Agreement with an angel

By EDGARS AUZIŅŠ

Have you seen an angel? The protagonists of the author's novels not only met him, but also signed a contract to fulfil their deepest wish. In exchange, they have to carry out difficult tasks, most of which are far from religious and teeter on the edge of good and evil. You will find out how the lives of those who signed the contract change by reading this novel. Each novel has a new story, new characters, a new contract. And also the existence of an earthly Angel who influences people's souls for a purpose only he knows.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: EDGARS AUZINS
• Release date: May 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224412303

EDGARS AUZIŅŠ

Dzimis 1989. gada 22. decembrī. Absolvējis Rīgas Juridisko koledžu. Profesijā nav strādājis, bet apguvis programmēšanas prasmes un pašlaik ar to nodarbojas. Kopš 2022. gada ir personīgā uzņēmuma vadītājs, kas nodarbojas ar transporta pārvadājumiem, kā arī programmēšanu. Dzīvnieku, īpaši suņu, mīļotājs. Born 22 December 1989. Graduated from Riga College of Law. Has not worked in the profession, but has acquired programming skills and is currently working in it. Since 2022 he has been the CEO of his own company, which deals with transport transport as well as programming. Lover of animals, especially dogs.

Book preview

Prologue

When detective Sergei Kovalev entered the boss’s office with documents, he was watering aloe in a pot standing on the windowsill. Or he pretended to be watering, while he looked outside: through a narrow gap there was a view of the corner of the Children’s World. The window was covered with heavy blinds, but the deputy head of the investigative service of the FSB, General Vladimir Ivanovich Fedyukov, loved to observe living life, because he rarely succeeded.

Sergei walked up to the table and carefully placed a heavy cardboard folder. On a dark cloth stood a laptop, a decanter of water and a family photo. Nothing more: both the old and the new boss did not like disorder. However, the previous owner of this office was not interested in old affairs.

All the data on this case is here, there are no electronic versions, the operator said, as if making excuses, glancing sideways at the computer.

- I know, captain. — The boss closed the gap in the blinds, put a plastic bottle of water on the windowsill, and sat down at the table. That’s why I entrusted this matter to you.

— Special secrecy? — A spark of official zeal flashed in Sergei’s eyes.

Vladimir Ivanovich looked at his subordinate and nodded approvingly. He untied the ribbons of the folder and leafed through the materials.

- No secrecy. This is not a secret society, but a public organization, there is even a website. Christian sect. It does not engage in illegal activities and has not come into our sight. "He pulled out a photograph of a man about thirty. - I'm interested in a certain Ange Nuntis.

— Latin American? - asked the captain, glancing at the photo.

- No, Russian. Ange is short for Angel. This is what the Society thinks.

- What do you mean, God's angel?!

- Yes. Whoever he is, his activities, and especially his movements, are interesting.

— Politics?

— No, as far as we know, power is the last thing he is interested in. He is busy doing good deeds. - Fedyukov looked up at Kovalev and, without waiting for another clarifying question, explained: - Fulfills wishes. Rituals, contracts.

- Ah, religion. Need to keep him under surveillance?

- Yes... That is, no. — The boss returned to the window and looked out into the street. This... angel sometimes gets into strange things. Make sure he is not detained anywhere.

- Didn't understand? - the captain was surprised.

- In general, keep an eye on him, but don’t interfere. It's clear?

- Sure!

— He often changes his appearance, without any makeup. I don't know if it's a mutation or something. It also happens that it disappears for several days.

- Flies to heaven?

Vladimir Ivanovich shuddered, closed the gap and returned to the table.

- Maybe to heaven. But most often abroad.

- So this is our frame! — the subordinate smiled.

No, I haven’t been noticed in contacts with foreign agents, the boss objected. But we are obliged to keep any such... mysticism under control. You can go.

- Eat!

The captain left the office.

Fedyukov pulled out a yellowed photograph from a folder: two young men having lunch in a Soviet canteen. Attached to the photo is a tag with the inscription on a typewriter: Meeting of gr. Anzha Nuntis and Lieutenant of the Ministry of Internal Affairs V.I. Fedyukov. regarding the rescue of A.V. Fedyukova Date, time, position and surname of the operative. The general put the photo aside and attached sheets of paper covered with a fountain pen to it. He stood up and carefully loaded the entire pack into the shredder next to the table. When the last strip of paper fell into the basket, I turned off the unit and returned to my workplace.

Due to the shaking of the shredder, the photo standing on the table fell. The general carefully put it in place so that he could always see his smiling daughter with her husband and son.

Honor for life

The nightclub began to fill up after ten o'clock in the evening. Previously, there was nothing to do there except drink a cup of coffee for the price of a decent lunch at the diner across the street. At night, expensive audiences flocked here for a luxurious holiday, making acquaintances and watching a good show program.

Singer Nastya performed after midnight. In front of her, as a warm-up act, a little-known group drummed out pop music, and several girls in shiny silver dresses tried to imitate something on a pole. She was not the highlight of the program, but a considerable part of the public appreciated her songs. Although rather a bright appearance, which brought her more problems than happiness. Sticky glances followed the woman everywhere.

The green stretch velvet dress highlighted her flawless figure without creasing with any movement. A pair of green rhinestone earrings - no more jewelry. The actress sighed, automatically straightened the red woolen thread on her left hand and stepped onto the stage.

Nastya performed songs of her own composition, those of other poets, but never pop songs. Her repertoire consisted of ballads, old city romances, lyrical songs and other things that were far from being understood by the majority of such public. She adjusted the microphone and, matching the melody of the violin, struck the high note of the opening of the lyrical song.

The performance is scheduled for two hours with breaks. During the second break, the club manager Sergei came into the dressing room. He reeked of cognac, but his movements did not yet betray intoxication.

Dear guest wants to see you, he said, mockingly looking at the not-so-famous cosmetics around the mirror.

We’ve talked about this topic many times, Nastya said irritably, without turning around. - Don’t you have enough girls?

— Such - a lot of. But this is a fan of your talent.

Nastya turned away from the mirror and looked up at Sergei. Usually the fans came up on their own, what about some club manager? Maybe he really is someone decent.

— Will he wait until the end of the performance?

- No. I changed the program, you were replaced for half an hour. So go ahead. Alexey Ivanovich, don’t forget.

Nastya angrily threw the sponge aside. I really wanted to throw it at Sergei, but I restrained myself. Jobs are hard to find, and money is needed more than ever.

Alexey Ivanovich turned out to be a man a little over thirty in an excellent suit. He sat alone on a large leather sofa far from the stage, confidently looking at the approaching singer. The silhouette of a bodyguard could be seen in the darkness behind.

Lesha, he introduced himself, standing up slightly.

Nastya straightened her purse, the figure behind the guest swayed. The girl pulled out her mobile phone and sat down on the sofa opposite Alexey.

You personally have twenty minutes, she said, putting down her mobile phone so that the man could clearly see the clock on the screen.

I’ll do it in a minute, the interlocutor grinned. I liked your performance, and I’m ready to invest in... He twirled his finger in the air. - To your promotion. Good repertoire, accompaniment, the best stages in the country.

Flattering, the interlocutor responded in a colorless voice. - What is required of me?

— First of all, change the repertoire. You know, these ballads of yours... are not relevant. There are a couple of songwriters in mind; they will write the best lyrics for me.

Nastya winced.

— Personally, I don’t want to be promoted, perform one hundred percent hits and depend on it. I don't want to sell out. I have my own listener, my own life.

It seemed to me that all artists crave fame and recognition. And money, of course. After all, money is freedom. You can sing ballads in a small circle, without thinking about the prices for renting premises, without depending on the club owners. I won’t lie, your appearance plays a significant role in my choice. But first of all, I am a businessman and do not invest in unprofitable enterprises. He pulled a silver business card holder from his outer pocket and handed her a white rectangle. - If you decide, call.

The girl put the business card in her purse and stood up.

You can go home, the man said, finishing his cognac. — I agreed with the manager that the fee will be paid in full.

Nastya wanted to object, but, looking at Sergei who quickly jumped up, she decided that there was enough unnerving talk for today. She said goodbye, glanced at one of the club's security guards and signaled to call a taxi.

––––––––

Anastasia tried to open the apartment door as quietly as possible, but her daughter was already waiting for her. In the semi-darkness of the hallway, she seemed especially defenseless. Pink pajamas, sad wide eyes, a completely bald head.

- Why aren’t you sleeping, Svetik? — the woman picked up the girl in her arms.

- Iwaited for you. Why are you so late? — Sveta stroked the thread on her mother’s wrist.

- Job. But tomorrow I'll be at home all day.

Sveta fell silent, burying her face in her mother’s chest. My husband, Alexander, entered the hallway.

- You have a program until three? - he asked.

I managed to sneak out earlier. The wife took off her shoes and stretched out her feet with pleasure. But they promise to pay in full." Why aren't you sleeping?

Alexander looked back into the kitchen, where the laptop screen was glowing.

— A small hack turned up.

- You have a meeting tomorrow morning?

Well, yes, the man shrugged. - I can handle it.

Nastya put her quiet daughter in her crib and went to the kitchen. The kettle was already boiling there.

- How's the doctor? — the woman asked, stirring the tea in her glass.

As usual, Alexander winced. — The farther, the more expensive.

— Forecast?

They are now afraid to say anything definite. — He minimized all the windows on the laptop and turned to his wife. - One can only assume...

- Months? - Nastya asked quietly.

Alexander did not answer, hid his eyes, and fussily folded his laptop.

— There will be enough money for the next course.

Nastya stopped stirring the tea, remembering that she had left out the sugar. She took out a spoon and carefully lowered it onto the table. She got up and went into the living room, to the crib placed close to the unfolded sofa. My daughter was already asleep. The mother, without undressing, lay down next to her and sobbed suppressedly, burying herself in the pillow.

––––––––

Offices in a non-prestigious area of ​​Moscow were rented by small entrepreneurs due to the low price. Guard Misha, in a crumpled uniform with vague insignia, yawned and rummaged in his nightstand. He pulled out a bottle without a label, plugged with a piece of paper, opened it with his teeth, and turned it over into a glass. He shook it once, and finally it dawned on him that the bottle was empty. The man cursed loudly and suddenly heard a polite voice from the entrance:

- Don’t mention the evil one - you’ll call him out!

The voice belonged to a man in his thirties wearing a spotless white suit. The trousers, shoes, even the tie are white. The security guard recognized the tenant from the top, ninth floor. Although he was older before? Or is it a hangover? I couldn’t remember the name, so I chuckled and forced a forced smile. The gentleman in white smiled back and went to the elevator. Misha turned to the nightstand and saw a bottle of mineral water. Probably the shift worker forgot, he decided, unscrewing the cap and taking a few greedy sips. His head cleared a little, and he wondered how this tenant got through the door? After all, he locked her up in the evening.

The gentleman in white went up to the ninth floor and walked along the closed doors. Formally, all the rooms on the floor are occupied, but in reality they were rented by his company and were not in use. The man did not like fuss and unnecessary noise. He went into his office - the only one open.

Nikolai Starov, whom the owner of the office more often called First Adept or Adept, was, as usual, intently buried in the computer. If it weren't for his impeccably fitted unbuttoned suit and well-groomed hair, one could argue that he is a fanatical hacker. One of those who do not look away from the monitor around the clock and even spend the night somewhere near their workplace. And this is not far from the truth: Nikolai spent most of his life at work.

Greetings to the Angel, the First Adept solemnly proclaimed, looking up from the screen.

The gentleman winced:

- When no one is there, call me Ange Nuntis, or Ange. And it’s not a company, but some kind of church.

As you wish, Master, said the assistant, straightening the green pendant on a leather cord.

- Why this pretentious Mr.? — The angel sat down in a dark leather chair, which successfully emphasized his white suit, and glanced at the assistant’s face, burning with fanatical devotion. Oh, Lord... You try to conduct business as is customary here, but still they will turn you into a cult... He vaguely waved his hand.

The room, measuring a couple of hundred square meters, was not suitable for an office. More like a museum or an antique shop because of the many antique things: oil lamps, figurines, stuffed animals, some bones, insects and reptiles in transparent resin. Crumpled armor, incomprehensible but ominous weapons from different centuries, attached to the walls. In one corner is a glass cabinet with randomly piled unlabeled chemical reagents and dirty laboratory glassware. In another there is a strange-looking installation made of glass, copper and wood with a huge wheel. Either a torture machine, or a time travel carriage straight out of the pages of a H.G. Wells novel. And there are many icons, crosses, candlesticks and other church paraphernalia.

- What's for today? - Ange asked, trying to clean up the table. Due to the many archaic writing instruments, the attempt failed.

- Ummm... Anastasia Linova, twenty-four years old. Graduated from the Faculty of Philology of Moscow State University with honors. Specialization in ancient European languages. I couldn’t find a job as a philologist, so I became a singer. Married to a web designer. Five year old daughter. It was precisely because of her that she came to us.

Yes, I remember, the Angel responded, somehow freeing up space on the table. — A singer with knowledge of a dozen ancient languages ​​and magnificent appearance. A rare combination. My daughter has leukemia and will give her soul to God this year.

- This month.

- All is in God's hands. Did she agree to the contract?

- U-mmm... Rarely does anyone give consent in an online conversation. Wants to meet. Have you found a way to cure the child?

— From late-stage cancer? — The angel pulled out a heavy dark yellow feather from an empty inkwell and scratched it behind his ear. - I do not know what to say. Divine intervention is needed here.

- Certainly. Otherwise she would not have contacted us. She has many influential fans.

- And how does she feel about them?

- No way. Faithful to her husband.

- Is this during her work? - The angel raised his eyebrows. - Fine.

Ange put the pen in the inkwell, stood up and went to the window. The parking lot is almost full. Office workers streamed toward the building's entrance.

I don’t need the flow, otherwise it will overwhelm. We need outstanding individuals who are capable ofact.

- I know, Master.

The office doorbell rang. A woman's face appeared on the camera screen.

- She came.

- Open up.

The lock clicked and Nastya entered. For this meeting, she put on a simple business suit, in which she almost merged with the office plankton, whose migration was observed by the Angel. Unless, of course, you pay attention to the magnificent figure and beautiful face.

Have a seat, the assistant pointed to the chair in front of the Angel. — I’m Nikolai Starov, we talked on Skype. And this, he nodded at the Angel, is Ange Nuntis, the Fulfiller of Desires." I'll leave you.

Nikolai went deeper into the room, behind the wonderful installation. The woman awkwardly sat down on the chair, straightened the thread on her hand, and put her purse on the armrest.

- This is true? - she asked, overcoming the awkwardness. She spoke quietly, bowing her head, looking somewhere down.

- Really"? - Angel winced as usual. - That I make wishes come true? Yes. But not everything, not everyone and not always. All the will of God. Miracles are not my thing.

- Yes, Nikolai talked about this.

- So you want your daughter to recover from incurable cancer?

- Personally, I wouldn’t come to you. But that’s it... real possibilities have been exhausted. Another chemotherapy will destroy her.

- And you are ready to do anything to save her life?

Yes, the woman raised her head and looked firmly into the Angel’s eyes. "When she was little, I didn’t pay enough attention to her, I shifted everything to my parents. She was pursuing a career herself. As a result, I didn’t find a job and neglected my daughter. She was sick, I didn’t have time or money. They were undertreated. Now I won't repeat that mistake. I will personally find any money.

- It's not about the money. — The angel looked to the side.

- I have nothing to lose. — The woman bit her lip. - Magic or divine intervention - it doesn’t matter. I made inquiries. You did a favor for my friend. Very difficult. Another one of my... fans spoke very... rudely of you when you helped his competitor. Personally, I realized that if you promise something, you usually deliver.

- As God willing. That is, not always. But in your case there is a chance.

The angel took a small bottle of ink from the table and filled a large antique inkwell. He still hid the full bottle in the table. He pulled out a stack of sheets from a transparent folder and pushed it towards Nastya.

- Read.

The woman did not touch the sheets.

- Meaning? No court will accept this contract. And anyway, she smiled slightly, the contract was printed on a printer, and you’re showing me tricks with an inkwell."

The position obliges me, the interlocutor answered seriously. - Look at the application. There are your responsibilities.

Nastya pulled out the bottom piece of paper from the stack and ran her eyes through it.

Does it say that I must personally provide sexual services to three gentlemen?

— Yes.

- Why three?

- God loves trinity.

"Personally, I knew that something like this would happen. Is this really necessary?

— Yes.

—Your desires are strange. More precisely, not strange, but primitive to the point of banality, which is surprising, taking into account all this... surroundings. "The woman looked around the room with a bitter mockery. — Do you know how many such proposals I personally listen to every day?

- I know. Do you mean that I could request something more befitting of my divine status?

- Doesn't matter. - Nastya shrugged her shoulders, frowned, nervously twirling the pen in her hands, which she pulled out of the folder. - What about guarantees? Deadlines?

As soon as you sign, I will immediately begin treating your child.

- What kind of treatment? She was already treated once...

- Don't be afraid, no magic or witchcraft. We'll send you to a local clinic. The chance of recovery is considerable, my secretary sent them an anamnesis.

I don’t know what kind of game this is, but I personally have nothing to lose.

- Fine. Let me briefly summarize the contents of the contract. I fulfill your wish, you are mine. Fair exchange. The period is a month. The rest is unimportant, except for the confidentiality clause.

- What about advertising?

- There are agents for this. — The angel nodded towards the secretary. Otherwise, there will be a line of people who want to resurrect the dead, hit the jackpot in the lottery and get Brad Pitt as their husband.

-Can you do that too? — the woman asked with a slight grin.

- I will pray to God.

- It's clear.

The angel took a thick white pen from the drawer. He touched his own finger with the silver feather for a second and handed it to the woman. She took the pen and looked at the tip in surprise.

- What is this?

Blood of an Angel, the interlocutor said with slight irony. — Good at sealing magical contracts. Voice your wish.

I want my daughter to get well. I undertake to fulfill the terms of the contract.

Nastya took the pen and signed. A silvery, glittering signature remained on the paper. Nikolai came up and put the papers in a folder. He motioned the girl to his table and gave instructions:

— U-mmm... Contract number 157-01. Remember it when they contact you. As soon as you return home, pack your things. The clinic address is here. — He handed over the papers. — It’s not far, near Ryazan.

- Can I consult with my husband?

— About the clinic, of course. But regarding the contract it is not worth it.

— ?

- For obvious reasons.

––––––––

Nastya met her husband on a website on ancient European languages. Even at school, she learned that guys in her presence lose the ability to