“So you accept the possibility that I am what I say?”
Hamlin nodded slowly. “The proof is in the picture, Manny, although why no one else has figured things out is the question.”
“Two reasons, first I don’t knowingly let my picture be taken. Second, I never stay in the same place for too long.”
“Wait a minute, you’ve been here for over three years.”
“Special situation. I was undercover, passing on information about what Cerdic was doing to my superiors so they could counteract his machinations.”
“That’s what you do, try to stop trouble from happening? What was Cerdic, some sort of terrorist? I’m pretty certain he used the information I got for him to cause people problems.” Hamlin wondered if he looked as confused as he felt.
“Not just specific people, humanity in general. He was a Scriostóir, a Destroyer. They’re created, for lack of a better word, to eradicate humankind, or more specifically to cause humans to destroy each other.”
“Angels! That’s what you are, isn’t it? He was a fallen angel and you’re—whatever the opposite of that is.”
Manny laughed. “Sorry, trust me none of us are angels, good or bad. All of us died while committing a mortal sin or a great evil. We arrived in what is called the Vale of the Dead Sinners where we were given a choice, to spent eternity suffering for what we had done, or become what we are now.”
“So, you got to choose whether to be one of these Guardians or Destroyers?”
“Actually, no. I guess that decision is made by some higher—force. We only get to decide which is worse, eternal suffering or eternal life.”
“There’s no out clause?” By now Hamlin was totally fascinated by the whole concept.
Manny smile ruefully. “One.” He pulled a dagger from where it was sheathed at the back of his waistband. “Only one of these can kill us. We all carry one, Caomhnóir or Scriostóir.” He stopped suddenly, a deep frown on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
Tapping a knuckle on his lips, Manny debated the wisdom of telling him. But he’d already come this far. Hamlin might as well know everything.
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