Nephilim. Mary Ann Loesch
she relished in knowing her shop, the Flower Pot, would be closed. It was definitely a perk of being self-employed.
The Flower Pot had once been an old gas station leftover from the fifties. Faye had purchased it seven years ago, seeing the potential in the abandoned location and its unique two-story design. It had taken some time, but now the run-down gas station with its curved arches and old-fashioned feel was a small thriving florist and plant nursery. Flowers bloomed in bright pots outside. The exterior of the building, once a mixture of whites and greens, had been given a cheery yellow makeover. Painted daisies grew all over the sides of the shop, intertwining with the business’ name printed on the front wall.
Faye escaped there, content to be one with nature, and satisfied her plant world would bring her peace. From time to time, loneliness crept in, but that’s what her stint at the Black Cat was for. Most people would see it as artistic release, not a cry of despair. Admitting to such a feeling would have been tantamount to asking for help. That wouldn’t do.
The small room above The Flower Pot served as Faye’s personal living space. Nothing more than a simple efficiency apartment, she’d done her best to create a soothing environment with soft brown and olive tones. The tiny kitchen and dining area appealed to Faye’s need for open space–no places for unwanted visitors to hide.
This morning, as the last remnants of the unsettling dream slipped away, depression twisted in her stomach, battling with the anxious butterflies that had made it home when she’d seen Azal in the audience last night. Her gaze flitted for a moment on the only picture she allowed herself to have out and then just as quickly, she glanced away.
She hated being spied on, manipulated. For seven years, she’d managed to fill her time with things that kept her from wondering too much about the Others, and with the exception of Azal, the other angels left her alone. Fine. She wanted solitude. Yes, there were times when the loneliness almost consumed her, but she didn’t need a bunch of pious hens cackling over her misfortunes, offering sage but useless advice. Speaking with Azal, agreeing to assist him in any way, was like opening the door for the rest of the angels. Would they start dropping in and asking for favors too? No way would she be going down that path again!
“Hell, no,” she said to the empty apartment as she got out of bed.
She started the morning routine–stretch, start coffee, find food not expired in the fridge–and forced her thoughts to focus on Nathan Ink. Tall and good-looking in a hard sort of way, she couldn’t help but admire the black, shiny rock star hair that swung loose and free at his shoulders. She pondered the tattooed line she’d seen running up from his chest and around his neck. What kind of tattoo would an angel have? And those big muscles–Faye wondered if angels worked out at the gym, or was that just the natural form of his mortal shell?
And what a sexy mortal shell it was, Faye thought, stirring her coffee.
His wary attitude gave her no clue about the real nature of his activities, which she was supposed to be checking on. Of course that was only if she chose to do so. Right now, that was feeling like a pretty big if.
A soft thud outside her door announced the arrival of the morning paper. She glanced at the clock and stretched again. Only six hours ago she’d helped someone cross to the other side of the veil. The after effects always took a toll on the body. She winced at the various aches in her muscles.
Faye opened the door and picked up the morning paper from the welcome mat, relieved the paperboy had managed to throw it up the stairs for once. Though winters in Texas were typically mild, barely getting below fifty, she didn’t relish walking down the cool steps in her bare feet to fetch the Statesman. Faye slipped off the plastic cover and skimmed the morning headlines. The slight breeze rustled her hair, and a scent, delicate and soft, tickled her nose. Her senses went on alert.
“See anything interesting?” Azal asked.
Faye turned back to the interior of her apartment.
“I thought I smelled shit,” she said, and pointed down the stairs. “Get out. I didn’t say you could come in, Azal.”
“I didn’t ask.”
Faye shut the door, frustrated. She moved about the room, snapping open the shades, which allowed light to flood the place. Azal stood in the center. Sunbeams gathered around his brown hair, giving him a glow that would have caused awe in most people. Faye had seen the show before, and while she might have still been impressed by it, she would never let Azal know that.
“Did you talk to Nathan?”
“Yes. I don’t know why you bother to ask. I’m sure you already know the answer.” Faye went into the small kitchen and opened the fridge. “Is this going to become a habit? Are you planning to drop in whenever you want?”
“I brought éclairs.”
She peered at him from over the top of the refrigerator door. “What kind?”
“Chocolate covered.”
“With custard or whip cream for the filling?”
“Whip cream, of course.”
“Okay, you can stay for a few minutes, but only because I’m hungry.”
“I figured as much.” Azal watched her plop onto the sofa and grab the box he’d placed on the coffee table. “I like your apartment. And your shop. You’ve done well for yourself.”
“Thanks.”
“I see you kept the MG. Your father loved that sports car. I remember when he bought it, how proud he was to drive your mother around in it.”
“Can we cut the small talk?” She didn’t want to think about her father and the MG. It had taken her a long time to stomach driving it again, the memories almost too much to bear at first. Faye picked up an éclair, and then offered the box to Azal. “You want one?”
“I need to know about Nathan. How did he seem to you?”
Faye bit into the sweet pastry, observing his body language. His shoulders were tense, and impatient energy crackled through him. “He seemed fine to me. I don’t know the guy, so I don’t know what his normal temperament is like.”
“Did you notice anything odd?”
“He’s an angel who tattoos people. Where should I begin?” At his small sigh of frustration, she continued. “He’s in the habit of glamoring things so no one finds his lair or his shop unless he wants them to, but that’s not out of the ordinary. Lots of earthbound angels do that in order to keep a low profile.”
“True. What about his shop then? Did you see anything there?”
“I didn’t go in, but I did watch him and an assistant finish a tattoo on a client.”
“An assistant?” Azal asked, and Faye could almost see his ears perk up. He sat down next to her. “Man or woman?”
“Woman. Young and black with long dreadlocks.”
“How did this customer seem when he left the shop?”
Faye bit into her éclair again, thinking back to Curt. He’d staggered on his way out of Hell’s Leak, and there had been that strange glow flickering just under his skin. Not to mention Heidi and the way she’d been drawn to Curt by his smell.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I thought something was different with him. There was this light that pulsed through his body, but when I followed him…well, he turned out to be some average guy with a hard-on for every woman he sees. I think I was just picking up on his pheromones. It happens sometimes.”
“The assistant’s name is Judith. She’s actually an apprentice, and we’ve been watching her closely for some time.” Azal leaned back on the sofa. Faye stole a quick glance at him, surprised to see sadness crinkling the lines around his eyes. On impulse, she reached up and smoothed out one of his curls.
“You’re tired. I’ve never seen