Black Wings by Christina Henry

office?” he asked, his eyes as cold as ice.
    “Patrick’s file shows his death but not his choice.”
    “So? Some idiot in Records didn’t enter the information.”
    “No,” I said slowly. I thought of the sound that I’d heard beneath the overpass as the monster stood over Patrick’s body. A kind of sucking sound. I thought of the odd records that showed two deaths with no choices. “That thing that I saw last night . . . I think it ate his soul.”
    “There’s no such thing as a soul-eating monster, Madeline,” J.B. said with the long-suffering tone of someone speaking to a moron.
    “You’re an Agent,” I said, matching my tone to his. “You know that the world isn’t what it seems to be. You’ve seen vampires and werewolves and faeries and ghosts. You have wings! Why is it so unbelievable that there is a monster out there eating souls?”
    “Because there aren’t any records of such a creature. Because all those other creatures you mention have had their souls collected by an Agent at death.” He had returned to his normal smug look, the one that made me want to punch him in the face.
    “What if this creature doesn’t have a soul itself, and that’s why we have no record of it?” I didn’t really know where I was going with this. It sounded crazy and illogical to me, too, but I had seen the monster. I knew it had done something horrible to Patrick, to my mother. Maybe it hadn’t sucked out their souls, but it had done something, something that had affected the way their deaths were entered in the Hall of Records.
    I didn’t want to be alone in this. As infuriating as J.B. was, at least he had some authority and resources that I didn’t have. He could help me—if he wanted to.
    “Look, Black. I know you and Walker were close and that you will miss him terribly. Heck, I’ll miss him. Despite his screwup this week, Patrick was an excellent Agent. But,” he said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head, “whatever the circumstances of his death are, they’re none of your business. Your business is to collect souls and file your paperwork. End of discussion.”
    “You know what, J.B.?” I said, my temper flaring. “You’re pathetic. There’s a freaking monster out there eating your Agents’ souls and all you’re worried about is another report. Well, I hope you don’t think it or any other piece of paper is going to get you that promotion that you are so desperately seeking. Everyone, including upper management, thinks you’re a giant pain in the ass.”
    J.B.’s face had lost all color by the end of my little monologue. “Get out,” he said through gritted teeth.
    “Gladly.” I stormed out of his office, knocking over a chair as I went. It was immature but doing it made me feel better.
    I fumed all the way home. It was absolutely typical J.B. to care more about reports than people. And while he was being a total ass, my chances of getting anyone with authority to listen to me were slim to none. Even worse, the likelihood of getting a pass to the Hall of Records was now infinitesimal.
    I really wanted a crack at those records. There might be other cases like Patrick’s and my mother’s, cases of an Agent who died with no records showing his choice. Information like that might give me a clue of how to find this creature.
    There was a monster running loose but I had no idea what it was, no idea how it chose its victims and nobody to help me. I was a soul collector and a recipe writer. I’d never conducted an investigation of any kind and I didn’t want to fumble around trying to find answers while this thing chewed through the population.
    As soon as I flew through the dining room window, Beezle clambered in behind me.
    “What is it?” I said. “You look more out of sorts than usual.”
    “That person was here,” Beezle said darkly.
    “What person?” I said, going to the answering machine to check for messages.
    “Angeloscuro,” he spat.
    I