Page 5

Azrael

If there was such a thing as The Guinness Book of Heavenly Records, this would be listed as a winner under Terrible Ideas.

His offer was damn near impossible to refuse, and why wouldn't it be? I'm under the influence of that goddamned arrow. On a normal day, it would be hard enough to say no. I mean, this giant, gorgeous man wants to spend time with me, with the promise of complete privacy?

File that under fuck yes, I'll take two.

Any other time, I would've already struggled to say no, but now? With that magic coursing through my veins? There's no way anything but an enthusiastic agreement was going to come from my mouth. Especially when that heartbreakingly buried bisexual side of his spectrum just came alive, waking up from its repressed nap. It was only a smidgen, the tiniest little shift, but it happened when he was looking at me .

For once in my life, I feel a hundred feet tall... and it lasts exactly twenty-five seconds.

Beau leads the way to the register when there’s a tap on my shoulder. I turn around, and before I can react, a chalky explosion of white dust detonates.

“What the hell?” I gasp, squeezing my eyes closed and waving my hands in front of me to keep the powder from further invading my nose.

Flour coats my skin and clothes, clinging to every inch as Delilah stands there, a mask of fake surprise plastered across her face. Her eyes are wide and her mouth agape in an exaggerated show of shock that doesn’t fool a soul.

“Oh, honey !” she cries in a show of dramatics, smacking my cheek as she pretends to wipe away the mess. “I am so sorry! That bag of flour must’ve been ripped!”

Beau storms over, deep blue eyes raking over my frame before he attempts to dust me off. “There’s no point,” I whine, horrified when tears form precarious little puddles in my eyes, on the verge of spilling. “Flour is all the way between my toes.”

“You did that on purpose!” Beau's voice rises into an angry bellow I didn't think his kind soul was capable of.Delilah flinches, not expecting it either, then puts an affronted hand over her heart.

“Why, of course I didn’t—”

“Save it,” he barks, narrowing his eyes before deciding that ignoring her is the best bet. His entire demeanor softens as he returns to me. “Come on, darlin’. Let’s get out of here so you can get clean.”

“That's, um... I don't think... don't think I should.” Shame catapults me back to the harsh reality of my awkwardness. Beau made me temporarily forget who I am, how I am, and I'm horrified as my near-silent voice trembles. “Th-thank you for everything, but I’ll just go home. Your car will just get filthy, and I’m just… yeah.” Unbidden, a tear slips from my eye, cutting a channel through the flour on my face that turns into a trail of gummy dough. People are starting to stare, and I stand out worse than I already did.

I back away and stumble, flour forming a fresh cloud around me, another reminder of my clumsiness that puts me back in my place, and I suddenly feel even smaller. Beau reaches to steady me as more tears carve rivulets into the powder coating my cheeks.

Delilah just snorts.

“Come on,” he says, voice infinitely gentle as he steps closer, using his t-shirt to swipe at my face. It gives me a view of his pale stomach underneath, covered in a dark layer of coarse hair. “Let me help, Az. You don’t have to do it alone.”

“You’ll get dirty,” I object, trying to pull away, but he holds tight.

“True, but if I bake a cake with no supervision, I’ll get even dirtier,” he argues, and against every ounce of my self-preservation, I let myself be convinced. I let myself believe that he can somehow magically make it all okay.

My small, tentative smile makes his entire face brighten. “Come on, short stack,” he says, tossing her insult back at me and making it sound honey-sweet.

Flour stamps onto his clothing as he tosses an arm around me, steering us towards the registers. Everyone stares, but he doesn’t seem to mind, waving to a few people and shouting a greeting to a woman a few aisles away. She’s perplexed, undoubtedly because of the Casper walking beside him, but gives him a perfunctory flutter of her fingers. Beau chats with everyone as he pays for his groceries, voice louder than it has been this whole time.

He’s taking the attention off me, and the gesture touches me more than it should. The rich, woody scent of him surrounds me as he tucks me into his side. It's a heady perfume, outdoorsy and warm, and it makes me want to bury my nose in his chest.

It’s just the arrow , I tell myself, but I know these feelings aren’t artificial. Boosted, sure. Amplified, but not fake.

For the first time since I took over this position, and after four nights of zero sleep, I feel safe and protected.

What’s the harm in taking an afternoon to myself?

Beau’s truck.

That’s… the entire thought.

Beau’s truck.

East Tennessee has a unique way of being terrible for the environment, and it presents as jacked-up, gas-guzzling trucks, either with the muffler sawed off or a double intake installed aftermarket.

Sometimes both.

Honestly, I’m surprised there are no dog cages strapped into the bed, but it’s not deer season, after all. The grocery bags crinkle as he sits them in the back, then offers me a hand. My eyes boomerang between his hand and the entire stepladder needed to make it in the truck.

“There’s going to be flour covering your leather seats.”

“Let me explain something, Az. A true southern gentleman won’t leave someone stranded. Now, you might not know me, but trust when I say I don’t mind getting a little dirty.” That twang shouldn’t turn everything he says twice as sweet, but his voice, with its slow, deliberate drawl, is like liquid sugar. He drips with more sweetness than his momma’s sweet tea.

And the way dirty just rolls from his lips.

In the local dialect, I’d say… Lawd, have mercy.

Cringing inwardly at the flour-caked, clammy texture of my hand in his, I let him help me into the truck, but he either doesn’t notice my nerves or he’s too polite to point them out. Once he makes sure I’m settled, he climbs in with far more grace than me.

Which is ironic, seeing as I’m a celestial being.

“So, what brings you into town?” The deep roar of the engine shakes the floorboard beneath my feet, and he shoots me an adorable smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Sorry, she’s loud.”

“Your truck is a ‘she?’”

“All vehicles are women!” Even knowing how ridiculous I look right now, I hike a flour-coated sarcastic eyebrow, a few stray white particles snowing from my eyelashes.

“Hmm… if you say so, but if you ask me? Big, beefy, and loud? Takes up way too much space? Sweetheart, if this truck had legs, it would be manspreading in every chair in town.”

A hearty, booming laugh explodes out of him, the sound so delighted that it makes me giggle along with him. “Yeah…” he says between chuckles, scratching at his beard. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“Now, if you like your women to be Amazonian tall and rumbly, I’m not one to judge you for that. Although... there's a question I have to ask, and I need you to know up front that I'll be judging your answer.”

“Oh? I'm not sure if I'm excited or terrified.” Still grinning, he glances at me from the corner of his eye.

“Please tell me you don’t have those metal balls hanging from the hitch? Because, if so… just pull over and let me out. My reputation couldn’t take the hit at this point.”

He laughs louder, and I’m grinning from ear to ear, immensely pleased with myself. “No truck nuts,” he confirms, and I make a dramatic show of my relief. “You never said what you were doing in town.”

My absolute shitshow of a poker face means my eyes are as wide as plates as I cough. “Oh, um, Tourette’s,” I blurt, and his brows slam together. “My, uh, cousin has Tourette syndrome and, er, needed help getting her house? Ready? For the physical therapy.”

“They have physical therapy for Tourette’s?”

“Oh yeah, lots of… um, mouth exercises and… stretching.”

“Mouth… exercises?”

“Yeah, to help… control… the… oh, wow, look at the trees!” Far too loud, I point as I try to distract him.

Amusement and confusion warp his smile into something strained as he scratches his chin. “That’s… yep, that’s the woods, and they all kinda look the same.”

“There aren’t a lot of woods where I come from.” Absently, I stare off into the endless green as he turns onto a gravel road.

“Where’s that?”

“Hmm?”

“Where are you from?”

“Oh, uh… north. Way, way north.” Pretty much as far north as one could get, if we’re pointing straight up into the sky.

“And no forests? Last time I visited my aunt in Maine, there were trees everywhere.” God, leaving with him was such a terrible idea. I need a full week to develop a cover story that makes any sense.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right, just not where I am… is this you?” The car slows as he taps the brakes, and I’m relieved as he pulls into a long driveway. In the heart of the trees, a cabin-style house stands alone, the treated wood a stark contrast to the vibrant green surrounding it. “Wow, you’ve got a lot of land.”

“A few acres,” he says with a shrug. “Around here, it’s not that much, but it gives me privacy.”

Flour stamps a print of my face on the glass as I shove it against the window. “Are those… goats?!” Large animals with floppy ears prance behind a fence, most of them covered in spots.

“Nubians,” he says, and I can hear his grin.

“Can I pet them?”

Another quiet laugh leaves him, a deep, rumbling baritone of a sound. “Let’s get you cleaned up first or they might try to chew on you.”

“Do goats really eat everything?” I ask as we unbuckle. He levels me with a stare, darting his eyes between mine and the seat, and somehow, I understand he's commanding me to stay put. I wait for him to walk around and help me from his beast of a truck.

“No, that’s a myth. They are picky divas that won’t even eat hay unless I get them the kind they prefer.” He steers me away from the creatures, who watch me with their weird rectangle pupils while they chew their cud, cheeks full as their jaws swish side-to-side.

Inside, everything smells like Beau, and I almost expire on the spot when he puts his hand on the small of my back, leading me into his living room. “Things are, uh, a little messy,” he says, his fingers combing through his hair and leaving it wild. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company.”

“It’s fine, I swear.” The house certainly isn’t dirty,but for a clean freak like me, the stuff thrown everywhere makes me a little twitchy. Blankets, a giant hoodie that might as well be a blanket, a pile of shoes and boots by the front door. Random mail is strewn across the table, and a box of cereal sits on the counter.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone over,” he mumbles, and is that a blush on his cheeks?! His beard makes it hard to tell, but I’m positive big burly Beau is flushing up a storm.

“Handsome guy like you?” I tease, reaching to poke him in the chest when I remember I’m covered in flour, and I cringe, dropping my hand.

Uncaring how dirty I am, he nudges me with his shoulder. “Let me show you the shower. Get cleaned up, and I’ll leave clothes for you to wear while we wash those.”

His clothes?

My eyes rake up his brawny frame, a full eight inches taller than me and much wider. “Okay,” I happily agree, and he shows me the bathroom, then pats the doorframe and shoots me one more smile before he leaves me to shower.

As soon as the knob clicks closed, the tug of a summons hits my gut. “Shit!” I mutter, pacing on the stone tile. My gaze drifts to the door as I weigh my options.

The first is the most obvious—I can ignore it. My role as The Cupid doesn’t require me to answer every call. But … and this is a big but… I’m admittedly lazy. If I get into the habit of ignoring them, how fast will it spiral? I want to be good at this, not known as the idiot who ruined love for humankind.

Dramatic? Perhaps, but it doesn’t lessen the concern in my anxious mind.

Water plunks against the bottom of the clawfoot tub as I twist on the tap. Of course a man like this… with a house like this… would have a tub like this. It’s not an antique, though, because it’s twice the size of any I’ve ever seen. A small grin sneaks onto my face as I realize he likely had it custom made to fit his stature.

Seems big boy Beau likes his bubble baths.

A soft knock taps against the door. “Hey, Az, clothes are right outside. Take as much time as you need.”

“Okay, thanks,” I call back, and heave a resigned sigh as the summons nudges me again.

There’s no reason I can’t make a quick detour.

Steam rises from the tub as I draw on my magic, leaving the homey comfort of Beau’s bathroom. Black suits and dark dresses surround me as I arrive smack dab in the center of a large crowd. It takes a moment for them to notice me, but the first blood-curdling scream makes me realize something is horrifically wrong.

Another piercing scream shatters my eardrums, then another, and another, until chaos engulfs the room. Panic erupts as people shriek, pointing with shaking fingers, while some collapse to the floor, wailing and sobbing. Others flee, wedging into a useless, wiggling heap in the doorframe. They're all unwilling to be the first to back up and let someone else exit, so instead, they're trapped.

“? Fantasma !” a man screeches, right as the crowd parts and I see it.

The casket.

Surrounded by flowers and an enormous portrait of a guy who looks…

Huh.

Well, he looks a lot like me, to be honest. His curls are looser, and his skin is lighter than mine, more of a golden brown than a mocha, but I’m also…

Fuck. Covered in flour.

I glance down at my white, powdery body and sigh. Really, fate?

Prayers in rapid-fire Spanish spew from a short woman whose hair is more gray than black, and a cross is thrust into my face. “Go, Rafael!” she pleads, the beads of her crucifix rattling. “Go to Heaven where Papa Alfonso waits for you!”

“Oh, my goodness… no, no,” I say, holding my hands up as I try to calm her. “Oh, mercy. Funny story, this is a huge misunderstanding… I’m not going to Heaven, I’m…”

“?Dios mío!” Pale-faced, a younger woman bursts into tears, clutching at her heart. “No Heaven?! Rafael is going to hell! His soul is damned!” Multiple wails form a chorus around me, and somehow, my eyes get even wider.

“Not his soul!”

“How did this happen ?”

“No, no, no, not sweet Rafael! He will not last in the Devil’s clutches!”

“He does not deserve Hell!”

“Eternal damnation, all for loving another man!” Shoulders quaking,a man sobs into his hands as everyone in the room freezes. Earsplitting silence descends as he bawls. Loudly , with lots of wet sniffles and choked cries.

Call it instinct, but I’m guessing he’s that other man.

And every eye… every single eye in the parlor fixes on him, while I stand here, completely forgotten.

Can’t pretend I’m mad about it, though.

“What did you say, Frederico?” The older woman’s voice cracks as she stares, breaking the mile-thick tension. “Rafael loved… a… a man !?” The wails start fresh, heavier and more desperate now, and my shock subsides enough for impatience to take its place.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I groan under my breath, “why does this shit always happen to me?”

The tug in my gut forces my eyes to the couple that caused my summons. They crouch together in the corner, cuddled and holding hands while casting incredulous looks at the dramatics of their families.

They’ll be just fine.

Trauma bonding and all that.

“How could you lead him into a life of sin?! ” Hot tears stream down a man’s face as he openly weeps, slumped against the wall, and I am utterly done with this room of drama queens.

“There is nothing wrong with loving a man!” My wings snap out as I bellow, stretched to their full span as I snarl at the group of weeping faces. “Every single one of you can stop judging right now. Going to Hell for being gay, can you imagine ?!”

The Big Man Upstairs would have a fit if he knew humans were spouting this nonsense… especially since he’s been known to entertain the occasional male visitor himself. “Rafael is… er, I am bound for Heaven. Straight upstairs to the pearly gates. Frederico?”

“Yes, mi amor?!” Bloodshot eyes meet mine, and my irritation makes room for sympathy as he stares with complete adoration.

“Enjoy your life, and I’ll be waiting for you there, mi, uh, mi amor.” My Spanish is atrocious , but they’re too preoccupied by the wings to notice my terrible accent. Frederico’s soul shines at me from inside him, brighter than most of the others in this room. “Move on with your life, find love, and be happy. Never feel guilty about it, okay? You deserve a good life. And for the love of God, get away from my judgmental family.”

“O-Okay, my love… my Rafael… I promise.”

With that, before anyone can think to pull a phone out and start recording, I return to Beau’s bathroom, tucking my wings away mid-teleport so I don’t make an even bigger mess.