Angel's Mark

Thirty-seven

We were supposed to be in the car by now, but thanks to a random argument about seemingly nothing that Caprice and Zev had struck up, we now stood near it. Sure, the two of them were half-turned away from each other and their words flew steady and fast, but the from the way they were looking at each other, I wouldn't be surprised if they started to ferociously make out with each other in the next few seconds.

I was saved from the possible sight of that, thank goodness, by Cian.

I heard his footsteps upon the stoop before his hand was on my shoulder, twisting me around to see him. The expression on his face was strange, like was trying to smile, but it was much too grim. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," I replied, my voice wavering, unsure of precisely why he was out here. "Do you need—"

"Be careful," he burst out, like it'd been physically hurting him to hold it in the whole time. His mouth opened in an exhale, and he knocked a fist against my chest, the sort-of smile vanishing into a frown. He shook his head. "Just be careful, please. Demons—I'm not gonna lie. I'm really scared. I don't want to see you get hurt like I did."

I'm really scared.

I wasn't sure if I'd ever heard Cian say that before.

It wasn't that I'd never thought Cian could be scared—he could, I'd seen it on him before—but it was just that he wasn't the type of person to admit that. And from the terseness of his muscles, like a string drawn taut, from the wideness of his eyes, I could tell it was eating at him, too.

I laid a hand on his shoulder; he looked up at me through his eyelashes. "Cian," I said. "Don't worry about it. It's my job to protect you, so I kinda have to come back."

He chuckled, but it was a rueful noise. "Maybe, but we're not promised anything."

The argument about nothing seemed to have dissolved; Caprice sat behind the wheel of her black Camaro, Zev in the passenger seat. A car horn blew through the former quiet, and I knew I didn't have much longer before all of Caprice's frustration was pointed at me rather than Zev.

Cian noticed too, his eyes flitting over my shoulder towards the car.

I told him again, "Don't worry so much about me."
Even as I turned, walked to the car, I knew that it was an impossible request.

"For some reason, they always congregate here. Don't ask me why."

The Camaro, with the three of us in it, was pulled up in front of an old barber shop, its neon sign flickering in the window. The sun was beginning to set behind it, the sky painted with streaks of pink and yellow, as hazy as the men who wandered about within the shop: sweeping the floor or cleaning the mirrors or soaking scissors and combs.

At about the same time my eyebrow rose in disbelief, Zev said, "Please explain to me, Caprice, how a town barber shop attracts demons."

Caprice yanked her keys from the ignition, turning sharply towards Zev. Another argument stirred somewhere in her expression. "I just told you not to ask me why, Zev. Because I don't know."

Before Zev could snap back at her, I pressed my face against the window, looking out into the settling night. I saw shadows, but normal ones, not ones that shivered and moved of their own volition. Everything about this place seemed benevolent, mundane. I let the thought cross my mind that Caprice was wrong for once. "I don't see anything but a barber shop," I said, and sat back. Caprice's eyes were on me now, black in the dim light of the car. "Is there somewhere else?"