 |
| Reaping With Class by Beki Yopek |
“So The Reaper drinks tequila?” Nia asked from behind the bar at The Down South Lounge. She was in her favorite spaghetti strap pink top and yoga pants, a far cry from the blue blazer and slacks she’d worn when I saw her yesterday. Three other bartender demons rushed around the long counter, mixing drinks and pouring drafts for the hundred or so bar-hopping angels and trashed demons Friday nights always brought in. Raucous chatter filled the long room, the air was heavy, and the bouncer Hildariel was letting in rowdier demons than Nia typically allowed.
Reap had to shout over the slurred singing from the digital jukebox at the end of the bar, where a demon in a cheap blue suit and black fedora was arguing with the pair of angels making blatherskites of themselves. “This night does not merit a simple ale.”
I finished my Sin and Tonic and met Nia’s smoky eyes. “He’s still learning modern vernacular. It’s not a beer kind of night.”
Nia tossed a bottle of Lethe Gin to a bartender in a jersey and he swung a bottle of Hallelujah Tequila behind his back at her. She caught it with one hand, pointed a wing at her co-worker, and did a little shimmy. Then she faced The Reaper and poured tequila into the highball glass full of ice in front of him. “I hope you’re not neglecting work. You two helped create every mote I make selling drinks tonight.”
I blew a lock of my crimson hair out of my face. “We worked a double tonight and Jack Te-Konos showed up in Nepal and New York.”
Nia garnished Reap’s drink with lime and haloxite powder. “What happened there?”
“Huge earthquake in Nepal killed thousands of humans, and New York is New York.”
She slid The Reaper’s drink to him and he downed half, then crunched on the ice. Nia refreshed my Sin and Tonic. “The Pneuma Coalition needs to stop messing with my girl. Jack didn’t follow you here, did he?”
I shook my head and pulled a pair of aviators out of my inner blazer pocket. Blood still clung to the frames on each side, along with a folded picture of military-quality infrared goggles. “Been using these to watch for tails on the flight over. Infrared aviators. Jack won’t be a problem tonight.”
The blue-clad demon sat on a barstool closer to The Reaper than anyone had dared since we came in after our shift. Nia asked the bartender in the jersey to serve him, and came back to examine the shades. “You’re always pushing your Blood Magic.”
Reap checked that his scythe was safe on the barstool next to him, then rasped, “Doesn’t using that much blood in your magic make you a lightweight?”
I quirked an eyebrow. “How do you even drink? Alcohol and haloxite powder travel through the bloodstream, and you don’t have veins or arteries.”
He tilted his ram’s horns to the side. “I have a mouth, therefore, I can drink.”
I laughed and said, “Well, at least this means we’ll have the time to recruit another bodyguard. Double shifts are shit, but it frees up more time than we usually have.”
Once I ran out of positives, my mind dwelled on the negatives. Someone broke into The Reaper’s office in Fountainia and stole the last Case Note we’d written. Everything I’d hoped no one would ever learn about me was in that Note. Pride. My ideas. My pain. Had Jack or someone else from The Coalition listened in on us yesterday? I couldn’t exactly investigate either since we’d harvested twice in one day.
Demons and angels didn’t need to sleep thanks to their horns and halos, but that only meant there could always be someone hunting you.
I buried the negatives and the pain with a huge swig of Sin and Tonic. Most of it went down the hatch. When Nia pulled a hanger with a solid black tuxedo from around the door of her back room, I sprayed the rest onto the rainbow of bottles behind the bar. “You’re bringing that out tonight?”
Nia beamed mischievously. “You told me he needed a new wardrobe last Saturday.”
A grin snuck across both lips. “Yes. I did.” Spinning on the barstool, I caught Reap dumping the last of his drink into is ah, mandibles. “You want to attract more bodyguard candidates? Put that on.”
The Reaper set his glass down. If he had eyes, I could tell he’d be rolling them. “We have discussed this before, Avaline. Plain brown robes are practical, expendable, and give me a fearsome appearance.”
Nia sashayed around from behind the bar, drawing demons’ and angels’ leers. She flourished the suit at The Reaper. “You. Tux. Now.”
Voices quieted around us and drinkers stopped talking to listen to The Reaper’s response. “The raiment I wear is sufficient, and I choose it--”
“Try it on, or the next one will be hot pink.”
I stifled a burst of laughter and The Reaper stood to his full seven foot height. “Be careful what you desire, Nia. I’ll play along this time, but remember that you pushed for this.”
With that, The Reaper stripped off his robe to stand naked among a hundred gaping drunks. He seized the tuxedo, whipped the pants off the hanger, and slid into them like he’d done it for centuries. Shirt on, vest buttoned, belt and bow tie secured in a New Purgatory minute. Reap slipped the jacket on and hefted his scythe, then faced Nia with his shadow-black skull tilted down. “It isn’t my color. Too light.”
Shock and absurdity blended like a bad drink recipe in my chest. Nia’s mouth hung wide and her eyes darted among the patrons and bartenders. A good dozen demons had fled the bar while The Reaper dressed, no doubt expecting an angry outburst that would end with them dead and their life force as food for other demons. When nobody spoke, Reap cackled and gestured to himself. “Perhaps there is no one in Hell capable of guarding all this.”
Laughter burst from me and the angels at the pool tables behind The Reaper. Nia’s mouth opened and closed, failing to find any words. I drank some Sin and Tonic to give myself a second, then said, “All he needs now is one glove and a fedora.”
Nia’s flabbergasted face turned into a guilty smile and she pointed behind The Reaper. “Hey Shawn, can we borrow that?”
The demon in the cheap blue suit doffed his chapeau and tossed it like a frisbee to The Reaper. He ringed it on a finger, then placed it between his horns. “What do you think?”
Shawn stammered. “The light color pairs so well with your dark erm, complexion. You’d kill at the clubs downtown.”
Reap’s growl was a dragon’s. “Thank you. Now I have work to do. Speak with Nia later to get your hat back.”
“Y-yessir,” he said, backing away from his barstool and fleeing toward the classic arcade games at the back of the Lounge.
When The Reaper sat back down and twiddled his glass, the crowd dissolved and went about their drinking. The angels kept shooting pool, the bartenders poured more drinks, and Nia ambled back to her spot behind the bar. She shook her head and nodded her halo at Reap. “Ava, warn me next time I’m about to push The Reaper too far.”
“Hey,” I said from behind my glass. “You hugged him yesterday. I thought you two were close enough to know that.”
“You’re a s--you’re so bad.”
“That’s why you love me. And did you almost--”
“Avaline,” The Reaper hissed. “Tuxedos are dangerous. I cannot fight well in one even if it is tailored to my bones. Get out your pen. Do you recall our visit to Yankee Stadium in the late thirties?”
No comments:
Post a Comment