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I blink several times, staring but not seeing, not believing.
Cold sweat pools at the small of my back.
He can’t know. There’s no way.
I take several deep breaths, mind racing, thoughts splintering in a dozen different directions.
We were so careful.
My glamour is perfect. The seal on my power is rock solid.
How could he know?
Does everyone?
My stomach tightens with a wave of nausea. I chuck the covers back and run to the bathroom, grateful yet again that I don’t have to share it and I’m not about to puke in front of every seventh floor Pride girl.
The second my stomach empties, I feel infinitely better and set about cleaning myself up.
I have a call to make.
Mouth rinsed and teeth brushed, I fish my scrying mirror out from between the mattresses.
Scrying isn’t an angel-only practice, but the mirror could never pass for something from this plane.
The silverwork frame buzzes in my hands, recognizing me.
My green-tinged face disappears as blue flames dance across the mirrored surface.
A second later, Sera’s rounded rainbow gaze greets me.
“Hey! How’s the mortal—Oh, shit. What happened?”
I can’t even say it. I just hold up the tablet.
“Oh shit. Oh fuck, fuck! OK, listen, it’s probably not?—”
I interrupt, whisper-yelling. “He literally called me angel! That’s not a coincidence, Sera. He has to know!”
She shakes her head. “You’ve gotta pull yourself together, bitch. OK? It’s a nickname. An uncommon one, but a nickname all the same.”
Tears well, my throat goes hard. This can’t be it. I can’t have failed already.
“Dove! Look at me. It’s a stupid nickname he heard somewhere. OK?”
I shake my head.
“Dove, he’s a demon. If he knew, don’t you think he’d be banging down your door to rub it in your face? He’d have already performed a perversion of the Rites and taken your power, babes.”
I sniff, wanting to believe her. “But isn’t it more fun to play with your food before eating it? What if that’s what he’s doing? Dangling it over my head because he likes the smell of fear or whatever?”
Sera sighs. “You watch too many mortal plane crime dramas.” She pulls a hand over her face. “Hey! What was that show with a green singing demon? Didn’t he call the main guy angelcakes all the time?”
“Well, yes, but the main guy’s namewasAngel.”
“It’s a nickname. Nothing more. We were too careful, Dove. Your demon likely picked it up somewhere. There’s no way he could know. We were meticulous with the magic for both the long-term glamour and the ward.
“But if you want to be sure…”
