“Because I’m a demon?” I crowd her, matching her glare withone of my own. Never in a million years would I lay a hand on her, but I’m curious to see what she’ll do if I push her too far. And I’m not going to let them carry this child off without knowing what they’re going to do with it—fuck—him.“That’s pretty rude, if you ask me.”
She lifts her chin defiantly, then groans as her wings shoot out of her back, shredding the back of the colorful robe like tissue paper. “First, I didn’t ask you. Second, it’s not because you’re a demon; it’s because you’re a stranger. Third, you owe me a new robe, you dick.”
I listen to her rant with half my focus, the other half watching with fascination as smoke drifts up from her wings. Curious, I reach for the closest feathers to me, and sure enough, they’re radiating heat. Right before my fingers connect, she slaps my hand away. The feather I was about to touch bursts into flames.
“Holy shit! You’ve got hot wings,” I exclaim. It’s an idiotic thing to say, but I can’t help myself. They’re fucking cool.
Luca groans, then the kid’s eyes snap open. He takes one good look at the fireball that Celine has become, scrambles to his feet, and starts speaking in tongues.
TEN
Unspoken rule of the Fringes #19:
Expect the worst; optimists don’t live long.
LUCA
All these loose kids are stressing me out.
Seriously, I’ve spent my entire adult life carefully avoiding adding to the supernatural population on Earth, yet I still end up surrounded by children. What’s the point of wearing a condom every time when toddlers are falling from the fucking sky?
This new one is losing his shit, babbling a mile a minute with his eyes locked on Celine. If there was any doubt about his celestial heritage, the angelic mumbo jumbo pouring from his mouth erases it.
I desperately want his appearance outside the club to be a coincidence. It’s too bad I don’t believe in those. To make matters worse, Ciprian is standing smack dab in the middle of the mess, his mouth hanging open as if he’s never heard anyone speak a different language before.
“Stop groaning,” Celine says to me, jabbing her elbow into my ribs.
I step to the side before I can end up singed. “Only if you stop burning,” I toss back, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “You look like a godsdamn comet.”
“Guys, the kid is singing now.” Ciprian snaps his fingers to get our attention, and I realize with dismay that he’s right. It’s not a very good song, more like a chant a group of cultists would perform while dancing around a roaring fire.
I focus on Celine’s flaming wings and groan again.
“I mean it, Luca. Cut that shit out,” Celine growls, then switches languages. Her next words are firm but gentle. Coaxing. The chanting cuts off, she puts her wing fire out, and I force myself to stop groaning.
As Celine talks to the child, I keep an eye on the demon. Ciprian’s black eyes are difficult to read in the darkness of the alley, but he appears unbothered by this chaos. Too unbothered.
“How did you say you found him again?” I ask.
“Tripped over him,” Ciprian says, then laughs as he notices my face. “Oh my gods, you suspect me. That’s amazing. What exactly do you suspect me of? Angel delivery?”
“Hush, demon,” Celine demands, her brown eyes flickering between us with obvious annoyance. “Luca, make yourself useful and call Harry.”
Ciprian backs against the wall and makes a childish show of zipping his lips. I give him a warning frown, then wince when I see what time it is. Harry will be asleep by now, but this can’t wait. She answers after a few rings. Our conversation is quick.
When I hang up, I’m surprised to see Ciprian leaning against the wall in silence. He’s watching Celine talk to the child with rapt attention, although I don’t get the impression he has any more idea what she’s saying than I do. Since I’m watching closely, I see when he perks up, cocking his head to the side.
“I know I’m supposed to shut up, but am I right in guessing that you want to keep this quiet?” He gestures around us, and I nod, confused about why he’s asking. We’re being as efficient as we can. It’s not like Celine or I can turn back time or make the kid disappear.
“Got it,” he says, before looking at Celine. “Please stop talking for a second, then.”
She turns to glare at him, but Ciprian’s eyes go unfocused, his cheekbones sharpening? It could be a trick of the shadows. I squint, then hear voices and freeze. Two regulars are walking down the alley toward us. I rack my mind for an excuse to make, but they walk by without even glancing our way. The door to the Fang opens and closes behind them.
Ciprian’s eyes come back into focus, and he winks at me, then mimes throwing a key away.
It’s all I can do not to groan again.
“Did he just . . . ?” Celine asks.
