Angel Dust Read Free Page A

mean? It must be some kind of omen,
or a sign?
I’d heard of signs – rainbows, burning bushes. There’s
always
a sign when things are meant to happen – when something is predestined . . . when two people are meant to be together . . .
    How strange. But now I’d thought of it suddenly I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. It
must
be an omen. Somehow my destiny was entwined with his.
    In the beat of a wing I got down to the club. And it was a good job I did. Immediately I could tell it was going to be much, much worse than I’d expected. For a start there was music. Loud music. I love loud music, but it’s so distracting. And then there was alcohol too, lots of it: gin, whisky, cognac, champagne and alcopops. Imagine being able to drink alcopops! If I were human, and set on living at great speed, I might try one. But drink and music were going to confuse things. I didn’t want confusion. I wanted to bring Marcus the best death he’d ever have.
    And then there were the girls. Big girls, slim girls, girls in tight dresses, girls in high heels, girls with huge breasts and girls who were so drop-dead gorgeous I instantly hoped one of them would. Seeing all those girls clouded my judgement. And there were guys too: hunky guys, chunky guys, funky guys, guys in tight jeans, guys fresh out of sports cars, guys in gold chains, gorgeous guys and guys with amazingly sexy smiles. How in Heaven’s name was I going to be able to stay focused on split-second timing?
    And of course there was Marcus.
    I smelt him as soon as I got there.
    Marcus Montague. Birthday boy. Just turning eighteen and looking like he was already in Heaven.
    I stood in the doorway quite overcome. Not just because of the music and the drink. I think I was grieving for the first time. Grieving for all the things that might have been, and never were. Someone turned the music up. I became disorientated. For a brief second. I tried imagining what it would be like to be human. Not an Angel of Death. Not immortal. I started to sway to the music. I imagined I had a body. A real body. Flesh and bone. A body that someone, some day could hold.
    I watched Marcus. I watched him drag the prettiest girl into his arms. I watched as she moulded herself against his chest. Something inside pierced me. A strange pain tightened around my heart. I saw the muscles in his arms straining against his shirt. I saw the way he used the music to send the girl crazy. For some reason my throat went dry. I tried to swallow. I tried to catch my breath against a sudden longing. I saw Marcus smile, a lovely crooked smile showing off his pearly teeth.
    But he was not smiling at me.
    The chimes of midnight struck. I bit my lip. At any minute his death would arrive. I tried to prepare myself. I looked around. I was right. Demons were already gathering.
    Someone put on a record for him. Marcus dragged the girl into the centre of the dance floor. Everyone stepped back. Someone whistled. Marcus crushed the girl to him.
    Go, go, go, go, go, go . . .
    His eyes were wild with excitement.
    Go Marcus, it’s your birthday . . .
    He shivered in delight.
    The girl in his arms nearly fainted.
    The pain inside stabbed again. I was confused. Why did watching him hurt so much? She was just a pretty little girl. She was nothing compared to me. I was a winged celestial creature more beautiful than a thousand stars. I laughed at myself. But as Marcus tightened his arms around her, I suddenly felt bewildered. In less than ten minutes he was going to be in my arms.
    Not laughing, but dying.
    I stood there. And for some inexplicable reason I felt angry. He was so full of life. Everyone loved him. Everyone wanted him. He was bigger, larger, more alive than anyone I’d ever seen. What was it to be alive? Like that?
    Marcus raised the champagne bottle, shook it. It exploded like gunfire. A stream of champagne shot so high it splattered off