least one with Kat on our ventures out. I shrugged. “Just a little upset stomach.”
Kat nodded. In all honesty, I’d become closer to Kat than Mindy the past few months, since my eyes had been opened to the world of angels and demons living amongst us. But this was one secret I couldn’t tell her, for the same reason I loved her so much. She’d do anything to protect me and my baby. Sending us into hell with nothing but some angel elixir for protection wouldn’t satisfy her own sisterly instincts to protect me—us.
Besides, I’d been informed that no demon hunters could go where I was going. When demon hunters expelled one of the damned, a piece of the darkness was left behind, tainting them. Residue, we called it. This was the reason for the inky black swirling the irises of demon hunters. They carried the smudge of sin from demons they expelled, the darkness leaking into their blood, even their eyes. Every so often, they called the soul eater, Styx, who ate the residue, releasing the hunter from the weight of sin for a while. But it was never enough. The chance of hunters making it out of hell was much lower than it was for me. Expelling demons for me was more like a cleansing, as I wasn’t paying a penance as they were. And anyway, this was a mission of stealth, not guns blazing and swords swinging. I’d have Mira, and that would have to be enough.
“Okay, one margarita and one Sprite.” The waitress looked up from her pad, catching sight of Mira.
“Um, she’s part of a performance I have later,” I lied, knowing it would sound real enough in a city like this.
The waitress shrugged with a wink. “She’s pretty.” Then she sauntered off to the bar.
“Of course she is,” said Kat in baby talk, scratching under Mira’s beak. “So what performance do you have later?” she asked. “The Lady and the Hawk?”
“That has a nice ring to it. I think that was a movie. Ladyhawke , actually. Mira, hop down over here please.”
She did, perching on the vacant chair to my right, huddling into a ball, her orange-gold gaze narrowed but watchful.
“Really? That was a movie?”
“Yeah. Seriously old one. With the guy who played Ferris Bueller.”
“Who’s Ferris Bueller?”
“You have to know who Ferris Bueller is, Kat. What is it with you demon hunters? You’ve been around longer than I have, but you know next to nothing about pop culture.”
“Soo-rry. It must’ve been a tragically important film.”
“Yeah. It was. To every teenager who ever lived. John Hughes understood the stolen joys and abject misery of adolescence better than anyone.”
“Who’s John Hughes?”
I froze with a chip dipped in salsa halfway to my mouth. “I can’t believe you just asked me that question.”
Fuchsia Bangs set down a jumbo margarita glass rimmed with salt, and a Sprite. “Here you are.” She handed me a straw.
“Thank you. Excuse me, do you know who John Hughes is?”
She scoffed, which sounded more like a snort. “Of course I do. Director of Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Sixteen Candles . I mean, come on. Everyone knows who John Hughes is.”
“See!” I glared across the table.
Kat tossed the straw out of her glass and took a big gulp of her margarita. “Oh well. I think I’ll survive.”
Our punk-rock waitress stared blankly for a few seconds.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “She’s foreign. I’ll amend this tragedy as soon as possible.”
“Right. So what can I get you ladies for dinner?”
Kat ordered some quesadillas, and I ordered the largest burrito they had with extra everything on top.
“I thought you had a stomachache,” said Kat with a suspicious expression.
Oops.
“Oh well, yeah. But I think maybe I’m just overly hungry.” After we handed over the menus, I crossed my arms on the table and leaned forward, eager to change the subject. “Tell me what’s up with Gorham and Razor. You said they were up to something.”
Kat plucked the lime wedge from her drink
Kat nodded. In all honesty, I’d become closer to Kat than Mindy the past few months, since my eyes had been opened to the world of angels and demons living amongst us. But this was one secret I couldn’t tell her, for the same reason I loved her so much. She’d do anything to protect me and my baby. Sending us into hell with nothing but some angel elixir for protection wouldn’t satisfy her own sisterly instincts to protect me—us.
Besides, I’d been informed that no demon hunters could go where I was going. When demon hunters expelled one of the damned, a piece of the darkness was left behind, tainting them. Residue, we called it. This was the reason for the inky black swirling the irises of demon hunters. They carried the smudge of sin from demons they expelled, the darkness leaking into their blood, even their eyes. Every so often, they called the soul eater, Styx, who ate the residue, releasing the hunter from the weight of sin for a while. But it was never enough. The chance of hunters making it out of hell was much lower than it was for me. Expelling demons for me was more like a cleansing, as I wasn’t paying a penance as they were. And anyway, this was a mission of stealth, not guns blazing and swords swinging. I’d have Mira, and that would have to be enough.
“Okay, one margarita and one Sprite.” The waitress looked up from her pad, catching sight of Mira.
“Um, she’s part of a performance I have later,” I lied, knowing it would sound real enough in a city like this.
The waitress shrugged with a wink. “She’s pretty.” Then she sauntered off to the bar.
“Of course she is,” said Kat in baby talk, scratching under Mira’s beak. “So what performance do you have later?” she asked. “The Lady and the Hawk?”
“That has a nice ring to it. I think that was a movie. Ladyhawke , actually. Mira, hop down over here please.”
She did, perching on the vacant chair to my right, huddling into a ball, her orange-gold gaze narrowed but watchful.
“Really? That was a movie?”
“Yeah. Seriously old one. With the guy who played Ferris Bueller.”
“Who’s Ferris Bueller?”
“You have to know who Ferris Bueller is, Kat. What is it with you demon hunters? You’ve been around longer than I have, but you know next to nothing about pop culture.”
“Soo-rry. It must’ve been a tragically important film.”
“Yeah. It was. To every teenager who ever lived. John Hughes understood the stolen joys and abject misery of adolescence better than anyone.”
“Who’s John Hughes?”
I froze with a chip dipped in salsa halfway to my mouth. “I can’t believe you just asked me that question.”
Fuchsia Bangs set down a jumbo margarita glass rimmed with salt, and a Sprite. “Here you are.” She handed me a straw.
“Thank you. Excuse me, do you know who John Hughes is?”
She scoffed, which sounded more like a snort. “Of course I do. Director of Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Sixteen Candles . I mean, come on. Everyone knows who John Hughes is.”
“See!” I glared across the table.
Kat tossed the straw out of her glass and took a big gulp of her margarita. “Oh well. I think I’ll survive.”
Our punk-rock waitress stared blankly for a few seconds.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “She’s foreign. I’ll amend this tragedy as soon as possible.”
“Right. So what can I get you ladies for dinner?”
Kat ordered some quesadillas, and I ordered the largest burrito they had with extra everything on top.
“I thought you had a stomachache,” said Kat with a suspicious expression.
Oops.
“Oh well, yeah. But I think maybe I’m just overly hungry.” After we handed over the menus, I crossed my arms on the table and leaned forward, eager to change the subject. “Tell me what’s up with Gorham and Razor. You said they were up to something.”
Kat plucked the lime wedge from her drink
Similar Books
