“And you shall be,” Bel’aliol said as the crowd surged, screaming. Most ran from the explosion, while a few brave souls scrambled toward Brad to try to help.
The angel shrugged back the coat draped over his shoulders so the edges flared like wings. He raised his hands. Bel’aliol visibly braced himself. Morgan scrambled backward, grabbing the front of Luke’s shirt to drag him with her. Everything here was made of foamboard and fabric. Even ducking behind a wall wouldn’t save them. All she could think of was to get them as far away as possible before the angel did whatever he was going to do.
He raised his hands a little higher. And then paused. A flash of confusion creased his brow. He cocked his head.
“The echoes have ceased.”
Bel’aliol slowly straightened, but seemed disinclined to answer. The angel’s gaze swept across them, leaving an almost palpable trail of heat. Brad lay motionless and would be no more use in death than in life. What would the angel do if no one answered?
“The echoes are the same… stuff… that was upsetting our seers?” Morgan said, scrambling to her feet. The angel narrowed his eyes and nodded once. What could she say with both the angel and Bel’aliol staring at her? She tried very hard to concentrate on how much she wanted the angel to go away and also how much she didn’t want cholera. “Well, the thing that might have caused them turned out to not work. So. Ah. You can go away now.”
Instead of going away, the angel took a step forward. “I had thought to render aid.”
“It’s OK, I got this,” Morgan said quickly.
He stared at her, his eyes lit from behind in a way that would have looked sexy on screen but in person was deeply unnerving. “You have no magic, mortal.”
“Well. Not everything needs magic.”
Luke made it to his feet and to her side. He put a hand on her shoulder.
“But,” the angel started to say and then faltered. He glanced down at his bags of swag, seemingly noticing them for the first time, and then looked back up at her with a faint air of bewilderment. “Then what am I supposed to do?” She glanced around, hoping most of the humans had fled to safety if this was about to turn into a fight. The angel’s gaze followed hers. Kelly was in her bare feet, her stilettos abandoned. She clutched the leg of a smashed bar stool with watchful intent. Carter crouched behind her, his forehead bleeding. Josh knelt, holding a free t-shirt wadded into a ball against Carter’s head.
“Go home?” she suggested.
“Without smiting anyone? At all?” No toddler deprived of a longed-for treat had ever been so mournful.
Morgan could think of any number of people who deserved smiting, but none of them were within sight. Not even Ronaldo, who was surreptitiously trying to take a selfie that included the angel in the frame. “I think we’re good on the smiting this time, really. Thanks.”
The angel looked crestfallen. Then he brightened. For a moment, Morgan feared he might smite someone just to meet his quota. For if demons had quotas, who was to say that angels were not the same?
Justin slowly held out a trembling arm. “Cake pop, bro?”
The angel paused. Farther down the row, a medical team was running toward them, pushing a gurney. They had to fight their way through the panicked, fleeing businesspeople. The folks who had stayed put had their cameras out, filming.
The angel turned, seemingly aware of his audience for the first time. He waved a hand and people dropped devices, their batteries abruptly overheating. “See that it doesn’t happen again.”
With that, he disappeared, leaving a faint trace of glitter. The cake pop disappeared with him.
Angel no longer an issue, Bel’aliol turned Morgan and Luke. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
She looked up around at the crowd. Vesper stood forlorn. Fiona was gingerly extricating herself from the wreckage. Morgan had a sudden flash of inspiration. “I still have ten minutes. Can I just say goodbye?”
He snorted with ill grace, but took a few steps back. Rix, bless his overly friendly heart, jumped up to try to lick the demon’s face. Bel’aliol attempted to maintain a semblance of dignity as he commanded Rix to sit. Rix did not sit. Stavrula, phone clutched against her head, tried to grab Rix’s collar while continuing to dictate the story.
Morgan took advantage of the distraction. “Excuse me, Mr. Vesper?”
He turned. “Bernie to you, my dear.”
“Bernie,” she said, trying to smile winsomely. “Would you like to pay back my mother’s favor? The big one?”
“Why, certainly. What can I do for you?”
“How would you like your heart’s desire?”
For a moment, she was afraid he wasn’t actually brightenough to see where she was going with this, but then his eyes lit up.
“Contract boy,” Vesper snapped at Luke. “I need a contract.”
