Page 5 of When the Angel Falls First

My new assignment.

So, what was I missing? I drummed my fingers idly on the desk as I focused on their faces and let my senses soar out, feeling for their locations.

There.

With Gabriel involved, I couldn’t say I was surprised to find them both a block away, in one of the shops on the Ave.

Instinct demanded I grab my bag and go check them out. Were they already a couple, or was it pure coincidence that theywere together in a shop right now, just when Gabriel visited? Either way, it was too good an opportunity to miss.

I walked down the busy streets, minivans with too many bumper stickers getting honked at by cussing cabbies as people walked every which way, their heads down with eyes locked on phone screens. I didn’t see the appeal, but I had a leg up on the average person. I could sense everyone around me—their moods, their emotions. It might have been overwhelming, but I was wired to handle it. I tried to respect people’s privacy and only use my powers when I could intervene for good.

And right now, I was getting close to two people, both in interesting moods inside the… what was this place? I’d never come across it before. It must be new. I’d spent years walking up and down the Ave to and from my private investigation office, but never before had I seen that sign on the awning.

The Bookish Cat.

It was forest green, which matched the ivy crawling up the outside of the red brick building perfectly. The windows were clean, no writing on them, simply the spines of hundreds of books, stacked enticingly. And sure enough, there was a calico cat curled up inside the display window, eyes flicking with bored judgment over every person walking past on the sidewalk.

I paused, considering my match, both of them inside. They were in opposite parts of the store. The woman was closest, near the windows. In fact, if I ducked a little, I could see her through the shelves in the display window. She was a petite redhead with a dusting of freckles over her button nose.

She was sad, though. A ripple of grief floated around her, and her raincoat was belted tightly, as if to ward off more than the light drizzle of a Seattle afternoon.

I stretched farther, finding the man toward the very back of thestore, hidden behind one of the bookcases. He was filled with intense longing, and I didn’t think it was for a book. It had clearly been a while since this man had gotten laid.

Welcome to the club, man.

Done assessing, I stepped inside. A bell chimed merrily overhead, but I ignored it. I was intensely focused on the couple. I needed to see the man, see if anything about him gave me a clue.

I strode past two stacks, not paying attention to anything else in the shop, until a signature I hadn’t sensed in years stopped me dead in my tracks. I scanned the shop quickly, and the world seemed to disappear under my feet when I spotted her behind the cash register.

Was I flying? No, that wasn’t possible. I hadn’t had my wings since the day I left her.

Josephine.

Holy Shit.

THREE

Josie

The soft tinkleof the doorbell announced another visitor, but my eyes remained glued to the chapter in Seattle’s bylaws entitled “Tenant Rights Regarding Pets.” Nestled under my hand, Gatsby purred with leisurely contentment. He was a fluffy white Persian and one of the three unofficial residents of the Bookish Cat.

He was also wholly undisturbed by the prospect of eviction.

“There’s got to be a loophole here somewhere, Gatsby.” I traced over the legalese with a slightly smudged fingertip. My nose scrunched up as I squinted at the paragraphs of unfamiliar terms and subclauses. “I mean, it’s not like I invited you in. You heard the name of the shop and took it literally. You’re part of the store’s charm now.”

Gatsby simply purred louder, his jade eyes half-closed as he pushed his head into my palm. He didn’t seem concerned in the least about the consequences of his unauthorized tenancy.

Above us, nestled in a second-story nook with a clear view of the street outside, Matilda lazily stretched out a paw.A playful calico, her claws briefly glinted in the dappled afternoon sunlight streaming through the book-lined windows.

The third trespasser, Heathcliff, a sleek black cat, was mysteriously absent from his usual perch atop the tallest bookshelf. I’d only discovered his hiding spot last week when a customer squealed with delight, pointing upward and exclaiming, “Look, it’s like he’s the king of books!”

Indeed, the Bookish Cat was a haven for bibliophiles and feline enthusiasts alike, our shared love of quiet corners and cozy atmospheres bringing us all together. The idea of disrupting this peace with cease-and-desist notices was a damn disaster, and yet the landlord’s decree was clear—the cats had to go.

But these four-legged interlopers were more than mere strays. They’d swiftly become part of the Bookish Cat’s soul, its identity. And I was determined to keep it that way.

It didn’t hurt that they were freaking cute. I was instantly attached.

Damn landlord.

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