of man." Thecrimson figure shook its helmeted head, an odd clicking sound escaping from
beneath the facemask. "You don't do the magick, and you cutaway your wings," the man said, making a
hacking gesture with one of his armored hands.

"The Powers . . . ," Alastor croaked, forcingthe words from his corpulent mouth. "You servethe
Powers."

He knew the answer, even before the figureclad in armor the color of blood nodded. Heknew, for
senses long atrophied had kicked in,the scent of Heaven's most aggressive host fillinghis nostrils with its
fetid aroma of bloodshed.

"And you've come for me?"

Again the creature nodded.

Alastor studied the agent of the Powers, apart of him marveling at the beauty of the fearsome suit of
metal that adorned his foe. Thearmor had been forged by Heaven's hands, ofthat there was no doubt.
The faint light thrownby the cellar's single bulb played lovingly off theintricate details of the metal skin; it
made himremember days long past, of brethren that died beneath his sword, of his fall from grace.

Panic gripped the fallen angel. He did notwant to die. From within he summoned a glimmer of strength, a
spark of angelic fury untapped since he had fought beside the Son of theMorning. In his mind he saw an
ax and tried tobring it into the world.

The spark of heavenly fire exploded to life inthe palm of his handтАФand Alastor began toscream. It had
been so long that it burned him.His flesh had become as that of a human, andthe fires of Heaven began to
consume the delicate skin. The stench of frying meat filled thebasement, and the fallen angel perversely
realized that he was hungry, his swollen stomachgrumbling to be fed.

He tried to concentrate on the weapon hesaw in his mind's eye: a battle-ax like one he hadwielded in the
war. In his charred hand theflames began to take shape, and Alastor felt awave of optimism the likes of
which he had notfelt since devising the plan that almost made him human. He brandished the ax, fearsome
and complete, at his attacker.

The figure in red giggled; an eerie soundmade all the more strange filtered through themask that hid his
face.