Angels Don’t Date (Singsong City #11)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

Itook my seat in the balcony, second row from the edge, sinking into the red velvet seat with a slight bounce.

The arched ceiling echoed all the people rustling as they took their seats below.

And I was there, on my own in Apple City for the first time in my life, with sparkling chandeliers above and all kinds of people everywhere else.

Opera wasn’t my favorite, but the tenor singer, Monterose Fellicci, was my number one dream collab, so with encouragement from my best friend, SunRae—the best pet baker in the entire world—I’d taken the train from Singsong to Apple City so I could personally talk to Fellicci after his performance.

He didn’t take private messages, and he was the first pick from my five loyal followers for my next duet when I’d surveyed them.

It was still surreal to actually be there, on my own, listening to opera all by myself.

I got some stares, possibly because my princess ballgown wasn’t black.

Pink didn’t seem to be what most opera goers wore.

Also the corset top with silk flowers and fluffy sleeves. Also my crown.

If everything went well, my pastel princess-core platform would take off.

I needed a prince to duet with, and hopefully Fellicci wouldn’t mind being my prince during a quick duet after his show.

It was a ridiculously terrifying gamble, but after five years and five followers, I needed to do something drastic to change things.

I adjusted my skirts so they didn’t threaten the people sitting on either side of me in the balcony.

The woman to my right didn’t look at me.

She was focused on the music and wouldn’t notice if someone pulled a gun.

To my left, the man gave me a dead fish look, like I was a dead fish, before he refocused on the stage.

Were they humans? I couldn’t tell what they were, but they looked human, without glowing eyes or fangs, or anything else I was used to, living in the Scholar’s lab.

I had a difficult time holding still, not because I wasn’t interested, but because I was so nervous.

What if Fellicci said no? What if I didn’t even get to see him?

What if he agreed but then said something terrible about the way I sang?

What if I did so terribly that he posted it on his page and made me the laughingstock of the whole world?

I shook my head. Any publicity is good publicity.

I knew that the opera was three hours long, but the first hour was so slow, filled with people breathing, rustling programs, coughing, and then there was a small fly that kept swirling around people’s heads.

My anxiety grew with every song, unable to get lost in the ridiculous caricature onstage when I was so terrified to go see Fellicci for real.

Maybe I should go back home before the Scholar missed me.

He didn’t technically know where I was, but that didn’t mean I snuck out.

I was practically fifty years old. You couldn’t sneak out when you were that old, because you were capable of making your own decisions. Maybe.

The fly almost came close enough to catch, but then it circled out of my reach for the entire first half. The intermission came and I stood, relieved to move. Maybe I could catch that fly, but it vanished in the swirl of black-clothed people who stood, shifting and moving around.

I followed the crowd, trying not to stare at all the people, so many who seemed absolutely human. I’d been raised by the Scholar, so I was used to infernal creatures instead of humans or angelic.

Standing in the aisle in front of me was an angel with legitimate wings, her white dress a splash in all the black.

When I smiled at her, she looked at my pink fluffy ballgown and then away, disapproving.

Right. Angels were always judgmental and awful, like that angel, Richard the Lion.

I’d danced with him instead of killing him.

I never would have danced with someone who had insulted my guardian and exposed his secret dragon nature, except that otherwise, he would have killed me, and I didn’t want to disrupt my guardian’s wedding with something like spilled blood.

At least he’d danced well and not smelled like stale blood.

No, he smelled more like fresh cut grass and bread wafting out of a bakery.

Pity that someone who smelled so good had such a terrible personality.

He was vain, vicious, condescending, and in general, all-around vile.

And he was one of the most talented killers of our time.

For me, the threat of being killed wasn’t a big deal, not really, because I’d just rise a full undead vampire and go on with business as usual unless I was a soulless vicious murderer.

I would absolutely die to defend my guardian’s name, but he wouldn’t appreciate it at his wedding.

He also might not appreciate me sneaking out to the opera without him, but I was almost fifty.

I’d aged so slowly, but at fifty it was ridiculous to still have to ask permission to go on a small train ride to Apple City.

While I was walking with the crowd down the hall towards the lobby for the intermission, I heard a distant mewling to my left.

Had one of the people gotten injured? Maybe that was a different language.

I searched faces, but everyone looked bored and slightly irritated if they met my eyes.

The sound came again and I stopped at a side door, brass that matched the light fixtures.

It sounded like something was in serious distress.

I always tried to help people if I could, and what if an innocent human had been attacked by a vicious goblin?

I’d been born half human, half vampire, so I was alive while still needing blood.

That was annoying. But I was also well-trained by the scholar to use all my vampire abilities.

I wasn’t worried about my personal safety, particularly when my life would end in undeath.

I didn’t want to get locked out, but I couldn’t just let someone suffer if I could help them.

I pushed through the door and stepped out into the cool evening air, smelling of distant trash and car exhaust.

I followed the mewling to a dumpster, and there, poking its head out from the side was an adorable orange-striped kitten. I’d seen kittens in pictures and videos before, but in real life they were even more adorable.

I gathered my skirts and then squatted down so I could get a better look at the little thing.

“Hello?”

“Meow,” it said with big, sad eyes. So cute. My heart melted like chocolate in the hot sun.

I spoke softly. “Hi there. Are you alone? Where is your mother?” Kittens had mothers, right?

“Meow,” it said coming out to sniff my skirt. It pawed it and then got its little claws caught in the lace ruffle. So adorable!

I laughed and picked it up, getting it unstuck, but its ribs were protruding. “Are you hungry?” I asked, holding it carefully. It was so soft and delicate, like a dandelion tuft with a beating heart.

It meowed again, and then there was an answering cry behind the bin. And another. Two more faces poked out, one white and gray, the other black. I was about to die from cuteness overdose. Had anything ever been so absolutely adorable?

I’d never been allowed to have a pet because I lived with infernal creatures who would eat a cat or a dog without thinking about it. Some of them didn’t have any problems eating humans either, except that it was against the Scholar’s rules. He enforced his rules very decisively.

Maybe I should move out of the laboratory and find a cute little cottage, or a rundown chateau to fix up.

That would be so fun! Except that I’d be lonely.

Being what I was, I didn’t really fit in the undercity of Singsong with all the other infernal creatures, or the upper city with all the angelic.

At least I had some people I could talk to in the lab.

And Libby was really nice, even if she had no idea how to interact with people instead of books.

Still, at fifty, I should have more independence.

If I were a real princess influencer, with more than five followers, then I could get sponsors and be financially independent.

Kittens would be so cute to have as pets.

And I could dress them up and teach them tricks and walk them on leashes that matched my different outfits.

For a moment I was swept away by the image, the perfect scene of princess core adorableness, my hair in curls, the kittens with little floral or plaid bonnets while they romped around at my feet. How hard would it be to make tiny bonnets for them?

The other kittens approached so I picked them up too. So breakable. They probably sold snacks in the lobby during intermission that a kitten would like. Hotdogs. They must sell hotdogs. Apple City was notorious for its fine hotdogs. Odd that it was Apple City when the famous food was the hotdog.

I carried the kittens back to the door, but as I’d feared, it was now locked. I’d need to find the front entrance again. I followed the alley down the old stone wall with elaborate carvings while the kittens meowed and struggled until they found comfortable perches in my arms.

I finally made it out to the main street and sidewalk. A woman pushing a shopping cart full of trash looked at me up and down, as disgusted as the angelic woman, although this wasn’t an angel. She smelled like sewage and looked like gray seaweed had grown down her head and body.

I flashed her a smile and tried to keep my skirts from dragging the ground. I’d definitely have to wash my skirts out in the tub when I got home, but at least I didn’t drop the kittens.