by Elara Skye
Alaric traipsed in casually behind him, closing the door and flicking on the massive television at the end of the room. Arms crossed, Finn waited as his partner navigated to the channel with a video feed—their reason for being here.
“Doing alright, Finn?” Alastair’s venomous voice queried.
Finn dragged his gaze to the demon. Even with his conventionally charming demeanor, there was an air of death surrounding the creature—a violent sharpness hiding behind that smile.
“Better now that you’re here, friend.”
The demon appeared unfazed, if not slightly humored.
Alastair was the CEO of Zeracane Corporation, and Finn couldn’t fathom how their human associates trusted these creatures. But then, mortals weren’t exactly known for having exceptional instincts. And while Alastair’s presence in Finn’s office—his district, even—should have been an affront, the demon had been invited and was therefore welcome. Despite that fact, Finn was nevertheless irritated by their early arrival. The stench of their aura made him sick to his stomach, and it would’ve had the same effect on any other angel that set foot into the building—which could have made for an unfavorable discovery of their presence, at best.
Finn had never seen the demon to Alastair’s left—another foot soldier, no doubt. They weren’t exactly a talkative lot when humans weren’t around, and there was no need to put on a show. If a human in walked in now, Finn would bet money that Alastair’s demeanor would immediately change.
That was their style, after all. That was how soul-traders garnered clients.
As for the present company, they all knew why they were here. They knew why Finn—a Dominion angel—had summoned them. He pivoted on his heel, sauntering toward the screen, and felt the demons’ eyes observing his backside. Meanwhile, a video feed came on of a bloodied, grieving angel, reporting the final year of its human’s life.
“Let’s listen, shall we?” Finn said as he leveled a flat stare at them.
Evidently, the human in question had drunk, fucked, and partied himself to death with the money he acquired through an arrangement with a demon. Though, before the involvement of one of Alastair’s men, Finn might have considered him a respectable human. One that simply hadn’t given enough thought to the gamble he’d made over a harmless poker game, wherein a charming, persuasive stranger had engaged him unabashedly. Start to finish, the events that followed were a grizzly affair—or so the angel recounted.
In the beginning, the man had bought himself a house, paid off his siblings’ college debt, and secured his family financially. After that, things spiraled downward. A human without its soul was a dangerous thing, namely in that they lived with unfathomable recklessness. At times, their personalities would also change, when the influence of their dealer was too high—too present in their daily lives. That was undoubtedly the case in this particular incident.
In general, Finn deplored demons, but working with them had been necessary to establish his exorbitant wealth on Earth. Resultantly, most of his business associates were demons, much like Alastair. Theirs were secretive, clandestine affairs that were threatened by such incidents as this one. This simple fact was the reason for their meeting tonight, which they all knew. Demon-related crime on the angels’ radar could spell serious trouble. Namely, the implication that Finn didn’t have his district under control. It was a notion that would lead to an investigation, discovery of their extraneous affairs, and all subsequent problems that would follow.
Finn looked at the television once more, feeling the slightest glimmer of pity for his kin. It was in the angels’ nature to act selflessly, and Finn pitied them when things liked this occurred. Unfortunately for them, compassion never outweighed the desire for the comforts of life on Earth. That level of selflessness was a quality that Finn decidedly lacked, and never encountered in his day to day associates. In an ideal world, he would respect and reward it genuinely when he found it. Finn always wondered if that might sate the incongruence of his life, perhaps in ways that luxury and riches could not—though there was never an occasion to find out.
Not that having such an occasion would make a difference in his day-to-day interactions with angel kind.
Finn’s lifestyle was repugnant to the lower classes of angels that he ruled, and most of them avoided contact if they could. He was their last-resort resource on ordinary human life and was usually only contacted by angels that were new to Earth. They had yet to learn of his reputation. Finn had been alive and practicing far longer than any of them had, and none could argue that his threatening hand protected and maintained the district’s upkeep. No one knew about the clandestine affairs that took place in the highest levels of his company tower, nor did he allow them reason to wonder about it.
Finn was a master manipulator, and his arrangements operated perfectly.
He sighed heavily toward the end of the video feed, then gestured to Alaric to pause it. “Alaric, remind me how long our friend was a guardian?”
“Seventeen years,” he answered, plopping down on one of the couches. Alaric kicked a leg up unceremoniously, spearing a hand through his pitch-black locks. “Damn long time, don’t you think?”
“Definitely.” Finn faced the demons, slipping both hands into his coat pockets. “I don’t think this ending was something that my man could have anticipated.”
Alastair sat back. “We had nothing to do with what happened to that poor wretch.”
“Come on, now.” Finn arched a brow at the demon. “Is that really how this conversation is going to go?”
“Piss off. We have no control over a human’s actions after the transaction’s been made.”
“Oh, sure, that’s definitely true,” he answered sarcastically. To an onlooker, the conversation may have seemed hostile—in fact, it was going better than Finn anticipated. “Are you really itching to argue technicalities with me?”
Alastair smirked, relinquishing his hold on the argument. “Alright—let’s not do that, then. But what can I say, Finn? Good help’s real hard to find these days. I can’t apologize for it. And I can’t promise it won’t happen again. Trading is what my guys do.”
“I didn’t say the venture was unacceptable.” Finn said. “But we have an agreement. The man is dead because your demon stuck around, trying to collect his dues early—that’s against the rules. Now there’s a demon-related murder in my district.”
“This was hardly murder.”
“That’s not how the others will see it.”
“How anyone sees anything in your district doesn’t concern me.”
“Doesn’t it? I can think of a number of scenarios where it should. Particularly if I discover you’ve been aiming to expand your miserable company into my district.”
“Is that what this is about?” Alastair smirked. “Are you worried that one human death means borders are opening up? I assure you, none of my guys are scrambling to make their way here. You can go on ruling with your iron fist.”
Finn narrowed his eyes distrustfully. There was a hint of admiration in Alastair’s tone, which was otherwise thick with its usual deceit. “Flattery? That’s unusual, coming from you.”
“No need to get suspicious. Consider it a gesture of professional respect.”
Professional respect?
Finn stood there motionlessly, considering the notion. Naturally, he wasn’t unaccustomed to working with demons, but had he gone so far as to earn their respect outside the human industry? They were natural enemies, after all, and demons weren’t known for respecting anyone but themselves.
The demons rose from the couch. “If that’s settled, we’ve got places to be,” said Alastair.
“If I catch wind of any other demon influencing humans in my district, I’ll kill.” Finn gave them a hard, threatening glare. “No second chances.”
Alastair stared back for a moment, his lips twisting into a humorless grin. “Duly noted. I’ll be sure to tell my demons to follow the rules.”
“You
better.”
Finn frowned as the three of them left the office, wondering for a moment if he really should have let them go. By all rights, he ought to have killed Alastair right then and there, and a tiny thread of guilt crept through his resolve—just as it always did, while he watched them go. He shoved it away quickly, having learned to do so long ago—seven years ago, precisely. At the time, he and Alastair had risen to the highest ranks of the corporate world together. There they learned how to keep their pockets deep, their noses clean, and their faces out of the media.
As with all things, delegation was the key to secrecy and success. On Finn’s end, it was the key to keeping out of the ranks of the Fallen—a line he’d been toeing carefully for centuries. Over time, he’d become a master manipulator of those around him, rarely vexed by these day-to-day trifles.
“Prick...” Alaric grumbled the moment the doors closed.
Finn sighed, contemplating the conversation that just happened. “That demon is a loose end. We’ll have a problem if he makes his friends think they can get away with influencing humans.”
“What should we do?”
“Have someone you trust track him down or do it yourself. Make sure he’s made an example of.”
“Don’t think Alastair will retaliate for it?”
Finn looked at the paused video feed, still flickering on the television. “He can try. I don’t think he’ll care enough to piss me off.”
“Alright.” Alaric stepped up beside him, peering at the weeping angel. “Speaking of loose ends, though, what do we do with this one?”
“Give him time to grieve his human,” Finn said, wondering just how long that would take. “Afterwards, see if there’s anything else you can find out. Ask about Alastair too—he was far too content with what happened to that human. Makes me wonder if he had some sort of stake in it that outweighed my favor.”
“Got it, I’ll get on that tomorrow.” Alaric nodded. “Come on, we should go.”
“What?” Finn turned to him. The sudden demand was jarring. “Go where?”
“To meet with Diana, talk about Mewlex. Remember?”
“Does Diana want to work with corporate humans now? I thought she wanted to be a waitress.”
“Well, I guess she wants a better living if she’s going to stick around on Earth.” Alaric threw on his jacket and paused. “You forgot, didn’t you?”
“Forgot what?”
“You promised you’d teach her to network with them. I thought Heather put the dinner on your calendar?”
“I checked it this morning, there was nothing there,” Finn grumbled, an endless pit of dread forming in his gut. “Was I drunk when I promised her that?”
“Twelve bottles of bubbly.”
Wonderful.
“Great.” He sighed. “Alright, when will they be here?”
“Not for another hour and a half, but they’ve got an awesome lounge in the tower lobby that I wanted to go see. I heard they got a forty-foot Christmas tree. No harm in getting there early.”
“Does it have to be tonight?”
Crossing the office, Alaric turned and furrowed a brow at Finn. “It’s just dinner, man. We’ll come right back.”
In truth, Alastair’s visit had left a sour taste in Finn’s mouth. And in the back of his mind, he favored the idea of going back to that bar. There was that bartender, after all—she would undoubtedly be sweeter company than a herd of sharks and a baby angel.
Amelia.
“Well, vacation never killed anyone,” Finn said as he retrieved his gloves. “Wouldn’t kill me to take a night off, I guess.”
“You can philander with humans next weekend,” Alaric said, throwing him a sidelong glance. “‘Cause that’s what you had in mind, right? With that hot bartender?”
Finn arched a brow. “Do I detect a hint of disapproval?”
“Of course not.”
“Good.” He nodded, pushing off the back of the couch. “Since you’re the one who insisted on stopping at that bar, to begin with.”
“You didn’t exactly stop me, you know. Plus, I’m a growing boy.” Alaric swung the door open. “I need weekly alcoholic sustenance.”
“…you’re ten thousand years old.”
“Exactly. Growing boy.”
Finn rolled his eyes as he followed him out into the hall. “Growing pain in my ass.”
“Love you too, man.”
Chapter three
By now, a Christmas in poor company was something of a distant memory for Amelia Varis. How many years ago did she last spend it with her family or anyone at all? Two? Three? It didn’t matter, nor did it matter that she was spending it alone once more. Amelia insisted to herself that this was still her favorite night of the year. Best not overthink that simple fact, or to think about it much at all. Neither option would end well.
Snow collected on her boots as she beelined through the windy night, trying to look forward to her destination—to being surrounded by the myriad of families enjoying each other’s company, celebrating the occasion under one roof. Cat offered to take her home to her parent’s house, but Amelia couldn’t afford the airfare, ironically. Which was fine, it was the gesture that mattered anyway. The care and affection that counted for something. For now, the church would do. Another Christmas Eve spent in good, albeit unfamiliar company.
Snow crunched under Amelia’s weight as she climbed the steps of the modest little church, tapping her feet to get the chunks off the top. Already, she could feel the building’s warm air seeping through the doors, heating her frost-bitten nose and cherry-red cheeks. It paired comfortably with the smell of holiday candles, and the collective hum of conversation bleeding through the crack in the doors. The entire atmosphere was softened by the organ playing as well, which was a pleasant touch.
Amelia was never particularly religious, but she had to admit, it felt more right to be here than anywhere else tonight. Once inside, she shed her thick winter jacket and lightly kicked the remaining droplets of water off her boots. Tall ceilings and festive decor adorned the inner walls, and the warm glow of candlelight was inviting, making her chest tighten with sentiment—almost painfully. Rows of benches lined the vast interior of the hall, while the altar itself was straight ahead. It looked the same as it did last year, with two lines on either side, at each of the devotional candle stands.
Of course, none of that was for her. Per the usual routine, Amelia slid into the very last row and settled in the back corner. Her heart weighed more than usual in her chest as she settled onto the wooden bench. Here, she would sit through the reception and people watch a bit—maybe talk to a stranger or two, if she was lucky—and then go home.
Merry Christmas, Amelia.
In the end, this night was always hit or miss, no matter what she told herself. For the most part, she’d been getting more and more comfortable spending the occasion on her own. After all, holiday loneliness always proved to be temporary. One way or another, everyone that went out of town would come back. Crowds would return to the bars. Friends would call again—and just like that, the loneliness would subside. Patience was all that was required of her.
Amelia let out a sigh, wiping a tear that trickled down her cheek.
Her expression hadn’t shown that she’d been crying, and Amelia hardly wanted anyone to see her tears. She glanced around the room—concealing the swiping motion under the guise of curiosity—and paused when her eyes fell on someone familiar at the end of the row. A strikingly tall figure had sauntered in from the double doors and was now standing in the middle of the aisle. The man glanced around the room—angling his face where she could see it—and recognition dawned on her.
She swallowed thickly, squirming a bit.
It was Finn Regis.
In this church, on Christmas Eve?
Hands buried in the pockets of his black trench coat, Finn peered up at the altar for some time, with little more than a head tilt indicating he was ruminating deeply about something. Unhapp
ily at that, judging by the subtle coldness in his expression. After a moment, he finally strolled forward, making a sharp turn toward one the candle stands.
It took a moment for Amelia to realize that she was staring at him unabashedly. Even so, she continued to follow his movements down the aisle. And when it was his turn, Finn kept one hand in his pocket as he took a candle. Her breath stilled as she waited, watching while he seemingly prayed, and then practically shoved the candle back into one of the holders.
Not much of a sentimental display.
Amelia looked away as he turned, her gaze landing on one of the stained windows. Finn walked back up the aisle in her periphery, and her hands clenched when she saw him near her row, smoothing his coat down to settle comfortably on the opposite end of the bench.
Her brows crept up, heart beating with the painful awareness of the empty space between them. There wasn’t a single family occupying the bench.
Finn sank unceremoniously in his seat, lazily appraising the hall, just as she had done when she first arrived. And when his gaze began to drift, Amelia sat perfectly still. Feigning obliviousness, she took a moment to gander about the hall. Until he finally shot her a pronounced double-take in the corner of her eye, and she held her breath as she felt his eyes on her. Eventually, she had to look. And the moment she saw him—the moment his brows scrunched up with recognition—Amelia offered a hesitant grin and turned away again, back toward the altar.
As the ceremony began, her heart raced disobediently at the prospect of conversation. Even if it was with a ghost from the past, she realized. Finn followed suit in watching the ceremony, but Amelia caught him glancing her way now and again throughout the service.
For some time, it was inexplicably comforting to remain in that state, existing within the hope that someone might deign to talk to her tonight. No one ever noticed her at Christmastime. And though the person in question made her the tiniest bit nervous, at this moment, she realized she didn’t care. She was desperate to talk to someone—anyone at all—as long as she could verbally speak and be spoken to. Acknowledged. And it helped that the candles and hymns were exquisite, calming her nerves and making her more receptive to the prospect.