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Jesus Fucking Christ, he needed to drink better tequila.
The damned buzzing in his head was worse than ever. Combined with the hangover, it had Shax cursing his faded regenerative abilities. When the Gate had exploded, his link to the powers Lucifer bestowed had vanished along with it.
Gone were the days when most wounds healed in minutes, travel was via rifts in space, and he could wield demon fire. If you didn’t count the coin’s ability to transport him to wherever Kheone was, Shax had only one major trick up his sleeve. Unfortunately, healing was not it. These monumental hangovers made thinking hard. Sometimes he envied those who had burned up in the Second Fall.
He kicked off the scratchy sheets of the too-firm bed and searched out some ibuprofen. Downing three with a large glass of water, he contemplated the oddly shaped stains on the ceiling while waiting for the pills to kick in. An hour later, he felt up to washing off the tequila sweat from last night.
Finally feeling capable of planning out his day, Shax pulled out the silver coin and stared at it. Memory flooded his senses, sight, sound, smell, all conjuring up the last time he had seen Kheone. Circumstances beyond his control had left her alive. At least, that was what he told himself.
The silver shining from under centuries’ worth of tarnish was nearly the same color as her irises. The bright intensity of her gaze reflected the animosity and rage of all their past confrontations, both on the battlefield and in smaller, more private moments. Shax could deal with hatred and anger. He was a demon, after all, and had trafficked in those emotions, day in and day out, for millennia. It was the pity in her gaze he truly avoided, almost as if Kheone realized the depths of his own self-hatred.
He had held his obsidian blade to her throat on Lucifer’s orders. Once he looked into her eyes, he knew. He couldn’t do it. He could not end her very existence. Just as Shax never questioned the Prince of Hell, he did not question this instinct. The blade dropped from his unwilling fingers, the edge leaving a thin line of pearlescent blood on her throat. And then all Hell broke loose.
Shax closed his hand around the coin. Whether or not he was ready, he needed to face facts. Standing in the middle of a swamp a year ago, Shax had thrown the cursed thing, hoping to never see it again, hoping to live his own life, free from the pain of his sins and released from the hold Lucifer had over him. He had deceived himself. One never escaped Hell, not really.
First things first, though. Shax needed to replenish his supply of cash on the off chance his untraceable credit cards were not, in fact, untraceable. It was amazing how little a thousand dollars bought him in this century. Half was gone with this crappy room, and he had become accustomed to eating regular meals and drinking decent liquor.
Hinndal had found him too easily, and Aeshma could be on his heels. He enjoyed the anonymity cash offered at the moment. It might very well keep him alive long enough to do something about his angel problem.
Decision made, Shax pocketed the coin and walked down to the front desk with a fixed smile, radiating friendliness. He would try the easy way first. Most humans responded in kind to politeness. It built trust, all too often giving him a toehold in their psyche for later manipulation, both ordinary and magical. His demonic gift for psychological manipulation had gone with the others, leaving his keen sense of human nature as his only tool to exploit these weak-minded beings. It would be more than enough.
“Good morning,” he said to the clerk, a middle-aged, bored-looking man.
“It’s afternoon.”
“Then, good afternoon. Could you tell me where the nearest mall is?”
“Google it.”
Shax fought off the part of him that wanted to bring out the scary demon and put the lowly human in his place. Damned shame he needed to keep off Aeshma’s radar. He narrowed his eyes at the man, and ice infused his voice.
“Perhaps you should practice your manners, sir.”
His tone garnered the clerk’s attention. The fear rolling off the man as his instincts kicked in was sweet perfume. He gulped and pulled out a pen and paper, hand trembling.
“Here.” The clerk’s voice cracked at the end. He tore off the paper and gave it to Shax.
“Thank you.” The ice had melted from Shax’s voice, though his words were still clipped.
Shax turned on his heels and left before he gave the man a reason to give in to his fight-or-flight response. He pulled out his phone and looked up Crown Center. It was the opposite direction of where he had come from last night. He wished to stay closer to the university, if at all possible.
Zooming out on the map, Shax familiarized himself with the area. He ruled out the Power and Light District, a hub of entertainment, clubs, and bars. It was a long walk, and it would be much better to hit such a place after dark when people were drunk and distracted. For now, he was torn between the Country Club Plaza, which sounded full of trinkets awaiting liberation from rich douchebags, and an art museum that stood between him and the Plaza. The latter was an even better target for petty theft, especially since this museum was free. With the patrons’ attention on the art, they rarely noticed missing wallets and jewelry until much later. The only potential downside was the security. If that was the case, he would simply move on.
Shax turned up his collar against the cool breeze and started walking. Much to his surprise, he enjoyed the brisk walk. The sun was almost warm, the neighborhoods picturesque, and early flowers sprouted out of the ground wherever there was a yard or park. He still would have traded it in a heartbeat for the ability to create a rift. Or fly. Satan below, he wished he could stretch his wings and fly.
As nice as the day was, the chill in the air still got to him. His fingers took a few minutes to warm up after he entered the building. Once they did, Shax inspected the crowd, looking for likely marks in the galleries. The distracted parent. The young man in fervent discussion with a young woman over a painting, sexual tension screaming at him. The art student was so focused on her work she failed to notice the stranger standing much too close. Before long, he acquired a few wallets, two watches, and some promising-looking pills.
Shax turned the corner in the museum and stopped breathing, stopped thinking, stopped everything. His gaze locked on the tall, slender figure standing in front of a painting halfway down the gallery. Her skin glowed in the spotlights illuminating the display, and the blue highlights in her short, black hair stood out in stark contrast. She was beautiful, like a bird of prey was beautiful: fierce, powerful, deadly.
He didn’t have to see her face to know exactly who this was. It was inked onto whatever was left of his soul. If he’d had any doubts, the heat coming from the coin in his jacket pocket would have told him.
Kheone.
His brain kicked in, screaming at him to run. Instead, he ducked around the corner, heart beating an irregular rhythm in his chest.
Shit, shit, shit.
Shax’s fingers twitched, and he reached for the dagger that was no longer at his hip. He had not missed his blade since that day. With a hilt made from Cain’s bone and its obsidian blade forged in the destruction of the Garden of Eden, his blade sent souls to oblivion. No afterlife, no resurrection, no Heaven, no Hell, not even Purgatory. And Lucifer had ordered him to kill her with it.
He had no idea why. Once someone rebuilt the Gates, he would answer to Lucifer for allowing the angel to live. The destruction of the Gates was only part of the answer. He had no desire to explore any further reasons.
Fate was a twisted bitch. With no weapon to truly kill her, he could not challenge her. He had run from his contract, papering over his feelings with drugs, alcohol, and sex. And on his first day in this city, he had crossed paths with the very angel he’d been unable to kill.
The people milling around him threw scowls at him as he hugged the wall as if his life depended upon it. Shax took a deep breath and straightened up. Today’s haul would have to be enough. He could not fulfill his duty yet, but since Kheone was so tantalizingly close, he would not let this chance go to waste. Patting his pockets, he assured himself the prizes he had lifted were present and accounted for. Shax stepped around the corner.
Kheone was gone.
He expected the lightness of relief, but a heaviness filled his chest.
Where did she go?
The flash of daylight on a glass door caught his attention. A hundred feet away, a tall figure with dark hair strode outside. He followed but stopped five steps later. Kheone sat down on a bench next to the grassy lawn surrounding the museum, lifting her face to soak in the meager sun.
Shax ducked around a corner to empty the wallets of their cash and a single diamond earring before tossing them over a low wall into an empty flower bed. If they were picked up, his fingerprints would fade in the same way as his demon blood. If they weren’t, well, not his problem. Tucking the cash in his pocket, he checked on Kheone.
His timing was impeccable. She stood and walked down the sidewalk bordering the wide, green expanse. He watched and waited. It hit him in the silence of the trees, the calm of a decision made. Something was missing. The buzz in his brain, his constant companion since he awoke on the banks of a Florida swamp 366 days ago, dampened only by debauchery, was gone. Oh, he was so completely screwed.
Shax made a valiant last-ditch attempt to review his options rationally. He could leave, run for the hills and never look back. Give up on this absurd crusade. That would be the smart thing to do. The likelihood of the Gates being rebuilt was minuscule. Entwining his fortunes with an angel was mad at best, suicide at worst. Or...he could follow her. God alone knew why. There was nothing to be gained.
His body decided before his brain caught up. Tapping into his remaining gift, he transformed in a blink. Where once stood a tall, young man with white hair now sat a small, black cat, ears pricked forward, tail swishing restlessly. The cat sighed and trotted out to where he had last spotted Kheone. Their fortunes were already entwined, thanks to the cursed coin and Lucifer’s orders. Shax didn’t yet know of a method to free them both, but he would not find one without her help. Catching her scent, he followed it through the crowd, trying to stay in the bushes to avoid notice. Every once in a while, he got close enough to pick her out of the crowd, her six-foot height making her taller than most. He hung back and grew the distance between them before following again at a slower pace.
About thirty minutes later, the sun painting the sky pink as it sunk toward the western horizon, she arrived at a restaurant, a large, dry fountain in the courtyard. Shax slunk under a bush and watched her walk into an ostentatious building with The Cheesecake Factory in bright red neon over the entrance. He darted across the courtyard, dodging feet, tables, and chairs, looking for a place to hide until she came out.
An angel walks into The Cheesecake Factory sounded like the beginning of a bad joke. The only thing worse would be, An angel and a demon walk into The Cheesecake Factory.