“You think you’re bad.”
“I am bad!”
“You think it’s cool to be all dark and dangerous.”
“Hello? Hell to Leslie!” One navy-tipped fingernail poked him hard in the shoulder. “I am dark and dangerous.”
“I know why you do it.”
“Oh, please…”
“It keeps people from getting close to you. Keeps you from getting hurt.”
“I don’t get hurt. I do the hurting.”
“Essentially the same thing.”
“If you think that having red hot pokers stuffed up your ass is the same as stuffing those same pokers up someone else’s ass, you’re dopier than I thought. And that’s almost scary.” Beginning to wonder why she hadn’t considered the implications of being stuck in a car with a God-pimp for three hours, Byleth unhooked her seat belt and twisted around until she faced the driver, her eyes onyx from lid to lid. “Leslie, look at me.”
“Not now, Byleth. I’m trying to keep the car on the road.”
“I said, look at me.”
“And I said, not now!” A glance in the rearview mirror showed the front grille of a transport and not much else. “Unless you really want to end this little journey upside down in the ditch.”
She thought about that for a moment, her eyes lightening. “Well, no.”
“Good.” He leaned back, downshifted, pulled into the passing lane, and, engine roaring, shifted back into overdrive. They screamed past traffic and dropped speed only when they’d cleared the clump and had moved back into the right-hand lane.
Byleth closed her mouth with a snap. “That was so kewl.”
Bright spots of color appeared on pale cheeks. “Thanks.”
“Do it again!”
“Sure, next time I have to pass something.”
“What? Like a kidney stone? Do it now!”
“No.” Glancing over at her, his eyes widened. “Byleth! Do up your seatbelt!”
“Because you’ll get a ninety-six-dollar fine and lose three points if the cops pull us over?” she sneered, her hands as far away from the belt as possible while still attached to her body.
“Because you’ll get hurt if anything happens.”
“Won’t your god protect me?”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Tell me about it,” she snorted.
He sighed and shook his head. “I’ve been trying to.”
“I want you to know I’m only doing this up because I have to get to Kingston in one piece,” Byleth told him as she dragged the shoulder belt down over her jacket, and shoved the clasp together as hard as she could. “I’m sure not doing it because you told me to. And I so totally don’t believe you care if I get hurt.”
“I do care.”
“Why?”
“Damned if I know.”
“Probably,” she snapped, sinking down into the depths of the bucket seat, knees braced against the dash.
Samuel poked a paw out through the top of the backpack and tapped Diana lightly on the chin. “What’s wrong?”
“Summons,” she whispered. Although the train was crowded with post-Christmas travelers, they had a double seat to themselves—mostly because of the disgustingly realistic stain the possibilities had provided. She’d draped her jacket strategically, but talking to luggage would still attract Bystander attention.
“Okay.” A quick shoulder lick to gather his thoughts and he had a plan. “Here’s what we’ll do: you deal with the Summons, and I’ll go to Kingston and save the demon from your sister.”
He looked perfectly serious. Or at least as serious as an orange cat in a green backpack could look.
“And just supposing I was insane enough to agree to that—how?”
“I’ll think of something. I’m a cat.”
“You’re an angel shaped like a cat,” Diana reminded him pointedly.
“That’s what I meant, I’m an angel.”
“Right. Fortunately, the Summons is on the train. I can deal.” She stood, left her jacket lying where it fell and, turning reluctantly in place, attempted to pin down the feeling. It wasn’t that she minded being Summoned, it was what Keepers did, after all, but since her wallet had been distinctly short of lineage money, and she’d had to spend her Christmas money to buy the train ticket, it didn’t seem exactly fair. Either she was saving the demon on her own time, or she was working—which was it to be? “There! Is that the washroom,” she added, smiling broadly down at the middle-aged man whose attention had been jerked away from his paper.
He shot her the look those over forty reserved for those under twenty and returned to a review of Archie and Jughead, the holiday’s breakout movie. Diana hadn’t seen it, but she strongly suspected George Clooney had been miscast.
The sound of claws in upholstery brought her shuffle toward the aisle to a sudden stop.
“Where are you going?” she muttered, bending so that her face was millimeters from the angel’s, pushing him back under her jacket.
“With you.”
“Why? You won’t be able to do anything. I won’t be long. Just stay here.”
Samuel thought about it for a moment. “No.”
“Why not?”
He seemed surprised by the question. “I don’t want to.”
“Fine.” Grabbing the straps, Diana swung cat and carrier up onto her shoulder, enjoying the muffled, “Oof!” rather more than she should have.
As it turned out, the accident site was in the washroom. Unfortunately, so was someone else. There were four people already waiting in line and judging by their expressions, not to mention the fidgeting, they’d been waiting for a while. Hoping she wasn’t too late, that seeping darkness hadn’t claimed a victim, Diana reached into the possibilities just far enough for safety—not quite far enough for voyeurism.
She couldn’t quite prevent the astounded sputter.
The motherly woman in line in front of her half turned. “Are you all right?”
“Choked on spit. Hate it when that happens.”
“I see.” Still looking concerned, although her focus had shifted from concern for to concern about, she turned away.
The possibilities had shown two people in the bathroom. They’d already been there longer than they’d intended, and it seemed like they were going to be there for quite a while yet. Darkness had no intention of allowing a quickie, not when a delay would leave everyone involved so frustrated. Few things resembled a lynch mob quite
