Angels of Darkness

“Nebraska’s about to go for the two-point conversion instead of the tie, and lose it all.”
    In other words, he’d talk when the game was over. Standing near the glass case of pastries, Radha narrowed her eyes on Marc, but whatever she intended to say had to wait. A black-haired woman in a flour-dusted apron emerged from the back of the store, drying her hands on a towel. No question where Jackson had gotten his height from. Her eyes were level with Marc’s.
    â€œAre you here to talk to my son?”
    â€œWith your permission,” Marc said. “We need to ask him a few questions.”
    â€œIs he in any trouble?”
    â€œNo, ma’am. We’re just gathering information.”
    â€œAll right, then. And since you’re here on the government’s dime, you make sure you order something.”
    Radha tapped her claw-tipped forefinger against the glass case. “I want that.”
    A four-layer slice of white coconut cake. Jackson’s mother retrieved the plate and slid it across the counter. “Forks are at the station by the window. Gregory will bring your coffees out to you.”
    â€œIn about four minutes,” the kid said, watching the game again—but even distracted, he made the correct change.
    â€œPfft. Worthless boy.” She flicked his bottom with the towel, but it was easy to hear the affection in her voice—and easier to feel her pride.
    Definitely not a demon, either.
    The shop held a mix of mismatched tables and chairs, centered beneath long striped curtains hanging from the middle of the ceiling and drawn back to the corners of the room. A few big pillows and long benches along the walls provided more comfortable seating areas. Pop music piped through the speakers, and Radha danced her way across the floor with small steps and long swings of her hips. With a twirl of blue skin, orange scarves, and black hair, she chose a sturdy square table and sank gracefully into the wooden chair. Less gracefully, Marc sat opposite her, then watched her scrape off half the frosting before digging her fork into the cake.
    Before taking a bite, she asked, “You follow American football?”
    â€œThis is the Midwest,” he said. “I remember that game, and when Nebraska lost. I don’t know if a thousand demons descending on a city would have caused the same amount of rage and despair coming from those fans.”
    â€œAh.” Radha nodded. “You should visit my territory during the Cricket World Cup.”
    Maybe he would. “But you follow the matches a bit, don’t you? Soccer, too. Because not everyone in your territory follows them—and up north in my territory, it leans toward hockey—but every once in a while, you run across someone who should know the language of the sport, but doesn’t.”
    â€œAnd it’s either a demon or a liar. You’re a clever man, Marc.”
    â€œWell, I enjoy it, too.” He liked the strategy involved, the endless play variations. “And—”
    He broke off as, beneath the table, a slight weight fell across his thighs. Radha’s icy feet pressed between his legs.
    She grinned at him. “I’m trying to warm them up.”
    God. Her toes wriggled, as if she were snuggling in deeper. Suddenly rock hard, he waited for them to wriggle higher, to torment him a little more. They didn’t.
    â€œAnd what is everyone else seeing?” he asked.
    She didn’t even glance at the few other people in the coffee shop. “My feet are firmly on the floor. I’m wearing black pumps. Boring black pumps. And your muscles are so tense.”
    Her toes rubbed against his inner thighs. Biting back a groan, Marc caught one of her feet. Still cold, but to a Guardian, that wasn’t necessarily unpleasant. Not unpleasant at all.
    â€œWhat are you doing, Radha?”
    Making him pay for that long-ago hurt? A little friendly teasing? Something more?
    He’d take anything she dished out, but he damn well wouldn’t respond until he knew what she wanted in return.
    â€œI’m having fun.”
    â€œWorking me up?”
    â€œAm I?” Her eyes began to glow, the gold flecks brightening, casting their own light. Not an illusion at all. A Guardian’s eyes did that when they were affected by a deep emotion. “Can a celibate warrior be worked up?”
    By Radha? She could probably get a rise out of a stone.
    â€œMarc.” It was