Chapter 10
TEN
Expect the worst; optimists don’t live long.
LUCA
All these loose kids are stressing me out.
Seriously, I’ve spent my entire adult life carefully avoiding adding to the supernatural population on Earth, yet I still end up surrounded by children. What’s the point of wearing a condom every time when toddlers are falling from the fucking sky?
This new one is losing his shit, babbling a mile a minute with his eyes locked on Celine. If there was any doubt about his celestial heritage, the angelic mumbo jumbo pouring from his mouth erases it.
I desperately want his appearance outside the club to be a coincidence. It’s too bad I don’t believe in those. To make matters worse, Ciprian is standing smack dab in the middle of the mess, his mouth hanging open as if he’s never heard anyone speak a different language before.
“Stop groaning,” Celine says to me, jabbing her elbow into my ribs.
I step to the side before I can end up singed. “Only if you stop burning,” I toss back, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “You look like a godsdamn comet.”
“Guys, the kid is singing now.” Ciprian snaps his fingers to get our attention, and I realize with dismay that he’s right. It’s not a very good song, more like a chant a group of cultists would perform while dancing around a roaring fire.
I focus on Celine’s flaming wings and groan again.
“I mean it, Luca. Cut that shit out,” Celine growls, then switches languages. Her next words are firm but gentle. Coaxing. The chanting cuts off, she puts her wing fire out, and I force myself to stop groaning.
As Celine talks to the child, I keep an eye on the demon. Ciprian’s black eyes are difficult to read in the darkness of the alley, but he appears unbothered by this chaos. Too unbothered.
“How did you say you found him again?” I ask.
“Tripped over him,” Ciprian says, then laughs as he notices my face. “Oh my gods, you suspect me. That’s amazing. What exactly do you suspect me of? Angel delivery?”
“Hush, demon,” Celine demands, her brown eyes flickering between us with obvious annoyance. “Luca, make yourself useful and call Harry.”
Ciprian backs against the wall and makes a childish show of zipping his lips. I give him a warning frown, then wince when I see what time it is. Harry will be asleep by now, but this can’t wait. She answers after a few rings. Our conversation is quick.
When I hang up, I’m surprised to see Ciprian leaning against the wall in silence.
He’s watching Celine talk to the child with rapt attention, although I don’t get the impression he has any more idea what she’s saying than I do.
Since I’m watching closely, I see when he perks up, cocking his head to the side.
“I know I’m supposed to shut up, but am I right in guessing that you want to keep this quiet?” He gestures around us, and I nod, confused about why he’s asking. We’re being as efficient as we can. It’s not like Celine or I can turn back time or make the kid disappear.
“Got it,” he says, before looking at Celine. “Please stop talking for a second, then.”
She turns to glare at him, but Ciprian’s eyes go unfocused, his cheekbones sharpening?
It could be a trick of the shadows. I squint, then hear voices and freeze.
Two regulars are walking down the alley toward us.
I rack my mind for an excuse to make, but they walk by without even glancing our way.
The door to the Fang opens and closes behind them.
Ciprian’s eyes come back into focus, and he winks at me, then mimes throwing a key away.
It’s all I can do not to groan again.
“Did he just . . . ?” Celine asks.
I bite my tongue and shrug, because honestly, I have no idea. “Harry is sending her niece over to pick the kid up. She’ll be here in five minutes.”
“Shavai,” Celine says. “His name is Shavai.”
The boy perks up, a half-smile spreading across his face as he stares adoringly up at Celine. Get in line, kid. I swallow my annoyance and my questions, fully aware that Ciprian is absorbing every second of this awkward situation like a sponge.
After Harry’s niece picks Shavai up, the three of us walk back into the club. Ciprian doesn’t say a word about what he saw. Instead, he orders a drink from me, tips 50 percent, then saunters over to the ATM. I watch him go, then look at Celine with my eyebrows raised.
“I know,” she whispers. “It’s getting strange, Luca. Nothing makes sense anymore, and I’m late for a date with the pole.”
She rushes away before I can respond, and I risk another groan.
“Tough night?” Alistair asks, popping up in front of the bar out of nowhere.
“Not now, dude.” I begin making his usual, ignoring how his curious gaze digs into the side of my face.
“I mean it. No probing questions disguised as small talk or compliments that are thinly veiled attempts to dig up dirt. Unless you want me to add pureed tomato to your next Blood Tide, you’ll let me work without adding one more thing to my plate.
” I inhale deeply and give him a look that tells him I mean business.
Alistair leans over the bar, crossing his arms. “I’m not sure if that impassioned speech was a cry for help or a death threat, but I enjoyed it regardless. Tell me, Luca, would you really serve me pureed tomato?”
I point at him with the index finger of my right hand while mixing his drink with my left. “See? That’s the exact kind of question I’m talking about. Leading as fuck.”
“Was it?” Alistair raises one eyebrow, and I notice it has a thin scar through the arch. “I fear I’ve forgotten how to make friendly conversation, then.”
I chuckle drily, the sound frayed as Celine takes the stage and draws every eye her way. Despite his late arrival on a busy night, Ciprian somehow scored a seat directly in front of the pole. He’s smiling up at her like she hung the moon and stars.
The music starts. He passes her money. She strikes a pose. He passes her money. She takes a fucking breath. He passes her more money. I narrow my eyes at him, my suspicion growing in direct proportion to the stack of cash on the stage.
“I suppose if I deny pumping you for information it would only make me more guilty in your eyes,” Alistair says, sounding genuinely disappointed as he pulls my attention from Ciprian and Celine.
I sigh. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Alistair. It’s been a . . .” I wave my hands, at a loss about how to navigate the conversation away from all the landmines.
“Tough night,” he repeats. I nod. Ciprian passes Celine more money, and my face twists. Alistair follows the direction of my glare. “I see the cheeky demon is back.”
“Yup,” I hiss. “And I—”
“Fucking hate that,” Alistair finishes my thought. His annoyance feeds my jealousy.
“Yeah, part of me does hate it,” I admit. Alistair watches me thoughtfully as I finish his drink and hand it to him. “Sans tomatoes. Sorry for the threat; it won’t happen again.”
“What threat?” he asks, his lips twitching as he backs away from the bar. I shake my head, then snort as he walks to the stage and bullies someone out of the seat next to the demon. Alistair pulls out his wallet, and soon his pile of cash rivals Ciprian’s.
Their competition over her is obnoxious.
Embarrassing even. But at least they aren’t cheap about it.
If their pockets are this deep, Celine can treat me to lunch tomorrow.
We’ll make fun of their attempts to get her attention, and maybe, just maybe, my basilisk will be pacified enough to avoid turning them both to stone.