evening, my lady, I will be at your side.”
“ ‘My lady’?” I said. “Since when am I your lady?”
“You are the daughter of my lord; therefore, you are my lady. Forgive me for not addressing you so sooner.”
“Are you crazy?” I asked, totally unnerved by his sudden formality. I was no one’s boss. I could barely control my own small life. “Don’t even think about acting like you’re my servant.”
“When you are ready to leave, I will accompany you,” he said. “I will retire downstairs for the moment and confer with my lord.”
He headed out of the kitchen and down the short hallway. My shout stopped him at the door.
“Wait,” I said. “You need the keys. And what are you going to do in an empty apartment for the next half hour?”
A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. “I do not need the keys, and the apartment is not empty.”
“It isn’t?” I was confused. I didn’t want him to leave, even if he was only going downstairs. I didn’t want this sudden feeling between us, either. Was this what normal people felt like?
“No, it isn’t empty,” he repeated. “After all, I do have a little magic of my own.”
9
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER I STEPPED OUT OF THE shower and wrapped a towel around my body. Gabriel had healed my injuries, but my jeans had been mutilated beyond repair and my skin had been covered in flakes of dried blood. Cleaning up had been deemed prudent.
As I walked into the bedroom I saw Beezle exactly where I’d expected him to be—perched on my dresser, arms crossed, opening and closing his wings in an annoyed little metronome. He narrowed his cat’s eyes at me as he took a deep breath to begin his tirade.
“Don’t even start with me, Beezle,” I said mildly as I pulled my underwear from the top drawer. Basic, boring black cotton bra and basic, boring black cotton underpants.
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Beezle snapped. “I see that look in your eye.”
I crossed to the closet and pulled out a black turtleneck sweater and jeans. Basic, boring. Black and blue. I looked critically at my wardrobe. Didn’t I have anything to wear that wasn’t completely drab?
“Madeline, are you listening to me?” Beezle asked.
“No,” I said absently, pulling on my clothes. Maybe after I got paid for my current writing assignment I could go out and buy a few new things. Maybe something red. Red would probably look nice with my dark hair and eyes.
Beezle launched himself from the dresser as I sat on the bed to pull on my boots, which looked mighty crummy after a couple of days of stomping in alleys and bleeding on the leather. As I finished tying the left lace Beezle came to a halt, hovering in front of my face.
“Now, you listen here, Madeline Black,” he said, stabbing a little claw in the direction of my nose. “Whatever ideas you have in your head about Gabriel, you had just better get them out right now!”
“And what makes you think I have any ‘ideas’ at all?” I shot back, annoyed. Gabriel may not be perfect. I may have had doubts about his motivations and his actions. But I was attracted to him. That much I could admit to myself. And I had been so alone for so long. I wasn’t about to let Beezle take that away from me just because he didn’t like the fact that Gabriel was fallen.
“I told you,” he said grimly. “I’ve seen that look in your eye.”
“I doubt that very much. I’ve never had anyone around to put that look in my eye.”
“I didn’t say I’d seen it in your eyes,” he said. “I remember Katherine mooning about just the same way that you are now. And may I humbly remind you that Katherine’s romance with Azazel was not the smartest thing she had ever done.”
I stared at him, stricken. “So what are you saying? I should never have been born?”
“No, no,” he backpedaled hastily, waving his arms. “Of course not. But it is very likely that her death was caused by her relationship with Azazel. I don’t want to see you fall into the same trap.”
I tried to put aside all the raw emotion that I had been carrying around the last couple of days—the lust, the longing, the anger, the hurt, the sense of betrayal by all and sundry. The flayed nerve that was the source of magic deep inside me. When I sifted through those things, looked at them critically, I could agree with Beezle. I was a mess right now. My life had changed too much and too quickly, and I hadn’t exactly responded like a mature adult. Maybe I wasn’t examining Gabriel close enough. Maybe I was letting myself get sucked in by his beauty, by my needs.
“My lady?” he called, knocking on the front door and opening it. “Are you ready to leave now?”
The sound of his voice made my body pull tight like an arrow about to be loosed.
“Maddy,” Beezle pleaded. “Please think about what you are doing.”
I heard Gabriel call me again and I patted Beezle on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Beezle. I promise to be careful.”
Careful. I would be careful. But I hadn’t promised to stay away.
At ten thirty-seven Gabriel and I stood on the corner of Clark and Belmont, watching the teeming masses of humanity rush to and fro. The buildings and the people reflected the constant state of flux that was any Chicago neighborhood. This particular corner had been something of a punk mecca—the Dunkin’ Donuts on the northwest corner of Clark had been affectionately known as the Pun-kin’ Donuts for years. Behind it stood the Alley, once a tiny purveyor of Gothic and punk fashion, now a venerable old Chicago institution that took up several of the buildings on Clark and Belmont. The Alley still hawked Doc Martens, plaid pants and black satin corsets, along with bondage gear, vibrators and just about any other accessory required for the young and alternative, who still flocked to this neighborhood in droves despite the increasing gentrification.
On the opposite corner, a Starbucks packed with the young and the fashionable bore a sign that proclaimed NOW OPEN 24 HOURS. The sidewalk was covered with scaffolding that wrapped around the corner, protecting pedestrians from falling debris as the building next door to the Starbucks was renovated.
Farther west on Belmont were an independent video store, a used bookstore, a Japanese goods emporium, several fashionable boutiques and a Middle Eastern take-out place called Sinbad’s that had the best falafel and hummus in the city, as far as I was concerned. East and closer to the lakefront was Boys Town on Halsted, with its strip of nightclubs and open-late eateries.
The proximity of this intersection to such a variety of businesses, restaurants and people, as well as the convenience of three bus lines and a major El stop, meant that Clark and Belmont never slept. Even at ten forty- five on a weeknight, there was still a snarl of traffic, buses trying to negotiate in and out of bus stops while car drivers cursed through their windows, cabbies zooming to pick up and drop off fares without any regard for pedestrians, cyclists or inanimate objects. People stepped off the sidewalk willy-nilly and crossed portions of the four-way intersection, not bothering to wait for the crossing signal.
Gabriel and I leaned against a storefront on the northeast corner and watched the crowd of neo-Goth and emo kids lurking in the small parking lot of the Dunkin’ Donuts, sharing cigarettes and coffee cups. Students and young professionals intent on their laptops could be seen through the window of the Starbucks.
“How will you know which is the man you are looking for?” Gabriel said, his eyes roaming the crowds of people. He was definitely taking his bodyguard duties seriously tonight. He gave off a take-one-step-closer-and-I- will-show-you-Armageddon vibe that had people veering around us on the sidewalks. I don’t think he was aware of what he did.
“Whenever I have to pick up a soul, I just know it’s them,” I said simply.
“There is nothing to signal you?” Gabriel asked.
“If you mean a rotating blue light and siren, or maybe a flashing arrow announcing, FRESH SOUL RIGHT HERE, then no,” I said, amused. “There is a kind of signal, I guess. It’s more like a knowing, like I sense that they are in my presence and then my whole being just kind of locks on them. I never really thought about it before. It’s always been instinctive.”
