The Second Summoning

“Now, then, let’s get you out of those wet shoes and socks, eh.”

“I don’t have socks.”

“Then I’ll get you some.” Unwrapped, Eva wore a dove-gray sweat suit over a white turtleneck. Given her proportions . . .

“You look like a pigeon,” Byleth muttered sullenly.

“I do, don’t I.” Her eyes widened as she took in the overalls. “Good heavens, child, you’re hardly wearing anything at all. Well, I can do something about that, can’t I?”

“Can you?” She’d intended the question to be sharp edged, mocking, but it emerged sounding rather pathetic. Holding the freezing length of the overalls’ zipper away from her body, she followed Eva into the living room and watched wide-eyed as she pulled several brightly wrapped packages out from under the tree.

“These are for my granddaughter, Nancy; she’ll be coming up to spend New Year’s with us. Fortunately, you’re about the same size.”

“You’re giving me your granddaughter’s presents?” She’d have refused the kindness except she’d caught sight of her reflection in the living room window. The overalls were gross. And they did make her look fat. Still: Granny gives Nancy’s presents away. Nancy gets angry. Big family fight. Byleth could live with that. Of course if Nancy was as whacked as Granny, she might not mind. Don’t ruin things, she told herself sternly, following Eva upstairs. Believe anything that’ll get you out of these overalls.

As instructed, she had a nice hot shower, staying in until she’d emptied the tank. She left the soap sitting in water in the soap dish and the towels in a crumpled heap on the floor. It wasn’t much, but it felt good to be proactive again.

Black jeans. Black, ribbed turtleneck; tight enough to offer some support to the breasts which were rapidly becoming a colossal nuisance. Thick red sweater. Red fuzzy socks.

Pivoting in front of the mirror, toes working against the thick fleece, she realized she looked good. The black, the red, the hair, it was working. Back in the bathroom, she went through Eva’s makeup bag, pulled out the reddest lipstick she could find and applied it liberally. She liked the effect so much, she completely forgot about her intention to infect the lipstick with a particularly virulent STD.

Harry Porter was standing in the living room when she came downstairs. He smiled and introduced himself. “Just between you and me,” he added, leaning toward her slightly, “that outfit looks much better on you than it would have on Nancy.” Had there been anything remotely sexual in the comment, she’d have known how to react. But there wasn’t.

Why were her ears so hot?

She tried a provocative smile anyway.

Harry deflected it with amused indulgence.

Her ears grew hotter. So did her cheeks. What the hell was going on?

“I’ll go help with dinner.” The words came out weirdly strung together.

Hurrying into the kitchen, she held on tightly to the thought of the rat poison and getting her world back on track.

It took only a little more momentum to bounce into Eva and spill cranberry juice all over her.

“Oops, sorry, dear.”

Byleth closed her eyes and counted to three. “Why,” she demanded when she opened them, “are you apologizing? I bumped you.”

“True enough. I spoke to Harry and he says if you still want to go to the city in the morning, he’ll drive you to the bus station in Huntsville.” The bus? There was just no way she was taking the bus. Smelly people took the bus. Poor people took the bus. People being environmentally aware and not driving their cars took the bus. Demons did not take the bus. Unless they took it somewhere really, really nasty and left it there. If Harry wanted to play taxi, he could drive her all the way to the city. He’d be easy enough to coerce.

“Byleth? Would you mind stirring the gravy?”

Since Harry had just become useful and she couldn’t poison Eva without killing him, there could be only one answer. “Yes.”

“Thanks, dear.”

Staring at the spoon in her hand, the other end circling around in the pan of gravy, she wondered how that had gone wrong.

519 Church Street served food but couldn’t provide shelter for the night.

Unwilling to lose the company of the only other angel he’d ever met, Samuel followed Doug out the door and fell into step beside him.

They walked for a while in silence. Higher knowledge informed him that pigeons roosted after dark so, until sunrise, life was good. Or it would have been except . . .

“What’s the matter, kid?”

He shook his head, he wasn’t sure. “There’s pressure.” A quick glance down showed a small wet spot on the front of his trousers. “And I’m leaking! Again. First my hands and now this. Am I supposed to be leaking?”

“Must be time to take a piss.” Grabbing for the front of his own trousers, Doug crossed the sidewalk and stood facing the wall of Harris’ Auto Body.

“We can’t take something that doesn’t belong to us.” In a world of uncertainties, this he remained sure of.