She was only gone a moment when a horde of tiny mortals in white uniforms filled the room. A few looked his way, but even the most curious child minded the chiding of their parents and went to sit at the center of the room.
Lyn emerged and greeted her class. What followed for the next hour and a half was a clumsy display of sportsmanship from two dozen or more shrieking children. To Sam, they looked like white sheets of paper flying erratically around the room, charged with an intoxicating energy. He found himself smiling for no reason.
And Lyn was different.
The little waif of a Daughter who buried her fears in humor and pretended nothing affected her was suddenly awash in confidence. Sam touched a hand to his chest, the first time in nearly two weeks he felt completely at ease. No nettling anger. No crippling self-doubt. She stood poised, and he felt strong. She guided her students with gentle hands and kind words, and he felt sure of himself. She scanned the class at large and sighed in content, and he felt—dare he say it—happy. Sam wished he could see her clearly. How she must shine.
His smile fell and he lowered his gaze. Her feelings. Not mine.
While Lyn’s job might’ve been a temporary respite for her anxieties, Sam couldn’t afford such a luxury. He had to keep his plan at the forefront of his mind. They weren’t safe. His only hope was to convince Lyn to leave town—the brilliant idea he got from her great-grandmother. Lucifer wouldn’t leave Paradise and sacrifice thousands of years of work just to smite him. Everything the Commander wanted was here.
The problem, of course, was explaining all this to Lyn. She reacted to everything with a careless rebellion. He didn’t think she would respond any more favorably to the idea of leaving her great-grandmother behind, no matter how much their lives depended on it.
Sam scoffed to himself. A real demon wouldn’t pause to consider her feelings. A real demon would overpower Lyn and drag her to any corner of the world he pleased. But she affected him too strongly. When she broke down sobbing in the shower that morning …
“Hey there, peaches. Class is over.”
Sam lifted his gaze as Lyn slapped something sticky to the top of his hand. “What’s this?”
“A sticker. Scratch it; it smells like grape soda.”
Curious, Sam scraped a fingernail over the flimsy material and sniffed. It smelled like something, that was for sure. More artificial sweetener than fruit.
“Ready to go?” Lyn smoothed a hand over her hair. The pale-yellow locks were a mess of blonde frizz piled high on her crown, her eyes two dots the color of clear skies, her mouth a dash of pink that curved upward at the edges. She smelled sweet and radiated a calm sort of contentedness. Such a rare feeling, it made him nervous.
Tomorrow. He would tell her everything tomorrow. Let her have one last night—one last birthday—before they spent the rest of her life running.
Sam stared at his reflection in a public dressing-room mirror. He wore a crisp navy-blue shirt under a stiff black jacket with a pair of black pleated trousers. The tie around his neck felt like a noose.
“Come on out, big guy,” Lyn called from the other side of the privacy curtain. “Don’t be a baby.”
“I still don’t understand. I already have clothing.”
Lyn flung the curtain aside and looked at him. He swallowed as the edges of her mouth fell and a flutter of disappointment flew through him. Her disappointment.
“Oh no, this is all wrong. That shirt sucks the color right out of your eyes.”
“Who cares about the color of my eyes?”
“And that jacket. What are you, a Harvard professor?” Lyn snapped her fingers. “Give them here.”
“You picked them out.” Sam removed the jacket and handed it to her.
“Well, now I’m unpicking them. Here, try this one.” She hung a black short-sleeved button-down shirt on the clothing rack next to the mirror.
“How are you paying for this? You couldn’t even buy gasoline for the car.” Sam undid the line of tiny buttons, peeled the stiff fabric from his chest, and then handed the navy-blue shirt to her.
Lyn’s gaze moved up and down, scanning his pectorals and stomach. He might not have noticed if he hadn’t felt the soft flutter of lust invading places he didn’t want to be invaded. Sam yanked the curtain between them.
“Tryst has a dress code,” she said. “I skipped the gas on purpose so you could get something to wear for tonight.”
“Oh, well, I suppose when your vehicle dies on the middle of the freeway we’ll at least be able to walk to the bar in style.”
“See, you’re learning our quaint human ways already.”
Sam scoffed. He tugged the black shirt from the hanger and shoved his arms into the sleeves. Then he grabbed the wallet from the back pocket of his crumpled jeans and slid the curtain aside.
Lyn’s mouth curved. “You forgot to button it, silly.”
“Here.” He extended the wallet in her direction and her smile faded.
“What’s this?”
“Just use it.”
She opened the wallet and gasped. “Did you steal this?”
“I found it.” Sam fastened the buttons while Lyn sifted through the leather folds.
“Uh-huh. So, who’s Owen North?”
“Someone who lost his wallet?”
“I can’t use this, Sam. You have to return it.”
Sam shook his head. “North doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Anymore? Oh Jesus, did you eat him?”
“His soul was a little gamey.”
“Okay, stop. I don’t want to know.”
Sam grinned.
“Next time you eat someone, just take their cash. All these credit cards are traceable, you know? Now take those pants off. They make you look European.” Lyn closed the curtain and walked away.
Sam looked in the mirror again, but all he saw was the demon staring back; the pale-yellow brimstone of his flesh, the blackened veins, and the fire coursing through him. He was dust and ash and the essence of death. An ex-Reaper turned demon.
A demon out for stud in this monkey suit. Black button-down shirt, silk tie, and no pants. He looked ridiculous.
“Try these.” Lyn extended a pair of black jeans past the privacy curtain.
Sam took the pants.
“And this.” She passed him a slate-gray polyester button-down, and Sam groaned out loud.
“I’m not trying on any more shirts. The one I’m wearing is acceptable.”
“You don’t want acceptable, you want to bring sexy back.”
“Lyn …”
“Just try it on, please. I promise it’s the last one.”
He muttered under his breath while changing clothes for the umpteenth time and then moved the curtain aside. “I look like I’m trying too hard.”
Lyn examined him and her mouth stretched into a pearly white grin. “Believe me, you don’t. Now take it all off so I can pay for it with your blood money.”
His gaze narrowed as he closed the curtain and fiddled with the buttons. He didn’t know what they would do for money once they left Paradise, but he decided not to bring it up now.
Lyn gave Channing a couple twirls in the living room, getting acquainted with her new beau. He was a handsome sword—strong, lightweight, quick to draw, and deadly in her hands. The sleek black handle matched the sheath and, not coincidently, also paired nicely with her thigh-length leather boots. Hooker-heels, Angie had called them. Lyn wore them especially for the look her BFF would give her.
Lyn’s layered bangles chimed against her arms as she moved with the arc of the sword, feeling the lace of her skimpy black top glide over her stomach. She didn’t wear much, but what she lacked in clothing she made up for in makeup and hairspray. She’d needed this; the fantasy that her life was normal, that she was in control—that she wasn’t sick to her stomach with worry over Gran and constantly on the verge of tears—that she was strong.
It was a terrible cliché she’d never admit to, but the short
skirt, dark eyeshadow, and ball-busting boots really did wonders for her confidence. Plus, Channing was growing on her. Like whoa. She would have to be extra careful not to shish kabob any Greater demons with the katana. She also didn’t want to know how the heck Sam managed to afford such an exquisite blade. Poor Angie was going to have a difficult time out-gifting the demon.
Sam exited the bathroom. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“Finally. I was dying of old age out here.” She glanced at the demon, then looked again more slowly. He stood in the middle of the hallway with his hands in his pockets, wearing the new outfit she’d bought him; a dark gray polyester button-down over black fitted jeans and black shoes. The contrast brightened the milky-blue of his irises, which was somehow smolderingly sexy in a way that made him seem less blind, more otherworldly. He’d styled his hair so the silver tips fell to the right in a loose wave of glimmering tinsel.
She had meant to make him look normal; to let him blend in with the crowd, but there was no way Sam would blend in looking like that. Her pulse quivered and she sheathed Channing, using the movement as an excuse to look away from the demon while she came to her senses.
“Ready?” She avoided his gaze while looping the sheath string over her wrist. Her outfit didn’t allow space for a utility belt, and she couldn’t bring the katana into the bar anyway. It would have to stay in her car.
“I still feel absurd in this outfit,” said Sam.
Lyn smiled to herself. His discomfort hadn’t been deliberate—more like a happy coincidence. She would enjoy it while she could. Lyn drew a breath and lifted her gaze to the demon. “Listen, my friend, Angie, is going to be there and—”
“Angie?” Sam arched his brow. “The creature you call your best friend?”
“That’s the one. And I thought now would be a good time to remind you about the fork.” Lyn opened her purse and procured said fork to show him. She still wasn’t quite over the shock of him melting the first one, but luckily she’d had the forethought to keep a few spares. “See? Pointy. So don’t get any ideas.”
Sam scoffed. “I thought the idea was to have fun tonight.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Yeah, well, you keep your promise and I’ll keep mine.”
“No alcohol?” Sam lifted his chin. “No running off on your own?”
Lyn nodded. “No booze and no ditching. Scouts honor.”
Sam studied her from beneath half-closed lids. “Good.”
“And you promise not to eat my best friend, right?”
“Yeah, no problem there.”
“Great. Let’s go get our party on.” Lyn swung Channing over her shoulder, then kicked the apartment door open. “Ha. I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“You broke the lock,” Sam growled.
“So? At least the latch still works. See?” She closed the door behind them.
“But it doesn’t lock. Now people can steal your stuff.”
“What are they going to do, take my thirty-year-old television set down six flights of stairs? If anyone can pull that off, they have my respect.”
“Or your laptop.”
“You mean the most useless thing I own?”
“Are you … are you serious?”
Lyn snickered. “You and my laptop should get a room. I see the way you fondle her when you think I’m not looking. Plus, Channing’s been putting the moves on me. We need privacy. If three is a crowd, four can’t be much better.”
“This is going to be a long night,” Sam muttered.
“If we’re lucky, it’ll last forever.”
15
Blood on Her Lips
“I t used to be a fire department,” Lyn said while navigating the road, “but it burned down before I was born. The building’s brick exterior survived, but rumor has it the interior was damaged beyond repair. Anyway, some white-collared yuppie bought the building and turned it into a low-key nightclub. It’s not really my scene. I’m more of a draft beer and darts kind of gal, you know? But Angie’s been dying to go.”
She yapped away to pass the time, but the demon riding shotgun couldn’t be less interested. Not even a pacifying “uh-huh” passed his evil lips. He just sat there looking constipated and stared out the window.
Rude.
Lyn squelched her cheeks and leaned forward as she pulled into the crowded parking lot and searched for Angie’s car. When she couldn’t find it, she grabbed the first available parking space instead—behind the building, next to the dumpsters—and killed the engine.
“We’re here!”
“So I gathered,” said Sam.
“So I gathered,” she mocked, doing an exaggerated impression of Sam’s broody tone. She got out of Notre Dame and locked the doors.
Sam followed closely as they crossed the lot to the front entrance. The sun disappeared below the skyline, but the streetlamps hadn’t yet turned on. Headlights from passing traffic and glowing restaurant windows lit the pavement. Lyn reached the end of the line of people waiting to enter Tryst and pulled out her cell phone to send a text message to Angie: Where r u? Can u believe there’s a line to get into this place? Oh, and I brought a friend.
A moment later, her phone chimed in reply: I’m inside. Coming 2 get U. Is he cute?
Lyn snorted. Is he cute? Sure … if you like Hellfire and brimstone with a penchant for death. She tucked her phone into her purse. “Come on. Angie’s getting us past this line.”
Sam scanned the patrons but didn’t say anything as Lyn bypassed them and stood near the bouncer. Angie squeezed through the door with a margarita in one hand.
“Hey, birthday girl!” She was dressed to kill in a burgundy mini skirt and halter top, her mocha colored hair a fountain of loose curls down her back. As if Angie’s legs weren’t already long enough, she added a few extra inches with thin, strappy heels.
“Hey yourself.” Lyn smiled as her mood brightened. She always felt a little more normal around her bestie.
“Yo, dude.” Angie snapped her fingers at the bouncer. “She’s with me. She’s twenty-one today.” The people waiting in line cheered and Lyn’s cheeks burned. “Oh, and her friend …” Angie looked past Lyn and wrinkled her nose. “You did say you brought a friend, right?”
Lyn glanced around. It took her a moment to find Sam. He’d skulked a few feet back, facing away from the entrance with his hands in his pockets.
“Just a sec,” said Lyn.
Angie shrugged then shimmied inside to the beat of the music while Lyn tugged Sam’s sleeve.
“Hey, big guy. You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
He faced her and his steely gaze went to the entrance. “Of course not. Shall we?”
“We shall.”
The bouncer opened the door for them, and Lyn gave him an appreciative wink as she slinked past the neon-painted threshold. Inside, the dark walls pulsed to the beat of the blaring dance music. Blue spotlights and sexual energy moved against her like a living organism. Lyn lifted her arms and swayed her hips to the music, letting the ambiance take her.
Sam shouted over the music. “This is what passes for a tavern nowadays?”
Lyn chuckled. “No, but it passes for fun.”
She danced over to the bar where Angie had already ordered her a celebratory shot and lifted it into the air. Lyn couldn’t even guess what the lime green liquid might be.
“Bottoms up, bitches.” Angie turned to hand the shot glass to Lyn but dropped it as her chocolate eyes widened and her breath hitched. The glass didn’t break, thank God, but the liquid made a big mess for such a small amount. Lyn narrowed her gaze.
“Do I have something in my teeth, or are you already drunk?”
“Who-who’s your friend?” Angie’s saucer-sized pupils looked past Lyn.
Sam stood directly behind her, his firm brow pinched over deep, deep eyes. A pattern of dark shadows and blue disco lights flashed over his features, obscuring them somewhat, but not enough to mask the intense stare-down he was giving Angie. Lyn drew
a breath. She knew this was going to be awkward.
“Angie, meet Sam. Sam, this is Angie. Please remember the fork.”
She expected a scoff or a broody comment from Sam, and maybe a flirtatious giggle from Angie, but the introduction and subtle fork comment didn’t seem to help. Sam stared at Angie with a guarded expression while Angie …
“I have to go to the bathroom,” her bestie announced.
“Okay,” said Lyn.
“No.” Angie grabbed Lyn’s upper arm and squeezed it hard. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
Lyn scowled at her friend and Angie gave Lyn one of her looks.
“Oh. Oh. Right.” Lyn nodded and gestured for her to lead the way. “Be right back,” she said to Sam as Angela practically tore Lyn’s arm off while dragging her through the throng of writhing bodies on the dancefloor. Apparently, the ladies’ room was on the other side.
Angie didn’t let go until they were both firmly behind the restroom sinks. The swinging door shut behind them, drowning out most of the music.
“That’s Sam?”
“Yep,” said Lyn. “And I know what you’re thinking. He’s a bit … um …” She waved her hand through the air, as though she could conjure the right word to describe Sam without scaring the skirt off her friend.
“Evil?”
Wow. Talk about hitting the nail on the head. Lyn lowered her hand and scrunched her nose. “I was going to say intense.”
Angie crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “I don’t like it. There’s something dark about him. His aura … it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Like a void or a black hole. He has the opposite of an aura.”
Lyn cringed. She’d hoped Angie wouldn’t notice Sam’s demonic energy, but she often forgot just how sensitive her friend was to the other side. She might not be able to see Sam’s true form the way Lyn could, but Angie could sense his demonic nature all the same. It was one of the qualities Lyn had loved most about her friend; that they could share, at least in a small way, their knowledge of a world beyond human limitations. Right now, though, it seemed like the thing Lyn loved most about her bestie was coming back to bite her in the butt.
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