answered, taking a deep breath. Much to my chagrin, the ever-present chill seemed to have taken up permanent residency in the stones that comprised my cell walls. There was no escaping its nasty bite.
“You better not be givin’ up,” the angel continued, although I did my best to ignore the incessant bleating of his voice. “I heard Alaire offerin’ to separate you from that ghost dude inside you, that guy, Donald, or whatever the hellz his name is.”
“Donnchadh!” I growled back in anger, the energy of the ancient warrior spirit suddenly rising up within me. Too much time had passed since I last bled myself, and Donnchadh’s contaminants were multiplying, threatening to overtake me. If I lost control of my body now, there would be no coming back.
There isnae comin’ back as it is, I reminded myself. The memory of Alaire’s offer began to haunt me anew. Freedom through death—the ultimate chance to permanently eject Donnchadh from my body and end the miserable existence I had had to endure for two thousand years.
But bargains with Alaire could never be taken at face value. An image of the self-impressed dandy filled my mind’s eye, and I gritted my teeth in response. My hands clenched and unclenched behind me as a growing ire consumed my entire being. I pulled against the iron manacles that bound me to the wall, suddenly afraid I would lose my mind if I could not escape my prison.
“So, are you gonna like, just let Alaire kill you, or what, dude?” the angel continued, his voice sounding scratchy and pained. “’Cause that’d be super selfish if you did, namsay?”
“Whit?” I ground out, bored and irritated by the endless litany of riddles he spewed. I oft wondered whether the angel’s vocabulary was borrowed, or pillaged, from some other foreign language.
“Know. What. I’m. Saying,” he finished pedantically.
“Nae,” I answered with a sigh. Releasing my fists, I stretched my fingers out again, wincing at the pain in my wrists where I had pulled against the chains. “’Tis the problem with ye. Nae one knows whit yer goin’ oan aboot.”
“Whatevs. Mah point, bro, is that I wanna know what you’re thinkin’ about Alaire’s offer. Are you just gonna give up on me an’ nips now, or what?” He was quiet for a few seconds. “’Cause, dude, there’s no way I’m gonna survive in here all alone.”
“Ye are an angel. Ye cannae die.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I won’t go cray-cray. I already feel like I am, Bongo. I’m gonna end up like that messed up assistant of Dracula’s, that guy, Reinhold, or Rhine-something, who eats bugs.” He paused for another few seconds. “An’ Angel Bill ain’t sposed ta go out that way! I’m sposed ta be suppin’ on burgers an’ dogs on a white, sandy beach somewhere with some hot ass chick with tatas so big, she doubles as a flotation device.”
“Ge b’e thig gun chuireadh, suidhidh e gun iarraidh,” I muttered the Gaelic proverb more to myself than my companion.
“What?” he demanded. “What’d ya say? I missed that!” He took a breath. “What, dude?”
“’Tis a proverb!” I growled out at him. “It means ‘who comes uninvited will sit down unbidden.’”
The angel was quiet for a moment or two. “Yeti, we ain’t got time for you ta be thinkin’ about foxes and grapes that are too high or some shit. We gotta figure us a way outta this house o’ horrors!”
I did not have the interest to inform him that there was no way out. Instead, I said nothing at all and it was quiet within my cell for perhaps thirty seconds.
“So, Alaire’s offer,” the incessant angel started again before his words turned into a coughing fit.
Alaire’s offer …
Trusting Alaire was an exercise in plain foolishness. Alaire was a snake, as backhanded and self-serving as the night was long. Yet, if I were to be perfectly honest with myself, I had to realize the real meaning behind his offer. Alaire wanted me gone. I was nothing
“You better not be givin’ up,” the angel continued, although I did my best to ignore the incessant bleating of his voice. “I heard Alaire offerin’ to separate you from that ghost dude inside you, that guy, Donald, or whatever the hellz his name is.”
“Donnchadh!” I growled back in anger, the energy of the ancient warrior spirit suddenly rising up within me. Too much time had passed since I last bled myself, and Donnchadh’s contaminants were multiplying, threatening to overtake me. If I lost control of my body now, there would be no coming back.
There isnae comin’ back as it is, I reminded myself. The memory of Alaire’s offer began to haunt me anew. Freedom through death—the ultimate chance to permanently eject Donnchadh from my body and end the miserable existence I had had to endure for two thousand years.
But bargains with Alaire could never be taken at face value. An image of the self-impressed dandy filled my mind’s eye, and I gritted my teeth in response. My hands clenched and unclenched behind me as a growing ire consumed my entire being. I pulled against the iron manacles that bound me to the wall, suddenly afraid I would lose my mind if I could not escape my prison.
“So, are you gonna like, just let Alaire kill you, or what, dude?” the angel continued, his voice sounding scratchy and pained. “’Cause that’d be super selfish if you did, namsay?”
“Whit?” I ground out, bored and irritated by the endless litany of riddles he spewed. I oft wondered whether the angel’s vocabulary was borrowed, or pillaged, from some other foreign language.
“Know. What. I’m. Saying,” he finished pedantically.
“Nae,” I answered with a sigh. Releasing my fists, I stretched my fingers out again, wincing at the pain in my wrists where I had pulled against the chains. “’Tis the problem with ye. Nae one knows whit yer goin’ oan aboot.”
“Whatevs. Mah point, bro, is that I wanna know what you’re thinkin’ about Alaire’s offer. Are you just gonna give up on me an’ nips now, or what?” He was quiet for a few seconds. “’Cause, dude, there’s no way I’m gonna survive in here all alone.”
“Ye are an angel. Ye cannae die.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I won’t go cray-cray. I already feel like I am, Bongo. I’m gonna end up like that messed up assistant of Dracula’s, that guy, Reinhold, or Rhine-something, who eats bugs.” He paused for another few seconds. “An’ Angel Bill ain’t sposed ta go out that way! I’m sposed ta be suppin’ on burgers an’ dogs on a white, sandy beach somewhere with some hot ass chick with tatas so big, she doubles as a flotation device.”
“Ge b’e thig gun chuireadh, suidhidh e gun iarraidh,” I muttered the Gaelic proverb more to myself than my companion.
“What?” he demanded. “What’d ya say? I missed that!” He took a breath. “What, dude?”
“’Tis a proverb!” I growled out at him. “It means ‘who comes uninvited will sit down unbidden.’”
The angel was quiet for a moment or two. “Yeti, we ain’t got time for you ta be thinkin’ about foxes and grapes that are too high or some shit. We gotta figure us a way outta this house o’ horrors!”
I did not have the interest to inform him that there was no way out. Instead, I said nothing at all and it was quiet within my cell for perhaps thirty seconds.
“So, Alaire’s offer,” the incessant angel started again before his words turned into a coughing fit.
Alaire’s offer …
Trusting Alaire was an exercise in plain foolishness. Alaire was a snake, as backhanded and self-serving as the night was long. Yet, if I were to be perfectly honest with myself, I had to realize the real meaning behind his offer. Alaire wanted me gone. I was nothing
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