Three Wishes (3 page)

The two laughed and made broad hand gestures, and then the waiter left, still smiling and shaking his head as if at a good joke. Weren’t demons supposed to strike fear into the hearts of humans? He should have snarled at the waiter, castigated the man, and left him trembling, and begging for his life. Instead, the waiter was at ease with the demon, chatting with him as if they were old friends.

For the next half hour, Asta did nothing more than watch the demon sip the endless stream of margaritas served in gigantic salt-rimmed glasses. What was the appeal of alcohol? What was the appeal of the hundreds of other beverages besides coffee? She’d always been so tempted to try and see but, up until today, had held firm to her purity standards. Flying was enough of an infraction without succumbing to the temptations of food and drink. But now... one week was all she had left. If she spent all eternity in Aaru without ever tasting a margarita, she’d regret it. Some food and drink wouldn’t violate more than basic purity standards. Other Grigori did it. Gate guardians did it all the time. She’d be forgiven.

Besides, the demon made it look... desirable. He’d take a sip, lick the salt off his upper lip then lean back into his chair with a satisfied smile. He was just enjoying a beverage. There was nothing particularly demonic about that.

Again she wavered. She could let him go, maybe give him a warning. Then he’d be someone else’s problem. He’d broken the treaty—a treaty that was written after a war she was too young to remember. And judging by his energy signature, this demon was too young to have been in the war. These were rules neither of them had any input into, rules that Asta wasn’t sure she agreed with. Angels were taught to obey, to respect the wisdom of their elders, to follow the rules, but these rules seemed so... arbitrary. This demon hadn’t done anything wrong. Why did he deserve death for a deal made by angels and their adversaries nearly three-million years ago?

It would surely come back to bite her, but Asta couldn’t continue to deliver preemptive justice. If he were like the other demons, she’d have another chance to kill him. Until then, she had to live with her own conscience, no matter how different her ethics might be from the other angels.

A warning. She’d scare the hellfire out of him with a stern warning then let him go.

Chapter 3

D
ar smiled benignly down at his third margarita. What the fuck was that angel thinking about? He’d given her plenty of opportunity to swoop in and attack, but she’d followed him around the city like a winged stalker. He’d even taunted her right outside the bakery, and all she’d done was look at him with those big brown eyes, her sensuous lips parted as she stared. Fuck, she was gorgeous—far more beautiful than any of the humans he’d known. Far more than any of the demons either. Those legs, that warm-brown skin, the sultry eyes and pouty lips—shit, it was all he could do to keep from jumping her in the street and dragging her off to bed.

The only thing holding him back was the fact that she’d probably kill him. Angels—they weren’t exactly beings that a demon wanted to mess with. Most encounters between the two wound up with the demon dead. But there were exceptions. His sister was banging an angel. He’d love to follow her example, especially if the angel in question was this one following him all over the city.

And now she watched him from just ten feet away. He’d been so sloppy with his energy that probably every angel in a thousand miles had sensed him. Why hadn’t she attacked? What was she waiting for?

Too many humans nearby? Angels had the ability to entrance and alter memories, but maybe she was worried about them being killed in the crossfire. He’d not been up close and personal with many angels, but from what he’d been told, they weren’t opposed to a few bystander fatalities in the pursuit of the greater good. This one could be different. This one might care about human diners being killed in an altercation.

Dar downed his drink, throwing some cash on the table as he rose. Walking out of the restaurant, he paused, looking casually up and down the street. Yes, she was still there, staring at him in a rather disconcerting fashion. With a grin, Dar turned toward her, whistling softly as he walked. Her head swiveled, eyes tracking him as he passed. He felt her gaze on his back as he ducked into a side alley and behind an Asian bistro.

***

One, two, three, four... .

Timing was everything, and she wanted to make sure she truly put the fear of all creation into this demon. What kind of idiot walks right past an angel without even flinching? Her heart had nearly stopped as he’d turned toward her, but he’d not even broken stride. Cocky bast— mongrel. Cocky mongrel. How dare he?

He dared because you’ve been trailing after him like a weak cherub, barely able to fly. It wasn’t her best night. She hadn’t been particularly angelic this evening. Time to rectify that—well, partially rectify that. She’d scare this guy, put some respect into his eyes, then get him out of her territory where he could become someone else’s problem.

The demon was behind a building. With a blur of speed, Asta ran around the corner ready to pounce and nearly collided with a huge garbage dumpster. It took up over half the alleyway, and the smells wafting from it were a far cry from the tantalizing ginger and curry the diners inside were enjoying. Black trash bags were stacked against the full container, but there was no demon in sight. Asta tilted her head, listening intently. The song of his energy still rang strong. He was here... somewhere.

Well, there are his clothes, at least. She stared down at the neatly folded suit and shirt, carefully placed on the cleanest section of an upright pallet. Why did he take his clothes off? Was there a reason he’d decided to run around naked? Perhaps he’d known there was a fight coming and hadn’t wanted to risk the nice suit. That was a motivation she could completely understand.

The light over the steel door leading to the kitchen flickered and went black, plunging the alley into darkness. The surge of demon energy that short circuited the light confirmed his presence.

Two can play this game
. Asta formed a fist and one by one opened her fingers to reveal a globe of light. It wasn’t quite as strong as the streetlights, but it lit the recesses of the alleyway far better than the doorway light had. He was here somewhere. In with the garbage? Asta couldn’t help but smile. It was a good thing he’d taken his suit off. Would have been a shame to ruin it with leftover Hunan sauce.

Climbing up the side rails of the garbage bin, the angel peered inside. He wasn’t sprawled out on top of the trash, which meant her next move was to grab garbage bags and pitch them over the side. The thought gave her pause. She was wearing linen pants and a silk shirt. If any of these bags leaked, her outfit would be ruined.

Maybe she should take her clothes off too. She giggled. An angel and a demon brawling naked in an alley? No. Just no. Although, she did really like these pants. Wrinkling her nose, Asta reached in and pulled out a bag, carefully holding it at arm’s length as she tossed it to the ground beside the dumpster.

Disgusting. Didn’t these humans have regular trash collection? This had to be some sort of health-code violation. Aaru only knows how nasty this would smell in another month when summer hit the city with skyrocketing temps and humidity.

Something moved, and Asta froze, a black trash bag in one hand. Was that...? No. No, it was just one of the bags shifting. That was it. Just a bag shifting, or maybe the demon hiding down another layer. Taking a steadying breath, Asta tossed the bag aside and reached in for another.

The dumpster seemed to be a bottomless chasm. Asta found herself half upside down in the thing, looping a foot around one of the side rails to keep from falling in. She’d given up on keeping her outfit clean, hoping the drycleaner on Fifth Street could somehow salvage her clothes. Stretching as far as she could, the angel grabbed another bag, nearly falling as she tossed it out.

It would have been easier to stand in the bin and toss the bags out, but the occasional movement across the bottom of the container kept her safely on the outside. It better be that demon down there, because the alternative was freaking her out.

Still no demon. Asta lit another globe of light, sending it into the far recesses of the container, just in case he had given up his human form for a smaller one. Nothing. His energy signature called so strongly to her that she could have sworn he was right next to her. She’d emptied out the only hiding place large enough to hold a demon in human form, so that left only one other spot.

Asta hopped off the dumpster and tossed the bags back inside. The smell of rotted food had intensified, nearly suffocating her. If she’d planned on killing this guy, she would have just incinerated the entire alley. Problem solved—demon dead, and a sanitary disposal of far too much trash. But this was just meant to be a warning. One more place to look, then she’d need to get creative.

Demons could take many forms. Dropping to her knees and wincing over the probable ruination of her pants, Asta crept carefully around the dumpster, scanning for the demon’s energy signature. Jagged bits of asphalt dug into her knees, alternating pain with the disgusting squishy feel of rotted food. Yep, ruined. She really liked these pants, too. They’d always looked so crisp and fresh, the silk lining caressing the skin of her legs as she moved. Dapper Drycleaning might be good, but it would take a miracle to get nasty food stains out, let alone the fraying caused by the pavement, and she wasn’t all that good at recreating this designer stuff. Stupid demons. She was tempted to change her mind and kill him just to avenge her poor innocent trousers.

Something moved in front of her, and the angel jumped as a huge rat scampered across the alley and under the dumpster.

Rats. Every hair on her body rose, and she couldn’t help a shudder of revulsion. It was terribly unevolved of her to have such a visceral negative reaction to a lower life form, a mere mammal, but Asta couldn’t help herself. It was ridiculous for an angel to be afraid of a rat—to be afraid of anything—but she was.

A scratching noise came from beneath the dumpster. Asta froze, her stomach turning. Just a rat, just a rat, just a rat. She was an
angel
, for Aaru’s sake!

Red eyes peered at her from the darkness. The scratching grew louder.

Ignore it
. She was here to hunt a demon—a demon whose energy signature she heard like a siren song from underneath the dumpster. She just had to get by the rat.

Rats. As in plural. Red eyes blinked into life by the dozens. Asta’s breath locked in her throat, and she scrambled backwards on her knees as they crawled from under the dumpster. She just had to go through them, stand up and walk right through them, and she’d be within striking range of the demon. But that would involve standing up. Visions of rats biting her feet and ankles, hanging from her clothing, filled her mind. At least on her hands and knees, she could kick and grab them.

The eyes moved closer, dark shapes coalescing into distinct forms with pointy noses and twitching whiskers. She could hear their claws clicking on the pavement, the faint squeaking. Involuntarily, she found herself moving backwards, scooting on hands and knees away from their advance.

A rat toward the back stood on his hind legs, towering over the others by at least a foot. He was monstrous, and the glow in his red eyes was eerily familiar. This was the demon she’d spent all night following—the crazy margarita-drinking, tube-socks-in-his-pants demon.

Why don’t you kill them? Shoot them with your energy and explode them to bits?
The demon’s voice filled her mind, a mocking laugh accompanying it from his rat-form.

He spoke to her? Beyond pleading for their lives or cursing her with their dying breath, demons never spoke to her.

Go on. Kill the rats
.

“I’m not going to kill the rats.” Why was she replying? Could this evening get any more surreal? Here she was, faced with creatures from her worst nightmares, having a conversation with a demon she’d inexplicably decided
not
to kill.

Why not? Kill the rats and come get me. Just kill them
.

She couldn’t. As horrible and disgusting as these creatures were, they were innocent animals. They were creations of this world, part of a song and story beyond her comprehension. To kill them just because she was scared would make her an abomination. It would make her just as base as a demon.

Not that she was going to explain all that to this... this monster. No, she needed to stop with the chitchat and get on with scaring the guy right back to Hel.

“It’s you I will kill. Your body will be dust on the ground, but your head I will save as a trophy.”

That speech sounded ridiculous, as if she’d lifted it from a comic-book villain. She’d have to do better than that if she really wanted to frighten him.

Awww, baby. I’d totally save your head as a trophy too. Kiss, kiss
.

Asta was suddenly aware that she was on her hands and knees in front of the demon. It was mortifying. He’d mocked her, after leading her all over the downtown and hiding behind a bunch of rats. She’d relish slaying him, would love nothing more than to fly his head to the top of the tallest building in the city and display it on the antenna. If only he deserved it. If only he’d killed someone, then she wouldn’t think twice before ripping his head off. Making fun of her—deservedly so, she had to admit—wasn’t something that should carry a death sentence

And again, there was that nagging part of her that found him just too intriguing to kill. A vision of the demon sipping a margarita and laughing with a human waiter flashed like a film playback in her mind. No, she wouldn’t... couldn’t kill him, but he didn’t need to know that.

“I’m not sure you’re worth the effort. Shoplifting. Drinking alcohol. Petty vandalism. You’ve got no control over your energy expenditure. A blind newborn could have tracked you from across the planet. Your head would be a poor trophy, not worthy to grace my collection.”