Three Wishes (14 page)

“I can’t see you as idle.” Asta scrutinized the detested muscles as best as she could through the neatly pressed shirt. “You’re too in-the-know. Idle demons wouldn’t be able to keep track of all the goings-on here or in Hel. I’m afraid you’ll have to learn to love the muscles, because I don’t see you being idle any time in the near future.”

“Oh, Asta, you sure know how to smash a demon’s hopes and dreams, don’t you?” His voice sounded mournful, but there was laughter in his eyes. By the Creator, was she actually flirting with him? Clearly a century in this human form had warped her sense of right and wrong.

The plastic box buzzed loudly, and Asta jumped.

“Our table is ready.”

Dar hopped off the bar stool, downing his drink in a gulp. Asta scooted to slide off her chair and felt the demon’s hands on her waist. With a smooth motion, he lifted her from the stool and plopped her down on her feet, steadying her for a moment before letting go and leading the way toward the hostess station.

What was that? Compliments, and now chivalry?

Demons lie. And they do anything within their power to lead others to sin. All this might be part of Dar’s efforts to get her to succumb to lust, but there wasn’t anything in Aaru that said she couldn’t enjoy the ride. Angels were strong, and she had withstood a lot of temptation in the last century. No two-bit demon was going to cause her to fall from grace. Still, it would be fun to let him lead her down the path, thinking he had her in the palm of his hand only to deny him at the last moment. And in spite of her nervousness and initial reluctance, she was having a great time with him this evening. Last week, if someone had told her she’d be having an enjoyable evening in the company of a demon, she would have scoffed.

The hostess led them to a small table with a flickering red candle and a view of the street. Asta had barely sat down before a waiter offered her a choice of waters, while Dar looked over the wine list. Her eyes nearly left her head as he ordered.

“Please tell me you have currency. I really don’t want to have to crawl out the bathroom window at the end of our meal.”

The demon waved a dismissive hand. “Why are you worried? You can just arrange a big lottery win for the owners, and maybe another smaller one for the wait staff in lieu of a tip. We’re in an age of equality. I figured you’d be offering to pick up the tab as a show of your independence.”

Asta caught her breath, frantically thinking of how she could make this right for the humans while plotting how best to torture the horrible demon.

Dar burst into laughter. “You should see your face! By all that’s unholy, you looked shocked and ready to murder me at the same time. Don’t worry, honest Asta, I scored a sizable bribe this week and have more than enough cash to pay for our evening out.”

Bribery. Well, she should have realized a demon wouldn’t be paying for anything with the sweat of his brow—if he paid for it at all.

That bribe must have been substantial, because Dar ordered the best of everything. Asta had sampled more food in the last hour than she thought possible. Cheeses, heirloom tomatoes, a variety of meats, and a dessert sampler crossed their table. She and Dar had three different wines, finishing with a glass of port and one of the best coffees the angel had ever enjoyed. Now she understood the overheard conversations between women who’d found themselves succumbing to the advances of a man after an evening of good food and drink. Asta felt oddly content with her stomach full and her mind floating with the effects of the alcohol. Right now all she wanted was to curl up on a soft bed wrapped in her wings as she dozed in the moonlight.

“Thank you,” she told Dar as he assisted her out the revolving door. “I know tonight was supposed to be my payment to you for your helping me, but somehow I think I benefited at both ends of our agreement.”

The demon tilted his head as he regarded her. “Are you drunk?”

“No, I am
not
drunk! I’m just being honest with you. It’s a virtue, so you probably haven’t encountered honesty before.”

“And there’s the angel I know and love,” he teased. “Don’t be so quick with the thanks, because our evening isn’t over yet. I’ve got something else planned.”

“I’m not having sex with you.” It was a knee-jerk response, because at that moment she really
did
want to have sex with him. Or at least have him kiss her again.

Dar looked pained. “Yes, you’ve said that repeatedly. I’m starting to have self-esteem problems with the regularity you insist you won’t have sex with me. I haven’t even tried to feel you up... yet. No, we’re going to a little Karaoke bar a few blocks away.”

Asta halted in the middle of the sidewalk. “Karaoke?” She’d lingered outside and listened but hadn’t actually ventured into any establishment that had karaoke. It always sounded like the singers were having such fun, even the ones who weren’t particularly gifted.

The demon folded her arm in his. “You’re an angel. You must sing. It’s a sort of birthright with you guys, isn’t it? After eating and drinking alcoholic beverages, I’d assumed this would be the easiest part of the evening for you to get through.”

“I sing.” Sound was a vital part of every angel’s existence, although it wasn’t quite the same as how the human sensory organs perceived. Still, angelic song seemed to have a strong link to human music. She’d always found herself spellbound by the street musicians, the sounds spilling from bars hosting local bands, and even the radios blaring from passing automobiles. But to replicate that sound? That was something just as new as the lobster bisque.

Dar led her a few streets over and down a set of stairs to a garden-level club—which was a generous term for basement. Once across the threshold, Asta was entranced. The room was long, with a bar to the left and narrow tables to the right. A skinny aisle led between the two toward the back, where speakers and electronic equipment was set up. Patrons leafed through songbooks, chatting cheerfully and drinking beer from the bottle. She and Dar were distinctly overdressed, but no one seemed to mind. The demon thrust a beer bottle into her hand and snatched a songbook from the bar.

“I’m going to suggest
Like a Virgin
or perhaps
Closer
.”

Asta grabbed the book from the demon. “I’m not going to sing about my lack of sexual experience or croon that I want to have carnal intercourse like an animal. Perhaps
Amazing Grace
or that song about the little boy purchasing his dying mother footwear for Christmas.”

Dar tried to grab the book back, and they struggled in a brief tug of war. “What is it with you and footwear? How about I pick a song for you, and you pick one for me?”

The angel paused. It would be deliciously satisfying to make the demon sing something pure and sweet, but the trade-off would be her having to sing a horribly vulgar melody in front of all these people.

“No deal.”

Dar let go of the songbook, and Asta nearly toppled backwards. “Spoilsport. Okay, but you go first.”

Sipping her beer, the angel picked out a song and waited her turn, applauding and cheering for the humans as they belted out various tunes with great enthusiasm, if not with particular skill. When her turn came, Asta skipped to the monitor, eager to sing
Unchained Melody
.

The opening chorus of notes was definitely
not
Unchained Melody. No, she recognized this song. Asta looked up from the monitor to scowl at the demon, who lifted his bottle of beer in salute. There wasn’t much she could do—either sing and throw herself into it, or storm off like a petulant child. Asta knew when she’d been bested and had the grace to appreciate a sneaky move when she saw one. Taking a breath, she looked down at the monitor and poured her heart and soul into
Runnin’ With The Devil
.

“That was very unfair of you,” she scolded teasingly after the applause had died down. What a great time she was having, and, honestly, she wasn’t ashamed to admit it was because of Dar. Doing all these things by herself wasn’t nearly as exciting as enjoying them in the company of a demon—a demon she was coming to like far too much.

“You stuck with it admirably. Eddie Van Halen would be proud.” Dar handed her another beer. “Since you were such a good sport, I’ll let you pick the song I sing.”

Now,
this
was going to be fun. “This one.” Asta pointed to a song in the book as Dar looked over her shoulder.

“Touché. Quite the payback, my beautiful angel. Fair is fair, though.”

Dar downed his beer then strode to the back of the bar, singing
Over the Rainbow
with great feeling.

They laughed and sang a few more songs. Then the demon gave her a strange look, as if he’d come to a decision. “I’d planned to end the evening here, but there’s a place I want to show you. Are you up for a taxi ride?”

“I’ve never ridden in a taxi,” Asta confessed. “Actually, I’ve never ridden in a car.”

Dar looked astounded. “What? You’ve been here a hundred years and never ridden in a car?”

Asta gave a sheepish smile then pinned her thumbs together, fluttering her fingers like wings. “I’ve got my own built-in transportation.”

“Ah yes, you naughty angel. Well, prepare to be significantly underwhelmed. Taxis are a far cry from flying above rooftops.”

The vehicle smelled of garlic, and the torn vinyl cushions threatened to snag the edges of her dress, but Asta was still enchanted by the taxi ride. Fast music blared from the speakers as the driver rocketed them around corners, sending the angel flying back and forth across the bench seat. It was like one of the children’s rides she’d watched at the end of Navy Pier, and she laughed along with Dar as they bounced around the back of the vehicle.

With a screech of sub-par breaks, the taxi swerved to the curb. Asta peered out the window as Dar passed the driver a handful of money through the slot in the clear plastic divider. She recognized this section of town as the one where she’d first followed Dar, where he’d shoplifted and visited the amazing bakery.

“We’re here,” the demon announced, helping her out of the taxi.

‘Here’ was a sidewalk with a broken piece jutting a good three inches above the rest, just waiting for a woman with expensive heels to trip over. Beyond the hazardous walkway was a brick building, stained from decades of automotive exhaust and ground-out cigarettes. Iron gates were folded to either side of a glossy, green wooden door, which had ‘Stanley’s’ stenciled in chipped gold across it. With a flourish, Dar ushered her forward, and she walked into the small bar, its neon signage proclaiming they proudly served Old Style.

Asta wasn’t sure about style, but the place was definitely old by human standards. It looked as though nothing had changed since 1950. The mirrored wall behind the worn oak bar was cloudy with a film of tobacco smoke, reflecting the liquor bottles lined in front of it in a hazy blur. The bar seats held an assortment of elderly men wearing Sansabelt trousers with waistbands practically under their armpits. Asta suspected they hadn’t budged from their seats all day. Shelves full of six-packs and cheap wine lined the wall opposite the bar. There were no tables, and Asta stood awkwardly, wondering where she was supposed to sit.

“Dar!” The elderly men all raised their draft beers and shouted the demon’s name in unison.

“Hey, guys. Got room for me and my girl?”

The men shuffled stools, all the while winking and intoning ‘hubba-hubba’ at Asta. It took inordinately long for them to swap seats, but eventually there were two empty chairs waiting for them between the crowd of ancient men.

“The usual, Dar? And what can I get you, dear?” The bartender would have been no more than a shadowy figure in the dim lighting had it not been for the reflective quality of the platinum-blond hair piled into an impressive cone at the top of her head.

There were two taps behind the bar—one labeled Pabst Blue Ribbon, and the other the Old Style. Hmm, that must be what the sign in the window was about.

She wasn’t sure about anything that included the word ‘old’ in combination with the word ‘style’, and that blue ribbon had probably been awarded fifty years ago. Maybe they had other choices. “Wine?”

Asta expected to be handed a list, but the woman ticked the selections off impeccably manicured fingers. “Red, white, or purple?”

“Purple?” It was a question meant to result in further clarification, but the woman took it to be her order and got to work pouring Dar a mug of PBR. She then blew the dust out of a wine glass and heaved a giant bottle to the bar. With a twist of her wrist, she’d unscrewed the cap, and thick purple liquid filled the glass.

Oh my stars, what had she ordered? And in a dusty wineglass that probably hadn’t been used in the last decade. Who knew how old the wine was, but she doubted that its aging in a gallon screw-top jug did much for the quality.

With everyone watching her, she took a tentative sip. “Thank you. Very nice,” she choked, taking another quick drink to cover her dismay. This was a far cry from what Dar had been plying her with earlier.

Manischewitz, probably purchased when the bar originally opened. She was drinking decades-old kosher wine in a Polish bar in downtown Chicago—a bar full of elderly men that greeted Dar like he was a long-lost brother, men who were now regaling the demon with tales of their younger years.

“See that scar? No, that other scar. Got that climbing out a window when my girl’s father came home early. Ripped the skin on a nail and had to go get a tetanus shot.”

“Dotty know about that girl?” One of the others teased.

“That girl
is
Dotty. Married fifty years this April, and worth every scar and tetanus shot.”

The men erupted in laughter, Dar along with them.

“They’re a good bunch,” the bartender said to Asta, glancing fondly at the humans. “They love it when Dar comes in and they can dredge up all the old stories for him. He’s heard that one about Dotty at least a dozen times, but he still laughs.”

Asta looked at the demon in confusion. What was he doing, hanging out with a bunch of elderly men? Shouldn’t he be killing, plundering, or at least corrupting more politicians?