Chapter 2 #3
The space was punctuated with glass display cases that held vases, coins, and other artifacts.
There was also a giant stone mural mounted beside the windows that appeared to have been plucked right off the wall of some ancient temple, depicting a bunch of naked men swarmed around another naked man who had big wings.
They were doing something with the man’s ankle, but Seymour didn’t have a clue as to what.
Yup.
Definitely not touching shit in here either.
There was an older man seated at the desk, staring off into space as the screens behind him blipped and blooped with countless rows of rotating numbers.
The displays went black, and only then did the man rise to his feet with a friendly grin.
His navy suit was pressed to perfection, his smile unnaturally white and sharp like a shark’s, and his watch alone had to be worth enough to be the down payment on a private island.
His skin was a rich shade of bronze, his dark hair streaked with silver at his temples, and his eyes were an eerily bright shade of blue. He was too perfect, too clean, and even the way he moved had an alien grace Seymour couldn’t explain.
Definitely creepy though.
“Seymour Madison!” the man greeted in a deep, smooth voice. “Welcome, welcome! Come on down!”
A game show host, that’s what it was.
The man reminded Seymour of a game show host.
“Nice to meet you, sir.” Seymour offered his hand to shake, and he tipped his head down politely, as he had quite an advantage in height. “You must be Mr. Talos.”
“I am indeed. Please! Sit!” Talos gestured to a plush chair in front of his desk.
He flashed the clerk another big, sharky smile.
“Go on. I can see Mr. Madison out myself. Unless—” He looked to Seymour.
“Would you like anything to drink? Eat? We have a private chef. Can whip up anything your heart desires.”
“No, I’m okay. If it’s all the same, I’d rather get to it and get goin’, sir.”
“Okay!” Talos grinned, and his face jerked a little as he turned to head back to his desk.
He sat and reached into one of the drawers, saying, “Let’s cut to brass tacks, shall we?
Your father, Clancy Carver, enlisted me to ensure that his last wishes were followed to the letter.
For you, that entailed putting this box here in your hands. ”
Said box was placed on the desk, and it was rather small and plain.
“Oh. Uh, okay.” Seymour had no idea what he had been expecting, but the box before him was barely big enough to hold a pack of cigarettes.
The screens behind Talos flashed back to life, showing a scanned document.
“I, Thaddeus Clancy Carver, being of sound mind, declare this to be my last will and testament,” Talos read dutifully, though he wasn’t looking at the screens.
“I leave all my worldly and other assets to my one living child and only heir, Leslie Seymour Madison.”
“Okay.” Seymour cautiously opened the box and found a key inside. It was silver, modern, no different from his own house keys. “What am I looking at?”
“I do believe it’s what people refer to as a key.”
Smartass.
“Yeah, but to what?” Seymour frowned. “His will don’t say anything else? Nothin’?”
“No, I’m sorry.” Talos frowned deeply, and Seymour half expected a buzzer to ring. “His only instructions were to see to it that you receive this box and its contents personally.” He paused. “Oh, and the three million dollars in a private trust.”
“Three mill—what?”
“Three million dollars in a private trust,” Talos repeated.
“Wow! Uh, okay! Holy shit!” Seymour laughed as he hooked the key beside his truck key. “I can pay off my damn student loans! My house! Hell, I can buy a whole new one!”
Maybe driving all the way up here was worth it after all.
Talos smiled politely. “Now, I do believe we can get you access—”
The door flew off its hinges, crashing into one of the display cases and shattering it into bits. A mere moment later, the bloodied corpse of a man in a security uniform sailed through the doorway, taking out another case. Another man followed, but this one missed a case by a mile.
“I gravely miscalculated my trajectory,” a man in glasses drawled.
“Funny way of saying you missed,” teased his companion, a young man with a dashing smile. “You can pick him up and try again.”
Fuck, they looked familiar.
Seymour didn’t know where he’d seen the pair before, but he suspected it wasn’t good.
A third man with icy blue eyes and a slick three-piece suit stalked forward, his gaze burning into Seymour’s.
“Mr. Heiss.” Talos scowled as he moved to intercept him. “You do not have an appointment. And killing my guards? Really?” He laughed. “This is—”
Mr. Heiss… changed.
Purple skin, giant horns, a crown of fire—oh fuckin’ fabulous, he was a demon.
Mr. Heiss grabbed Talos by the throat and ripped his head right off.
“What the fuck?” Seymour screamed as he scrambled behind the desk to take cover and look for a weapon.
Strangely, there was no blood—only sparks and wires writhing like snakes from the stump of Talos’s neck.
Talos was a robot?
What the fuck?
“Sariel,” Mr. Heiss snapped. “Grab the mortal. We don’t have much time.”
“Sariel…?” Seymour froze.
No.
It couldn’t be.
But it was—Sariel entered the room dressed in a blue suit, a thick metal collar around his neck, and wings. Big poofy feathery fucking wings with an actual halo glowing over his head.
Sariel was an angel?
Seymour stared stupidly, stunned in place. He should be thinking of a way to run out the door, grab one of those fancy vases and hit someone with it, but he couldn’t look away from the sheer ethereal beauty of Sariel in this moment.
Sariel’s eyes widened and then closed as his expression fell. He grabbed Seymour’s arms and held on tight as he sighed.
Right. Shit. Was supposed to be escaping.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Seymour hissed. “Let go of me!”
“I am very sorry,” Sariel whispered. “I cannot.” He bowed his head. “I also do not think I am going to make it for coffee.”
“No fucking shit, asshole.”