Personal Demon by Kelley Armstrong

I liked. His eyes were too big, too soft. His mouth was too wide, too sensual. His build was slender, almost graceful. The overall picture was…I hate to say feminine, because there was nothing girlie about him, but there was a pretty-boy quality that was a far cry from—
    I stopped myself. Karl wasn’t my type either—too suave, too polished, too old.
    But as for the puzzle that was Jaz, I solved it over dessert. When he twisted in his chair, the angle was just right to ignite a memory and I knew what he reminded me of: the angel Gabriel at my grandmother’s church.
    I’m sure there’s something sacrilegious about having a crush on an angel, but I’d only been six or seven at the time. Gran was a proper society lady, one who had expected her son to grow up and marry a debutante. When he brought home an Indian girl from college, she hadn’t been disappointed or angry, but simply, I think, confused. Like most women of her class and generation, this just wasn’t a possibility she’d considered. But he was obviously in love, and the girl was as bright and beautiful as any debutante, so Gran gave her blessing.
    She loved us as much as she did any of her grandchildren. Even after the divorce that didn’t change. If there was any problem with Gran, it was only her need to make us feel we belonged. Hence the angel Gabriel.
    When we visited, I always went to church with her because I knew it pleased her and it pleased my mother.
    Above the pulpit was this enormous painting of flaxen-haired, pale-skinned angels, and the artist had decided to single Gabriel out by making him dark-haired and brown-skinned.
    To my grandmother, Gabriel served as proof for me that I was just as welcome in God’s house as anyone, so she never failed to rhapsodize over how beautiful he was, and how being different from the others made him all the more special. A heavy-handed lesson, but her heart was in the right place. I spent many hours in that church staring at Gabriel with his soulful eyes and dark ringlets.
    So the mystery of Jaz’s attractiveness was solved. But it didn’t make my heart patter any less when he turned his soulful eyes my way. The face of an angel covering a mind more inclined to devilry. Under the circumstances, it might be just what I needed.

    AS WE LEFT the restaurant, Jaz said, “So you’re an Exustio? Or is it Aspicio?”
    “Expisco,” I said.
    “Exustio is fire,” Sonny said. “Aspicio is vision.”
    “Damn half-demon names. All sound like Latin to me.”
    “Could that be because they are Latin?”
    “Smart ass. Even Guy didn’t know what an Exp—Expisco was. Had to get Bianca to look it up, and she had a hell of a time.”
    “It’s a very rare subtype,” I said.
    “And a weird one.” He glanced at me. “No offense, I just mean most of you get some elemental power or enhanced senses. Being able to sense trouble just, well, doesn’t seem to fit.”
    “Full-blooded demons usually have special powers plus chaos sensors. Most half-demons get the powers without the sensors. I just get the sensors.”
    “Huh.” He walked for at least ten steps in silence, which told me something was wrong. Before I could ask, he said, “The reason I’m bringing it up is that, well, Guy’s…not convinced.”
    “That I am what I say I am?”
    He nodded. “I wanted to give you a heads-up. He’s going to test you, and soon.”

    HOPE: EASY RIDER

    W e cut through the pedestrian-only Lincoln Road Mall. The sun had set and the temperature dropped to a balmy seventy, though the humidity lingered. On the promenade, no one was pulling on warmer clothing. The barely-there bottoms, plunging necklines and bad boob jobs were on full display as the nightlife began to prowl, skirting the palms and umbrella tables as they zeroed in on their favorite club, hoping being early might get them inside.
    Jaz kept up a steady travelogue, pointing out the sights along the way, including the drop-dead gorgeous guys lounging on tables