Page 45 of Angel of Water & Shadow

“Yeah, just out late last night.” Shanley offered a tight grin.

“Ah, hair of the dog that bit you then.” The goal had been to make her laugh, but not the forced kind she barked out as she handed me the drink. I deflated a bit. “Thanks.”

My gaze lingered on her irises, which seemed to lose themselves in the moonlight before she went to sanitize the equipment for the second time that night.

Palms pushing off the tabletop, I attempted to stand. “Here, let me help.”

“I don’t think so, girly.” She pointed for me to sit. “You’ve got an ankle to nurse and a mochaccino to sip.”

She’d caught that? It was the slightest limp. But I lowered myself into the chair because this was exactly what I needed right now—a comradery with no strings attached.

“What are your plans tonight?” she asked as she dipped beneath the counter.

“Well, it’s a school night, so probably nothing. You?”

“You got to let loose sometimes, Riv.” She popped back up. “My friends and I are having a bonfire at Davenport Beach. You think you can hobble yourself to it?”

It’d definitely warmed up, but I still found myself saying, “Even after that downpour today?”

“Especially after that downpour today. We were about to cancel and then the rain let up.” She pointed to the stretch of cloudless sky visible outside the windows. “I’m not letting this night go to waste.”

She had a point. I couldn’t deny I was tempted. But… “I would, but school. Remember?” I’d already failed economics once; I didn’t need to do it again.

“You don’t strike me as someone who lets authority dictate your personal life.” Shanley inclined her chin. “Come with.”

Taking a sip of my drink, I cycled through excuses—curfew, homework, Dad, finding out what happened to the Voices, learning more about my part-angel lineage. For a second, I closed my eyes. I had so much shit to sort through. What was one night to live and forget about all of it?

“Sure,” I finally said. “Why not.”

“Awesome.” The enthusiasm spread across Shanley’s cheekbones with a peach flush. It hid last night’s boozy imprints, making her glow. “You’re right though, we do have a problem,” she said straight to my sagging crew neck.

I followed her gaze and pulled at my potato sack of a shirt—Ryder’s. My hands balled into fists. I wanted to burn it, along with the rest of my outfit that was caked in demon.

“Not to worry.” Clearly sensing my stress, Shanley waved a hand as if she could erase it. “I know someone who can help us.” Sweet of her to say us, even though she meant me.

After a few punches into her cell, she returned to her closing duties, using the machinery as her drum set. Every so often she’d stop and take a few ragged breaths, shaking with a whole-body twitch. Then she’d lift her shoulders, roll her neck, and sigh. And every time I tried to stand up and run over, she’d wave me off and get back to it like there’d been no interruption.

While we waited for a miracle, because that was what it would take to fix this mess, I stole a glance outside.

The asphalt sparkled in the full moon’s light, a disco ball of glass and calcite. Stray bar hoppers stumbled into trash cans that had been ransacked by the gulls. A motorcycle revved a couple blocks over, the vibrations carrying all the way to my seat by the windows.

Other than that, it remained pretty quiet.

No hot rods lurking in the shadows. No prehistoric demon birds dropping from the sky. No guys in black clothes and combat boots.

Then my miracle arrived.

She stomped across the plaza as if it was her personal runway in her thigh-high boots and fence-net tights. Kicking loose soda cans, blowing hot pink gum bubbles, wearing a suede jacket like a cape over her shoulders. Her bare arms flared with each authoritative strut, her skin as pale and radiant as the moon that shone down on her like a spotlight.

“Hey, babe,” she said in a sultry tone to Shanley when she entered, tossing her jet-black bob and cherry-patterned sack of tricks aside before going in for the European double kiss.

Wrapping her arms around this mystery woman’s waist, Shanley tucked her fingers into her flared, leather shorts’ back pockets, and turned them both towards the taken bistro table—to me. “Mau, I want you to meet River.”

“Hey, kitten.” She batted her wide-set eyes, irises dark as a desert night, cat liner swirling out from her smooth, creaseless lids.

“Hi there.” I waved from the corner, feeling a bit like fresh meat.

“She’s coming to the bonfire tonight.” Shanley’s mouth stretched into a grin so wide it exposed prominent canines. “Can you work some of your magic?”

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