Rummaging about in her pocket, she pulled out a marshmallow.
Need provides.
Twenty minutes later, the scene seethed with people—volunteer firefighters, both constables from the local OPP detachment, and most of the remaining population.
Now that’s more like it. Bonus points for pulling a Keeper up into the middle of nowhere to close this hole opened by arson, leaving more populated areas unprotected. Jostled by the crowd, she snarled and drove her heel as hard as she could down on the nearest toe.
“Ouch. Excuse me.”
Confused, she turned and glared into soft brown eyes bracketed between a dark pink hat and a pale pink scarf. “Why are you apologizing? You’re the victim.”
“No one has to be a victim, dear.” The older woman frowned slightly, her gaze sliding from dyed hair to running shoes and back up again. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
Strangers were universally suspect when something went wrong. Settling her weight on one hip, she folded her arms. “No, I’m not.”
“Are you alone?”
She glanced over her shoulder at the tendril of darkness seeping out of the hole, watched one of the firefighters “accidentally” turn the hose on another, and she smiled. “Mostly.” Once accused of setting the fire, she’d be able to cause all sorts of havoc. She’d be able to turn their anger at her onto other targets, counter-accusing once she had the attention of the crowd. Maybe the good townspeople would like to know about Mr. Tannison, the bank manager.
“A stranger,” the woman repeated thoughtfully, the flames reflecting in both halves of her bifocals. “And all alone.”
Here it comes, she thought.
“How did you get here? We’re not exactly in the center of things.” Her eyes widened. “You’ve run away, haven’t you?”
“No, I…”
“All alone. In a strange place. And on Christmas, too.” Pink-mittened hands clasped over a formidable bosom. “Where were you running away to?”
“The city…”
“Of course, the city.” Her sigh plumed out silver-white. “But for right now, you have nowhere to go for Christmas dinner, do you?”
“I don’t eat.”
“That’s what I thought.”
And the strange thing was, that was what she thought. Which made less than no sense.
“My name is Eva Porter, and you’re going to join my husband and I for turkey and all the trimmings. I won’t take no for an answer.” A pink wave toward the burning bank. “That’s my husband by the tanker truck.”
“You want me to join you for dinner?”
“That’s right.”
“You don’t know me.”
“You don’t know me.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Eva Porter was way outside her experience. “Are you going to torture me?” That would at least explain the invitation.
“Goodness, no.”
“You only want to feed me?”
“That’s right.”
“And it doesn’t bother you that I’m a demon? Darkness given human form?”
Eva’s smile slipped.
Before she could enjoy the expected reaction, wool-covered fingers gently lifted her chin and looked her right in the eye.
“I don’t know who told you such a thing…”
“No one had to tell me.”
“…but you are a beautiful young woman.”
“I am?” She caught herself feeling good about that and hurriedly squashed the feeling.
“Yes, you are. What’s your name?”
“Uh…” She pulled one at random from the possibilities. “Byleth.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
“It is?” It wasn’t supposed to be. This had gone quite far enough. “Listen, lady, I don’t know what you think I am, but I’m not.”
“Not what?”
“That. What you think.” The pale gray of her eyes began darkening like tarnished silver. “I set that fire! I desired flames—and there they were.”
Eva frowned. “What are you on, Byleth?”
She glanced down, totally confused. “Packed snow and concrete.”
“And those shoes are just canvas, aren’t they? Your poor toes must be frozen.”
They hadn’t been. But now…
“And a nylon jacket isn’t enough for this weather. It’s below zero out here. Just look at the ice forming on those hoses.”
She looked. Her teeth began to chatter. “Okay, but I’m just going with you to get warm.”
“That’s fine. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“That’s right. I don’t.” Hugging herself in a valiant effort to contain body heat, Byleth followed the confusing mortal down Main Street. Ignite the bank. Open a hole. Allow a little darkness into the world. All that had gone by the book. But reassured, warmed, and fed? Not to mention apologized to?
She wasn’t supposed to like people being nice to her. Well, so far only person not people, but still…
It wasn’t right.
Or more to the point, it wasn’t wrong.
“No shit, man! I’m an angel, too!”
Samuel studied Doug’s slightly furry, gap-toothed smile and bloodshot eyes and shook his head. “No, you’re not.”
“Yeah, I am.” Carefully placing his fork beside his half empty plate, Doug leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I’m undercover. That’s why, you know, no wings.”
“Can you make your head light up?”
“Fuck, yeah.” He glanced around, checking for eavesdroppers. Satisfied that no one else in the crowded room was paying any attention, he elaborated. “It’s usually pretty lit by now, but they don’t allow that stuff in here.”
“But shouldn’t I know it if you’re an angel?”
“I didn’t know till you told me. Why should you know till I told you?”
That made sense. Not a lot of sense but, under the circumstances, enough. And Doug wasn’t lying. Samuel could tell when people were lying and Doug believed every breathy, fermentation-redolent thing he’d said. Feeling as though the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders, Samuel leaned forward as well. “Do you get covered in pigeons?”
“Nope. Butterflies. Hundreds of ’em, movin’ their little feet all over my body.” Eyes widening, he glanced down at this chest and began smacking himself with alternating palms. “All. Over. My. Body.”
Samuel grabbed his wrists. “What are you doing?”
“Swattin’ butterflies.”
Ignoring for the moment the absence of butterflies to swat, Samuel looked sternly across the narrow table. “Angels can’t enact violence on a living creature.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“We don’t swat!”
“You never wanted to swat them pigeons?”
“Well…yeah.” Which wasn’t something he wanted to discover about himself—even justifiable urges to commit violence on a flock of flying rats was just anti-angel. Releasing
