“Come on, you fucker,” he snarls, dragging the mark toward the front doors.
Beckett looks over at Phoenix and me, and I realize I’m still being held by the languorous man.
“Um. You can put me down,” I say, squirming a little. I should’ve asked him to do that immediately. There was no reason for him to keep holding me.
Actually… why is he still holding me? Surely that’s extra work he doesn’t need to do.
He sets me down on my bare feet with surprising gentleness, then holds up the shoe he didn’t throw at the demon. “Do you want your shoe back?”
“Or this one?” Remington offers up my other shoe, but it’s all bloody now—and it’s corrupted blood too, which grosses me out.
I pull a face. “Nah. I think I’m okay.” I’ll just go barefoot. It’s how I was when I was Upstairs anyway.
“Everyone’s staring,” Phoenix notes. “Wouldja tone it down, you two?”
I look over at Remington and Beckett and realize their eyes are glowing faintly. Oh. Makes sense. Everyone around us is greedy for information, gluttonous for gossip.
Phoenix waves his hand like he’s a sleepy conductor, and the people around us start to sigh and turn back to their gambling. He’s made them too lazy to care about whatever scandal is happening around them.
No longer the object of everyone’s focus, the four of us head outside where Ford has the mark pinned in his grip. The guy is obviously badly injured, but he’s putting up quite a struggle.
“Don’t make me hurt you,” Ford growls, and I really shouldn’t find the rough timbre of his voice as attractive as I do. “I was around long before your soul was even fuckin’ born, never mind when it became fuckin’ corrupted. Keep this up, and we’ll see who the real power around here is.”
Our mark gives a harsh laugh. “You think you’re so tough. That you understand what true sin is. You are nothing, and you will fall before us just like all the rest.”
Then he does something odd. It’s like he’s… chewing gum? But as the guy bites down, I hear a strange cracking noise.
Remington’s eyes go wide, and he seems to recognize what’s going on. “Poison! Death potion capsule in his tooth! Stop him!”
Ford lunges, grabbing the man’s jaw tightly, forcing his mouth open, but it’s too late. I can see him swallowing, see the poison as it starts to eat away at his mouth.
Remington and Phoenix both cover my eyes. “Don’t look, Trin,” Remington says softly.
I want to tell them that I’m not a child, I don’t need to be protected—but at the same time, I really don’t want to see the violent, painful death happening right in front of me. And to be honest, I kind of enjoy the feeling of being protected by them. More than the way they’re blocking my sight, it’s the way they both move in close to stand on either side of me that provides the most comfort. The feel of their bodies surrounding me makes me feel small and safe, even though I remind myself not to get too attached.
“Well, great,” Ford snarls, and Remington and Phoenix remove their hands from my eyes as the demon’s choking noises fade into nothing. “We’re back at fucking square one.”
“Not exactly.” Beckett’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “We do still have his body. We can use that to help us figure out how to close the portal.”
My eyebrows shoot up. This is the first time I’ve ever heard of someone thinking a dead body might be useful.
“How?”
Beckett looks at me, his green eyes burning with determination. “A death witch.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Remington
One of the biggest downsides of having an exceedingly well-developed sense of taste and smell is that it makes being around dead bodies truly awful.
Although I’m not a violent person myself, I’m not opposed to violence or killing when it’s necessary. But I do truly detest how viscerally disgusting it all is.
This demon didn’t smell great when he was alive. Dead, he smells even worse.
Trinity found a glittery red face mask abandoned on one of the cocktail tables inside and insisted on putting it on the demon’s face before we smuggled him off of the casino’s property. She said it would be just like Weekend at Bernie’s, whatever that means. The thing looks truly ridiculous strapped to the face of the demon’s corpse, giving this whole thing a slightly comical bent as we shove the body into Beckett’s trunk.
It’s possible she was onto something though, since no one questioned or stopped us as we half-carried, half-dragged the demon’s body out of the greenhouse where the pegasi dropped us off. I’m sure the casino staff see more than their fair share of supernaturals who overindulged and can’t handle their liquor.
“Let’s go.” Beckett slams the trunk closed and walks around the car to slide into the driver’s seat.
Without even discussing it, Phoenix and Trinity and I crawl into the back seat. This has become our “usual” somehow, even though we’ve only known the angel for a short time. Ford sits up front, staring out the window as if he could eviscerate any car that gets in our way with the power of his glare alone.
“Wow.” Trinity’s voice is quiet and a bit shaky. I think everything is finally catching up to her. “That was. Wow.”
She’s still barefoot, and her dress got torn a little during her struggle with the demon. The slit rides up her thigh, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her smooth mocha skin.
Dragging my gaze away and trying to forget that earlier today I saw so much more of her than that, I rest a hand gently on her knee. “You did well back there, Trin. You’re a natural at this.”
I’m not sure if she’ll take that as a compliment or an insult, but I’m pleased when a small laugh bubbles out of her, and I feel her relax a little under my touch.
“Yeah. I think I’m ready for my starring role in the next James Bond film,” she says with a chuckle.
Phoenix snorts at that, and Trinity brightens a little more, clearly happy that someone finally appreciates one of her pop culture references.
I keep my hand on her knee, my thumb rubbing a soft pattern over her skin, and she sinks deeper into the seat, more tension draining out of her as she lets out a long breath.
She’s a strange creature, this angel. I like her.
It goes against every impulse inside me, an age-old distaste for all of her kind, but I like her.
Beckett and Ford are twisting themselves into knots as they struggle with their reactions to her, but I’m not in the habit of second-guessing everything I feel. Cooking is an art that relies on intuition and a deep connection to one’s cravings and desires, and I can’t deny that I desire the sweet, enigmatic creature sitting beside me.
She tasted divine when I kissed her earlier. Her lips were the kind of wine I could drink every single day, the kind I could gorge on and never be satisfied.
“Do you think this… this death witch will be able to help us?” she asks, dragging her gaze away from the road as Beck weaves aggressively through New York traffic.
“She should.” Nix shrugs. “Death magic is strong stuff.” He nudges the back of Beck’s seat. “You’ve met with this witch before?”