by Debra Dunbar
Finally, the endless procession of wedding dresses, and equally vile prom dresses, passed by and the men’s clothing began to circle around. He’d need a suit that was dapper, that reflected his sly nature. He needed a suit that wasn’t quite designer, that was edgy but with classic lines. Actually, he’d need several of them.
By the time Dar left the drycleaners, he had four suits, a handful of lightly starched shirts, and two pairs of jeans. It was a lucky break that some dude was insane enough to actually send his jeans to the drycleaners, otherwise he would have been stuck looking like an advertising executive for the next few days. Shoplifting wasn’t beneath him, but he doubted he’d have time for visiting the mall beyond swiping a few extra pairs of shoes. There was way too much on his agenda already.
Starting with a better hotel than the one he’d crashed at last night. One near the convention he’d be forced to attend while courting Asta.
Sauntering through the gilded sliding doors of a suitably ritzy looking hotel, Dar punched the up button at the elevator and whistled as he waited. There was a sign by the concierge welcoming Cybercon attendees. Well, that was easy. With the conference in town, it would be a walk in the park to score a top room. The elevator door opened, and Dar surveyed his options. With a quick bit of demon know-how he’d bypassed the security controls and found himself on the restricted twenty-fifth floor.
There weren’t many rooms up here, since they all took up nearly as much real estate as a two-bedroom apartment. Dar ran his hand along the locks as he walked, figuring out which ones were coded for a current guest and which were empty. Ah. Bingo.
Dar flicked on the lights and caught his breath. Wow, this was swank. The Chicago skyline framed dark blue couches, which faced a television nearly engulfing the entire wall. The kitchenette was an actual full-sized galley kitchen. The demon dumped his stolen clothing onto the round dining table and walked through the enormous suite. Every outside wall was an endless window, even the bathroom boasted a breathtaking view.
“I’ve got to get her in here somehow.” It was a ridiculous thought, but not out of the realm of possibility given the last twenty-four hours. If last week someone had told him he’d be groped-up by an angel, or be kissing one, he would have thought them insane. She was an angel, and she’d already indulged in several minor sins. More importantly, she hadn’t ripped his head off when he’d kissed her. It was a promising start down an unknown path—one that excited him more than anything had in the last century. Dar walked back into the living area and snagged a bottle of gin from the bar—that was far from mini—and settled in to watch the sunrise over Lake Michigan and plan.
***
Asta went back to the party after pacing the perimeter of the hotel and exploring every stairwell and side street searching for a trace of the demon. Where had he gone? Few demons had the ability to teleport. Even if this one had the skill, or some magical device that allowed him to transport himself in and out of Chicago, the way he faded in and out of the edges of her awareness didn’t seem like teleportation. It was almost as though he were hiding behind something. But what? And how?
It was a mystery. And she just didn’t care. Her prey was gone without a trace, and she’d passed up a fun evening to prowl around the streets and come back to this boring roof-top party.
It hadn’t been as boring with Dar there. Again, she thought of his jealousy over the human. He’d insisted she needed to try a lobster crepe. The stupid demon she was chasing was gone—her evening was pretty much ruined along with her pants. Might as well do something wicked.
The crepe chef smiled at her, giving her that once-over that human men always seemed to do. She smiled back, thinking if Dar were here, he’d be threatening to shove various foodstuffs in the man’s rear end for looking at her that way. What was he doing? Had he gone to that blues band without her? Something like regret coursed through her. Here she was, chasing after a demon that clearly had vanished when she could be enjoying herself with Dar.
She’d gone insane. Why should she be longing to ditch her job and listen to music with a demon? Why should she get a sick feeling in her stomach at the thought of him off without her? This was her job, her duty. She’d see him in the morning. Sheesh, girl, grow a set.
Oh my stars; this crepe thing was amazing. That first bite burst through her senses—crisp, paper-thin wrapper barely containing thick chunks of sweet lobster meat in a decadent cream sauce. The whole thing would have been sickeningly rich if not for the balancing mix of pepper and lemon. It was her first food, and it was possibly the most incredible thing she’d ever experienced.
And she wished Dar was there. He’d understand her reaction. He’d revel in it. He’d give her a gleeful I-told-you-so then make her try a meatball. He should be here, but she’d sent him away so she could work.
And now her longing and regret turned to a completely unfamiliar paranoia. Did Dar and the other demon know each other? Were they together right now, mocking her ineptitude? No—she’d not gotten that impression from Dar. He was irritating, teasing, tempting, but he’d seemed curious about the demon she was tracking, and far more interested in her than this cyber whatever tomorrow. Dar couldn’t be in league with him, could he?
Demons lie. They betray. They are foul beings who de-evolve with every decade. Creation would be a better place if they were exterminated—wiped from existence. As much as she was attracted to Dar, she could never forget what he was and that he’d sell her out for the right price in an instant. Don’t trust him. Have your fun, but never let your guard down for him. He’ll betray you in a heartbeat.
Maybe, but there was another voice in her head that countered her fears. The one who formed you was an Angel of Chaos—one of the rebels who fell. Surely some good must remain in the demons, some remnant of the angels they once were.
Asta shook her head to rid herself of the pesky voices and took another bite of the luscious crepe. She was the youngest of the angels. She’d never met an Angel of Chaos. All she had to rely upon was the word of those Angels of Order who remained in Aaru. Yes, the demons she’d killed in the last century had been up to no good, but who was to say they were all like that?
This was her job. They were violating the treaty by their very presence here. Regardless of whether the war in Aaru was justified, or who was right, these demons were trespassers. And the penalty was death. Except for Dar, who, thankfully, had immunity. Thankfully, because there was no way she could ever bring herself to kill him.
“You came back.”
She spun around and saw the human who had approached her earlier.
“Carter Phelps?” He extended a hand towards her. “Look, things are winding down here, and my staff can handle the rest of the evening. Would you, uh... would you like to have a cup of coffee next door?”
He looked so sweet standing there with his outstretched hand and earnest gaze. There would be no harm in having a cup of coffee with a human, and he might be able to give her some insight on what demons could possibly want with a cyber-security conference. She’d given up on an enjoyable evening, might as well get as much work in as she could. With any luck, she could catch this demon and spend the rest of her time here having fun with Dar.
When Asta didn’t respond, he spoke into the awkward silence. “Just business. Just a cup of coffee, and we can talk business.” A nervous smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.
“Okay.” Asta shook his hand and felt a twinge of guilt as the man’s eyes sparkled in excitement. Great. Now she had a lewd stalker demon that she was having very improper thoughts about and a human admirer.
Phelps made small talk about the weather and various sports teams as they walked to the café. Espresso in hand, Asta sat across from him at a little table and listened, her eyes glazing over. This human was... boring. Although that was kind of unfair. He was probably perfectly nice; it’s just that after verbally sparring with Dar all day, this one-sided discussion about the White Sox seemed rather flat.
&
nbsp; Time to change the subject, find out what she could from this man and let him down gently. “I’m not very knowledgeable about cyber security. Can you tell me about your company?”
A bit of an abrupt change in conversation, but Phelps didn’t seem to notice. The man practically glowed with pride. “We help companies, both large and small, guard against security breaches. Last year, over thirty major firms had their data warehouses breached with the Whippet virus, and nearly a hundred-thousand credit cards were subject to identity theft. Every one of our clients remained secure from the virus. Companies and institutions that subscribe to our software have remained safe from over ninety-nine percent of attacks in the last three years.”
This was a bit more interesting than baseball. “Wow.” Asta didn’t have to feign admiration. “And all the other companies at the conference do the same thing?”
Phelps grinned. “They try. Some have other specialties, but none of them have our record of success.”
It wasn’t just a sales pitch; this man truly believed in his product and clearly loved his line of work. Now, how to subtly ask him what the ramifications would be if a demon collapsed the conference center on their heads, or blew up the building. There had to be some reason beyond general murder for a demon to target this particular conference.
“Tell me about your company.” The man leaned forward, taking a quick sip of his coffee as he watched Asta intently.
The angel floundered. She’d never been good at this sort of thing. For a brief moment, she thought of Dar and envied him his quick-on-the-feet lying skills. “Um, well we’re a small division of a larger company, fairly autonomous since we operate remotely. We’re tasked with guarding... locations—entryways and that sort of thing. We make sure the wrong sort aren’t where they’re not supposed to be and deal with the situation if they are.”
The man gave her a warm smile. “So a different sort, but nevertheless a similar business to mine. Security guards, bouncers, and the like.”
“Yes.” Well, sort of. Celestial security guards and bouncers, but the similarity was there. Of course, trespassing humans didn’t generally get their heads removed by a bouncer.
“Beyond financial data and customer records, you still might find our products of value. If you do any security for high-profile individuals where the risk of an assassination attempt or kidnapping might occur, we can safeguard your plans, routes, etc.”
Assassination and kidnapping. Could that be what the demon was planning? A conference such as this might attract high-level politicians, military leaders, or other influential individuals.
“How long have you lived in Chicago? I mean, I assume you live here. I can’t think you’d travel out of town to a conference on something you profess not to need.” He flushed red from his neck up to the roots of his blond hair and stared down at the contents of his coffee cup. Smooth talking was definitely not this man’s strong suit.
Asta smiled, comparing his flustered interest with Dar’s bold confidence. “I haven’t lived in Chicago my whole life, but I’ve been here long enough that I feel like I can call it home.”
Phelps returned her smile, the red dropping to a light shade of pink. “I grew up in southern California—well, my parents lived there. I actually spent a lot of time with my grandmother in New York. Back and forth like that, I ended up with platinum status by the age of ten from all the frequent flyer points.”
She gave a polite laugh, but saw the sadness in his eyes—a sadness she understood all too well. “I didn’t really know my parents. There was a big war right after I was born that split my parents up. My sire died in battle when I was very young. The head of my choir—I mean, my village—took charge of my upbringing.”
“Wow, I had no idea.” Phelps shook his head. What country are you from?”
Asta thought frantically through the various human skirmishes in the last three decades. “Rwanda.”
Phelps caught his breath and reached out a hand to clasp hers. “I read about how terrible things were there. I’m glad you made it out alive. You must be very grateful to your village leader for protecting you. How did you manage to get out of the country? Your accent is perfect, so I assume you must have immigrated when you were young.”
Now things were getting tricky. How did demons do this? All these lies to keep straight and remember—it practically gave Asta an anxiety attack trying to spin a believable story to this man, let alone try and get back on topic.
“There was... a missionary group that sponsored me. They had someone who brought me here. I was an adult, but young compared to the others. I just... well, I learn languages easily.” Aaru help her if the man asked her for details about life in Rwanda, or specifics about the missionary group. She needed to change this topic from her childhood before she completely tripped herself up in lies. “You don’t happen to know if someone famous is going to be at the conference this week, do you?”
It was the worst segue ever.
Phelps nodded knowingly. “Ahh, testing your own security, I see. Now I know why you’re at the conference. Don’t worry; I haven’t heard anything about someone famous attending. Whoever your client is, his or her identity hasn’t been leaked.”
Either that theory was bust or this human just wasn’t connected enough to know about a high-profile attendee. She’d most likely exhausted everything this man knew. No sense in leading him on further. Asta pushed back her chair and started to rise.
“Tell me about the village leader who raised you. What was he like?”
Shoot. Asta looked around frantically, wishing that Dar would burst through the café door and give her an excuse to leave.
“He’s kind but has high expectations. I know he’s proud of what I’m doing here, and he thinks I have potential. I try to live up to his expectations, but I often fail. He’s surprisingly patient about my shortcomings.”
Sheesh, how to describe an ancient archangel? Gabriel was all those things, but putting how his patronage had affected her into words wasn’t easy.
Phelps nodded. “My grandmother was the only one who seemed to be proud of me, the only one who saw my potential. She died when I was in college, but I’d like to think she’d be proud of what I’ve done.” A shadow passed over the man’s face. “I hope she’d be proud. It was all for the greater good, after all.”
This was surreal. For a hundred years, she’d guarded these humans, but she’d never sat down and had this type of conversation with one of them. How odd that his and her upbringings had similar themes, as different as they were.
“She sounds like a wonderful lady. You were lucky to have had her.”
The man’s eyes misted, and he took a quick sip of coffee. “Yes. I received some memorabilia from her estate after she passed—nothing of significant worth, but of great emotional value. I carry the items with me when I travel, to remind me of her faith in me. It gives me something to strive towards as I work.”
Yes, very similar themes, although she carried no mementos of Gabriel with her. In Aaru, nothing physical survived more than a few weeks. Mementos and trophies had to be kept elsewhere or they deteriorated into nothingness.
“I’d love to show them to you.”
The proposal sounded innocent enough, but Asta knew a trip to his hotel room to see such personal items would cross a line. A century of keeping her distance shouldn’t be compromised, no matter how much sympathy this man generated in her heart. She smiled to lessen the sting and shook her head, scooting her chair backwards and rising to her feet.
“I’m sorry, but I have a long night ahead of me. Thank you for the espresso, Mr. Phelps. Can I ask a favor of you? Could you let me know if you see or hear anything that might impact physical security at the conference?”
He stood and reached out to shake her hand. “Of course. Do you have a card with your phone number?”
Drat. She seriously needed to get a cell phone or something if she was going to be interacting with humans, although with less than one w
eek left, it hardly seemed worth the effort. “No, but you’ll be able to contact me. I’ll be at the conference all week.”
That was totally the wrong thing to say. He was glowing again, and not from embarrassment this time. Darn it all. He thought she was implying she wanted to see him again, and probably in a romantic fashion.
“I’ll definitely make every effort to seek you out.” The man’s smile nearly reached his ears. “And, Asta, please call me Carter. My father is Mr. Phelps. I haven’t earned that privilege yet.”
Now she was going to have two beings trailing around after her—one human, the other a demon. Ah well, nothing she could do about that now.
“Thank you, Carter. Have a pleasant evening.” Asta fled the café and walked along State Street, pausing at the bridge. What was she doing? Letting a demon kiss her and now leading a human to think she might want a romantic relationship with him. This had to be worse than drinking coffee and hoarding designer clothing. Her vibration levels would take centuries to recover from tonight’s activities.
Breathing deep and watching the Chicago River flow out toward Lake Michigan, Asta shook her head. Her path to enlightenment may have suffered a minor set back, but it was only temporary. She’d catch the nefarious demon who was plotting against the conference in her territory, sin just a little bit more, then leave it all behind.
Chapter 6
This convention had more humans packed into a geometric area than Dar had ever seen. He felt like someone had stuffed him into a can of spam, tightly pressed against other men in suits, and women in smart attire. With all the people, and computer equipment humming away, it had to have been at least a hundred degrees in the room. Even a twenty-foot ceiling couldn’t compensate for the broiling temperature. Dar considered ditching the jacket, and possibly the rest of his stolen attire, and wandering around naked, but he’d probably get thrown out in under five minutes. He should have stolen one of the wedding dresses instead. At least he could have lopped off the bottom part of the skirt and allowed adequate airflow. What idiot decided this was appropriate apparel for a man?