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Angel squinted through a pair of binoculars, laid down on his chest amidst some foliage. Husk was nearby, his back reclined against a tree trunk and rolling a coin across his knuckles, his eyes closed.
“What exactly am I supposed to be lookin’ for?” Angel kicked his legs through the air behind him. The sun hung just a bit over the horizon behind him, casting long, reaching shadows through the expanse of fields and orchards.
“I dunno, anything strange.” Husk wiped his spare hand across his eyes, blinking moisture back into them. “Big unmarked trucks, goons who have no business being on a farm, or–”
“Crates of something gold and glowy?”
“Yeah, I’d count that.” Husk shuffled over, scooting across the grass and sitting beside Angel’s head. Angel lifted up the binoculars for him to take.
Husk scanned over the fields, before fixating on a barn. Large crates were being hauled out from inside, loaded into box trucks by some rough-looking shark demons. The what-should-be-shady inside of the truck had a lustrous sheen, light slipping through the cracks of the wooden boxes.
“That certainly looks like a lead.”
“So, what now? We go in there guns blazing, kick their asses?” Angel twirled a finger idly over Husk’s ankle, stranding the fur up into spirals.
“We kill time ‘til they move out, then we go over there and investigate.” Husk kicked his foot lightly, keeping his focus locked inside his binoculars.
“Damn, and here I am without my Sherlock Hoes outfit,” Angel chuckled, turning over and looking up into the sun-dappled leaves of the tree. A yawn pushed up out of him, the demon stretching his upper arms behind his head and sprawling across the grass.
Husk settled the binoculars down into his lap, letting the top of his hand brush against Angel’s hair. He kept a light watch for a few more minutes before laying down at Angel’s side.
“Been a long time since I’ve been outside the city,” Angel thought aloud. “Grass here is so green.”
“You sound all wistful,” Husk chuckled. “Didn’t you live in a city when you were alive?”
“Yeah, I did. But it had a pretty damn good park. Didn’t go there often enough, it feels like.” Angel swept a hand across the grass, gliding up Husk’s outer thigh before finding purchase with Husk’s fingers.
“It’s funny, somehow there’s more time in Hell to relax,” Husk sighed. His fingers curled up with Angel’s, giving a fond squeeze.
“I remember, a few days before I bought it. It was summer, or maybe just late spring. I was layin’ on a hill, sun all warm on my skin, I had my shirt unbuttoned,” Angel smirked, putting on a sultry air as he spoke.
“The breeze was just right, not too cold. When it came by, the trees rustled, it whistled in my ears, and it was like things were right for once. I thought about gettin’ out, like I always did. I meant it this time…” Angel sighed. “Or maybe I just thought I did, like all the others.”
“Well, you ‘got out’ one way,” Husk said, no grimness in his tone.
“Sometimes it’s the only way we do. That’s just how it is. I didn’t really expect anything on the other side. Least not this,” Husk punctuated with a gesture at himself, tugging up a fingerful of his chest fur with his free hand.
Angel looked up at the tree canopy. A breeze came by, the air giving light tugs and pulls across the fluff on his body. Recollection like this made him acutely aware of the difference between then and now.
“Guess it’s to remind us that we screwed up our lives. Ain’t human anymore.” Angel’s mouth hung open after the words, but nothing more came to say.
“Hey, you’re the one in the ‘second chance’ racket. Least you’re tryin’ to be different than you were above,” Husk’s hand settled over his chest, grazing across the flask stowed away in his waist.
“I guess. I mostly stay at the hotel to get away from Val.” Angel sat up after a few beats, making eye contact with Husk who was still laying across the green.
“But I guess the company isn’t so bad.”
“I’ll take not so bad,” Husk drawled, a smirk turning the corners of his cheeks up. He pushed himself to sit up, then stand, offering out a gallant palm to Angel to help him up.
“C’mon. Let’s check out that barn.”
The barn was a huge, weathered structure. Orange paint peeled off the blood-red wooden walls and struts, and it had a musty, sickly sweet smell in the air. Worn away white font painted onto the front face of it said “Julius Nectar”. All the demons they’d seen hauling around crates earlier had gone away, leaving buzzing bugs and chirping crickets as the only signs of life.
Angel clung toward the wall as Husk prowled through the overgrown grass. Circling around the barn revealed boarded up windows, shutters nailed into place to deny any access aside from the two colossal doors at the front of the building. Husk danced cards between his fingertips as he crept toward the entryway.
“Seems like everybody’s gone,” Husk rasped at a low whisper. “Just be on guard.”
Husk dug his heel into the crack between the doors, and slowly forced it open. The array of metal-framed cards in his hands poised like daggers, ready to flit away and set things off at a moment’s notice. The dirt of the ground scuffed and cracked as Husk prised the door open just wide enough to reveal the interior.
It glittered like a vault.
The whole room was bathed in a soft gold glow. Crates were stacked high, each one wafting that scent like fruit rot. It rolled like a wave past him, making Husk’s nose curl and drawing bile to his throat – it was disgustingly saccharine. Angel peeked around the corner, peering inside for a moment before turning his head and wretching. He braced on his knees, shaking his head as if to force the odor out of him.
“That is vile,” Angel said, spitting onto the ground. Husk’s eyes scoured every corner, lit as if by candlelight. When he was satisfied the room was clear, he relaxed, tension dropping in his shoulders and giving a flourish with the cards in his hands as his grip shifted.
“Yeah. Think this is definitely our stuff, though.” Husk padded forward, the boarded floor underfoot creaking with each step. He approached a nearby crate, plucking a hoe from a barrel of farm implements. He jammed it into the slats of the top, and pried until the wood came off with a splintering crack.
Jackpot: just as they’d been described, a crate of luminescent stonefruit. A light cleave through one side, like a peach or an apricot, and clearly the source of the scent. Husk plucked one up into his hands. It was unsettlingly warm against his fingertips, almost hot. The flesh was supple, the skin of it covered in a faint fuzz. Husk took four of them, depositing them into the pockets of his slacks.
“Oughta be enough to satisfy Alastor. C’mon legs, let’s get outta here,” Husk said toward the door, shifting the lid of the crate back into position. He shifted up his suspenders as he walked to the exit, accommodating the extra weight in his pants.
He didn’t think much of Angel’s lack of a response until he stepped outside to an empty field. Husk whirled around, looking for Angel. The tendons in his hands tensed, cards bending under his fingers.
“Angel?” Husk said it quiet, then loud. “Angel? Where are you?”
The snap of a twig underfoot was the only response Husk got before the world went dark around him.