Page 63 of Death is My BFF

I reached into my cloak for a rolled cigarette. If it were up to me, she’d be punished for what she’d done. Oh, yes, I’d have fun with her.

But no, Lucifer had full authority over this one. He wanted the girl safe and unscathed, both mentally and physically. Yawn.

Flicking my lighter, I lit the cig. One whole pack in three hours told me I was already building a tolerance to the most recent blend of herbs supplied to me by a witch. Her blends suppressed my hunger, at least for a little while, but as I exhaled, I knew I’d already ventured past the point of no return.

The migraine landed like a sledgehammer to the skull. I snuffed out my now useless cigarette, preparing for what was next. A painful churn of my stomach sent me nearly doubling over. Fangs gnashing together, muscles cramping up, a trickle of panic slid down my spine that this would be worse than usual.Not here.Not here. I cast all thoughts of the girl and my appetite aside and concentrated on the waning gibbous moon carved into the night. The sensations slowly rolled over, decelerating my heartbeat until it grew still. A low growl rolled out from the back of my throat as the rest of my organs shut off.

“Control yourself,” I seethed.

Easier said than done, when all I wanted was to hunt and chase and feast on this whole neighborhood. I rolled my neck, easing a crick, and forced an intentional inhale again as the sensations faded away. The next hunger episode wouldn’t be pretty. I needed to collect at a much faster rate.

Lately, I hadn’t been focused enough on souls. I’d been too burdened with keeping Faith alive. How could I get someone as stubborn and headstrong as her to trust me before it was too late?

The Elders, aka the original goody two-shoes head honcho angels in the realm of Heaven, had recently created a garbage law that humans could only give their souls to Hell if they consented to it. Which meant the mortals had to verbally agree to, or physically sign over, their souls to Hell. Despite the headache of getting creative with our ploys, Lucifer and I had yet to have too many problems tricking the humans into selling their souls.

Then there was Faith.

Faith didn’t trust me as far as her skinny emo arms could throw me. Smart. But what she didn’t know was that she had a deadline.

If she didn’t verbally agree to my protection and give her soul to me soon, well, let’s just say her life wouldn’t burst at the seams with sunshine and happiness.

I didn’t want to admit it, but I required counseling on this. Faith tested my control in ways that clouded my judgment, and apparently, I didn’t have the best people skills. Especially when I was hungry and said people looked like dinner.

Glaring down at my phone, I debated whether to dial Lucifer or just track him down in Hell. Cell phones were so delicate and irritating, and they could never fit in my leather pants. Whenever I steered away from the new advances in Hell and Earth, I felt like an old man with his khakis pulled up to his nipples. I might have existed for two thousand years, give or take, but I was physically imprisoned in time and cursed for all eternity as a young adult. Still had the great hair, overconfidence, random spurts of insane horniness, and late-night cravings for anything-cheesy sauce to prove it.

“My lord,” trembled a voice. Glenn, my kick around demon, emerged from the shadow of the tree to my left. Thirtysomething years old when he died, Glenn was short and wiry in stature with outdated rivet spectacles that balanced on his nose. “I apologize for the interruption, but you didn’t answer your phone. I have news from Hell. It’s not good news, I’m afraid.”

I fisted my hands until leather creaked and nodded once. I enjoyed my moments of peace and quiet. Everyone annoyed the shit out of me.

Especially Glenn.

“My lord,” Glenn spoke up again, edging closer with a clipboard in hand. “Does the nod mean I have permission to speak? Or, does the nod mean to ‘go eff myself’? I only want to make sure—”

“Glenn,” I snarled.

“Never mind, forget I even asked! My apologies, my lord.”

Glenn cleared his throat, shuffling in front of my view and adjusting his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. As if it were broad daylight, I could see the crisp bleach white of his shirt, and the sheen of wetness bubbling across his pale forehead. Glenn focused on his clipboard and read off a script, as he often did the past two hundred years.

“Hello, sir! You look exceptionally evil and menacing tonight!” His gaze darted frantically between me and the clipboard. “I have all the information you wanted to acquire. According to Hell’s records, there have been three documented eliminations of guardian angels within the span of three weeks.”

Darkness crawled from my body, concealing the ground with howling shadows. “Where?”

Glenn turned faintly green. He kept his eyes glued to the script.

“All w-within New York City, my lord.” The bubbling sweat turned to a stream. “All with their eyes pecked out. The corpses were not too far apart.”

I combed through Glenn’s anarchic thoughts as a single drop of sweat rolled down his nose and prompted him, “There’s more.”

“Yes, my lord.” Terror overtook Glenn’s face, and he clutched his clipboard to his frail chest as if it were a shield. “About your own Fallen, I’m afraid.”

“Well?” When he was hesitant to respond, my fangs lengthened in my mouth. “Spit it out!”

Glenn jerked back half a step, fumbling with his clipboard as he turned a page too fast and tore it in half. “In the past three days, there have been seven recorded attacks on our Fallen outside of Hell. Five casualties withintwenty-fourhours.”

“Five casualties.” I cracked my neck to the side. “Within twenty-four hours.”

All color emptied from Glenn’s face. “Correct, my lord.”

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