Fall From Grace
Authors: Eden Crowne
Tags: #romance, #demon, #paranormal, #supernatural, #angel, #fae, #reaper
by Eden Crowne
Copyright by Eden
Crowne 2012. All Rights Reserved
Smashwords Edition
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Contents
Chapter 1
“I love men and I love sex,” Evie said with a
sigh.
Setting down her
drink, the bartender turned his head, following her gaze to the man
at the end of the bar.
He nodded, “You and
me both, darling.”
Ah, West
Hollywood.
She'd watched him
walk in from the bright, late afternoon sunshine outside. All
languid grace and muscles, dark brown hair falling over one eye,
high cheekbones, strong forehead and jaw. When she was alive, she
did her best to combine her two areas of interest whenever
possible. If he had a butt even remotely like Michaelangelo's
David, she was going to test her existential limits to the max this
afternoon.
Casually he ran one
hand through his hair and looked her way. He had sea green
eyes.
Oh my.
Her wings were
threatening to snap to attention and break through the
super-mystical prestidigitation that kept them hidden. Which would
not have been a good thing since she was presently visible to
everyone here at the bar. Plus she was holding a Dirty Martini.
Well, actually, a second Dirty Martini. Most people don't picture
angels standing at a bar drinking martinis. Even in West
Hollywood.
The guy had a
slightly weathered, L.L. Bean look about him. Worn jeans, just
loose enough, an oversized brown, hooded leather jacket, flannel
shirt and white T-shirt both untucked.
“I bet he smells like
Old Spice,” she sighed again, taking a small sip of her drink and
looking at L.L. Bean man over the rim.
“If he smells like
Old Spice, you're going to have to fight me for him.”
“Don't you have something to do at the
other
end of the bar,” she stared at
the bartender's name tag, “Roberto?”
Giving her a sly
smile, he moved away.
She popped one of the
big green olives in her mouth and bit down, absently running one
hand through her hair. What if L.L. Bean man was Gay. Seeing as the
bar was where it was in LA, there was every possibility of that.
She stared into her martini and shivered. Life is not fair but that
would be a cruel blow to women everywhere. Hooking the heels of her
short, black suede boots over the lower rung on the bar stool, she
tugged automatically at the bottom of her burgundy V-neck sweater.
It was a little short in back and tended to creep up above the
waistband on her bootcut leggings. She couldn't pull too hard or
the velcro straps holding it in place over the thick bones of her
wings might pop. That had happened before. Several times.
“Excuse me,” said a smooth voice in her ear. “I couldn't help
noticing. Well, our eyes met and, like I said, I couldn't
help
noticing
.”
L.L. Bean guy stood
at her shoulder. One invisible wing flicked out in surprise, just
missing him and inadvertently knocking into the waitress,
scattering an artfully arranged serving of soft shell crab and
cucumber rolls onto the floor. Bar food in this part of LA is not
like bar food elsewhere. The waitress looked around mystified since
no one stood within two feet of her. Evie cringed. Sometimes her
wings just had a mind of their own.
'
Get back in there
', she shouted at it mentally.
The guy was giving
her a very delicious crooked smile that made his eyes scrunch up in
a devastating manner. He had the ghost of a white scar running
across his forehead, she noticed, that dipped into one eyebrow.
“Grace,” she said
inclining her head.
“And beauty,” he
added.
“No, Evangeline
Grace. Evie, that's my name.”
“And I stand by my
statement. I'm Nathan McKitrick. Trick to my friends.”
That
mouth had a very scandalous curl to it. Oh my
gawd
, she could think of a few tricks
she'd like to do with him. And those lips.
Scooting the stool
closer in the crowded bar, he was suddenly very near. Evie inhaled
deeply. No, not Old Spice.
Brimstone.
Damn it.
“You're a demon.” A
statement; not a question.
“A demon for sex I
hope.” The bartender slid a dark amber draft beer between them. “On
the house,” and gave the man a suggestive wink.
“God damn it Roberto!
Go away!” She used a tiny bit of her power and pushed him to the
other side of the room where he remained, blinking in surprise at
the sudden change in location.
“And you're an Angel.
Though not a Celestial, obviously.” He indicated the bar with a
wave of his hand. “Not many Angels in bars. Outside of country and
western songs, that is.”
“Don't change the
subject,” she growled. “Let me guess, from Hell?”
“Arizona, actually.”
He spoke with just the barest hint of a western drawl. “Though I
could understand your confusion since many similarities have been
drawn between the two destinations.”
She
stared at him, willing her spirit vision to manifest, to look
through any supernatural artifice. There must be fangs and claws
beneath the
glamour
spell. There was an aura of power, a lot of power. She tried
again. He remained firmly the very attractive man sitting next to
her, leaning casually close, both elbows on the dark, wooden
bar.
“If you're trying to
peel back the layers and find the lizard underneath, sorry. There's
just me in there.”
The light bulb went
on over her head. “Reaper. You sold your soul; you used to be
human.”
Instead of answering right away, he took a long drink of the
cold beer the bartender had left. “You and I both know that no
one's soul is their own to sell. Human, Angel, or demon, that
singular energy belongs to only one entity. The way the deal works
with the dark side is more of a
sublet
for a designated number of
years. They lock it away in a metaphysical vault, slap a band aid
over the hole in your heart, also metaphysical but you know what I
mean, and off you go.”
“Money, fame,
fortune, sex? What was it?” It was hard to keep the note of
bitterness from her voice. She had been instantly attracted to this
man and learning he was a venal soul seller was inexplicably a
blow.
An expression crossed
his face Evie couldn't quite interpret. “I'd rather not discuss
that.”
“I hope your choice
was worth however many years of servitude you are locked into.”
“Seemed so at the
time.” He took another long drink, set the glass down and flicked
his deep green eyes to meet hers. “I suppose it's too much to hope
you are a Fallen Angel, Miss Evie Grace.”
Evie allowed her
heart just the smallest flutter as she looked into those eyes
before saying, “Avenging.”
“Ah, just my luck.”
He sighed, giving her a rueful grin. “Earthbound then. All passion
and heavenly justice. A lot of smiting, I'm guessing. Is that how
you broke your nose? Not that it doesn't look charming, balanced by
those lovely cheekbones and dark eyes.”
“We burn with the
anger of righteousness. That is why we are chosen upon our death.”
She spoke quietly but the power behind the words was unmistakable.
She ignored his comment on her nose. It was only a little
crooked.
“All that burning
must work up a mighty thirst.” He nodded towards the oversized
martini glass in her hand and the empty one next to it which
Roberto had neglected to clear.
Her
sense of humor, always just below the surface, asserted itself and
she had to laugh. “Earthbound is very, very different from
Celestial. And thank
heaven
for that. Vengeance I can handle. Abstinence, not
so well.”
Trick watched her
smile and the deep set of dimples that punctuated it stretched
around the edge of her full mouth right up to her clear, brown
eyes. His mouth felt dry and another drink of the amber beer did
nothing to quench that thirst.
For a time they
stared into their drinks. Temporarily at a loss for words. Wanting
to say so much yet unable to find a way around the steel door that
had – spiritually speaking – slammed so solidly between them. Trick
kept darting looks at her from under his lashes. He felt her
presence as soon as he walked in. Not as an Angel; as a woman.
Looking at her, martini in hand and a world weary grin on her face,
pushing her long, brown hair back from her face, he'd felt a
longing. It was skipping and jumping along his nerve endings even
now as though he was seventeen again and just discovering life.
Learning she was an Angel had changed nothing – yet it must change
everything. He was in LA to do a dirty job for his Master. Maybe
the dirtiest. Trick hadn't prayed in a long time. He figured he'd
severed that sweet link to God's ear with his black bargain long
ago. Staring sightlessly into his beer, he desperately offered up a
very small plea. Just in case.
Their cell phones rang simultaneously. They jumped, startled,
then grinned sheepishly at each other. Acting through human agents
and acolytes, both sides of the supernatural fence made full use of
the modern world and its technology. The phones rang again. She
recognized his ringtone, the rock classic
'Light my Fire'
by the Doors. That
made her smile. Reaper or not, the man had a sense of humor, no
doubt about it.
As
though choreographed in a dance, they reached for their phones,
tapped the screens, thumbed through a message, read it again,
tossed off the last of their drinks and stood. Evie slapped some
cash on the bar. With one lingering glance into each other's eyes,
they abruptly turned and left in different directions. Trick
walking towards the front doors; Evie slipping into stealth mode
and pulling a
glamour
over herself, running the other way.
Roberto the bartender
wisely stayed where he was.
Evie was nothing but a shadow
gliding through the kitchen, past the hectic prep area and out the
back door. She slid her sword around from back to front, slipping
off the thick leather loop that kept the weapon firmly in its
golden scabbard. She'd added that last part herself when she
learned her sword, like her wings, sometimes tried to think for
itself. Her gifts were hidden from mortal eyes until she needed
them.
Most
of the
time. By Angel reckoning, she was still pretty new at this job and
there had been a few, uh, accidents. As a precaution, she snapped
her phone into the pocket of her light jean jacket along with her
cash, tying it around her waist. Her Angel sense was tingling and,
given the message, she thought things were going to get
messy.
An enormous green
dumpster nearly blocked the exit from the bar. Still moving fast,
Evie squeezed around it at a run only to come skidding to an abrupt
halt. The entire alley lay shrouded in a damp gray fog. Just a few
yards away, beyond the line of dumpsters, she could see the late
afternoon sunshine burning brightly on the busy street bordering
the back alley. California was famous for its micro-climates, but
alley-sized? The hazy air gave off a distinct scent. Slightly
scorched. Not a bad smell. Like rosemary bushes burning. Paranormal
smoke and mirrors. Someone was intent on hiding this place from
mortal eyes.
In the ebb and flow
of the fog, images seemed to waver as though nothing was quite what
it seemed. Focussing her energy, Evie let the sword blaze into
life. The golden spectral flame shot out like a beacon, burning
through the mist. And that's when things got interesting. From an
Avenging Angel point of view at least.
