I know its been ages since I've composed one of these, and while I am wishing everyone a happy New Year, to me getting the year started off in the best way possible means sticking to good habits, and one of those is posting in this lovely blog of mine on the regular, and to that point I give you the very first Mid Week Words of 2014.
from the Journal, entry dated Jan. 1. 2014-
Its a beautiful day to ring in the New Year. The sun is shining, the crows are chuckling, and the kitchen table is full of new merch for the store, setting in epoxy just waiting to be blessed and photographed. The moon is even new. Its as if for the first time I can remember, my pagan calender of old and the Gregorian of common use are actually lining up together to start again.
from the Sigil of Azazel, chapter 8-
He did not even bother stepping out of the car when he pulled the luxurious machine into his personal parking space at the MDA Apartment Complex in the heart of the Loop. Azazel simply took a breath, pausing to breathe in deeply, and when the air was leaving his lungs again he was standing in a subway station not far from Eve's school. It was as worrisome as it was enraging. The commander of the Ward had a sickening feeling that it was the same line Eve would have taken home this evening if he had not interfered. There was a stench in the air that humans would mistake for trash or decay if they could smell it. Azazel followed it into the darkness down the track. Here there were no lights, only the underground darkness of moldy, rat infested subway tunnels.
“Kochbiel?” Azazel asked the darkness, and the darkness answered.
“I am here, sir,” the darkness spoke, a ball of golden light taking shape to illuminate his blood-stained figure. There were other ways to see in the darkness, but they were beyond the capacity of the soldier’s mediocre family line. He was not the most powerful, Kochbiel, but he was smart and he was trust worthy, and those were qualities far more rare and valued in the current dwindling state of his kind. His skin held just enough color and tone to pass for human, and his pale blonde hair was cut close to the scalp, to keep from helping the enemy or hindering himself in battle. His eyes were the inky black pools long ago accustomed to frequent total darkness that could occur at any moment, and often did, in the impoverished regions of their country beneath the dirt. Kochbiel had fought by Azazel’s side and under his orders since the very start of the civil war.
“I moved the body out of sight here, but I knew you would want it handled yourself, sir.”
Azazel nodded, taking the light from his hands, holding the incorporeal orb aloft to see the remains. And they were just that, the remains of what little was left.