Page 68

Theo and I sit in the shower for a long time, just talking.

He tells me all about the plans for the new animal shelter, about how he and Ben were declared ‘local heroes’ and put on the news, about how they each revealed their relationship to their families in the hospital, and about how long it took him to fully recover.

He tells me about the job that Molly helped Ben get, and about his own new job working with Mak in the city’s tourism department.

He says he’d love to go back and work at the new shelter once it’s built, but it might be a while until then.

I wonder out loud if maybe I could get a job at the shelter, and he promises to make it happen if that’s what I want.

Of course, I ask about Rex. He missed me terribly, Theo says.

Apparently, he spent an entire month after I was gone dragging a t-shirt I’d worn around the apartment and sleeping with it.

I can’t wait to see him when we get home.

There’s a lot of things I can’t wait to do, but right now, my world is perfect.

Ben is draped across Theo’s chest, and I’m tucked between their arms in the giant, soft bed.

The door out to the balcony is propped open, and I can hear that the party from downstairs has spilled out onto the sidewalk below.

People shouting and laughing, small bursts of music.

I almost want to go down and join them, but my only item of clothing is lying on the floor in shreds.

Instead, I slip out of Ben and Theo’s arms and search the hotel room for a bathrobe.

There’s a thick, plush one in th e closet, so I wrap myself up in it and take an open bottle of champagne from the fridge.

Rifling through Ben’s leather jacket, which is hanging on a chair, I find a cigar and a lighter, then go out to the balcony.

The smoke feels good in my throat, even if it reminds me of the fire.

I try not to remember how terrified I was, how desperately I wanted to protect them, and the looks of despair on their faces that nearly killed me.

I especially try to forget the months I spent in the Seventh Tower before being rescued.

I blow out a smoke ring and try to send the memories with it, then take a sip of champagne straight from the bottle.

None of that matters now. I have Theo and Ben back, I’m where I belong, and nothing is going to–

“Enjoying your debauchery?” says a cool, clear voice from the other side of the balcony, derailing my train of thought. I don’t move, but I do slide my eyes over to the tall, hooded figure standing there in the shadows.

“I hope you’re here as an errand boy and not a divine messenger,” I say calmly, taking another drag from the cigar and blowing a smoke ring in his direction. “I’m going to need something cute to wear.”

The figure takes a few steps forward and drops a large canvas duffle bag beside my chair.

“Your clothing, and the documents you requested,” he says tersely. “But I am also here to ensure that your bargain with the Almighty is not forgotten.”

I still keep my eyes averted, but I can hear the rustle of his wings, tucked tightly against his body, and the whirring of his stupid mechanical heart. Why the Almighty chose this design for their most valued servants, I’ll never understand.

“I’m not sure how you think I could forget something like that, Bird Brain,” I snap, and hear a satisfying grunt of displeasure.

“We have upheld our end of the deal, Hell Bitch, ” he seethes.

“ Tsk tsk , Michael,” I say, slowly rising from my chair and standing behind it, bottle of champagne clutched in my hand like a weapon. “What would your master say if they heard you using such filthy, deviant language?”

“The Almighty has more import ant things to worry about than how I use my tongue.”

“I might believe that if I thought you’d ever used your tongue for anything even remotely interesting,” I sneer.

“Be silent!” he barks, holding up a pale, long-fingered hand. I can’t see his face, but I don’t need to. They’re all the same, Archangels–smug, handsome, perfect. Usually blond. Michael is undoubtedly the smuggest, handsomest, and blondest of the whole arrogant bunch.

“You haven’t upheld your end, anyway,” I tell him, “because I have yet to see the book.” He moves toward me like a predator, slow and deliberate, flaring his white, feathered wings out, but I don’t back down.

I know the terms of my own bargain. He can’t lay a single one of his perfect fingers on me.

“You really think,” he hisses, “that I am going to bring Saint Peter’s holy ledger down here to this…pit of depravity, just to prove to you that the Almighty keeps their word? I know it might be difficult for a demon, but try to have a little faith , for once in your miserable fucking existence.”

“Can you lie, Michael?” I ask casually, tapping some of the cigar ash onto his boots.

My fragile human heart is pounding out of my chest at his proximity, but I can’t show it.

They’re like wolves. They can smell a wounded, frightened animal a mile off, and they won’t think twice about spilling blood.

“Why would I tell you that?”

“Just seems like something Archangels shouldn’t be able to do, that’s all, and I want you to look me in the eyes and swear that their names are in the book. Maybe then I’ll work on having a little more faith .”

He reaches up and pulls back the dark hood concealing his face. I was right. Smug, handsome, blond–the Archangel trifecta. His eyes are strange though. Bright and white, almost glowing. Probably from all the sunshine he’s had blown up his ass over the millennia.

“I swear, on my own holy name,” he says in a low voice, “that there are two new names in Saint Peter’s book tonight: Theodore Keating, and Benjamin de la Cruz. They will both receive the rewards of Heaven…regardless of their earthly sins.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. “Fine. Now, I have plenty of feather pillows on that bed inside, so if you could clear off, I don’t need or want any of yours lying around.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw, but he steps away, tucking his wings back in.

“Remember, demon: You were given everything you asked for, and now the Almighty can call in your debt at any time. Be ready.”

All I can do is wave my hand dismissively and wait for him to disappear in a tiny, contained flash of light. As if he was just looking to piss me off, a long, shimmering white feather drifts down and lands on the chair in front of me.

“Fuck off, you self-righteous twat,” I mutter, dropping it over the side of the balcony.

Once I’ve sucked down a bit more champagne to calm my nerves, I pick up the duffel bag and go back inside, then sit on the edge of the bed.

Theo and Ben are still wrapped up in each other’s arms, sweet and wonderful, safe, and all mine…

but also blessedly and blissfully unaware of what I had to sacrifice to get back to them.