Lucie

I didn't feel good about this at all.

On the car ride here, I'd tried to tell Vinny that I wasn't a ghost like he'd been, that I couldn't do all the same things. It had been a useless argument. He'd asked, "But the average person can't see you, right?"

I'd grumbled, "Yes."

"Case closed, then."

And the case was closed, because he shut his mouth and refused to bicker with me—or talk to me at all, really—until we'd reached our destination. It was a lot more frustrating than I wanted to admit, how I could try to make a point and, instead of responding, he'd just raise his eyebrows and do something rather than talking, like change the radio station or roll down the window.

Vinny could be clever when he wanted to be.

"It's simple, really," Vinny said now, at my shoulder. He, Caprice, and I were peering from around the corner of the surf shop the bar sat next to, examining our surroundings. The bar was hidden in somewhat of a blue and red haze, conjured by the flickering lights of the police cars. Police tape, glaring yellow, marked off the bar's perimeter, officers moving within and beyond it, in and out like the tides. "They can't see you. You can do whatever you want."

I slid back around the corner, slumping against the surf shop's exterior. Fog hung thick in the air, filling it with the scent of dewy grass and saltwater. "I can't make a scene when no one can see it."

"That's where you're wrong," Caprice cut in. She glimpsed me over her shoulder, which her top left gracefully exposed. I'd thought an angel would be more modest, but after knowing angels for almost six months, dating one, I was well aware they weren't all the pristine, flawless beings everyone thought they were. "You break some stuff, barricade the doors, and they won't know what hit them. Soon as you've got them out for the time being, Vinny and I will make our way in."

"I don't even know if I want to go in. All that blood—"

"Lulu."

My head snapped up; Vinny had turned and was looking at me, his eyes a deeper sapphire in the shadows. There was an encouraging smile on his face that caused an ache in my chest; his strength, his ambition, would never cease to stun me. "We might find a clue as to where Cian is if we go in," he said, "and we do have to find him. I never said it was going to be easy, but it's not an option."

I eyed him for a moment longer, then got to my feet. "That's weird."

Vinny's pale eyebrows twitched towards each other. "What is?"

"You called me Lulu," I explained, and saw a blush go to his cheeks. He looked away. "You don't usually do that."

"I'm sorry. If you don't want me to—"

"No, it's fine. We're close enough now, don't you think?" I replied. My back was to him then, but I could still feel his gaze burning into me, like a flame between my shoulder blades. "Besides," I added. "I like it."

I thought he was going to say something else, but there was only silence as I made my way towards the bar.

I half-expected someone to shout at me, but no one did, and I ducked under the police tape undetected. Closer up, I could hear the static of walkie-talkies, the warble of low voices: "...nearly decapitated...," "...seem to be stab wounds, teeth marks...," "no murder weapon."

I shuddered. Cian, you idiot. The day he managed not to get himself in some sort of trouble was the day pigs flew.

This, though, was unlike any other trouble he—we—had faced.

Outside, the bar was unsuspecting, a simple brick structure upon which a neon sign reading Almasi's was mounted. Yet, the stench of blood was everywhere, not even close to smothered by the scent of bleach and cleaners.

No one had seen me yet.

A forensic worker was taking finger prints from the doorknob. I went right up to her, waving a hand in her face. She didn't even look up. Honestly, I didn't know whether to be dismayed or excited—it was a bit of a toss-up.

I took a long breath, then gripped the handles and flung them open. There was a chorus of gasps as people looked around, wondering who was the culprit. The forensic worker staggered back, stunned.

I didn't spare more than a glance at the bar's interior. Not yet; I couldn't bear it. I swept inside, pulling the doors closed again, shaking them for extra effect. Lucky for me, all the personnel seemed to be outside the bar at the moment, which was good, because they weren't getting in anytime soon.

I used a chair to block the doors, then cracked the windows with my foot and made a little "oooooOOOOOOh" noise just to scare them some more. It was satisfying, seeing them back away as they whispered to their colleagues. That had been me once, I thought: clueless to the entire other world that existed just underneath my nose. We humans spoke about heaven, angels, the afterlife, like we had it all figured out.

Truth is, we didn't have the slightest idea.

When I turned around, any of the triumph and the euphoria swept out of me. The bar was less of a bar as it was a bloodbath: red staining the walls, the floors, the chairs. Blood turned the pool table black, dripped from the bar's glasses like thickened wine. Most of the bodies had been bagged and removed, but a few were still there: a woman slumped against a table, her neck bearing a gaping hole, another man with a piercing right through his forehead.

I would have thrown up, if I'd been in my body in the first place.

"Oh, dear," said Caprice. I looked up to see her and Vinny clambering through a back window—she must have shattered it with something. "My little one has made quite the mess."

Vinny's eyes raked the room; I saw him turn a bit green. I wanted to rush over to him, to shield his eyes or turn him away. He was too young and too good to see something like this, but then again, I knew he wouldn't want me coddling him like a toddler. Vinny was older and more mature now, but for some odd reason I still felt like it was my job to protect him.

"Yeah," he said sadly. "He has."

Caprice strode over to the bar and began searching around the cabinets. Vinny crossed the floor to me, laying a hand on my shoulder. We both looked at it, at his hand, and sighed. It was somewhat back to the way it had been before, when we hadn't been able to make contact with each other. I guess we'd just have to get used to it once again. "Are you alright?" he asked me, then reconsidered, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. That's a weird question. I don't know, I guess I just—"

"Vince. I'm fine."

He blinked at me, his face blossoming into a reluctant smile. "Good job, by the way. I think the moaning really sold it."

"Oh God," I said, covering my face with a hand. "You heard that?"

"It was kind of hard not to."

Perhaps I'd overdone it, in that case. Regardless, I'd gotten us in.

Caprice, behind the bar, had somehow recovered a bottle of champagne and a clean glass, and was helping herself. When Vinny and I both stared at her, she waved us off. "Stop eyeballing me and start investigating, younguns," she said, taking a long sip of her newfound drink. "It's what we're here for."

Vinny stepped towards the pool table. I stayed put, placing my hands on my hips and pretending to be useful. "What exactly are we looking for?" I asked Caprice.

"Evidence," she replied.

"Thanks. That helps."

Heaving a sigh, I cleared one or two steps down into the eating area, wading between the tables. All there was to see was the crimson substance that was caked on just about every other surface in the place, intermittent drops of black fluid tossed with the red. The smell was awful, like milk left on the counter for too long. It was demon venom, and I was sure of it. It was the same stuff Cian had coughed up before they'd taken his wings.

I moved away.

I didn't feel good about this at all.

I glanced up; a dark hallway led away from the main room. It was the only space in the whole bar that was free of blood. I turned, glancing back over my shoulder. Caprice held her champagne in one hand, rifling through the cash register with the other. Vinny, dismay ever present in his expression, was still poking around at the billiards table.

"Vinny," I called, and he looked up. "Come here for a sec."

Even if the hallway was clean, it was still dark. God knew I wasn't going in there alone.

He met me at the hallway's mouth, casting the space a wary look. "You think something's in there?"

"Yes," I said, taking a step forward. "That's precisely why I called you."

He made a grunting noise that made me think he didn't appreciate my sarcasm. Vinny followed me, and together we made our way down the hall, squinting into the shadows.

I couldn't see anything; it was all too obscure, all the lights flickered out, the air frigid. Beside me, I felt Vinny shivering. I couldn't see his face, really, but I knew his teeth were clenched. I could hear them chattering.

There was a light up ahead; I felt reassurance fill me. "Must be the storage room—"

I was cut off when Vinny let out a hoarse scream. He was no longer beside me. In a panic, I whirled, yelling for him. "Vinny!"

I turned, and he was kneeling on the floor, his chest heaving. There was no time for relief. A hand gripped his arm, but it wasn't mine, and it wasn't his. If I squinted, I could just make out the face of a young girl, holding on to Vinny with an iron grip. She must have yanked him backwards—but where the hell had she even come from?

She scrutinized him through a curtain of unkempt black hair, her eyes as dark as coal. "You're him! You're him—you killed him—you killed my father!"

Vinny replied shakily, "I haven't killed anyone! You must have the wrong person...so if you'd let me go—"

She tugged on his arm, and Vinny winced. "No, I don't. You have his face. You have the demon's face!"

"That would make sense," Vinny said after a moment, managing to pry his arm from her grip. He scooted backwards, and the girl scrambled after him and into the light. It was an odd scene, the two of them on the floor, their expressions a mix of terror and disbelief. "I'm not the demon. If you're talking about who I think you're talking about, I'm his brother."

The girl's huge eyes blinked at him. "Why are you here?"

"We might ask you the same thing," I cut in, and to my surprise, her eyes snapped up. Okay, that was odd. If she were any other human girl, she shouldn't have been able to see me.

My surprise was mirrored in Vinny's expression. He sputtered, "You can see her?"

The girl's eyes were still fixed on me, and I tried not to squirm underneath the burning of her gaze. I could breathe again when she finally looked away, letting out a long breath. She was clutching something against her chest—a necklace, I thought, though I wasn't close enough to see the pendant. "You're not alive, are you?"

I paused. "It's a bit of a long explanation, one I don't want to get into right now," I said, then knelt before her. Peering into her face, it was obvious she wasn't older than thirteen, her lip still quivering. I wondered what she'd seen, how she'd lived through this...this utter destruction.

Cian, what are you doing?

"Can you tell us what happened?" I asked her. "You can trust us. We're not going to hurt you."

"I'll tell you," said the girl, "but I want something first."

Vinny and I shared a wary look, but he shrugged at her, giving her his most congenial of smiles. "Sure. Whatever you need."

The girl heaved a long breath, jutting her chin. She made as if she was going to ask for something as grandiose as an entire kingdom, but then she just said, "I want hot chocolate. Hot chocolate, and a blanket, and then I'll talk."

Vinny and I shared another wary look. Children these days.

"Fine," said Vinny, getting to his feet. He reached down to help the girl up, and together the three of us started back down the hallway. I wasn't exactly sure what I'd been expecting to find in here, but it certainly wasn't a child. "We can take you back to my house. You'll be safe there. We just have to go out the back window, so the cops don't see us."

The girl nodded in understanding, her hand slipping from Vinny's. She wasn't much shorter than him, maybe two inches at most, but she was slight, her arms and legs slender. "Thank you," she said. "I was hiding from them because I didn't want them to take me. They'd—they'd throw me in a home somewhere."

I eyed the girl with caution. In one respect, it didn't make sense for her to trust us so soon, but then again, it was Vinny. Vinny had that kind of effect on people—you met him, and you trusted him immediately, because he was capable of everything but being insincere. He didn't even know it, either.

"I'm Vinny," he said then, and gestured back at me, "and that's Lucie. What's your name?"

"Nura," said the girl. "Nura Almasi."