"I'm a Watcher," he finally admitted. "The job is a friend's; I do it for him because he can't." Because he'd killed him. But Bartleby didn't want to focus on that. All he needed to know was that his friend was gone.
Bartleby looked around at the people surrounding them and others walking down the street. Finally his eyes found her wings. Like his, they were hard to miss and he had to wonder how the humans were simply ignoring it. She obviously had some influence over them. "Fine," he said.
She was right, though. They were tourists, fat Americans who weren't going anywhere fast. They'd still be there taking pictures and walking around. "Let's go. I want to know what the hell you are." Angel wings or not, he'd never known an angel who could take control like she could. His own powers only extended to knowing their sins and perhaps some of what they thought, but that was all.