Chapter 3 #2
Zephyr was easy. He’d recently discovered a fondness for lollipops, so I hit the candy store and loaded a bag with two of every flavor, already anticipating him sampling each with that delighted little wrinkle in his nose.
Elliot was a man with a specific aesthetic, and fortunately, there was a store for that. I bagged a hoodie studded with safety pins and a pair of the fingerless gloves he never seemed to have enough of.
The twins didn’t care much for things so much as chaos, so I picked out a cork board and darts with needle-sharp tips that would inevitably end up embedded in walls, furniture, and possibly skin.
With the list complete and pocketed like a vanquished foe, Oz and I took our victory lap. I strolled down walkways and up escalators with my personal colossus looming beside me. We drew plenty of attention. Curious glances, side-eyes, and whispers dogged our steps.
Unlike the Basilica, Mammon’s Mile was firmly situated on the demon side of the Strip. It had a devil in the name for hell’s sake, but demons had only been “out” for the last five years, and humans were historically slow to adapt and slower to accept.
I inched a little closer to my musclebound accomplice as we rounded the last leg of our trip, letting his shadow do the heavy lifting while I kept one eye on the crowd.
Oz had expected lunch, but he did not anticipate our last stop of the day.
My calves were protesting my choice to wear heels as we slowed to a stop outside Jackpot Comics.
Oz had spotted it a while back, I could tell by the way his stroll increased to a trot, despite the bags weighing down both of his arms.
If the makeup store was my paradise, this was his, and I intended to treat him to a slice.
Through the shop’s arched entryway, I caught flashes of color in the bold posters and glossy packaging that plastered across every available surface.
Action figures struck dramatic poses behind Plexiglas, and spinning racks flaunted the latest issues of a dozen different comic titles.
One wall was dedicated entirely to graphic tee shirts, many of which featured characters I recognized from the collage that had nearly blacked out Oz’s dressing room mirror.
Oz bounced on the balls of his feet while he gazed upon the nerd mecca.
Grinning, I tapped his shoulder. “Leave the bags with me.”
His gaze snapped to mine. “Really?”
I nodded and fished the weighty metal credit card from my pocket. Holding it flat in my palm, I offered it to him. “You earned it, big guy.”
I expected a bit of a protest about Beck’s money or being entrusted with club funds, but no. Dutiful Oz had left the building. In his place was the Oz with stars in his eyes and minimal impulse control.
He dropped the bags in a rush that made me glad we hadn’t bought anything fragile. Then, with the briefest pause to nudge his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he was off.
With a mountain of merchandise at my feet, I reposed like a queen. The wide doorframe proved a fine place to lean and observe while Oz flitted about the store like a bee in a field of wildflowers.
Every so often, he’d hold something aloft, and his tail would wriggle over his shoulder in a kind of happy dance. I’d give him a smile or a thumbs up, and he’d return to his reverie.
After a while, I shifted my attention from inside the store to the world outside. The mall buzzed with activity even during the so-called quiet hours. Teenagers loitered in packs, elderly couples shuffled hand in hand, and families navigated stroller traffic jams with practiced expertise.
Ordinary people living ordinary lives.
I didn’t spend much time in places like this. My work took me to private dining rooms and velvet-roped lounges. Michelin-starred restaurants, underground parties, and high-roller suites with gold-plated everything—those were the arenas I moved through.
This was different. People existed here without pretense or polish. They laughed or bickered over where to go next while munching on greasy fast food. It was messy, unfiltered, and genuine, and I didn’t fit in.
I’d felt that way at the Basilica surrounded by angels and their ilk, but having it echoed here among regular human beings had a different sting.
Suddenly, it wasn’t a sting, rather a caress. A feather-light touch that raised the hairs along my spine.
The sensation on my tail jolted me and I whipped around, half expecting to find mall security responding to the threat of my existence. Like they knew as well as I did that I didn’t belong here.
But the culprit I found instead was a young girl, not quite a teenager, with a blunt brown bob and wide, owlish eyes.
She stood behind me, holding the tip of my tail between her fingers like she’d discovered something strange on the ground and couldn’t help but pick it up.
Her face was splotched with powdery pink, and her mouth hung open in a surprised little “whoa.”
We stared at each other for a second.
“Careful, honey,” I said gently. “It’s sharp.”
“Oh.” Slowly, she let my tail slither free. Her nose crinkled. “It feels like a snake.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It kinda does.” I glanced around, searching for whoever she was supposed to be with. “Are you shopping?”
“My brother is.” She pointed to a little boy who stood a few rows over, utterly mesmerized by a wall of action figures. Beside him was a young woman—presumably their mother—equally transfixed by whatever she was reading on her phone.
“It’s his birthday,” the girl explained. “But he’s taking forever, and I’m bored.”
“I get it,” I replied. “I’m waiting too.” I nodded toward where Oz’s head bobbed above the shelves like a happy little cloud.
When the girl spotted him, she squinted slightly. “Is he your brother?”
“Kind of.” A smile tugged at my lips. “We’re very close.”
Her gaze shifted back to me, and her brows drew together in scrutiny. “You don’t look alike,” she said.
“Not all families match,” I told her. “Sometimes people just… stick.”
She considered that, then gave a solemn nod.
“You’re pretty,” she said.
I blinked, caught off guard, but not by her words.
I heard that sort of thing all the time. For most of the men I slept with, flattery was foreplay. They liked to think they could charm me into bed, or that I was there for something more than a tip.
Pretty. Gorgeous. Stunning. The compliments blurred together, usually sweetened with a pet name and served with expectation.
But this was different. Honest. Innocent.
“Thanks,” I said, my smile tipping crooked. “So are you.”
I paused for half a second then thrust out my hand. “I’m Darby. What’s your name?”
Before she could answer, a sharp voice shattered the moment.
“Molly!”
The girl jumped, and we both turned to see her mother storming toward us, dragging the little boy by one wrist. Her phone was clutched in her other hand, screen still lit. The boy stumbled to keep up, his glasses askew.
“I told you to stay with us,” she snapped, not loud enough to cause a scene, but biting all the same. She reached out and grabbed the girl’s arm.
“I was just…” the girl—Molly—began, but the mother silenced her with a scowl.
“You do not wander off. Do you understand me?”
Molly nodded, sheepish. Her brother stayed tucked against their mother’s side, studying the action figure he clutched.
When the woman looked at me, her irritation melted away. Her eyes widened as she took in the horns, the tail, the not-humanness of me.
My hand was still extended, forgotten in the moment. I jerked it back, and she startled as if I’d raised it to strike.
She shoved Molly behind her, then swept a protective arm across both children. The boy gave a confused squawk as he was herded backward, nearly dropping his toy in the process.
“Put that down,” the mother told him. All the color had left her face. “We’re leaving.”
“But Mom…” His protest came soft, wounded.
It was his birthday.
“I said put it down,” the woman repeated, gaze pinning me like an arrow through my chest. “We’ll come back another time.”
Tears welled in the boy’s eyes as he clutched the action figure with both hands, reluctant to release it.
“Now,” she commanded. Her voice made the decision for him. He looked down at the box and slowly placed it on the nearest shelf.
Then she gathered both children and steered them away, making a point of positioning herself between them and me.
A rush of heat burned my face.
I felt wrong. Exposed. Like I’d overstepped a line I hadn’t even known existed.
Worse than that, I felt foolish for forgetting it might.
The family escaped into the mall thoroughfare, but before they vanished into the crowd, Molly looked back. Her face was pinched with confusion and maybe a bit of sympathy.
Forcing a smile, I gave her a parting wave.
She didn’t wave back.