Death Angel

Chapter 4: The Debut (Part 2)

Small author's note to those who have been following this closely. I have decided on Daniel's last name: Ashcroft. :D

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The party was in full swing by the time we stepped into it. A jazz band had set themselves up in the foyer, ready to greet incoming guests. They played the classics of course, New Orleans staples: the Second Line, the music of Louis Armstrong and King Oliver mingling with the lively music of Dixieland. I grew up on Chicago Big Band Music. This was different. Infused with a vitality that bordered on the primal. The roar of the brass instruments brought an energy to the gathering that I had never felt in all my years.

Perhaps being dead taught one to appreciate the finer things in life. I had opted for Merlot, though the Pinot Noir was inviting. There were eight kinds of reds offered up by the gracious bar. The Chianti looked inviting, smooth and sensual, and yet Merlot seemed oddly comforting for me. It was back to the basics for poor old Vanessa Hunter, it seemed.

It was so strange being back in my element and yet not at all. I kept taking sidelong glances at my newest accomplice. Of course, Death was the ultimate gentleman. Knowledgeable in thousands of topics and able to call them up at will. Anything from the history of germanic princes to the price-fixing of sugar in South Florida. He would speak of emerging markets just as readily as he would of the plight of the middle class. Money of course, was a crass topic in any conversation; no one dared bring that up.

“Supply and demand dictates that the market at this time is poised for a massive run-up,” Death said in the most charming and elegant manner. “Destabilization from around the globe compounded with the interests of Chinese companies and the weakness in the Eurozone will all contribute to the perfect storm.” He was awfully persuasive when he wanted to be.

“The Chinese speculate, the Europeans cower, and we Americans bet it all on a single roll of dice, and we should because there is no better time to jump in,” he continued.

“A rather nice touch don’t you think,” I whispered, as Death completed what he wanted to say. “Rile these investors up or freak them out and reap the profits in either case. Knowing what happens well before anyone else is a wonderful gift,” I added.

Death smiled. “For all of my theatrics, cherie, I am rather simple. I bring the universe into order.”

“Well, you just keep on doing what you do best,” I said. I had drained the last of the Merlot and it had done nothing  to slake my thirst. I whispered something in Death’s ear to excuse myself just then and he nodded, understanding completely.

I headed for the bar, intent on finding something that would comfort me. Wasn’t any drug something that would help me? I asked myself. And yet, the key to this was the drug. The beautiful mansion had several bars situated throughout, but the residents always knew where the patrons would go to find the good stuff.

There were more crowds beyond the massive hallway that housed the dining room, with its long oak table lined with rows of armored knights - an oddity, certainly not something one would expect to see in a New Orleans home.

I found the “good” bar, positioned between the main foyer and the dining room. There wasn’t much of a line so I decided to step in. One of the wait staff passed me carrying Hors d'oeuvres. I helped myself to the Bruschetta and walked to the bar.

“May I help you, ma’am?” a polite bartender asked.

“I’d like something a little stiffer than a glass of wine,” I said, smiling at him.

The waiter smiled. “We have Vodka,” he said, “I can make you a dry martini, or if you wish for something sweeter, I can add a dash of apple liqueur.”