Page 65 of The Devil’s Feather

18

THE DEVIL’S CROSSROADS

Aloud, descending screech scared me right the fuck awake. Heart pounding, I flailed in the covers. A deep laugh, then a fiddle kicked up The Devil Went Down to Georgia⁠1. Tossing the duvet back revealed Rafael perched at the edge of the bed, shirtless and grinning like a demon, bow flying across the violin propped under his chin.

“You asshole!” I threw a pillow at him.

He dodged without missing a note and stood. God fucking dammit. I laughed and wiggled along—I couldn’t help myself. That song was catchy, no matter how annoying the player was.

When he finished, he took a dramatic bow, hair spilling forward over his shoulders in a red flood. “This is what you get for questioning my abilities.”

I kicked my feet with glee. “You win this round, Devil. That was amazing. Did you sleep at all?”

“No, but I showered. Come. Breakfast.”

Rafael steepled his hands and stared earnestly from across the table. “There is a fight coming up this Saturday.”

I lowered my half-eaten toast. “Can I come? I’d like to watch.”

“Hmm. I was only letting you know so when I show up bloody in the middle of the night, you will not be frightened.”

“It’s important to you, and I want to know every part of you; devil’s feathers and all.” I gave him my best puppy eyes. The idea of watching him truly unleash his all strength and ferocity did fun things to my body.

“This is not like the fights you have watched on TV. It is unlicensed and there are no judges. No winning by decision, only tap out or knockout. Very few rules except banning cheap shots. I have seen compound fractures, an eyeball knocked out of the socket, and one man died later in the hospital.” Rafael’s brow creased. “Possibly more than one, but I only know of him.” A certain inflection in his voice hinted he might have been the one responsible.

“Well, that makes me worried for you.”

“There are medics on hand. But Elaine, this is a very rough crowd. I cannot keep an eye on you while I am in the ring, and fights regularly break out in the audience.”

“I really want to go at least once. Please?” I pouted. “Do you have a cool fighter name like Rafael ‘the Red Dragon’ Nazim? You know, for the red hair and all.”

His nose wrinkled, and he did the hair swipe of embarrassment. “Absolutely not.”

I tapped the table, thinking. “What if I bring my friend, Ross? He loves to watch men fight. He’s a big guy, too. Tall and heavy. Complete cinnamon roll, but maybe people would be more likely to leave us alone if we were together?”

Rafael’s peaked brows rose. “How do you know this Ross?”

“Ross Mayhew, he’s a former coworker. He lives in East Bay now, and I haven’t seen him in a while.” I caught the glint in my composer’s eye. “Calm down, he’s gay. Like, femme, bottom, gold-star gay. Even if he wasn’t, he’s about as different from you as it’s possible to get. Definitely not my type, but you’re definitely his. Don’t be surprised if he calls you ‘Daddy’ all night.”

Unconvinced, Rafael’s lips thinned. “Is he able to keep you safe in a crowd full of bikers?”

“One time we were walking in the Mission and some dude near us yelled out ‘Hey!’ Ross screamed and threw his shopping bag. So, not exactly, but I think together we would be fine.”

Rafael rubbed his temples. “I am going to regret saying yes. I can feel it.”

Ross answered the phone by shrieking, “BIIIIITCH, where have you been? I talked to Annie the other day, and she said you ran off with some mysterious giant redhead. Tell me everything about the new dick!”

Rubbing my ears, with Rafael glaring daggers, I took my call to the library. Ross was indeed enthusiastic, both for watching men beat each other bloody and for meeting us for coffee the morning of the fight. We made plans to spend the day together catching up and go to the fight that evening.

When Rafael and I emerged from the elevator into Telve—which felt absurdly fancy—Zainab rushed out from behind the counter. She wore a dusky rose ensemble that made her look angelic. A waft of floral perfume tickled my nose.

“Mr. Nazim hasn’t chased you off yet! Ah, I worried when I didn’t see you again. You will have the rose latte today. That man won’t try anything flavored because he hates joy.”

“Good morning, Zainab,” Rafael said from behind me. “I see you do not want a tip today.”

“Oh, is this the mysterious lady?” An awkwardly skinny young man with a shock of black hair and medium brown skin emerged from the kitchen. He trotted over and stuck his hand out. “I’m Mehmet. Yusuf is here somewhere.”

“Probably slacking,” Zainab huffed.