“I’m not rational at all,” I said. “And I’m ten times more vindictive.”
Lucian raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Well, our kind aren’t known for our mercy.” Lucian turned toward you and said, “I’ll call on you in two days. I hope you’re able to convince that power-hungry brute that our mother’s life is worth a little spilled blood.”
“I’ll have to convince myself first,” was your churlish reply.
I shut the door quietly behind Lucian and stared out the peephole to watch him leave. When I came back, you were seated on the couch, glowering at your dagger lying on the table in front of you. It was a mood.
“I want to come with you when you talk to Azrael,” I said and drew my hand along your broad shoulders. I expected an argument, but you nodded as though already accepting defeat.
“He can’t know the nature of your powers. He’ll want to recruit you.”
I might make a decent spy, but I was no soldier, nor did I plan on serving the god who’d killed me in my former life and was currently starving our mother to death. Fuck that guy.
“I don’t believe we’ll secure a favorable outcome,” you continued, “and I worry this is only the start down a dangerous path. Whether Lucian’s story is contrived or not, the outcome is equally as miserable.”
“Let me be the optimist then.” I patted your shoulder. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to meet this Angel of Death.”
“Vincent,” you warned.
“I’m not scared of him.”
“I know,” you grumbled. “That’s what concerns me.”
AFEW HOURS LATER,we were dressed to kill, literally. Between my suit jacket and t-shirt was my baby tanto, which you made sure I could access at a moment’s notice. For you, was your assortment of blades, knives, and medicinal darts, all tucked away neatly under your clothing.
“What is ‘af?’” you asked after scanning my shirt.
“It’s an acronym for ‘as fuck,’” I said.
“And what does it mean to be ‘queer as fuck?’” you asked studiously. If you wore glasses, you’d be pushing them up your nose right then.
“It’s like so queer you can’t even,” I explained.
“Can’t even what?”
I laughed. You were such a grandma sometimes. “It means really, really queer.”
“I see,” you said with a cautious smile. “And that’s a good thing?”
“Obvs,” I said with a wink. I’d drag you into this century yet. “You think we’re going to need all this? We’re visiting your safehouse, after all.”
“Everything is a trap until proven otherwise,” you said.
“I guess it pays to be paranoid.”
“Not paranoid,” you corrected. “But cautious, always. And if you’re ever uncertain about a situation, listen to what your body is telling you. Often your body perceives danger before your mind recognizes it.”
As we climbed into your sedan, I admitted to you that I’d never gotten my driver’s license.
“Driving in Miami is stressful as shit,” I said.
“That explains why you’re a terrible driver.”
“Burn. How’d you know I went back to the hotel last night?” I hadn’t answered the door the first time you pounded on it.
You pulled out a cell phone that looked ancient. The screen was just a map with two pulsing dots, one red and one blue, nearly entirely overlapping. It looked like the phone’s only function.
“What’s that?” I asked.
