A confusion of Angels. Diary of an occuly resolution assistant.

Sunday Tuesday 23:20

I woke refreshed and over flowing with energy and vitality, although somewhat crumpled from the tight fit and slightly damp from where Hasting's head had been resting on me and in his slumber he dribbled.    Xanthic opened the passenger door as neither I nor Hastings could reach and we fell onto each other on the floor when the pressure of the door keeping us in was released.

We were in a street somewhere in the older and more select areas of London, it had a look of history and a smell of money.  White stone buildings full of columns, carvings and recessed windows lined a wide street with black ornate street lamps and perfectly maintained, if tiny, gardens and each with a flight of wide white stone steps leading up to glossy black front doors.  It was also screaming out as cleanliness:  That and behind each door, within each expansive house played an individual member of an amazing orchestra playing their melody just for me.

The Jag, abandoned - you couldn't call how Xanthic had left it as parking - looked out of place next to immaculately new sports cars and long wide classic Bentleys and Rolls Royce's. Xanthic led us a short way along the street and up a flight of steps.

"Here lies a foul and depraved soul."  He said rapping the brass lion head knocker hard against its strike plate.  "Oh and don't eat his cakes."

Both Hastings and I hesitated on the steps and looked at each other.  "Are we in danger?"  I asked hoping that I could for at least five minutes not have that feeling of needing to run away.

"No, he's an appalling coward,  Angels are like that."

I breathed a sigh of relief and asked.  "Like Harahel?"

It was Xanthic's turn to hesitate and look at me.  "You know Harahel?" He asked looking really hard at me.

"He was the one who sent me on the job, you were there on film telling me I had to go."  I felt small, Xanthic looked as if his cool had slipped for the first time I knew of and it suddenly dawned on me that I had failed to retrieve the package I had been sent for, stranger still Xanthic hadn't asked me about it.

The door was opened by an elderly butler who was as rigid and straight as if he had an ironing board inserted straight up his rectum. 

"I have a few questions for you later." Said Xanthic before turning back to the doorway and, displaying a 36carot smile at the 'help', walked straight in without waiting for an invitation or a question of to whom the gentleman is enquiring about - (I've seen period dramas).

"I am afraid my Lady Valentine." Said Hastings quietly in my ear and holding me back gently.  "I have failed my King and God and stood by while others suffered; I do not wish to be in the presence of an Angel."

He was clearly shaking.

"Listen, I'm sure he will be very pleased to see you and he can't know everything can he, we'll just stay quiet somewhere and keep our heads down while the big boys talk."  I tried to reassure the big man without wishing to show my growing doubts of meeting an actual Angel myself.

"You do not know the name my Lady?"  He said with dread in his eyes.  "Do you not know of the tasks and duties of the Angels?  Harahel is the collector of knowledge, his duty is to guard the library of all wisdom on Earth and above.  He will know of our failures."

A clearing of the throat indicated the butler was about to close the door whether we were within or without, so with a hesitant confidence neither of us believed we scampered past the butler and into the abode of an Angel.