He grimaced. 'Most of it's depressing.'
Glancing at the headlines, I had to agree with him. Murder. Corruption. Theft.
'You hear about the cop shooting the other day?' I asked. 'That one was really depressing.'
Vincent turned his attention away from a story about domestic abuse. 'No, what happened?'
'This cop was outside a convenience store and claims someone was inside shooting his partner. So, he ran in, gun in hand, and started shooting. He ended up killing his partner himself.'
Vincent frowned. 'Huh. I hadn't heard that one,' he murmured. From the distracted look in his eyes, his mind had clearly latched onto something I wasn't privy to.
I gave him a sidelong glance. 'That mean anything to you? Maybe to this mission from God you're on?'
His easy smile returned. 'You're good but not that good. You know I can't say anything.'
The microwave dinged, and I retrieved my food. As I stabbed a piece of cheesy pasta, I recalled what he'd said about Yasmine's cooking. My curiosity got the better of me. As it often did.
'Vince…' I began slowly, carefully keeping my eyes on my food. 'I know it's none of my business…'
He laughed. 'I always love it when people introduce topics like that—and then go ahead and dive in anyway.'
Blushing, I shut my mouth.
'No, no,' he said, clearly entertained. 'Go ahead. What were you going to say?'
'I…well, nothing really. It's just, I mean, it doesn't matter to me…but I just sort of noticed that you and Yasmine seem, um, close.'
His levity faded. I quickly looked up and met his eyes apologetically.
'I'm sorry,' I blurted out. 'Forget I said anything.'
'No…it's, I don't know.' He folded up the newspaper, staring at it without really seeing it. 'Yeah, I guess. I've known her for a long time, and after a while, it's easy to…well, she's easy to like.'
'Yeah, she is.'
A few pregnant moments passed. When he spoke again, I heard affection in his voice. 'I first met her at this fair in Akron, of all places…about, oh, fifteen years ago. Not sure what she was doing there—you never do with them—but I found her walking away from a concession stand. She had this giant tower of cotton candy. I swear, it was taller than she was. And, since I could tell she was an angel, it made the situation that much more absurd.'
The story made me smile too. It also shed light on why he was here with the A-Team. I could tell she was an angel. He was another gifted human, like Erik and Dante, who could sense the immortal world. 'And you went and talked to her?'
'I hadn't planned to, but then the cotton candy started to fall over, so I went to help her and ended up eating half of it myself.'
'That's sweet,' I said. 'Er, no pun intended.' It didn't matter that in the last few months, I'd fucked one guy in an office chair, used a leather whip on another, and gone down on another in the back room of a seedy club. I still loved romantic stories.
'She started asking for my help after that, off and on, once she realized what I could do. It was supposed to just be that…nothing more than her, you know, professional cases. But after a while, we couldn't help it. We're together all the time now.'
I swallowed another piece of lasagna. It was divine. Seriously. 'Do any of the other angels know?'
'Yeah, right. Joel barely tolerates me now…'
'But obviously, you guys aren't, um, you can't be—'
'No, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't have to be physical. Really, it's ironic. Angels are creatures of love. They're supposed to love everyone. They're just not supposed to love one person so much more than another.'
'That's stupid,' I stated adamantly.
'To you, maybe. And to me, I suppose. But to her…well, she devotes her entire existence to the service of a power and cause bigger than all of us. To be so in love with something—or someone else—is distracting. You can't serve two masters without eventually betraying one.'
I looked down again, turning over his words. 'And yet you guys still stay together. Sort of.'
He shrugged. 'In as much as we can. Maybe I should move on with my life, but, honestly, there's no one else I want to be with. I accept what she is. It's why I love her. I'd rather be with her in a limited capacity than none at all.'
Goosebumps rose on the back of my neck. He'd just stated a variant of what Seth used to tell me all the time, back when I would continually urge him to leave me and find someone else. I'd accepted his choice by now and honestly couldn't imagine not having him in my life. But still. Sometimes I didn't entirely get how he could be okay with everything between us; hearing another person support such a choice was refreshing.
As though reading my mind, Vincent gently asked, 'Am I hitting too close to home? Carter mentioned a boyfriend…'
'No. Yes. I don't know. He—Seth, my boyfriend—says the same thing as you. That if it can't be any other way…well, then this is the way he wants it.'
'Exactly. And thus, life goes on.' Vincent started gathering up the newspapers. 'I tell you though, I think your side and hers are both so fucked up, it's not even funny. Why the rules? Why does a succubus always have to take away someone's life when she's with them? Why can't you have the choice? And why can't Yasmine make love? Why can't she be in love?'
Good question. I don't think Vincent really expected an answer, but I had to give one anyway.
'Because that's the way it is. The way the system works. The way it's always worked.'
'The system is fucked-up,' he said.
I thought about it and nodded. 'No arguments.'
Smiling, he reached for his coat and slipped it on. 'You're okay for a succubus.'
Vincent left, off to do whatever it was one did with a posse of angels. I almost envied him because I had something to do that I wasn't looking forward to at all. It was another necessary evil.
I had to get Tawny a job.
After that debacle of a dance lesson, I'd told her I'd help. I might not be able to do much about my mysterious energy loss or angelic romances, but I sure as hell could do something to expedite Niphon's departure.
I drove down to Seatac, a city that owes its entire existence to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. It's more of a shadow, really, spreading around the airport in a blanket of long-term parking lots and cheap hotels. It also has a couple of strip clubs because really, what else are out-of-town businessmen supposed to do in their downtime?
It was late afternoon, so business was slow when I stepped inside Low Blow. A few bored-looking men sat scattered throughout the place, which was dingy and in need of some serious redecorating. Or, well, any decorating. A couple of the guys glanced up with interest as I walked through. Apparently, I held more appeal than the poor brunette trying her damnedest to fuck a pole in time to the dulcet sounds of Pink Floyd's 'Young Lust.'
I opened my mouth to speak to the bartender, but a voice behind me interrupted.
'Ho…ly…shit. I don't believe it. I don't fucking believe it.'
I turned and looked into the long, narrow face of Simon Chesterfield, the proud proprietor of this dive. Between his face and lanky body, he always reminded me of a weasel. His black mustache never quite seemed able to grow in completely, and he dressed in brand name clothes that were always one size too small. He was chummy with the local Hellish players, and rumor had it he was in line to be an imp, eventually selling his soul for immortality and the chance to be a diabolical salesman.
'You finally come to dance for me, doll?'
'You wish.'
For a sleazy guy who ran a sleazy establishment, Simon actually had a legitimate appreciation for dance. I'd once seen him trying to choreograph his strippers and had been impressed by his sense of aesthetics and rhythm. His employees hadn't really caught on. Such talents were kind of wasted here, and I used to wonder why he didn't take his business to one of the more affluent suburbs where he could get a higher caliber of dancers. The reason he
