A Book of Dust and Breath

Chapter Eight

That evening, Lily stepped into the dim, nondescript restaurant, radiant. Her blue eyes still blazed with victory. Her long, powerful legs showed from beneath the hem of shorts that might have been average length on a shorter woman.

Max realized he may have whimpered a little. By the time she reached the table he had gathered enough presence of mind to stand up and greet her.

"Judging by your grin, I'm guessing you placed well today."

She slid into the booth and ordered a glass of iced tea. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who'd had enough alcohol the night before.

"It was amazing. I was worried that I'd be tired or not feeling well after last night but, honestly, I woke up so energized. I felt... blessed." A pretty blush crept across her fair cheeks. "Does that make sense?"

"Yeah. I know exactly what you mean."

"Well, semi-finals tomorrow morning, and hopefully finals in the afternoon, so I can't stay out late tonight."

Max's throat constricted around his words. He cleared his throat and tried a second time. "Thank you for having dinner with me."

She sat back against the bench, shaking her head, though her smile never faltered. "I can't believe I asked you here. This isn't what I do."

"You don't eat dinner?"

She laughed. "You know what I mean."

Max couldn't help but smile at her easy joy. He'd been smiling all day, walking around Las Vegas, grinning like an idiot. She'd turned him stupid and he couldn't have cared any less. "You're much more relaxed than you were yesterday," he observed.

"I was really nervous."

"And now you're not?"

"Nope. I'm telling you. I've got a guardian angel all of a sudden."

At that, he laughed out loud. "I believe you."

Her hand lay on the table. Could he reach out and touch her? Feel her strength and softness once more?

She moved to pick up her drink and the moment was lost.

A hard tug on his soul.

Blackness.

Harriet at her desk.

Max glared at her. "You can't pull me out like that!"

"I can, obviously," she droned without looking at him.

"I. Am. On. Vacation. I'm not a Vegas reaper. They can solve their own problems!"

That got her attention. She peered at him over the golden rim of her glasses. "You would turn down a reap?"

"It's not my reap!"

"It is if the pink slip is assigned to you."

He stormed toward her and slammed his hands down on her desk. "I don't know who you think..."

"Someone wants to talk to you." With a supremely unruffled gesture, she pointed over Max's shoulder.

He blinked, thrown by having his rant so abruptly interrupted. Standing straight, he turned to see who she was pointing at. Slithering snakes of anxiety uncoiled in a hissing nest of discomfort at the sight of Azrael standing with his hands in the pockets of his black tactical pants. A black t-shirt stretched across his chest. His dark hair was tied away from his face. Four inches taller than Max, he was almost too large to pass for human. He spread his arms wide. "It is good to be in your presence, son."