By Anne Rice
It’s the current day. Toby O’Dare—aka fortunate the Fox—is a freelance killer of underground repute on task to kill as soon as again. He’s a soulless soul, a useless guy walking. His nightmarish international of lone and deadly missions is disrupted while a mysterious stranger, a seraph, bargains him an opportunity to avoid wasting instead of damage lives. O’Dare, who some time past dreamt of being a clergyman, seizes his likelihood. Now he's carried again throughout the a long time to thirteenth-century England, to darkish geographical regions the place accusations of formality homicide were made opposed to Jews, the place teenagers unexpectedly die or disappear. during this primitive surroundings, O’Dare starts off his perilous quest for salvation, a trip of possibility and flight, loyalty and betrayal, selflessness and love.
Read Online or Download Angel Time: The Songs of the Seraphim, Book One PDF
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Extra resources for Angel Time: The Songs of the Seraphim, Book One
But without making a sound I said an oath, I said a prayer. God, help me. Not that place. To put it in the simplest terms, a bad feeling came over me, a feeling of falling. The dumbest prayer of my old repertoire came back to me, the one that made me the angriest: Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God’s love commits me here, ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide. I felt weak listening to The Right Man. I felt fatal. No matter. Turn that into hurt. Turn that into pressure, and you’ll be just fine.
I was very impressed and quieted by the Grand Basilica. It was vast, expensive, Romanesque, and, like so many Romanesque churches, filled with light. Round arches again everywhere. Exquisitely painted walls. Behind the altar there was another golden retablo, one that made the one in the Serra Chapel look small. This too was ancient and shipped from the Old Country, just as the other had been, and covering the entire back wall of the sanctuary to a momentous height. It was overwhelming in its dazzling gold.
Now I lived with it. “Too easy for someone to pick up on it,” he said. “Then they know it was a hit. I can’t have that. Leave it, Lucky. Do as I say. This is a banker. ” I didn’t say anything. Sometimes we left a message with these things, and other times we came and went like a cat in an alley, and that was the way this would be. Perhaps it was a blessing, I thought. There would be no talk of murder among the employees of the one place where I felt solace, and just a little glad to be aboveground.