by Debra Dunbar
Sauntering past the cashier and through the glass double doors, the demon continued up Ashland, taking random detours down Division and Milwaukee as he scrawled profanity on a fountain in a public park and vandalized a variety of signs. Was he a demon, or an adolescent human out past curfew? When was he going to start being... demonic?
And what had he just put over the antenna of a parked Nissan Sentra? Digging in his pockets, the demon pulled out a handful of something and began to decorate cars, signs, doorknobs, and fencing with... condoms. Any vertical or protruded surface now sported a lubricated, ribbed-for-her-pleasure condom, little wrappers littering the sidewalk and street gutters.
Okay, this was more fun than a half-price sale at Marshall Field’s. Well, not quite, but it was a close second.
A few blocks later, the demon turned and walked into a bakery. Not just any bakery, but Alliance Bakery. The charming retro neon sign blinked invitingly, and the canvas awning proclaimed the availability of macarons, croissants, and wedding cakes, but it was the sweet, rich smell of sugar and butter mixed with the aroma of coffee that had Asta pressing her nose against the glass. It had been a while since she’d walked the streets in this section of town, filling her senses with what, for her, was forbidden. She was a bit surprised to see that Alliance was no longer an old-fashioned Polish bakery, but instead had filled their display window with an array of colorful French pastries. Éclairs and fruit tarts crowded around intricate fondant-covered cakes. And what were those brightly colored round things?
And where was the demon?
Berating herself for her inattention, Asta scanned the area, breathing a sigh of relief when she realized he was still inside, broadcasting his energy like a homing signal. She should move, get away from the door so he didn’t knock her over when he left. That wouldn’t exactly be stealthy. Still... all those pastries.
The door opened, and she jumped, hastily moving aside. He turned, his eyes meeting hers.
Oh shoot. Busted. But she couldn’t turn away if she’d wanted to. The front of him was even more entrancing than the back. High cheekbones with an angular jaw in a tanned face. A sharp nose, its lines softened by a full, generously curved mouth. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing a golden vee of skin. But it was his eyes that held her in place—gray with flecks of bright silver. A corner of his mouth curved upward in a sardonic smile, as red lit his eyes with a flash.
“Excuse me.” His voice was like dark honey. She could do nothing but stare at him openmouthed as he turned and strolled casually down the street, a box in one hand and a coffee in the other.
Idiot. What was she doing? She was an angel, an enforcer who had been skillfully ending demon lives for one-hundred years. Hundreds of demons had met their ends at her hands, and here she was, stalking one around town like a teenage groupie, gawking at him like a fool as he knocked her aside exiting a bakery. It was probably a good thing she was leaving in a week if this was how she was going to start acting every time a demon entered her territory.
“You coming or not?”
Asta felt her face heat up, and she balled her hands in sudden anger—not at the demon, at herself. She’d appeared a powerless fool, and now he was taunting her. She fought the anger and shame as he shrugged and turned.
“Suit yourself.”
The demon flagged down a taxi, forcing Asta to follow from the air. She considered giving up the chase and heading back to her perch to lick her humiliating wounds in peace, but pride had always been a sin she’d been able to conquer, maybe with a struggle, but conquer nonetheless. And to be honest, she found this demon odd, intriguing.
No, fascinating. Evil had never been so appealing before. Evidently, she lost her head when evil came packaged in a nice suit with a wicked smile.
There was no sense in hiding from him now. Perhaps if she made her pursuit obvious, he’d get the idea and run. Surely he sensed her as she flew down the streets, but no, he gave the sky no more than a glance as he paid the taxi driver and entered a swanky hotel. Up and up he rode to the top floor. Asta used her own method of travel and flew to the rooftop.
Just a few feet of concrete between her and the demon. What was he doing in there? She could sense him moving about, but there was no destruction, no hoard of prostitutes, no killing. After an hour, the demon left, glancing toward her hidden form on the rooftop before taking a taxi toward Wicker Park—only about ten blocks north of where he’d been before.
She followed. Of course she followed. It was if she was tethered to the horrid being. Once again, she pondered her own folly. Why hadn’t she killed him?
Because he’s different. And that was enough for her. For a century she’d watched over humans, keeping a professional distance while she yearned to be a part of their lives. For a century she’d swooped in and decapitated demons, turning their bodies to dust as their spirit-beings flew wingless toward their judgment and afterlife. Same old thing day in and day out while she wanted so much more. Well, starting today, she was having more. Deviating from the plan had never felt so good, and watching this demon was fun. Way more fun then she’d had in a long time.
Besides, she was leaving in a week. There was no harm in indulging in her curiosity for an evening. She could always kill him later. Or maybe tomorrow. Or maybe never.
Night had settled onto the city like a dark shroud, bringing a damp, cool breeze from the lake, even this far inland. Whatever this demon was up to tonight, he was now moving through a revitalized area full of brownstone buildings... without incident. For a demon, he’d been surprisingly tame. Shoplifting at the convenience store and removing a handful of traffic signs were the extent of his evil so far. Not the immorality she was used to. Where was the murder, the arson, the rape? This demon just seemed to be meandering around the city without any nefarious goal.
Asta followed as he turned a corner onto a busy street humming with action. Al fresco diners lined the sidewalk, filling the air with conversation and the clink of glasses. The demon walked past them to stand in front of a corner building, as if contemplating whether to head into the Barre studio for a workout or the upscale Mexican restaurant.
Still hot. Still looks downright gorgeous in that suit. Ugh. Where did these thoughts come from?
There was a cocky humor in the way he moved and looked that stirred far more sinful thoughts than the espresso she’d had this morning. He smoothed the dark wavy hair back from his face and scanned the street, as if looking for someone. Me? Asta had a moment of panic. Silly angel. He already knew she was following him. She’d made no effort to hide her energy once he’d plowed into her outside the bakery. Still, she couldn’t help but duck behind a parked sedan, peeking around the bumper at him. As she watched, he took off his jacket and swung it over his shoulder, arm muscles straining against the crisp lines of his shirt.
And there was the demon energy he broadcasted—like sandpaper against her skin, like the discordant notes of speed-metal to her ear. Yes, he was appealing in a very forbidden way. A bad, bad boy she would love to taste before returning to an eternity of rightful balance in Aaru.
He turned toward her, looking down the sidewalk, and she caught a view of the crisp pleats along the front of his wonderfully styled pants. Thank goodness he’d taken those darned socks out. Asta choked back another laugh at the thought then hesitated, indecision weighing like a rock in her stomach. This demon hadn’t done anything terribly wrong—nothing worse than her flying around the city. Would it be so horrible if she let him go? Maybe he was a tourist from Hel, soaking up the culture of a big human city. Maybe he’d just enjoy a brief vacation then return home without any murder or mayhem.
Or not. He was a demon. His very presence warranted execution. Violating the treaty by crossing from Hel into the land of the humans was a crime punishable by death. The demons knew it, and they still took the risk. Well, this was the penalty they would pay. Besides, even if he hadn’t done anything terrible tonight, he still might. And he might have done so in
the past. He had to die.
No matter what the rules were, she was unable to make herself do anything beyond watch him walk into the restaurant and head toward the rear, where a large sunroom-like structure offered some protection from the elements. Asta darted around the corner, eyeing him through the wrought iron gates as he exited the glass-enclosed room to take a seat at an outdoor metal table for two. He’d barely sat down before a waiter brought a huge yellow drink along with a basket of chips and some kind of dip. Then the demon did something as mystifying as when he’d put the socks in his pants—he had a friendly conversation with the waiter.
The two laughed and made broad hand gestures, and then the waiter left, still smiling and shaking his head as if at a good joke. Weren’t demons supposed to strike fear into the hearts of humans? He should have snarled at the waiter, castigated the man, and left him trembling, and begging for his life. Instead, the waiter was at ease with the demon, chatting with him as if they were old friends.
For the next half hour, Asta did nothing more than watch the demon sip the endless stream of margaritas served in gigantic salt-rimmed glasses. What was the appeal of alcohol? What was the appeal of the hundreds of other beverages besides coffee? She’d always been so tempted to try and see but, up until today, had held firm to her purity standards. Flying was enough of an infraction without succumbing to the temptations of food and drink. But now... one week was all she had left. If she spent all eternity in Aaru without ever tasting a margarita, she’d regret it. Some food and drink wouldn’t violate more than basic purity standards. Other Grigori did it. Gate guardians did it all the time. She’d be forgiven.
Besides, the demon made it look... desirable. He’d take a sip, lick the salt off his upper lip then lean back into his chair with a satisfied smile. He was just enjoying a beverage. There was nothing particularly demonic about that.
Again she wavered. She could let him go, maybe give him a warning. Then he’d be someone else’s problem. He’d broken the treaty—a treaty that was written after a war she was too young to remember. And judging by his energy signature, this demon was too young to have been in the war. These were rules neither of them had any input into, rules that Asta wasn’t sure she agreed with. Angels were taught to obey, to respect the wisdom of their elders, to follow the rules, but these rules seemed so... arbitrary. This demon hadn’t done anything wrong. Why did he deserve death for a deal made by angels and their adversaries nearly three-million years ago?
It would surely come back to bite her, but Asta couldn’t continue to deliver preemptive justice. If he were like the other demons, she’d have another chance to kill him. Until then, she had to live with her own conscience, no matter how different her ethics might be from the other angels.
A warning. She’d scare the hellfire out of him with a stern warning then let him go.
Chapter 3
Dar smiled benignly down at his third margarita. What the fuck was that angel thinking about? He’d given her plenty of opportunity to swoop in and attack, but she’d followed him around the city like a winged stalker. He’d even taunted her right outside the bakery, and all she’d done was look at him with those big brown eyes, her sensuous lips parted as she stared. Fuck, she was gorgeous—far more beautiful than any of the humans he’d known. Far more than any of the demons either. Those legs, that warm-brown skin, the sultry eyes and pouty lips—shit, it was all he could do to keep from jumping her in the street and dragging her off to bed.
The only thing holding him back was the fact that she’d probably kill him. Angels—they weren’t exactly beings that a demon wanted to mess with. Most encounters between the two wound up with the demon dead. But there were exceptions. His sister was banging an angel. He’d love to follow her example, especially if the angel in question was this one following him all over the city.
And now she watched him from just ten feet away. He’d been so sloppy with his energy that probably every angel in a thousand miles had sensed him. Why hadn’t she attacked? What was she waiting for?
Too many humans nearby? Angels had the ability to entrance and alter memories, but maybe she was worried about them being killed in the crossfire. He’d not been up close and personal with many angels, but from what he’d been told, they weren’t opposed to a few bystander fatalities in the pursuit of the greater good. This one could be different. This one might care about human diners being killed in an altercation.
Dar downed his drink, throwing some cash on the table as he rose. Walking out of the restaurant, he paused, looking casually up and down the street. Yes, she was still there, staring at him in a rather disconcerting fashion. With a grin, Dar turned toward her, whistling softly as he walked. Her head swiveled, eyes tracking him as he passed. He felt her gaze on his back as he ducked into a side alley and behind an Asian bistro.
***
One, two, three, four... .
Timing was everything, and she wanted to make sure she truly put the fear of all creation into this demon. What kind of idiot walks right past an angel without even flinching? Her heart had nearly stopped as he’d turned toward her, but he’d not even broken stride. Cocky bast— mongrel. Cocky mongrel. How dare he?
He dared because you’ve been trailing after him like a weak cherub, barely able to fly. It wasn’t her best night. She hadn’t been particularly angelic this evening. Time to rectify that—well, partially rectify that. She’d scare this guy, put some respect into his eyes, then get him out of her territory where he could become someone else’s problem.
The demon was behind a building. With a blur of speed, Asta ran around the corner ready to pounce and nearly collided with a huge garbage dumpster. It took up over half the alleyway, and the smells wafting from it were a far cry from the tantalizing ginger and curry the diners inside were enjoying. Black trash bags were stacked against the full container, but there was no demon in sight. Asta tilted her head, listening intently. The song of his energy still rang strong. He was here... somewhere.
Well, there are his clothes, at least. She stared down at the neatly folded suit and shirt, carefully placed on the cleanest section of an upright pallet. Why did he take his clothes off? Was there a reason he’d decided to run around naked? Perhaps he’d known there was a fight coming and hadn’t wanted to risk the nice suit. That was a motivation she could completely understand.
The light over the steel door leading to the kitchen flickered and went black, plunging the alley into darkness. The surge of demon energy that short circuited the light confirmed his presence.
Two can play this game. Asta formed a fist and one by one opened her fingers to reveal a globe of light. It wasn’t quite as strong as the streetlights, but it lit the recesses of the alleyway far better than the doorway light had. He was here somewhere. In with the garbage? Asta couldn’t help but smile. It was a good thing he’d taken his suit off. Would have been a shame to ruin it with leftover Hunan sauce.
Climbing up the side rails of the garbage bin, the angel peered inside. He wasn’t sprawled out on top of the trash, which meant her next move was to grab garbage bags and pitch them over the side. The thought gave her pause. She was wearing linen pants and a silk shirt. If any of these bags leaked, her outfit would be ruined.
Maybe she should take her clothes off too. She giggled. An angel and a demon brawling naked in an alley? No. Just no. Although, she did really like these pants. Wrinkling her nose, Asta reached in and pulled out a bag, carefully holding it at arm’s length as she tossed it to the ground beside the dumpster.
Disgusting. Didn’t these humans have regular trash collection? This had to be some sort of health-code violation. Aaru only knows how nasty this would smell in another month when summer hit the city with skyrocketing temps and humidity.
Something moved, and Asta froze, a black trash bag in one hand. Was that...? No. No, it was just one of the bags shifting. That was it. Just a bag shifting, or maybe the demon hiding down another layer. Taking a steadying breath, Asta tossed the bag
aside and reached in for another.
The dumpster seemed to be a bottomless chasm. Asta found herself half upside down in the thing, looping a foot around one of the side rails to keep from falling in. She’d given up on keeping her outfit clean, hoping the drycleaner on Fifth Street could somehow salvage her clothes. Stretching as far as she could, the angel grabbed another bag, nearly falling as she tossed it out.
It would have been easier to stand in the bin and toss the bags out, but the occasional movement across the bottom of the container kept her safely on the outside. It better be that demon down there, because the alternative was freaking her out.
Still no demon. Asta lit another globe of light, sending it into the far recesses of the container, just in case he had given up his human form for a smaller one. Nothing. His energy signature called so strongly to her that she could have sworn he was right next to her. She’d emptied out the only hiding place large enough to hold a demon in human form, so that left only one other spot.
Asta hopped off the dumpster and tossed the bags back inside. The smell of rotted food had intensified, nearly suffocating her. If she’d planned on killing this guy, she would have just incinerated the entire alley. Problem solved—demon dead, and a sanitary disposal of far too much trash. But this was just meant to be a warning. One more place to look, then she’d need to get creative.
Demons could take many forms. Dropping to her knees and wincing over the probable ruination of her pants, Asta crept carefully around the dumpster, scanning for the demon’s energy signature. Jagged bits of asphalt dug into her knees, alternating pain with the disgusting squishy feel of rotted food. Yep, ruined. She really liked these pants, too. They’d always looked so crisp and fresh, the silk lining caressing the skin of her legs as she moved. Dapper Drycleaning might be good, but it would take a miracle to get nasty food stains out, let alone the fraying caused by the pavement, and she wasn’t all that good at recreating this designer stuff. Stupid demons. She was tempted to change her mind and kill him just to avenge her poor innocent trousers.