The book was originally called I, Azazel, and it is part of the Gylded Wings series. The first book in the series is Gylded Wings. Available here. Gylded Wings is also available in audio.
So, since this post is about Yesterday’s Angel, here is the draft of the beginning:
As with most of my adventures, the most important of my life started innocently enough.
I’d been feeling a bit lonely, tired of staring at the four walls, and decided to go out and about in Sin City—Viva Las Vegas. I took a short cut through a back alley and happened upon a human tragedy in progress. Gun drawn, a street kid had cornered an old man between a dumpster and a brick wall, adorned with lurid red graffiti announcing the end of the world. By the prophet’s reckoning, the event had occurred yesterday.
“Good evening, Junior-G, my name is Azazel. Drop your weapon, put your hands above your head, and turn around slowly.” My voice was calm and gritty, a fair imitation of my favorite actor from the Old West. I was tempted to add, or I’ll twitch my nose and your cock will fall off, but that might get the old man shot.
The kid whirled, his weapon leveled at my chest, and fired. The acrid scent of the gun’s discharge stung my nostrils, but I held my ground. The bullet sped toward me, spun ninety-degrees. Like a heat-seeking missile, it honed in on its target, the youngster holding the gun. Junior’s jaw dropped, his eyes wide enough to pop from his head. At the last instant, the bullet veered right and struck the dumpster with metallic thunder. The kid hung suspended from the invisible strings preventing his jeans from drooping below his knees.
The bad ass rocked up and down on his heels. “What the fuck—”
“Mind your tongue, Junior.” Cool, confident, I strolled across the filthy concrete.
He gave me a tough guy stare, but the hand holding the gun trembled. Effort pinched his face. Understanding what had just happened stretched his intellect. He was fast becoming a nervous teenager in street clothes. Baggy jeans rode low, showing red briefs. Combat boots. Bleached skulls stacked on his black t-shirt. Junior was too shocked, and I moved too fast, grabbing the gun from his frozen fingers and using it to wave him along.
“Run home now, J.G. Your Mama’s cooking turnip greens and cornbread.” My smile was benevolent, but my eyes sparkled dangerous. “Remember, if you ever harm a woman, a child, or the elderly, I’ll know and…” I could no longer resist and wagged a finger in his face. “I’ll twitch my nose, and your cock will fall off.”
“Shit man, what you talking about?” The kid did one of those bag of rags shuffles like a scarecrow with the stuffing knocked out.
“You know I turned the bullet midair. With no more than a careless thought, I could cause a vein in your head to rupture. You’d be dead before you hit the ground. Creating a cock-less wonder is,” I snapped my fingers, “that easy. Shall I prove it?”
He must have found one functioning brain cell. “You’re one crazy mo-fro.” And then another synapse randomly fired, and he clutched his groin. “How’d you know my name?”
“I was holding your mother’s hand the day you were born.” A priest in denim, I signed the cross. “Go, and sin no more.”
He puffed up his chest, narrowed his eyes, and shot me another gangster look.
I leaned forward and snapped my fingers. “Boo.”
Hitching up his pants, he ran blind, his head twisted at an odd angle to watch me over his shoulder. His cap flew off, and hair as long as mine spilled down his back. An alley cat, disturbed by the pitter-patter of his scared little feet, screeched.
That’s part of the first chapter. I hope you will be looking for this book in the future. It is totally in the draft stage and much later will go to my editor for judgment. I hope Yesterday’s Angel has a future!