Page 43 of Reapers Don’t Ride

He took off his cloak, hanging it up to the right of the door and turning to face us. There was something frightening about him, but also interesting. Maybe the fact that the dark-winged angel wore glasses over his dark, ominous eyes.

He studied me intently. “You can’t read?”

I’d already explained this. “I can read slowly if I squint and get the distance and angle just right.” I physically couldn’t force myself to reveal any more details about my weakness. This entire situation was bad enough.

“Vampires don’t wear glasses,” he said with a slight curl of his lips.

“Neither do angels,” I said, giving him a flat look. I’d given him an excuse not to help us right away. It wasn’t my fault that he hadn’t taken it.

He smiled slowly. “What can you see?”

“Bullets.” I should have brought some weapons. Killing him would be very difficult. Not that I was killing just now, but being in the same space as someone who smelled of so much power made me want to be prepared.

“Yes, but what else? Physically, your eyes are fine. It’s something else that is keeping you from focusing on words. Usually it comes from a spell, a curse, or another reason, such as when someone trades their sight for something even more valuable.”

I stared at him blankly. “I didn’t trade my ability to read for anything.” I’d traded my soul for David’s life, but that was hardly related.

“What can you see that others can’t?”

I looked at Gavriel for help, and he gave me a sweet smile that he shouldn’t be using in a situation as dangerous as talking to a mad angelic sorcerer who may or may not turn us to stone.

“I can see corruption,” I finally said, because I had to say something.

The spectacled angel raised his brows high over the glinting curve of his silver frames. “You can see corruption, or smell it?”

I shrugged. “It’s more of a smell, but it’s not actually any of my physical senses. I thought that perhaps you meant ‘to see’ in a more metaphysical way. I’m not very metaphysical. I’m an assassin, not a sorcerer.”

“An assassin? So the job you need to get back to is to kill someone? Am I the target?”

I gave him a smile. “I wouldn’t have mentioned that I was an assassin if you were. The target is a demon. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be with an angel.”

“Not that I’m not wonderful company,” Gavriel murmured.

I looked at him, and his slight smile made my skin prickle. I really didn’t like being in this situation with him. He wasn’t defenseless, but he shouldn’t be here, in someone else’s power.

“The two of you are in a relationship?” the older angel asked, sounding so disapproving. “You aren’t in the same life states. That always ends badly. His blood is poison; you’re a drinker of blood. I can smell it in you. You’re filled with his blood. Not that he’s complaining, but he should be.”

“I don’t drink his blood,” I said through bared teeth. “I drained him unconscious to stop him after some idiot Cupid pricked him with a dart. I don’t drink live victims. That’s what blood bags are for.”

“Interesting,” he said, studying me even more intently. “And why do you want to read?”

I blinked at him. He wasn’t interested in arguing, only wanted to see my reaction. He was one of those people who prod and test people to see what they’re made of. I hated that. Also, I hated thinking about angels and vampires being incompatible. Not that I disagreed with him. Of course an angel and a vampire together would end badly. My life was over and his had just begun.

“I’d like to read for the logical reason, the better to read contracts so I’m not forced to rely on someone else’s help.”

“So independent,” Gavriel murmured.

The old man turned on him. “What are you doing? You’re a Hartshorn. You should be passing down your precious genetics, not dallying with an undead leech. You have a duty to perform.”

Gavriel pulled his sword, such a quick movement, holding at the other angel’s throat. “No. You don’t insult those who come to you for aid. Undead, yes, but she is so painfully independent, to call her a leech. And don’t talk about my genetics. It’s rude, and also hypocritical coming from someone who let their own precious angelic lines die out. I thought that you’d understand.”

The stranger pushed away the point of the sword with two fingers. “I do understand. You meet an immortal goddess of death, like this person, and you see her pure soul, and sense the angelic in her, and you can’t help yourself. But she’s not alive. She can’t give you the life you crave.”

I was going to die if I had to listen to this for another second, you know, figuratively. I stepped between Gavriel’s sword and the sorcerer. “Can you help or not? I’d say not. You’re clearly not a professional, or you wouldn’t fixate on whether a vampire or angel can be together when they aren’t, in fact, together. We’re working to take down a demon. I don’t get ‘with’ anyone, particularly romantically. I’m here for glasses. Whatever Gavriel does with his life is his business, not yours or mine for that matter. So let me ask you one last time. Can you help me?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Yes, I can.”

“Will you? We have to get back to Singsong City before it’s time to feed Crucible.”