Excerpt from Angel
First, an EXTRA, which doesn't appear in the book. Here's Michael's introduction to the story:
I was ten years old when I found out I was a demon.
Of course, I’d known there was something different about me and my Mom for years, even then. The way we didn’t hang around in any one place for more than a year at most. The way I wasn’t allowed to be friends with anyone whose family were practicing Christians. Or Jews. Or Muslims or anything else for that matter, even up to the kid whose mom floated around in black lace dresses and called herself a Wiccan. I guess she just wasn’t doing it right.
Anyhow, when you’re a little kid you accept these things, but sooner or later you start to wonder why you have to follow all these rules that no one else does. Why you’re the only kid who’s never been to a wedding or a funeral, never gone to Mass or a bar mitzvah. It was around that time I started noticing that my Mom wasn’t like other moms. I didn’t know what the hell to call it in those days, I guess because the words “batshit insane” don’t figure in a lot of reading primers.
Anyhow, I’d kinda worked out that Mom was weird. It hadn’t occurred to me to think that maybe I was weird—that maybe Mom was weird because of me.
Until the day Donnie Gallagher took me to his church after school.
That was when I got these scars.
Now on to the EXCERPT:
The new guy was late. Don drummed his fingers impatiently. He hoped this wouldn't turn out to be a no-show. He was about to make a note on the file when the door opened without warning and a slender figure slouched in, his face half-hidden by long, raven hair.
“Michael Andras?” Don asked, and the guy looked up at him. The hair was longer, but the man's looks were distinctive enough that Don could easily recognize him from the mugshot on the file. Shockingly cold blue eyes regarded him intently, making Don uncomfortable, although he couldn't have said why.
A surprisingly full mouth quirked up at one side as Andras continued to stare at him in silence. Don swallowed, suddenly remembering the man was gay. Don was used to being checked out by guys—with his looks, it happened a lot—and he could handle it okay when he was on his own time, but here in his office, it seemed like an intrusion.
“You don't remember me, do you?” Andras said at last. He laughed, a short, dry sound without much humor in it. “Must be twenty years ago, now. But I remember you, Donnie.” He paused. “Not the sort of thing I'd ever forget, is it? The day I found out I'm a demon.”
Don froze. It all came flooding back: the cloying scent of the incense, the panic he'd felt at the kid's cries. He heard his chair clatter to the floor and realized he'd stood up, leaning over his desk to stare at Andras. When he looked closely, he could see faint patches of scarring on Andras's face, the skin there a slightly paler tone. “You—where did you go?” Don asked at last, feeling like he was being a coward, straying away from the real issues into more comfortable territory. “I never saw you again. Where did you go?”
Again the mouth quirked. “Oh, we went lots of places. Didn't go to church again, though.”
(back to Paranormal m/m)
I was ten years old when I found out I was a demon.
Of course, I’d known there was something different about me and my Mom for years, even then. The way we didn’t hang around in any one place for more than a year at most. The way I wasn’t allowed to be friends with anyone whose family were practicing Christians. Or Jews. Or Muslims or anything else for that matter, even up to the kid whose mom floated around in black lace dresses and called herself a Wiccan. I guess she just wasn’t doing it right.
Anyhow, when you’re a little kid you accept these things, but sooner or later you start to wonder why you have to follow all these rules that no one else does. Why you’re the only kid who’s never been to a wedding or a funeral, never gone to Mass or a bar mitzvah. It was around that time I started noticing that my Mom wasn’t like other moms. I didn’t know what the hell to call it in those days, I guess because the words “batshit insane” don’t figure in a lot of reading primers.
Anyhow, I’d kinda worked out that Mom was weird. It hadn’t occurred to me to think that maybe I was weird—that maybe Mom was weird because of me.
Until the day Donnie Gallagher took me to his church after school.
That was when I got these scars.
Now on to the EXCERPT:
The new guy was late. Don drummed his fingers impatiently. He hoped this wouldn't turn out to be a no-show. He was about to make a note on the file when the door opened without warning and a slender figure slouched in, his face half-hidden by long, raven hair.
“Michael Andras?” Don asked, and the guy looked up at him. The hair was longer, but the man's looks were distinctive enough that Don could easily recognize him from the mugshot on the file. Shockingly cold blue eyes regarded him intently, making Don uncomfortable, although he couldn't have said why.
A surprisingly full mouth quirked up at one side as Andras continued to stare at him in silence. Don swallowed, suddenly remembering the man was gay. Don was used to being checked out by guys—with his looks, it happened a lot—and he could handle it okay when he was on his own time, but here in his office, it seemed like an intrusion.
“You don't remember me, do you?” Andras said at last. He laughed, a short, dry sound without much humor in it. “Must be twenty years ago, now. But I remember you, Donnie.” He paused. “Not the sort of thing I'd ever forget, is it? The day I found out I'm a demon.”
Don froze. It all came flooding back: the cloying scent of the incense, the panic he'd felt at the kid's cries. He heard his chair clatter to the floor and realized he'd stood up, leaning over his desk to stare at Andras. When he looked closely, he could see faint patches of scarring on Andras's face, the skin there a slightly paler tone. “You—where did you go?” Don asked at last, feeling like he was being a coward, straying away from the real issues into more comfortable territory. “I never saw you again. Where did you go?”
Again the mouth quirked. “Oh, we went lots of places. Didn't go to church again, though.”
(back to Paranormal m/m)
