Demon Kissed (Cursed Angel Collection)

by Michelle Madow

  “This is a hangover?” I grimace and slowly force myself to sit up in bed. My head pounds, but my stomach is feeling slightly better since getting sick. “Why would someone do this to themselves?”

  “You got carried away last night,” she says. “It happens. It’s hard to blame anyone for it, given the situation we’re in…” She glances at the window, her eyes far off. I have a feeling she’s referring to the curse, and I want to ask her about it, but she blinks the sadness away and returns her attention to me. “Do you want me to call Sofia and tell her you can’t make it?” she asks. “She sounded really excited, since it’ll be your first time having brunch at the Watchtower, but—”

  “The Watchtower?” Fear races through my veins at the mention of the place where Ezekiel lives. “We’re going there?”

  “You’re going there,” Teresa clarifies. “I’m having brunch with Marco at home. Unless you want to stay here and eat with us? I’m making pancakes—your favorite.”

  The offer is tempting. After all, I don’t want to step inside that Watchtower and meet one of the demons who’s caused so much misery to the planet. But the sooner I locate a witch, reverse the barrier spell around the sword, and use it to kill Ezekiel, the sooner I can return home.

  Perhaps Teresa has an idea about where I can find a witch? But Teresa seems too kind to associate with witches, and she might become suspicious if I ask about them. I’m better off asking Sofia—from what I know of Adriana’s cousin, she’s even more of a party girl than Adriana. Surely, she must know something.

  “Thanks for the offer,” I tell Teresa. “But if I promised Sofia that I’d go to brunch with her, then I’m going.”

  “Okay…” Teresa studies me, her forehead creasing. “Are you sure everything’s all right?” she asks. “I know you’re not feeling a hundred percent, but yesterday you couldn’t wait for brunch in the Watchtower. Now you look terrified.”

  “Like you said, it’s my first time having brunch in the Watchtower,” I say, wracking my mind for a feasible reason—other than the real reason—for why I look worried. I glance around Adriana’s room, and it hits me the moment I see the sparkly dress discarded on the chair. “And I have no idea what to wear!”

  That’s something a socialite party girl would worry about, right?

  “Are you asking for my help?” Teresa looks confused, but grateful.

  “Yes,” I say, realizing I really do need her help. After all, I have no idea where to start with dressing myself for this occasion. I’ve never paid much attention to fashion, and the last thing I want is to look horribly out of place.

  “Go shower,” Teresa says with a sigh. “It’ll help you feel better. I’ll lay out some outfit options for you to choose from once you’re ready.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask.

  “Yes!” she says. “Go. I’ve got this.”

  She shoos me toward the bathroom, and I shoot her a grateful smile, sending up a quick thank you to God that, throughout this mission, I’ll have Teresa nearby to help guide my way.

  Chapter Four

  The shower does miracles for my hangover. And with the warm water rushing over me and clearing my senses, I’m grateful for being assigned to possess a human who can afford such luxuries as heated running water.

  I’m also grateful that I don’t feel affected by the curse.

  But curses are tricky and unpredictable. Hopefully if I do become affected, I’ll know and be able to resist it.

  Once out of the shower, I dry off and examine the human in the mirror. With her tan skin, slim figure, dark hair that flows over her shoulders, and huge brown eyes, Adriana is a beautiful human. This is an advantage for me, because I know from my hundreds of years of existence that life is easier for the ones considered more beautiful than most. I don’t think it’s right or fair, but humans are generally kinder and more giving to those they consider attractive.

  I pray that during my time here, I’ll be able to use that advantage to help me succeed with completing my task.

  But it’s not Adriana’s perfect features that my eyes are drawn to. It’s the tattoos around her wrists. The thick stripes of gold showing that Adriana, like every other human on this continent, is a slave to the demon Ezekiel, bound to him by the traces of his blood within the ink.

  Luckily, Adriana’s tattoo is gold, marking her as a member of the highest—and smallest—caste of humans. Most Golds have enough money that they don’t need to work, although the men must also serve as guards or tax collectors to the demon. The most respected Golds, such as Adriana’s father, lord over the labor camps throughout the continent.

  Underneath the Golds are the Silvers—the educated, upper-class citizens who work jobs that the old world would have called “white collar.” They generally have most everything they want, although unlike the Golds, they have to work for their money.

  Below them are the Greens—the entertainers, artists, craftspeople, merchants, and welders. The Greens don’t live cushy lives by any means, but they’re comfortable. Comfort is hardly appreciated in a continent cursed with greed, but they have more than most.

  In the shantytowns outside of the city live the Reds—those who serve the citizens of the city. The shantytowns lack electricity and plumbing, and the Reds are barely paid enough money to get by.

  But at least they’re paid. That’s more than can be said for the Blues.

  Most humans on the continent bear blue tattoos around their wrists. They’re slaves in the labor camps in the countryside, working day and night to provide the natural resources that those in the city need to live. Their lives are miserable—hopeless. They cannot escape from their bonds of slavery, and many of them die young, from exhaustion and overexertion. The labor camps literally work them to death.

  Out of all the citizens in the continent, they need my help the most.

  Here, in Adriana’s glistening bathroom, it’s easy to forget about the Blues toiling away in desolate conditions to provide for this luxurious life in the city. The Golds turn a blind eye to it.

  But I won’t forget. I’ll do everything in my power to save them. Not just them—I’m going to save everyone on this cursed continent.

  I’ll start with going to the Watchtower, and then I’ll find a witch to help me.

  Chapter Five

  The Watchtower isn’t far from Teresa’s house—only a few blocks—but Sofia picks me up in her car anyway. Only the Golds have cars, and the ones who do only have one per family. This is because cars are no longer produced, and the only ones that function now are electric. Gasoline cars are worthless, and most have been deserted or destroyed for parts.

  Sofia rolls down the windows and blasts a CD—I recognize the British, all-female pop group as one that was popular in the nineties. She cranks the volume, obviously wanting to be noticed, and it works. People turn their heads to stare at us as we roll by, craning their necks to get a glimpse inside the car. It’s like we’re celebrities.

  As Golds, I suppose we are celebrities to most people.

  With the music blasting, I can’t have a conversation with Sofia, but I don’t mind. It gives me time to think.

  We approach the Watchtower, and I gaze up at the giant building. Its shimmery, bright blue exterior is blinding, making the other buildings seem dull in comparison. On the crowded sidewalks outside, people have set up shop, selling sparkly trinkets and other accessories. The merchants all have green tattoos around their wrists, and their customers are Golds and Silvers.

  We pull up to the front of the Watchtower, and a valet opens the door for me. His tattoo is red.

  “Good morning.” He smiles pleasantly and closes the door behind me. “Have a wonderful day at the Watchtower.”

  “Thank you.” I smile back, wondering if I should tip him. But I’m only carrying limited coins. What if I want those extra coins later to buy something for myself?

  I blink the thought away, surprised at having it cross my mind. I shouldn’t care about buying anyth
ing for myself. Once I complete my mission, nothing Adriana owns will be mine. So I reach into my purse and remove a small copper coin—which, like all coins in the city, bears the insignia of the Flaming Sword upon it—and hand it to the valet.

  His eyes widen, and he glances skittishly around before shoving the coin into his pocket. “Thanks, miss.” He nods and runs around to the other side of the car, getting in and driving away to park it.

  “Why did you do that?” Sofia asks from next to me.

  “Do what?” I ask.

  “Tip the valet.” From the way she says it, I assume tipping isn’t customary around here.

  Fantastic—I haven’t even been here for twenty-four hours, and I’m already making mistakes.

  “To thank him for his service,” I answer simply.

  “That’s what our taxes are for.” She says the word in disgust, and gives me a once over. “You look… different,” she observes, and I have a feeling she doesn’t mean it as a compliment. “Did you let your sister dress you or something?”

  I glance down at my jeans, realizing they do look different from Sofia’s miniskirt and crop top. Does Adriana usually dress like Sofia? I hope not. I can’t imagine feeling comfortable in something that leaves no part of my body to the imagination. But looking around, I see a variety of styles—the clothes look like they’ve been plucked from various time periods—and I don’t feel as out of place anymore.

  “Never mind.” Sofia rolls her eyes and heads toward the entrance. “Let’s get some Bloody Marias into our systems—it certainly seems like you need a few.”

  I take a deep breath and follow her inside the lair of the demon.

  Chapter Six

  The inside of the Watchtower is a bustling city unto itself. It reminds me of the glamorous hotels that existed in Las Vegas before the dimensions collided—full of shops, restaurants, bars, entertainment, and yes, even a casino.

  We walk through the casino to go to the restaurant. Despite it being before noon, the tables and slots are full of people trying to get lucky. People of all different castes are playing—Golds, Silvers, Greens, and even the occasional Red. The only caste missing is Blue—which makes sense, since the Blues are imprisoned in their labor camps in the country.

  Bartenders—all of them Reds—continuously bring drinks to the gamblers. Some of the people they’re serving look so bleary-eyed that I wonder if they’ve been in the casino all night. A gut instinct tells me they have.

  We pass by a gleaming white car on a podium with a big red bow tied around the hood, and Sofia stops in place, her eyes wide. “We should try our hand at winning that after brunch,” she says, pointing at the car. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “But you already have a car,” I say, confused about why she wants another one. Especially when there are so many other, not as fortunate, people in the city who don’t have a car at all.

  “Exactly.” She laughs. “If I win, I’ll have two cars! Or I can sell it. I wonder how many coins it’s worth? Probably a small fortune.” Her lips curve into a small smile, as if she’s already planning what she’ll buy with the money. Then she looks at me and frowns. “You’re no fun today.” She pouts.

  “Sorry,” I apologize, recalling what Teresa said when she came in my room this morning. “I had a rough night last night.”

  “You bet you did!” Her eyes brighten, and I have no idea why she’s excited, but I’m glad I said something right. “That guy you were dancing with was all over you—practically in love with you! And I remember him saying he’ll be at brunch this morning. Did you ever get his name?”

  “I don’t think so.” I glance around, hoping she doesn’t realize I have no idea what I’m talking about.

  “Makes sense,” she says. “After how much we drank, I’m glad we remember him at all!” She laughs again, and I have the impression that Sofia’s one of those people who amuses herself more than she amuses others around her.

  She leads the way around the casino until we’re in front of a restaurant called SALT. The place is packed, and I watch as a server carries a clear cauldron of blue liquid to a table. Everyone there grabs one of the thick colorful straws coming out of the cauldron and drinks from it.

  “That’s the Heaven & Hell,” the hostess says, apparently having noticed me looking at the ginormous drink. Her skintight outfit is more revealing than Sofia’s, and she has glitter all over her skin. Her tattoos, of course, are red. “You must try it. It’s divine.”

  I nod, since I am curious to find out what it tastes like, and follow her to an elevated circular booth in the middle of the restaurant. It seems large for two people, but apparently Sofia reserved it specifically.

  “Enjoy,” the hostess says, placing menus in front of us.

  “Tell our waitress to bring us some Bloody Marias as soon as possible,” Sofia says, looking around the room in anticipation. “We’re ready to get this party started!”

  “Will do.” The hostess nods. “Did you also want a Heaven & Hell?”

  “Later,” Sofia says with a wave of her hand. “We’ll have one right before the music starts.”

  The hostess nods again and hurries away, presumably to deliver our requests to the powers that be in the kitchen.

  I examine the menu, listening to Sofia prattle on about some guy she met last night. As long as I nod and acknowledge what Sofia’s saying, she continues to talk—which is fine by me, because the less I talk, the less chance of Sofia realizing I’m not Adriana.

  Everything on the menu is pricey, which explains why most of the people dining here are Golds, with the occasional Silver splashed into the mix. We’ll likely spend on one meal what an entire family of Reds makes in one month.

  The waitress brings over two glasses of tequila, along with tomato juice and a bunch of sauces and spices so we can mix our drinks precisely how we like them. She takes our orders, and I ask for the pancakes, remembering Teresa mentioned them being Adriana’s favorite.

  Sofia mixes her drink, and I follow her lead, since I’ve never made a Bloody Maria before.

  “Cheers!” she says once she’s finished brewing her masterpiece, raising her glass in the air.

  “Cheers.” I click my glass with hers and take a sip of the drink. It’s thick and spicy, and I’m surprised to find I like it.

  The drink helps calm my nerves, making me think straight again. I’m here to gather information about witches, and I can’t continue putting off the conversation I need to have with Sofia. Especially because from what I’ve seen of her so far, Sofia is flighty and impulsive—exactly the sort of behavior I would expect from a witch. Or at least from someone who associates with them.

  God wouldn’t instruct me to possess someone who has no possible connection to witches. I have to assume Sofia is the first step in figuring out exactly what that connection is.

  All I need to do is ask her.

  Chapter Seven

  Sofia loves talking about the various guys on her “current dating rotation,” so I use that to breach the conversation.

  “So,” I begin, figuring I might as well be out with it. “Do you have some kind of trick for making all these guys go crazy for you? A love spell, perhaps?” I waggle my eyebrows, mirroring the body language I’ve observed in Sofia so far this morning.

  “No.” She brings a hand to her chest and laughs, sounding nervous. “Why would you think that?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug and smile mischievously. “But if you did know anything about that sort of stuff, I hope you wouldn’t keep it all to yourself.”

  “Well, I don’t.” She sits back and crinkles her nose. “Why would you think I know anything about witches?” She says the word like it’s dirty—the same way I said it while speaking with Uriel earlier.

  “You really know nothing about them?” I ask.

  “No!” she exclaims. “Why are you even asking me such a thing?”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just…” I press my lips together, searching for some sort
of explanation.

  “You don’t think a witch cast a spell on you—do you?” She scoots closer to me, her eyes flashing with concern—and with a hunger for gossip. “Because my mom always says that if you suspect you’re the victim of a witch’s spell, you need to wear red socks and underwear inside out to prevent the spell from reaching you. You have those things, right? If you don’t, we can go shopping after brunch.”

  That advice is an old wives’ tale passed down from generation to generation on this continent—and while I don’t know a ton about witches, I do know that won’t work. Which means Sofia is very good at hiding her knowledge of witches, or she truly knows nothing about them.

  Unfortunately, Sofia doesn’t strike me as particularly intelligent—and she sounds truly scared by the thought of witches—so my instinct tells me it’s the latter.

  “I don’t think anyone’s cast a spell on me.” I laugh, as if the notion is ridiculous. “It was just a joke. Sorry.”

  Sofia studies me for a few seconds, looking suspicious. “Well, it wasn’t very funny,” she finally says, sticking her nose in the air. “I don’t know what it’s like in your home sector, but a mention of witchcraft is taken seriously here in the city. Luckily you only said something to me, and since we’re cousins, I won’t think too much of it. But don’t joke around like that with anyone else. They won’t take it as lightly as I did.”

  She chugs the rest of her drink, and I get the impression that this conversation is over.

  Which leaves me wondering—in a city that’s fearful of even mentioning witches, how am I supposed to figure out where to find one?

  Chapter Eight

  The waitress brings out the Heaven & Hell drink, and everything after that is a blur. The restaurant blacks out the windows, the DJ mixes music in his booth, and the staff passes out glow sticks and plastic light-up jewelry. People dance on tables, scantily clad women blast smoke machines into the crowd, and musicians in flashing costumes play instruments in time with the songs. My favorite is the electric violinist—he’s absolutely mesmerizing.