Beloved Purgatory (Fallen Angels, Book 2) (23 page)

I stayed beneath the streetlight, watching
the place where her bus had disappeared, wondering if she still had
her head pressed against the window, doing the same.

Oz stepped next to me and wrapped his little
fingers around one of my claws.

"Yeah, it's time to go home," I said,
replying to a question he probably hadn't even considered asking
me.

Chapter 12

The three of us didn't say much on the way back to my
place. The dinosaur offered me a Figgy Bar and, when I didn't
respond, said I could have all his candy. I ruffled the spikes on
his head and told him not to worry. Camael remained behind us. If
he hadn't glowed in the dark places between the streetlights like
an angelic flashlight, I might have even forgotten he was
there.

Come to think of it, after leaving Forneus', I had
forgotten he was with me. Briefly, I wondered what it was it like
to be such a creature as we approached my home.

The inside of my house was always colder than it was
outside. I didn't understand how that worked, but was used to it. I
stumbled from the door to the kitchen and flicked on the light.

I sucked in a breath. "Wow."

The dinosaur plopped his bag of candy on the
counter--the gleaming, clutter-free counter. "It was a little
messy, so I cleaned it." He nodded to the sparkling corner. "The
angel helped too."

I picked up his discarded felt gloves and folded them
carefully, trying not to bend the foam claws. "Are you staying over
tonight?"

He clutched his sleeve. "Can I?"

Of course, I wanted to say, but my throat was too
tight. Why was he looking at me like that?

"Who do you want me to be?" he asked. "Jasmine? Oz?
Cannon Man?"

"You don't even know what Tim Cannon looks like." I
muttered.

He scrunched his eyebrows and gave me an awkward
smile. "Well, I actually got a pretty good look--"

"Oz!" I screeched. I didn't know what he'd gotten a
look at, but I didn't want to see whatever it was. "Just be
Oz!"

His grin deepened. "Okay. Let me grab something
first. I haven't been a kid in a long time, so it's not pleasant
when I change." The dinosaur crouched on his knees, opened the
cabinet, and pulled out a bottle of scotch.

"Uh, what are you doing?"

The child's brows furrowed. It made him resemble a
Cabbage Patch kid. With those pinch-able rosy cheeks he looked like
he should grace the cover of one of those cutesy greeting cards
people give to their grandparents...or at least he would've if he
wasn't holding hard liquor.

The kid followed my gaze to the bottle. "Oh yeah," he
laughed.

"Yeah," I said, not finding it nearly as amusing as
he did. "I don't care if you are a bazillion year old demon. You
can't drink that when you look like you're ten."

T. rex tilted his head. "Bazillion?"

"You know what I mean," I grumbled, taking the drink
from him and holding it above my head.

T. rex didn't try to jump for it. Instead, his bottom
lip trembled and those green, dewy eyes got larger, greener, and
dewier. My grip on the bottle loosened. Was I being too harsh? He'd
mentioned the change was uncomfortable.

I set the bottle on the counter near the sink. The
adorable little dinosaur was shifting back and forth on his feet
with his hands folded in front of him.
Oh God, am I really doing
to do this--let a kid drink alcohol?
I coughed. "How much does
it hurt to change?"

T. rex picked up on my unease immediately. "Don't
worry about it. It's not necessary."

"You didn't answer my question," I said.

He winked, and a dimple formed in his cheek.

I groaned and thrusted the bottle at him like a
pirate offering him a swig. "Take it."

"No," the dinosaur whispered. "You're right. I need
to remember what I look like, and what I can and can't do in this
form. If you're worried you can leave it out for when I get back,
just in case."

With that he scurried out of the room--or rather
tried too. It was hard for him to move quickly when he wore the
little boy's equivalent of fuzzy bunny slippers on his feet.

I set the scotch down on the counter. "I really need
to think more before I say stuff," I muttered.

Silence. The hairs on the back of my neck pricked up,
as if I'd been reprimanded harshly. But no, he hadn't and would
never. It was just me, trying to read something into his
actions.

I ran my fingertips over the counter. "Oz really did
take care of the mess in here. All the food was put away."

Camael still said nothing.

My nails clinked like muted wind chimes as I
scratched the stainless steel counter. The edge of it was cool and
slick against my palm. I couldn't ignore it any longer.

"Why did you eat it?" I asked.

I heard him swallow. It sounded awkward, which would
make sense since I doubted he'd done it often until recently.
Still, it seemed strange that any action he took would ever lack
elegance.

I spun around.

He stared at me calmly. My heartbeat escalated. My
breath came faster. My palms suddenly felt hot. The darkness of the
room made his blue eyes seem bottomless.

It scared me, and yet I took a step forward.
Don't. If you keep looking, you'll fall into them and never stop
falling
. But I couldn't stop, and I couldn't silence or heed my
fears. He was too beautiful--so beautiful that my limbs buzzed and
my fingers tingled from the heady mix of bliss and fear. I wanted
that beauty for myself. I wanted to be consumed by it--

He blinked.

I dropped my gaze to his lips. My hands shook at my
sides, and my throat pounded so hard that I could scarcely breathe.
What was wrong with me?

"Are you alright, Devi?"

I nodded, or at least tried to. What could I say to
him?
I felt like I was being absorbed by you, and I liked it.
You make me lose control of myself--make it so I can't think--and I
like that too.

I ground my teeth. What had we been talking about? Oh
right, fatal pancakes. "Did you know what would happen if you ate
them?" I continued.

This time he didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Then why?"

Silence.

"So now you're not talking to me?" I said, voice a
little louder.

He swallowed again, and again that strange,
ungraceful sound filled the room. Even his throat looked
vulnerable--his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, as if he were
being strangled. "I don't know what to say. When I'm with you, I
sometimes get the urge to do strange things, and I don't understand
it."

My own throat felt tight. How could he reveal
something like that in such a dispassionate voice? Did he even know
what he was saying?

I grabbed the bottom of my zombie cheer top to
prevent myself from touching him.
He's lonely
, I realized,
and his immortal body lacks the capacity to understand
that.

My vision blurred. Angels weren't supposed to feel,
or ache. Still, it seemed that whenever one of them deigned to
visit this plane, they were consumed by such feelings. Even
Shamsiel, that untouchable golden angel, had alluded to it. Just
looking at Camael, I could see it hurt him to be here, just as it
had hurt my brother. He, like Camael, had stayed until he'd been
called away.

Because of me.

My fists tightened around my jersey, causing it to
rise several inches and reveal my stomach. At that moment, I didn't
care. It wasn't like angels noticed that sort of thing, either.
"When I was a kid, my goal in life was to never hurt anyone," I
whispered.

"I know," the angel said.

Of course he did. He'd been there when I'd told my
brother, who'd said it was an admirable goal even though, at that
time, I'd probably been hurting him.

"That's not really possible, though, is it? No matter
how much I might want..." My voice sounded like shattered glass.
Images of broken plates and half-eaten pancakes, syrup that looked
like blood, and that black, vile liquid that originated from within
the angel swam before me.

I shut my eyes.

The angel didn't respond. I don't know why I expected
him to. Nothing in the room moved but me. Only the sound of the
buzzing refrigerator and my own panting filled the space between
us.

"Say something, Camael." I stumbled over his name. It
still felt strange to say it, like I was initiating intimacy with a
stranger.

Camael knelt in a supplicating position--head bent,
palms face up on his thighs. Something shimmered over his back,
right where his wings would be, if he'd revealed them. His
shoulders expanded as he inhaled deeply. Then, he looked up at
me.

I grabbed the counter to support myself. That same
feeling of sinking--of being absorbed--consumed me as I focused on
his eyes. I almost didn't hear him over the roaring of my
blood.

"Do you love the demon?"

"Yes," I said, trying to match his intensity.

He glanced at my white fists clinging to the edge of
the counter. "It won't end well."

I smiled and laughed, though it sounded like a sigh.
"Are you worried about me?"

He just stared.

"Right, don't say anything," I mumbled. "It wouldn't
surprise me if it didn't end well, but that doesn't mean I can just
stop loving him. It's probably similar to how you must protect me,
no matter what I do or say. I think, sometimes at least, the heart
can bind you just as fiercely as God's word."

Something smooth slipped over my wrists--his hands on
mine--cool skin that would never change temperature, no matter what
he touched or how long he held it.

"You're gripping the counter too hard," he said.
"You'll leave an imprint on your skin."

I held my breath.
What do you really want to say,
angel? Is there really nothing there, behind those cold, beautiful
eyes?

Behind the wall, down the hallway, a door clicked
shut. I could hear the soft slipping of slow, uneven footsteps.

"Oz," I whispered.

The angel rose and stepped away from me. He wiped his
hands on his pants before retreating back into the corner.

"Hey," Oz leaned in the doorway with a lopsided grin,
looking bad ass--or at least as bad ass as a guy in a kid's
dinosaur suit could look. With horror, I realized he'd changed into
Oz while wearing it. The adorable, little neon feet were split open
at his knees. The midsection of the suit was stretched around his
waist. His chest sprouted from a gigantic rip from the incandescent
yellow neckline. The only parts that weren't damaged beyond repair
were the foam claw mittens, which covered his hands.

For a moment I couldn't speak.

Then, I couldn't stop laughing.

He grinned. "You're not supposed to find this
funny."

I tried to catch my breath. "Really? What am I
supposed to think?"

He gave me a smoldering look. "Let's see if you can
guess."

In an attempt to stop myself from laughing, I bit the
insides of my cheeks. The zombie sore that had been giving me
trouble all night plopped to the floor and wiggled.

Amazingly, Oz didn't comment on that. He stepped
forward, and the arms of the dinosaur costume flapped around his
waist. "I'll give you a hint," he drawled. "I'm half naked."

I moaned inwardly. I can't take this. If my teeth
sank any deeper into my cheek, I'd taste blood. "Oz, if you keep
looking at me like that, I'm going to laugh again."

"Looking at you like what?" He murmured.

Heat flared across the bridge of my nose. Did I
really have to say it? Yes, otherwise he'd ask again--with that
same look.

I took a deep breath. "Like a leering Fabio."

Oz tilted back his head and laughed. His abs
tightened. They looked more like a swimmer's than Fabio's, and for
some reason I wanted to touch them.

Oz looked down at me. My cheeks burned.
He can't
read your thoughts
, I reminded myself. Even so, the demonic
glint in his eyes unnerved me.

"Hey," he began. "Does that make me worthy of a spot
on the cover of Sweet Savage Sentiments?"

"I knew that was coming," I groaned.

He brushed my upper arm with his claws. "I don't know
if a dinosaur hero would've improved the book, but it certainly
would have inspired me to read it."

The flour cracked over my cheeks as I smiled. "You
don't look like a dinosaur hero. More like you stole that poor
kid's costume."

"I also took his chocolate," Oz whispered. "For you,
of course."

I raised my eyebrows. "Am I supposed to find that
heroic?"

"Don't worry, I left him the Figgy Bars."

I pulled him closer to me by tugging on one of the
limp arms of the dino costume around his waist. "That's pretty
savage," I said as my stomach flipped.

"I can be sweet too," he whispered, leaning down.

His breath fanned across my neck. My body started to
tingle. Yes. He's going to kiss me.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the angel.
Staring at us. Expressionless as a plant--the creepiest, most
judgmental plant in the universe.

I looked at my shoes, and Oz's lips crashed into my
hairline. They hardened for a moment. Then his soft tongue parted
his lips, and he started making out with my forehead.

"Hey," I laughed, pushing him away. "That's kinda
gross!"

He tipped up my chin with his foam claw. His eyes
were large and black, and they watched me as if I were the only
thing that mattered. My body fell against the counter behind
me.

"You taste like flour and Kool-Aid," he
whispered.

I should have called him out for saying something so
disgusting. Really, I don't think he could have said anything less
sexy. But my insides were melting like the flour and Kool-Aid on my
face. I could feel it running down my cheeks, down my neck--my
sweat mixing with the scent of high-fructose corn syrup and baby
powder. None of it mattered to Oz. He kept looking at me as if I
were not dressed like a zombie--as if only the two of us
existed.