Color of Angels' Souls Read Online Free Page A

Jeremy asked, all ears. “So what do you do with yourselves all day—and all night?” he added as he took in the frenetic dance of the Angels around him.
    â€œThat depends.”
    â€œOn what?”
    Tetisheri sighed. She had probably repeated the same thing thousands of times before to Newbies, but Jeremy had no intention of letting her off the hook now.
    â€œOn who you are,” she finally answered. “There are different sorts of Angels. I already mentioned the Sleepers. They’re the most passive Angels. There are also the Happy Ones, who forget completely about the living and just eat the Mist and enjoy their new lives to the fullest. That’s what most of the Angels do. Then there are the Activists, those of us who still participate in the world of the living.”
    â€œParticipate?” Jeremy asked with surprise. “How do you do that?”
    â€œWe go to the movies, or read over the shoulders of the living, or even directly over the computer screen of our favorite authors. We can even eat while we’re reading. We whisper into their ears, and we go to plays, concerts, and cocktail parties. We entertain ourselves. And,” she added sadly, “last but not least, there are the Avenging Angels, who don’t think their lives on Earth ended the way they should have, and who want to go back. Or those who were … murdered. Many of them go crazy.”
    Jeremy could feel the lump in his throat.
    Her face suddenly brightened and she gave him a warm smile, as if she were sorry to have scared him.
    â€œBut the best thing you can do here is find a purpose for your new existence. To keep busy. To avoid disappearing.”
    His goal had been to become the youngest king of the financial world, but he got the feeling that he wouldn’t have much luck on that score in the afterlife.
    They stared at each other, neither one speaking.
    â€œIf I were you,” she finally said, pointing down at his corpse, “I would try to figure out why someone killed me in such a horrible way.”
    Her words bothered him and he reacted without thinking.
    â€œIt was probably all a huge mistake,” he snapped. “I don’t have any enemies! I can’t see what there is to figure out. In a couple minutes they’ll say that the murderer emptied my pockets and that’ll be my epitaph:
    DECAPITATED FOR FIFTY DOLLARS
    AND A MODEL 3137 BREGUET OPEN-WORKED
GRANDE COMPLICATION WRISTWATCH
    BY SOME NUTCASE WHO WATCHED
    TOO MANY KUROSAWA MOVIES.
    â€œHm. Maybe you’re right. But on the other hand, do you have anything better to do than to look for some answers and—who knows?—maybe to find them?”
    Before he had time to argue the point, she gave him a mischievous grin and closed her eyes tightly, as if she were concentrating very hard on something. Then she winced, and Jeremy was just about to ask her if everything was OK when suddenly she began to … fly away. Just like that. Not like some angel beating its big chicken wings, but more like a balloon filled with helium. A big blue balloon—or more like a blimp, since it looked like she could change directions as she rose.
    OK, maybe it wasn’t the most appropriate image, since she was nowhere near as big as a blimp, but the resemblance was certainly striking. Jeremy stared on in wonder as she rose into the sky (the whole process looked awfully painful), until she passed out of sight behind a building.
    He looked back down at his body, and realized that, in addition to feeling anxious, lost, and abandoned, he could sense another emotion that was slowly creeping into his psyche.
    Anger.
    He started to look around to see if he could figure out what was going on.
    The coroner had just arrived. He was tall, thin, and very grave, with incredibly long, bony hands. When he saw Jeremy’s head lying askew, he shook his own and officially declared Jeremy deceased without missing a beat. Then he pulled out a