Wings, Flings, and Demon Kings || COMPLETE

Chapter 2: Panic Attacks and Power Outages

6:45 P.M. 

Angels, as a rule, are not good with small spaces. We're too used to fluttering about in the sunlight, the clouds, and the wide-open sky.

We are especially bad at holding it together when we are shocked, powerless, and trapped in an elevator with nothing but a malevolent demon and our own humiliation for company.

The second the elevator blacked out, I froze. Part of me—the part most affected by my human body—became irrationally convinced I was going to die. My chest blazed with pain, the breath caught in my throat, and it was an immense effort to suck in air.

(I should add, for clarification, that angels can't actually die. We can be unmade, but that hasn't happened in years, and you need special equipment. If my human body had died, the worst that would've happened is that I'd have been sent back to Heaven—a bit disgraced, with a barrage of talking-tos from Archangel Ramiel—but otherwise unharmed. So my panic at the time was utterly irrational... as panic tends to be.)

Beside me, in the darkness, the demon cursed. It was a very demonic sort of curse, with lots of blasphemous utterances about Jesus and Our Holy Father, intermingled with references to very inappropriate sexual activities and anatomical bits that Our Lord and Savior definitely does not possess.

A moment later, a light blazed through the gloom, directly in my face, nearly blinding me. The demon had, apparently, dug the cell phone out of his suede pants pocket. I was, by this time, huddled in the corner of the elevator as far as I could get from the demon, hugging my knees, trying to make myself as tiny as possible.

It was a great look, I realize now.

Definitely how a mature, competent angel should present herself before a nefarious denizen of evil.

"You all right?" said the demon gruffly. "I mean... not that I care. I'm a demon. Definitely don't believe in that 'be kind to your neighbor, do unto others' crap."

The tightness in my chest made it difficult to think; I bit back a sob. "W-what just happened?"

"If I had to guess"—he paused as though listening—"I would say that the power went out for the whole building."

"C-can you use your mana to turn it back on?"

I hadn't realized, up till that moment, how squeaky it was possible for a human voice to sound.

Footsteps shuffled next to me. The beam of light shifted off my face, and the next moment the demon was beside me. He knelt down on the floor and—hesitantly—took my hand.

"It's going to be okay," he said. "Deep breaths. You're having a panic attack."

"W-what's that?"

In the light of the phone screen, I saw him tense fractionally, and then offer a noncommittal shrug. "Not really sure. Some sort of fear response humans get when they're scared. I'm new to Earth too—I've just seen a lot of human souls panic when they get down to Hell." He coughed slightly. "Er, just for the record—and especially if you're a plant from the FBI—I'm only being nice to you right now as a trick, so I can win you to my side and corrupt you for my own nefarious purposes."

"The FBI?"

"The Fiendish Bureau of Investigation. It's a smaller branch of Hell's oversight division that's designed to handle unusual cases and punish goodly acts." He ran a hand through his hair. "I suppose it can't hurt to tell you this, since you're a sodding angel and not going to report me, but I'm in a spot of trouble with HQ over a few scant acts of virtue. Not that I meant to do them," he added hastily. "I am a terribly cruel and devilish demon who would never purposefully do any acts of good. I was even a demon king once, or so I've been told."