Angels of Darkness

of her illusion needed attention. After she fixed it, humans were usually satisfied, convincing themselves that whatever they’d originally seen had probably been a trick of the light.
    Neither Radha nor any other Guardian ignored those feelings. Demons couldn’t cast illusions and didn’t possess Gifts, but if something seemed wrong for any reason, appeared impossible, or just something to dismiss as a trick of the light . . . it probably was wrong.
    Those little things were often what gave shape-shifting demons away.
    Marc slid in next to her, facing the boy. The diner wasn’t busy, and the waitress came as soon as they settled. Sam ordered a plate of fries and a soda. Radha liked both and ordered the same, hoping that Marc intended to pay for it. She didn’t carry American money, liked her jewelry too much to give it up, and would probably feel a niggle of guilt for passing a piece of blank paper off as a twenty-dollar bill.
    Marc requested a black coffee, but let it sit in front of him. He focused on Sam. “How long have you been friends with Miklia?”
    â€œEighth grade.” The kid wriggled out of his backpack, let it flop onto the bench beside him. “Her family moved in from Topeka.”
    â€œAlmost four years,” Marc said. “So you must have met her brother, Jason.”
    â€œA few times, yeah. Not at her house, not after he graduated and moved out, but I saw him at the video store some nights. It’s not there now, though. They just put in one of those vending machines at the grocery.” He shook his head. “No good movies at all.”
    â€œI watch mine online,” Radha said, though it wasn’t at all true. There were few better illusionists than moviemakers, and films were best enjoyed on a large scale. She preferred theaters in the cities, dark and cool, surrounded by a crowd of humans.
    â€œMy connection at home sucks, and the library isn’t any good for that, not with old Mrs. Carroll always looking over my shoulder or cutting me off after twenty minutes, so . . .” The kid shrugged. “I’m out of luck.”
    Their sodas arrived, with a paper-wrapped straw dropped next to each glass. Marc thanked the waitress and waited until she’d moved away before asking Sam, “But you’re over at Miklia’s house often, aren’t you? I noticed they have a big collection of DVDs.”
    â€œYeah, they’re all movie buffs.” Sam stabbed his straw past the cubes of ice. “But I haven’t been over there so much lately. It’s been a rough time for her. For all of them, I guess. So, you know, I gave her some space.”
    The resentment suddenly boiling from him didn’t echo the concern and support in his voice—and was probably what Marc had been aiming for. People often talked for two reasons: because they wanted to help or because they needed to air a grievance.
    Radha hadn’t expected this boy’s reason would be the second. “I imagine that losing her brother affected her. Any sudden death is a huge change for a family. Did she change, too?”
    â€œOh, yeah. She started hanging out with Lynn, Ines, Jessica. All of them, they’ve been in her face since she moved here. We called them the Brainless Bitches. Now she’s their BFF.” He rolled his eyes. “But she needed space, time to think. She’s going through stuff.”
    And more resentment. Marc obviously didn’t miss it, either. “But you’d have given her more support.”
    â€œI’ve been there since eighth grade! I understand her better, could help her out. Instead it’s a waste of four years.”
    Selfish little twit. “Your friendship was a waste?”
    â€œWhat would you call it?”
    He probably didn’t really want to hear Radha’s answer. But since the fries plonked down in front of her, she reached for them instead. Let Marc take this. He glanced at her, tilted a bottle of ketchup her way.
    Yuck. “No, thanks.”
    He looked to Sam. “A waste, then.”
    â€œYeah.” The boy shook half a bottle of tomato goop over his fries and dug in. “All these years, I’ve been waiting for her to see that I’m not like them, not like any jerk. I treat her right—listening to her, being her friend—and she turns to someone else.”
    â€œBut it should have been you?”
    â€œYeah. I mean—Whatever. But, yeah. It