db1bd484fe8700408f51338793ca8c56

“My name is Eva Porter, and you’re going to join my husband and I for turkey and all the trimmings. I won’t take no for an answer.” A pink wave toward the burning bank. “That’s my husband by the tanker truck.”

“You want me to join you for dinner?”

“That’s right.”

“You don’t know me.”

“You don’t knowme.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Eva Porter was way outside her experience. “Are you going to torture me?” That would at least explain the invitation.

“Goodness, no.”

“You only want to feed me?”

“That’s right.”

“And it doesn’t bother you that I’m a demon? Darkness given human form?”

Eva’s smile slipped.

Before she could enjoy the expected reaction, wool-covered fingers gently lifted her chin and looked her right in the eye.

“I don’t know who told you such a thing…”

“No one had to tell me.”

“…but you are a beautiful young woman.”

“I am?” She caught herself feeling good about that and hurriedly squashed the feeling.

“Yes, you are. What’s your name?”

“Uh…” She pulled one at random from the possibilities. “Byleth.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

“It is?” It wasn’t supposed to be. This had gone quite far enough. “Listen, lady, I don’t know what you think I am, but I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“That. What you think.” The pale gray of her eyes began darkening like tarnished silver. “I set that fire! I desired flames—and there they were.”

Eva frowned.“What are you on, Byleth?”

She glanced down, totally confused.“Packed snow and concrete.”

“And those shoes are just canvas, aren’t they? Your poor toes must be frozen.”

They hadn’t been. But now…

“And a nylon jacket isn’t enough for this weather. It’s below zero out here. Just look at the ice forming on those hoses.”

She looked. Her teeth began to chatter.“Okay, but I’m just going with you to get warm.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“That’s right. I don’t.” Hugging herself in a valiant effort to contain body heat, Byleth followed the confusing mortal down Main Street. Ignite the bank. Open a hole. Allow a little darkness into the world. All that had gone by the book. But reassured, warmed, and fed? Not to mention apologized to?

She wasn’t supposed to like people being nice to her. Well, so far onlyperson notpeople, but still…

It wasn’t right.

Or more to the point, it wasn’t wrong.

[Ęŕđňčíęŕ: img_6]

“No shit, man! I’m an angel, too!”

Samuel studied Doug’s slightly furry, gap-toothed smile and bloodshot eyes and shook his head. “No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, I am.” Carefully placing his fork beside his half empty plate, Doug leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I’m undercover. That’s why, you know, no wings.”

“Can you make your head light up?”

“Fuck, yeah.” He glanced around, checking for eavesdroppers. Satisfied that no one else in the crowded room was paying any attention, he elaborated. “It’s usually pretty lit by now, but they don’t allow that stuff in here.”

“But shouldn’t I know it if you’re an angel?”

“I didn’t know till you told me. Why should you know till I told you?”

That made sense. Not a lot of sense but, under the circumstances, enough. And Doug wasn’t lying. Samuel could tell when people were lying and Doug believed every breathy, fermentation-redolent thing he’d said. Feeling as though the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders, Samuel leaned forward as well. “Do you get covered in pigeons?”

“Nope. Butterflies. Hundreds of ’em, movin’ their little feet all over my body.” Eyes widening, he glanced down at this chest and began smacking himself with alternating palms. “All. Over. My. Body.”

Samuel grabbed his wrists.“What are you doing?”

“Swattin’ butterflies.”

Ignoring for the moment the absence of butterflies to swat, Samuel looked sternly across the narrow table.“Angels can’t enact violence on a living creature.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“We don’t swat!”

“You never wanted to swat them pigeons?”

“Well…yeah.” Which wasn’t something he wanted to discover about himself—even justifiable urges to commit violence on a flock of flying rats was just anti-angel. Releasing Doug’s wrists, he buried his head in his hands. “I’m very confused.”

Doug nodded sagely.“Happens.”

“I don’t know why I’m here.”

“I do.”

That was more than he’d dared to hope for. “You do?”

“You’re here to eat.”

And hope died.

About to point out that angels didn’t eat, Samuel watched Doug lift a forkful of mashed potatoes and gravy. Doug was eating. Most of it was even going into his mouth. Wrapping his fist around his own fork, he mirrored the motions of the undercover angel sitting across from him. After a few moments, he got the hang of not chewing his tongue with the food. Then he swallowed.

All of a sudden, he was ravenous.

When a bit of stuffing came back up through his nose, he slowed down enough to breathe. He drank juice until it was gone, then he switched to water. He had seconds. And, although what food remained had become a little difficult to identify by then, he even had thirds.