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“Nephilim. Yes, you. Don’t waste all that sweat.” He gestured towards a patch of particularly limp-looking flowers in a corner. “Squeeze your shirt out over that flowerbed, would you? The irises respond really well to angel tears. I wonder if angel sweat would do the same trick.”
I squinted suspiciously at Belphegor, never saying a word, and his face never changed in expression, but the challenging smile was clear in his eyes. He was daring me to say something. Carefully, very carefully, I slipped my sweaty shirt into a plastic bag, then tucked it back among my belongings.
Belphegor shrugged. “Suit yourself. I can always juice the next angel that comes along.”
12
Darkness was falling over Valero, a cooler breeze blowing through streets filled with honking cars, their windows down as clipped cellphone conversations and spitfire hip-hop lyrics streamed from within. It was early evening in California. Things were winding down, and if I drank beers at all, this would have been the perfect time to crack one open. Heck, my guard was down, too, and I actually shook my head at Florian when he kept walking down the main street on the way back to the Nicola Arboretum.
“We can take a side road. Down one of these alleys. We’ll cut through and get home in no time.”
Famous last words. Florian nodded, then ambled along with me, too tired to protest. I could see it on his face, feel it in my bones. We just wanted to take quick showers and fall into our respective beds. I might not have liked Belphegor very much, but there’s nothing like the pleasurable ache your body feels after a good, long day of honest work – as honest as services rendered for a demon prince can be, of course.
A bunch of men appeared in the alley just as we turned into the very side street I suggested, like a reminder from the universe that one really shouldn’t take shortcuts through dark alleys when one isn’t looking for a mugging, or a beating. I squinted as I focused on the interlopers, and I clenched my teeth in preemptive irritation.
Angels. Five of them. The four larger ones in the back looked very much like the bodyguards that Sadriel, the angel of order, liked to drag around. The one front and center was new to me, though. He had the build, blond buzz cut, and squared jaw of a college quarterback, with all of the smugness to boot.
I turned on my feet, noticing that Florian did so, too, the two of us checking behind us, farther down the alley, to see if our escape route had been blocked off. The way out was sealed, naturally, barred by another rank of large, muscular angels.
As for how I knew they were angels, maybe it was the same with how dogs recognized each other by their scent. It could be the same for angels and half angels like me. One easy sign, I suppose, was the odd imperfect perfection of their faces, like they were sculpted by someone who had a good idea of what a human being should look like, but was just far, far too good at their job. Every wrinkle and freckle was too perfectly placed, too geometric, almost robotic.
They also had this almost uniform aura of smugness, how each of them so unsubtly wore an expression of self-satisfaction. The phrase “holier than thou” must have come from someone’s assessment of what an angel’s face looked like in neutral gear. Resting bastard face.
“Halt,” said the blond one, holding up his hand, palm out, like a traffic cop.
I groaned, probably at the top of my voice, my head lolling back so far that my neck could have snapped right then and there. “Can we not do this today? Please. Whoever you are.”
Blondie wasn’t expecting that. He gaped and gawped, unsure of what to say. His goons watched wordlessly, forearms like thick Christmas hams folded across their chests. I barreled on, emboldened by the silence.
“Listen, buddy. I’m stinky, and tired, and super vascular from a whole day of manual labor. Check this out, asshole, I’m ripped.”
Florian nudged me in the ribs. “Dude, why are you talking like this? Stop flexing your biceps, it’s embarrassing.”
“I dunno. Hormones. Adrenaline.” I flexed harder, then pointed a crooked, threatening finger in the main angel’s face. “Listen, sweet cheeks. I’m being serious here. I will pile-drive your feathery ass into next Tuesday. You leave us alone or so help me, I will put a crater in the asphalt in the shape of your stupid face.”
Blondie bristled at that, standing taller, his eyes darkening with offense. “We’re only here because we know you’re in cahoots with Belphegor. You came from one of the prime infernal realms. I literally saw you use a portal to hell.”
I stumbled towards him, drunk with arrogance, then stabbed my finger across the invisible line I drew from the tip of my nail to his forehead. “Buddy, your face is a portal to hell.”
He gasped, then groped at his jawline, clearly offended.
“Mace, settle the fuck down,” Florian muttered. “We don’t know who these people are or what they want, and you’re not making things easier by taunting them.”
And Florian had a fair point, too. It wasn’t exactly our style to shoot first and ask questions later. But technically, no one was doing any shooting here. I was just really, really tired of being followed around by supernaturals all the time, and knowing that I was so painfully close to attaining the ethereal invisibility I’d been wanting for so long just chapped my ass even more.
“Fine.” I cracked my knuckles, arched my back, and rotated my right arm in its socket, because this conversation was clearly going to end in one of two ways. “Yes, you caught us bare-assed and red-handed. We’re working for Belphegor. Big fucking deal. We’re doing him a favor, that’s all. And I’m really sick of you angels lording yourselves all over me. I’m not an angel, okay? I’m barely even half of one. Your dumb rules shouldn’t apply to me.”
“They literally do,” Blondie said.
“That’s not how you use literally!”
I yelped when Florian’s fingers bit into my upper arm. “Will. You. Stop. Antagonizing.”
“That hurt,” I grumbled, ripping myself away from Florian and clutching at my arm. I turned to Blondie, the pout still glued to my mouth. “Who the hell sent you, anyway? It’s always Sadriel who shows up to accost us. Bring back Sadriel. She was cooler.”
Florian slapped himself in the forehead.
Blondie brought himself up to his full height, his eyes piercing into me even more harshly as he stared me down. “Sadriel has been removed from your case.”
