Angel of Ruin Read Free Page A

Stars, butbefore that I was with another group at Islington. I’ve been practising for ten years altogether.”
    “You must have seen some amazing things.”
    “Yes, of course. Spirits, magical workings, messages from angels. One working we did, in the early days of the Seven Stars, cured Chloe’s mother of cancer.”
    “Really?”
    “Without a doubt.”
    “I’d like to hear more about that.”
    “We all have miraculous stories to tell.” He then proceeded to recount a few of them. I sat quietly and he happily filled the silence.
    “Have you asked for a child?” I said when he had finished.
    “A child?”
    “For you and Chloe.”
    He cast his eyes down, and I was afraid I’d made him sad. “Oh. Yes, we have done workings. But the Universe has other ideas, I suppose.”
    “Chloe’s lovely,” I said.
    “Yes, she’s a lovely woman,” he replied. I wanted to ask why he hadn’t invited her to lunch with us, but I suspected I already knew.
    After lunch — he paid — Neal went back to the shop and I fought my way home through the crowds of tourists. I sat at the desk and wrote down everything I’d heard, spent a few hours working out possible chapter divisions, then plugged in my groaning old laptop and typed up another article I’d been working on about investments for single women. Not that I had any investments myself; I’d never expected to find myself single.
    Neal and Chloe had me over for dinner the night of the next Lodge meeting. Chloe had a way with lamb and rosemary. I was debating whether to ease the topbutton of my jeans open and make more room when Deirdre arrived, bursting with a story to tell.
    “We need to send out a warning,” she said.
    “A warning?” Chloe asked, as she scraped leftovers into a plastic container.
    Deirdre set her bag down in the corner and pulled up a chair at the table. “Yes, over the psychic network. There’s a Wanderer in town.”
    I sat very still and listened. What was a Wanderer?
    “No, really?” Chloe said, sliding into her chair.
    Neal leaned forward on his elbows. “How do you know?”
    “I know because I saw her with my own eyes and spoke to her with my own mouth.”
    I dropped my head so they couldn’t see me smile.
    “What happened?” Chloe asked.
    Deirdre glanced quickly at me, unwittingly letting on that trusting me was still an issue for her.
    “Go on,” Neal said.
    “I was late for work, so I took the short cut through the cemetery. But when I hit Bunhill Row, I sensed a very strong psychic cry for help.”
    “Deirdre is a Sensitive,” Neal said to me.
    “I see.”
    “I followed the cry down the first side street. It was coming from an old building marked for demolition. When I went up the stairs, I found an old woman sitting in a corner in darkness. I asked her what she wanted, and she said she had a story to tell.”
    “What did you do?”
    “I was wary, of course. I asked her what kind of a story it was. She said it was a story that needed telling, and then alarm bells started ringing in my brain. When I asked if the story came with a warning, she said yes, and I hotfooted it out of there.”
    “Well done, Deirdre,” Neal said.
    I was confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I said.
    “Have you ever heard about the Wandering Jew?” Neal asked.
    I shook my head.
    “The chap who was cursed to wander the earth forever telling his tale again and again until Judgement Day?” Chloe said. “You’ve never heard of him?”
    Some vague impression of somewhere having read about the myth struck me. “Oh, yes, I know what you mean.”
    “It’s a not uncommon psychic occurrence. There are those who find themselves under a burden to tell a story.”
    “Why?” I asked.
    Neal shook his head. “You never ask why. The story they tell reveals why.”
    “But why can’t we hear it?”
    “Because,” Deirdre said patiently, blinking with her left eye, “once they’ve told you, the burden passes to you.”
    This sounded so