Page 2 of How Not to Date an Angel

It wasn’t a normal knock. It was continuous, slow, ominous.

Thump, thump, thump.

Their feathers shifted in irritation, and Rami hid their wings once again before making their way to the door. Their heart rate picked up, breath going short as memory transported them to another time, anothercentury,another knock on the opposite side ofRami’s door.

They prayed this wouldn’t turn out the same.

Through the peephole they failed to see anything besides their own hedges, and frowned, steeling themself as they unlocked it and twisted the knob.

The door was heavier than usual, and as it fell wide open, they finally saw why.

A demon was on their doorstep, though he did not stand. He collapsed backward, where he’d been resting against it, and sprawled out in Rami’s doorway.

“Oh dear,” Rami whispered, and knelt down. Their hands fluttered over the surface of his golden skin, unsure of where to touch. “I suppose you’re responsible for that hiccup of energy, then?”

The demon’s face was swollen and one of the wings crushed beneath him did not look right. Blood poured from a wound on his head, matting his hair and covering half his face in a haunting visage. But the worst atrocity was the broken horn on the left side of his head. It was noticeably shorter than the right, and jagged where it had snapped off.

Rami shivered in empathy. They couldn’t imagine how painful it’d be if their halo cracked.

“What happened?” they asked, because they didn’t know what else to say.

The demon’s eyes fluttered open, though they didn’t track very well.

“I d-didn’t know where else to go,” he breathed, clutching at his side.

“Ohfuck,” Rami cursed, and barely spared a second to notice the furrow of the demon’s brow at their use of the foul word before they gripped the demon beneath the shoulders.

“This will probably hurt—do brace yourself,” they warned softly, and then pulled.

The demon did not brace himself. He groaned, the sound pouring from the very depths of his soul, as Rami dragged him through the door and safely into their entryway hall, wings scraping beneath him.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, a voice chanted in Rami’s head.

Carefully, they stepped around the demon and shut the door, vanishing the blood staining their steps with a wave of their hand.

Then they turned and stared down at their unexpected guest, hands on their hips as they tried to decide what to do next, heart pounding.

Who could do such a thing?

“Okay, well. First, we need to get you all better.”

The demon glanced up at them expectantly; meanwhile, Rami stared at him patiently.

A handful of long, slow moments passed. “Well?” Rami prompted, waving their hand. “Heal yourself.”

For angels and demons it should be nothing but a moment of concentration to heal any injury, a bit of magic.

“Can’t,” the demon said, breath wet and quite concerning.

“Why the heavens not?” Rami asked.

They could have sworn they saw the demon’s lips twitch before he said, “I’m not allowed.”

“Well—well!” Rami sputtered, flustered at the sight of this hurt, bruised, and bloody demon. No one deserved this, even if they were from Hell. This suffering was unnecessary. “Fine, then I’ll have to take care of you myself.”

Only when they waved their hand to take care of it themself, nothing happened.

Their lips pulled down into a frown, and they tried again to no avail.

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