Page 18

Indy

Nothing makes a guy feel like a piece of shit like participating in a literal back-alley drug deal.

It was dark and damp and undeniably seedy, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching from the shadows.

Lurking.

To make matters worse, I was in my pajamas.

A cropped tank top and pink fleece bottoms printed with jumping sheep made for a hell of a final fit if those imaginary boogeymen—or very real hellhounds—snapped me up.

But I’d chosen not to get dressed.

That was my safeguard to keep myself from venturing inside the club to drink and party instead of going straight home.

Directly back home. Before Loren realized I was gone.

I stood beside a graffitied dumpster, clutching my cell phone while eyeing the puddle of trash ooze on the pavement.

If even a drop of that got on my slippers, they were done for.

I’d chuck them straight into said dumpster and walk to the car barefoot.

Probably step on broken bottle glass or a rusty nail on the way.

It would be my own damn fault.

Chaz said to text him when I got here, and he’d come out.

I’d done that. Ten minutes ago, I’d done that, and I was still waiting, looking like a hooker having a dress-down day, or a bum, or a junkie.

I should have left. Whatever was about to happen, I would regret it.

The high would be great until I had to lie about it, sneak around, and find a better place to stash my supply than the Airstream’s bathroom vent fan.

I could put them in my glovebox.

Loren had no need to snoop around in there.

But what if he smelled them?

Drug dogs were trained in that shit.

If he sniffed them out, there was no way he would believe I was holding them for a friend because he was my only friend.

Except for Sully, of course.

Maybe Whitney?

I frowned.

Maybe not.

Regardless, Chaz was not my friend, despite the way he smiled when he finally burst through the employee entrance door and into the alley.

He tromped toward me, a few drinks deep judging by his unsteady gait, and splashed gracelessly through the dumpster swamp, getting juice on his shoes and my slippers.

I grimaced.

“Hey, kiddo,” Chaz slurred.

His receding hairline had made an even further retreat since I’d seen him last, and about half of one of the drinks I assumed he’d had soaked the front of his shirt.

The panel-striped button down was rendered nearly transparent and showcased the worst of a wet tee shirt contest.

He looked me over, then snorted a laugh.

“What’re you supposed to be?”

I wasn’t here to shoot the shit or explain my choice of wardrobe on this or any other night.

And I knew better than to think I was anything more to Chaz than the twenty dollar bills wadded in my palm.

Fortunately, I knew a way to cut through the bull real quick.

“Can’t stay,” I said.

“Loren’s in the car.”

Chaz’s thin lips curled.

“Thought I told you to keep that motherfucker away from me.”

“That’s why he’s in the car , Chaz.” I rolled my eyes.

The car I had to park three blocks away, I should have added.

Then I had to take a post-fuck walk of shame in my now-soggy slippers.

Chaz took a step back and crossed his arms atop his potbelly.

“He know what you’re up to?”

“Does it matter?”

Chaz snuffled through a chuckle.

“If it bounces back on me, it matters. I’m still paying on the damn hospital bills?—”

“Well, here’s my contribution.” I thrust out the cash, then my other empty hand so I could curl my fingers in a beckoning motion.

Discreet this was not.

I was a spectacle on a good day.

Feminine boys in fishnets and heels tended to turn heads.

Same for purple-haired weirdos in their PJs trying to hustle X out of their dealer.

Chaz cast a scrutinizing stare at my open palm.

“You’re on one tonight,” he grunted.

“I’d like to be.” I curved my fingers again.

“Zing!” Chaz threw back his head and cackled.

His belly bounced with laughter as he reached for the inner pocket of his patched leather vest. “All right, all right.” After a few seconds of rummaging, he pulled out a clear baggie loaded with a trio of green pills.

My mouth fucking watered.

Literal drool. Like I was a dog and X was a damn Beggin’ Strip.

I’d beg for it, all right.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

No sooner had the bag touched my hand than did I snap my fingers shut around it.

Chaz took the cash, I assumed.

I didn’t care. I got what I came for.

Now, I needed to get home.

With a cursory “Thanks,” I spun and started out of the alley.

My slippers swished across the asphalt as I walked, the beginning of the journey back to where I’d parked the Firebird.

Before I joined foot traffic on the sidewalk, I slipped one of the pills from the bag and set it on my tongue.

I should have grabbed some wine from Sully’s.

That made twice I forgot it.

I would have to get some water if I wanted my high to last, and I needed the three—now two—pills to stretch into the weekend.

I didn’t get many chances to slip away from Loren unnoticed.

Not that I wanted to.

It was just… necessary.

I swallowed the pill dry.

People were lined up outside the club entrance, and I ducked my head as I hurried past. Music vibrated the pavement and seemed to glide through the air on soundwaves set with hooks or anchors.

Like mermaids luring people in.

Or were they sirens?

As a mythical creature myself, I really should have known that.

I still didn’t know much.

A hundred years of history had been funneled into my neural pathways, yet I couldn’t answer basic questions like where I came from or where I was going.

I was definitely going somewhere.

Parts of me were. Powers were fading, tear ducts drying up, and no amount of remembering told me why or how to fix it.

I could help Loren, Whitney, Gunnar, and Dottie.

I could fight for myself instead of helplessly relying on others.

I used to be able to.

I needed to now. Then people like Evander wouldn’t make shitty comments about me being out in the city alone.

Without my guard dog.

With two blocks to go to the car, I picked up the pace.

At this rate, I would make it back to the trailer park about the time the X kicked in, then I could ride it out till morning.

It would make for a sleepy day tomorrow, but those were some of my favorites.

Sprawled on the couch, putting braids in Loren’s hair or kissing his fingers.

I might even convince him to fuck me again.

Sex ranked low on his priority list, but he indulged my nympho ass.

And I made sure he enjoyed it, sometimes despite himself.

I rounded the corner at the next intersection, ignoring the puzzled glances from passersby.

My fingers swished across the zipper top of the plastic baggie in my pocket while I thought about how one pill wasn’t quite enough, four pills was too much, but two might be just right.

I was about to thumb the bag open when a figure stepped from the shadows in front of me.

Setting my heels, I skidded to a stop.

“Whoa, dude,” I blurted.

The brown-skinned man’s trench coat swished around his legs as he stilled.

The chill in his pale blue eyes would have repelled me, but I knew this stranger.

Evander offered a slight smile.

“Indigo.”

“Stuck with the nickname, am I?” I tried to smile in return, but I was pretty sure it looked more like a grimace.

The angel shrugged. “Looks like it.” He glanced up and down the sidewalk as if ensuring I was alone before asking, “What’re you up to?”

“Out for a stroll,” I replied.

“Really?” Evander raised his pierced brow.

“Really.”

Inside the pocket of my pajama bottoms, I pressed the pair of Green Apples hard against my thigh.

As if the angel could see them or sense them.

As if he cared.

My eyes darted past him, and I wondered if I could see the Firebird from here.

Not quite. My feet were itching to walk on by, but with everything that had happened in the past few days—Whitney and the hounds talking strategy, and Sully snooping on some strange witch—the least I could do was find out if my angelic connection was an untapped resource.

Before I could decide what to ask him and how to do it quickly, Evander spoke again.

“Did you enjoy my paints? Make something pretty?”

The angle of his eyes was cutting and cold.

If Hell was fire, maybe Heaven was ice?

I’d always seen it depicted as bright and white, but I never equated that to chilly.

But that was definitely the vibe I got from Evander.

Frosty bitch. And, when it came to his stolen spray paint, maybe salty, too.

“Uh, yeah.” I stepped back.

“It’s harder than it looks.”

Evander nodded.

“Lots of things are hard when you’re high. Decision making for one.”

How did he know?

Was he fucking Santa Claus?

Seeing me sleeping and awake and all that shit?

Had his been the eyes I’d worried about in the alley shadows?

“I thought I told you to lay low,” the angel concluded.

I didn’t remember fearing Evander or even disliking him, but he scared me now.

I backpedaled a step further, then angled my body to swing around him.

“And I told you to leave me alone.” I launched into motion, making a swift break.

Both hands were stuffed in my pockets, car keys in one and the pills in the other.

“Indy.” Evander seized my shoulder with an unnaturally strong grip.

With half a foot of height on me and seventy-plus pounds of bulk, he didn’t need to use his angel strength to subdue me.

He could have picked me up and thrown me over his shoulder, then carried me wherever he wanted to go.

Bird bones didn’t weigh much.

I glared at where his fingers sunk into my skin as he continued, “I have word from Heaven. It’s time for you to go home.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” I snapped.

With a jerking twist, I pulled free of him.

The sudden move sent me stumbling off the curb, where my slippers landed in a stream of water headed for the drain.

Tepid and immediately soaking through.

“Aw, gross!” I groaned and kicked one slipper off, letting it splat on the wet pavement.

A taxi whizzed by behind me, reminding me of the road now at my back, the sedans parked on either side, and Evander looming in front, even taller with the added elevation from street level.

“Home isn’t here,” he hissed, blue eyes blazing.

“You know about the demon. You’ve seen what your tears can do. Surely, you can surmise where your powers come from.”

I did my damnedest not to “surmise” much of anything.

I tried not to think most of the time.

That was one of the benefits of a good high.

No worries. No stress…

“You’re a holy being, Indy,” Evander insisted.

“And you’re being called back from whence you came.”

“What?” I set my feet, causing gritty asphalt to scrape across my bare one.

The angel towered overhead, and his voice rumbled as he held out his hand.

“Heaven. Come with me.”

An awkward laugh sputtered out of me.

This wasn’t funny. Not at all.

“No,” I replied.

“This is not a question,” Evander fired back.

“It’s a command.”

Could he force me to go?

Beam me up like a Star Trek transporter?

He hadn’t yet.

“I’m not a big fan of taking orders,” I replied.

“From anyone.”

Evander cast a gaze along the sidewalk.

People passed at the intersection half a block back, but we were otherwise alone.

Alarmingly isolated in the busy city.

The angel ventured closer until he teetered on the edge of the curb.

“Consider it an offer, then.” His voice was low with a hint of menace as he concluded, “The kind you can’t refuse.”

He stretched his hand out farther, and I recoiled.

“Touch me again, and I’ll fucking scream.”

Another car passed, whipping air over me.

Unless I was ready to back into traffic or parkour my way over one of the sedans boxing me in, my only way out of this was through Evander.

Dude was broad. And tall.

I could tuck and barrel into him, trusting my head or pointy elbows to drive him aside.

Or I could Dukes of Hazzard slide over the rear end of the car beside me and take off.

In my slippers. I glanced at my feet and my glittery toenails sparkling in the muted light.

Make that one slipper.

Fuck.

The angel descended, meeting me in the streetside runoff and driving me closer to the stream of traffic.

The skin between his brows bunched with his frown.

“Just scream?” he asked.

“That’s all?”

A month ago, I’d incinerated a pack of hellhounds.

I used to fly. I wasn’t always this weak, near-mortal thing, and Evander knew that.

He was waiting for the sparks to fly, flames to catch, and for me to do more than stand there in gape-mouthed panic.

So, I ran.

It wasn’t nearly as smooth as Luke Duke cruising across the hood of the General Lee, but my fleecy pajama bottoms let me glide across the trunk lid of the car beside me and out of Evander’s reach.

My second slipper was lost to the cause, leaving me barefoot sprinting down the sidewalk and wondering if angels were as fast as hellhounds.

My heart rocked against my ribs, and I sucked at the night air as I ran, certain that if I looked back Evander would be right behind me, as close as if I hadn’t moved at all.

By the time the Firebird came into view—parallel parked streetside—I was panting, and my feet were rubbed raw.

I yanked my keys out of my pocket as I rounded to the driver’s door and unlocked it.

Clambering inside, I started the engine, then pulled out into traffic. I didn’t look back.