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I get the feeling real angels wouldn’t perform human experimentation.
Maybe.
Diego laughs as I get closer, the scent of delicious food wafting over me.
“Still getting into trouble, I see,” he says.
“Always will,” I say. “Been a bit, Diego. Didn’t know you relocated after the raid.”
“Couldn’t exactly let my business go under,” he says. “‘Pull yourself up by your bootstraps’ and all that.”
“Yeah, I think we both know that’s bullshit,” I laugh. “Our angelic overlords don’t need bootstraps; they can fly.”
“Alright, well in that case, I’m here because people need to eat,” he says. “And on that note—what can I get for you?”
My eyes settle on the display behind him, which is full of mouthwatering food. Tamales line the metal shelves, wrapped in golden corn husks. “Chorizo,” I say, looking from Diego to the food. “I could smell it from all the way back in the tunnel.”
“Comin’ right up,” Diego grins. “And let me get you a stuffed poblano too…”
He turns around and starts to work at his griddle, and I slump to a seat on the stool at the counter. I use my enhanced senses to take in the sounds and smells of the black market, closing my eyes and breathing it all in. People chatter happily, laugh, and cry, all surrounded by the scent of Diego’s delicious food.
And then I smell the strangest thing.
It’s like wildflowers on a spring morning, morning dew on a blade of grass. When the scent hits my tongue, it tastes like bourbon, heady and intoxicating. My eyes snap open and I scan the crowd for the source of that delicious aroma, but it’s gone before I can find it, lost in the sea of milling refugees.
Omega, my wolf growls.
I shake off the thought, blowing out a breath—but it lingers anyway. My wolf is normally so quiet that I have a hard time keeping him out when he starts talking nonsense.
Diego brings me back to my senses, shoving a tin tray of food to clatter on the counter beside my elbow. I jerk my head toward him so fast that he jumps, stumbling a little.
“Damn, dude,” he says. “It never stops creeping me out when you do that.”
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Wolf thing.”
“Yeah, I get it,” he says. He puts out his hand. “Five dollars.”
I frown. “What?” I say. “You know I don’t have that kind of money.”
It’s a lie; I’m flush right now, having sold everything I owned to save up for this trip. And Diego seems to know that, giving me a smug smile.
“Hey, I’m a capitalist,” he shrugs. “Now pay up.”
I glare at him as I slide my hand into my pocket to grab my wallet, then yank out five bucks to toss on the counter.
“And here I thought we were pals,” I mutter.
Diego snorts as he throws the cash in a lockbox connected to his cart, looking at me over his shoulder.
“So are you going to tell me what youactuallywant?” he says. “Because I haven’t seen you in months, and I’m assuming you’re not just here for the tamales.”
I smirk. “Maybe I’m here for the company,” I say.
“Out with it, Elijah,” he says. “Or eat your food and shut up.”
I sigh, then lean forward on my elbows, picking up the offered fork in my right hand. “Fine,” I say. “I’m looking for someone to take me out of the city.”
His bushy brows shoot up toward his hairline. “Huh,” he says. “So you’re finally leaving town. Is this because of the news about another round of Blessings?”
