fingers slip on the glass. It smashes at his feet, and angrily he scoops up another one and jams the ice in hard. After so many years, the memory of the demon’s cruel teeth slicing his flesh and ripping his precious wingjoints apart is fading. Some days, he even forgets completely.
A rotting pox on Kane for reminding him.
He pours the milk and chocolate sauce over berry liqueur, and this time he gets the change right.
He ducks, pretending to clean up the mess so no one can ask for anything else, and peeks out to see if Kane’s still there. After more than a hundred years, his balance without the counterweight of heavy feathered wings is perfect.
But the demon’s moved away, chatting up some tall blond girl with one elegant, persuasive hand laid casually on her arm. The worst breed of monster, the kind who looks exactly like everyone else.
Rainbow’s stomach folds, images of bloody soulflesh splashing his mind scarlet. Once, he’d have protected her, under Shadow’s orders. Pulled the hungry demon away from her, snarling and biting with righteous wrath flashing like lightning from snow white wings.
Now, he’s just another hellslave, helpless as a succubus or a revenant. Worse, because no demoncursed spells cramp his spirit. No magical compulsion sucks his will away.
No. Rainbow just knows when he’s beaten, and on his good days, he has the grace to feel ashamed of himself.
The rest of the time, he just works the bar, goes shopping, hangs out. And life is fine, an honest, simple, human life. Kane let him keep his body, and he looks good. No one cares about his fading scars. He’s not in pain, and he’s even learning to feel pleasure sometimes. He’s got money, a girlfriend who adores him, a nice apartment with a view. Who cares if the world’s going to hell? Most of these creeps fucking belong there.
He folds his cloth and sidles away, lifting the tiny hinge to let himself out into the pulsating crowd. Sugary sweatscent, adrenaline-soaked breath. Music tingles over him, raw and sultry. The cruel sensations still make him shiver.
He pushes through toward the back, and people smile at him, clap his shoulder. A sultry-eyed blue fairy slides inviting fingers over his thigh, and he presses a kiss to her shining lips with his fingertips and throws her a smile as he moves on. He’s got friends here. Where he comes from, they do masters, colleagues, minions. Not friends.
Beneath the mezzanine, his reflection slinks beside him in the mirrored wall, tall, graceful, muscles shining, straight blond hair pulled back in a metal clip. Against the glass, that pretty blue banshee crouches, warbling low and threatening. She of the double bloodfevers, scared ruby eyes stark in her pale face.
Rain’s sense of mischief sparkles. She’s a DiLuca minion, Kane’s enemy. Perhaps he should tell her what Kane unwittingly revealed—that Shadow’s plotting something—just to piss Kane off.
Maybe that’d wreak some pleasing havoc.
But she doesn’t look in the mood for confidences, and after an indecisive moment, Rainbow shrugs and walks on by unnoticed. Whatever.
Out the back, stars twinkle feebly through city smog and heat haze, and the black alley is quiet. Heat soaks through his jeans, into his skin. He wipes damp hands, pops out his phone, and speed-dials. Lets it ring, just once. Hangs up.
A minute of silence. Then another. Overhead, a crow calls. Rainbow kicks irritably at the dust, scattering ripped paper. He’s not a fucking voice mail service. Screw it. Maybe he’ll give work the flick, call Melanie—
His ringtone buzzes, a bouncy hip-hop tune.
Rainbow’s spine crawls. He swallows, and picks up. “Umm . . . yeah?”
“Keep it short.” Shadow’s voice is musical, eerie like echoing wind chimes.
It reminds Rainbow of snowflakes, and he wonders if he once sounded like that, too, instead of whiskey-roughened, tired, old. He grits his teeth. “Kane wants to see you. Here.”
A chuckle, like ice. “Of
A rotting pox on Kane for reminding him.
He pours the milk and chocolate sauce over berry liqueur, and this time he gets the change right.
He ducks, pretending to clean up the mess so no one can ask for anything else, and peeks out to see if Kane’s still there. After more than a hundred years, his balance without the counterweight of heavy feathered wings is perfect.
But the demon’s moved away, chatting up some tall blond girl with one elegant, persuasive hand laid casually on her arm. The worst breed of monster, the kind who looks exactly like everyone else.
Rainbow’s stomach folds, images of bloody soulflesh splashing his mind scarlet. Once, he’d have protected her, under Shadow’s orders. Pulled the hungry demon away from her, snarling and biting with righteous wrath flashing like lightning from snow white wings.
Now, he’s just another hellslave, helpless as a succubus or a revenant. Worse, because no demoncursed spells cramp his spirit. No magical compulsion sucks his will away.
No. Rainbow just knows when he’s beaten, and on his good days, he has the grace to feel ashamed of himself.
The rest of the time, he just works the bar, goes shopping, hangs out. And life is fine, an honest, simple, human life. Kane let him keep his body, and he looks good. No one cares about his fading scars. He’s not in pain, and he’s even learning to feel pleasure sometimes. He’s got money, a girlfriend who adores him, a nice apartment with a view. Who cares if the world’s going to hell? Most of these creeps fucking belong there.
He folds his cloth and sidles away, lifting the tiny hinge to let himself out into the pulsating crowd. Sugary sweatscent, adrenaline-soaked breath. Music tingles over him, raw and sultry. The cruel sensations still make him shiver.
He pushes through toward the back, and people smile at him, clap his shoulder. A sultry-eyed blue fairy slides inviting fingers over his thigh, and he presses a kiss to her shining lips with his fingertips and throws her a smile as he moves on. He’s got friends here. Where he comes from, they do masters, colleagues, minions. Not friends.
Beneath the mezzanine, his reflection slinks beside him in the mirrored wall, tall, graceful, muscles shining, straight blond hair pulled back in a metal clip. Against the glass, that pretty blue banshee crouches, warbling low and threatening. She of the double bloodfevers, scared ruby eyes stark in her pale face.
Rain’s sense of mischief sparkles. She’s a DiLuca minion, Kane’s enemy. Perhaps he should tell her what Kane unwittingly revealed—that Shadow’s plotting something—just to piss Kane off.
Maybe that’d wreak some pleasing havoc.
But she doesn’t look in the mood for confidences, and after an indecisive moment, Rainbow shrugs and walks on by unnoticed. Whatever.
Out the back, stars twinkle feebly through city smog and heat haze, and the black alley is quiet. Heat soaks through his jeans, into his skin. He wipes damp hands, pops out his phone, and speed-dials. Lets it ring, just once. Hangs up.
A minute of silence. Then another. Overhead, a crow calls. Rainbow kicks irritably at the dust, scattering ripped paper. He’s not a fucking voice mail service. Screw it. Maybe he’ll give work the flick, call Melanie—
His ringtone buzzes, a bouncy hip-hop tune.
Rainbow’s spine crawls. He swallows, and picks up. “Umm . . . yeah?”
“Keep it short.” Shadow’s voice is musical, eerie like echoing wind chimes.
It reminds Rainbow of snowflakes, and he wonders if he once sounded like that, too, instead of whiskey-roughened, tired, old. He grits his teeth. “Kane wants to see you. Here.”
A chuckle, like ice. “Of
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