Page 17 of Nazab

“Times are hard, but we’re not that desperate,” the female said. “We can give you some supplies, but you can’t stay here. We’ve already got enough mouths to feed.”

“We don’t even know this girl!” another man with a black soul snarled. “Why should we give her any of our food and water?”

“I can trade for it,” Monica offered. She’d lowered her hands and put them on her hips.

“By spreading your legs?” the male said with a sneer. Nazab readied himself to sprint forward and skewer the vile human.

“I was thinking more along the lines of cutting everyone’s hair,” the cambion said wryly.

“You’re a hairdresser?” a woman asked in a hopeful tone. “A real one?”

“I worked in one of the expensive salons in Manhattan,” Monica said proudly. “Does this town have a salon or a barber shop?”

“Yeah, come with us,” the female responded, grabbing her hand and tugging her into motion. “We’ve got a barber shop.”

“We’ll give you everything you need if you can fix our hair,” another woman whispered as females surrounded them.

“I don’t need much,” Monica said. “A few changes of clothes and a bit of food will be great. It will take a few hours to cut everyone’s hair,” she said, looking directly at the electronics store where Nazab was lurking. He knew that message was meant for him. His female had just given him the opportunity he needed to search the town for a ham radio. Chuckling beneath his breath at how resourceful she was, he left the shop through the back door.

Grabbing the gear he’d left in the shrubs, Nazab hurried away and began systematically working his way through every house and building. He found duffle bags and transferred his stolen goods into them before continuing his mission.

Chapter Thirteen

––––––––

MONICA BREATHED A QUIET sigh of relief when she felt Nazab heading away from the electronics store. She’d thought she was screwed when she’d suddenly started sneezing. Her heart had been in her throat as she’d talked her way into making a trade. She’d only been joking when she’d suggested this scenario to her knight. Now she was about to act it out.

Realizing she’d just claimed the alien as hers, she mentally kicked herself. It would be a mistake to think he could become her boyfriend. She had to protect herself and keep her walls in place so her heart didn’t get broken. The Mad Prophet would set them straight, or so she hoped. Maybe she’d been intended for one of his brothers, but something had gone wrong. Or maybe she was just kidding herself. She would have been their enemy if her soul wasn’t gray.

Mind whirling with confusion, Monica followed the excited ladies to the only barber shop in town. “Who’s been cutting your hair?” she asked as they filed into the room.

“I have,” an older woman said ruefully, raising her hand. “I know I’ve done a terrible job, but we all needed a trim,” she said with a grimace.

“You butchered our hair,” another woman said with a glare. “It isn’t a trim when you hack ten inches off!”

Monica forced back a snicker at their scowls. “Short hair is hot right now,” she lied. “Everyone was asking for bobs and chin-length styles just before the Rapture.”

“Really?” a young woman about her age asked. “I’ve always preferred to keep my hair long, but it’s too hard to look after now that we don’t have a hairdresser in a nearby town anymore.”

The cambion nodded in understanding. “I’m Monica,” she said and her clients all introduced themselves in return. “I’ll need a container of water, some coffee if you have any and some snacks a bit later. There are five chairs, so take a seat and I’ll start working my way through all of you as soon as I have what I need.”

Her cheerful, yet professional tone was enough to get the women moving. Two hurried off to retrieve the items she’d asked for. One returned with a thermos of hot coffee. “I’ve got a gas stove and I still have some propane left,” she said. “I’ve been saving coffee for emergencies.”

“Bless your kind heart,” Monica said, taking the lid off to inhale the scent. “This will definitely help.”

The other woman returned carrying a large round container of water, struggling with the weight. Someone helped her carry it inside and put it on a trolley with wheels.

“Nice work, ladies,” Monica said with a grin. She’d sorted through the equipment and had gathered everything she needed. “Let’s get started,” she added, then got to work.

Monica was used to listening to her clients talk about their problems while she worked on their hair. She’d finished her apprenticeship when she’d been nineteen and had five years of experience behind her before the apocalypse had struck. She’d kept her skills honed on Wallace and his crew after she’d joined them. Her twenty-fifth birthday had been a few months ago. She’d celebrated the day alone, getting half-drunk on a bottle of champagne she’d been saving for the occasion.

“Have you heard of the Mad Prophet?” one of the women asked a couple of hours later.

“Sure,” Monica said, spraying water onto her client’s greasy hair. She didn’t have time to wash everyone’s hair, but she could at least wet it down. “Some people in my apartment building had a ham radio,” she said.

“We’ve got a couple of them,” the woman gossiped. “He sounds completely nuts when he talks about red-eyed aliens running around in Manhattan.”

“I thought he was crazy, too, until I saw some of them for myself,” Monica said.