Chapter three :) Hope you enjoy it!


CHAPTER III

By the time my lunch break came around, I was ready for it. Spending one's morning on the phone with angry Middle Eastern politicians or their secretaries was not how I liked to begin my day. Usually, I stayed at my desk for the fifteen minutes allotted for the midday meal, scoffing reheated leftovers and downing a soft drink from the vending machine in the hall, but Ruth—a quiet, middle-aged Jewish mother-of-three from the adjoining cubicle—offered me the chance to stretch my legs and get a sandwich from the café around the corner, so long as I got her a takeaway latte.

The deal struck, I hurried downstairs and out the building into the midday rush one only truly experiences when working in the great cities of the world. I exited the café grasping a paper bag containing two focaccias and balancing two hot drinks in my other hand and stopped dead.

Approach him…Confront him…ask him what he wants…

Those were Sherlock's instructions. To walk up to my intimidating, possibly dangerous stalker and demand to know why he stared at me.

And here I was, presented with the opportunity. The man in the trench coat was standing across the road, his hands held loosely by his sides. Staring.

And for reasons I will never comprehend, I took Sherlock's advice.

Clutching the paper bag and hot drinks close to my chest, I glued my eyes on the man and crossed the street. Despite what I'd told Sherlock, this man did disappear into thin air. I wasn't going to lose sight of him again.

"Hello," I said quietly, coming to a stop about three feet away, which I judged to be a wise distance. If he makes a grab for me, I'll have time to throw a drink in his face.

"Hello, Isadora," said trench-coat-man.

It wasn't that he knew my name. That was frustrating enough. What made me angry was that his voice was tinged with the same sympathy he always looked at me with. I forgot myself and stepped closer.

"Who the hell are you?" I demanded. "How do you know my name?"

He sighed, like having to explain himself was an Atlas-esque burden. "My name is Castiel. As for how I know you…it my mission to know."

My eyes widened and my heart thudded in panic. "You're joking, right?" He squinted in confusion, and made to move towards me. I instantly brought my takeaway mocha up between us, pointing at him in defence. "No, stop right there! I should warn you, I have a friend waiting for me at work. If I don't get back in five minutes she'll call the cops!"

Trench coat man ignored my weak threat and continued to approach me. "Ruth is a faithful woman. She knew my cause and obeyed."

Obeyed? "Ruth…works for you?"

"Not exactly. She volunteered herself."

He was close enough to smell—stale aftershave, the sweet musk of man sweat—I couldn't think properly. "Volunteered to do what? Have the kid from Belfast kidnapped?" By a psychotic bloke with one set of clothes, I thought, but didn't say. I valued my life and freedom.

He cocked his head gently to the left. "To deliver you to me. It is not my intention to take you. I require your assistance, Isadora Greenhall, but I will not force you to do anything against your will."

That piqued my interest. "Assistance?" I asked warily.

Castiel smiled. It was a curious smile, like he was doing it deliberately, like he didn't actually need to. As though he had no intention but to reassure me. He seemed hyper aware of the pulling and stretching of the muscles he required to do it. "I need your help, Isadora, to track down and destroy Lucifer's Weapon."