Distrust can be a two-way street….Missing Heroes.
Book 13: Old Friends
A figure stepped out of the shadows, shaking his head. “Look at you.
You lost the message, man.”
A figure stepped out of the shadows, shaking his head. “Look at you. You lost the message, man.”
“You!” Angelus growled and swung. His fist passed right through the apparition.
“Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?” Doyle chastised mildly.
“We were never friends,” Angelus replied, his tone tense and angry. “Don’t confuse me with that poor tortured sap.”
“Right. Whatever.” Doyle shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Point is I’m here ta tell you it’s not too late.”
Angelus gasped theatrically, clutching his clasped hands to his chest. “Golly, is this the part where you tell me my future is bleak unless I rescue some orphans.” He sneered, “Save it for someone who cares.”
Doyle shook his head sadly. “You think the Powers just let you waltz out of Hell?”
Angelus smirked. “You don’t get it. I didn’t need their help. I got a free pass from Old Scratch himself.”
“There’s no honor among thieves, you know that,” Doyle admonished, “and nothin’s free.”
Angelus crossed his arms. “So, what do you want?”
“Me? I’d love a pint of Guinness,” Doyle replied ruefully, and then pointed skyward, “They want their champion back.”
Angelus’ strode forward furiously, looming over Doyle.
“I’m never going back to being their beck-and-call boy,” he hissed. “
“Here’s the funny thing,” Doyle said without the trace of a smile, and suddenly his fist shot out in a blur and passed through Angelus’ chest, smashing into his dead heart. “It was safer in Hell, and Lucifer isn’t the only one who can’t be trusted.”
Angelus screamed with rage and pain as the magical cage surrounding the hated soul began to crack.
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