Sweet Peril

by Wendy Higgins

Huh? “For what?”

  “I should not touch you when we are alone like this.”

  His breaths seemed to shallow out.

  “We’re friends, Kope. Friends comfort each other.” I really wished he wouldn’t make a big deal out of little things. It made me feel bad.

  Fatigue tightened the skin around his eyes. “Sleep well, Anna.”

  I nodded, not sure what to say. He took a moment to listen at the door before slipping into the corridor. I could still feel the heavy heat of his hand on my shoulder as I climbed into bed.

  At nine thirty I stood waiting for Kope in the hotel’s quaint courtyard strung with vines. The warm air held a lively buzz. The closest comparison I could manage was the feeling I had had at the Native American reservation in New Mexico. Our surroundings housed a sense of mystery and history too ancient to comprehend. We were standing in the oldest known city in the world that was still functional and occupied. As old as Babylon, which had long since fallen.

  I spied Kope coming toward me, looking suave in black slacks and a crisp, gray button-down shirt with the top button open. He slipped something in my hand as he passed me: money, with a small knife wrapped inside. I shook my head and pushed the knife back into his hand.

  “I don’t want to be armed when I meet her,” I whispered.

  He pressed his lips together like he didn’t agree, but eventually tucked the knife in his pocket and handed me a small wrapped object.

  “Hummus on flatbread,” he explained before setting off.

  Yum. I ate as I followed, keeping space between us. The main streets were roughly paved, but worn and crumbling in places, which added to the old-world appeal. I made my way into the souk, a bustling open-air market with the sun shining down on it. Children ran rampant, playing and hollering. Shopkeepers called out in exuberant voices and used grand hand gestures as they haggled over prices. Unlike in many crowded cities, the auras in the souk were pleasant.

  Outside the busy market, I stood on a major corner, marveling at the sight of ancient buildings and a Roman-era wall that marked the old city portion of town. My skin prickled with awe. Paul the Apostle had been on the same ground where I now stood. The light weight of the hilt against my ankle was a reminder of his guardian angel, Leilaf. Being here brought it all to life.

  Zania lived down a narrow, cobbled road with dry paths between the two-story luxury houses. I looked up at the balconies with beautiful ironwork jutting out over the walkway. Doors and windows were made of dark oiled wood. As I neared the very last house on the left, my stomach tightened. I stopped next door to it and shot my hearing into Zania’s house, scouring each room, but finding nothing. I knocked on the door, peeking over my shoulder at Kope who was several houses back, seeming inconspicuous as he bent to tie his shoelaces.

  After several minutes of no answer, I walked around the corner to the side of Zania’s house, which was next to some sort of store. It must have been closed because there was nobody in sight down the narrow alley. Maybe Zania was out shopping at one of the souks. I absently looked into one of her windows, wondering how long we should wait for her to come home. A shadow passed my reflection in the glass, and I was wrenched backward from behind, feeling a distinct, cold sting at my throat. Other than an involuntary gasp of shock and my galloping heart rate, I didn’t move or make a sound.

  A fierce female voice said something to me in Arabic, and she tightened her grip around my shoulders. Nice to meet you, too, Zania. I knew how to fight my way out of this hold, but I wanted to be peaceful with her. I wished I could look at her, but she had me facing the cement wall.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, trying not to move my jaw. “No Arabic.”

  “Who sent you?” she demanded in thick English. The sharp point jabbed harder and I winced as I felt it cut into my flesh.

  “I’m not—”

  A scuffle of sound cut me off, and her arms were gone. A metallic ping rang out as her knife hit the stone pavement. I spun around to see Kope holding a tall, thin young woman—one arm around her midsection, pinning her arms at her side, and the other over her mouth. A black head scarf with red flowers had slid back during the fray and her dark hair fell around her face. She struggled against him, but he held tight. I put my palms up and looked into her round, deep-brown eyes. She appeared to be in pain, and I cast a worried glance at Kope.

  “I am not hurting her,” he assured me. “She is afraid.”

  Petrified was more like it.

  “Zania,” I said, “please don’t be scared of us. I’m Anna, and this is Kopano. We’re not going to hurt you. We came to talk to you because we know Sonellion is gone, and he has no idea we’re here. You’re safe with us. I have important things to tell you. Will you be calm if Kopano lets you go?”

  Her response was an obvious no as Kope let out a small holler and jerked his hand away from her teeth. He still held her tight, even as she let out a string of vicious words in Arabic, ending with “Go to hell!” in English. This was going to be harder than I thought. I bent down and picked up the knife.

  “Listen to me, Zania, please. I know you feel threatened, so I’m going to put this knife back into your hand and Kopano is going to release you. I want you to have the means to protect yourself. But I am unarmed. I promise you. We only want to talk. We’re like you. We have no loyalties to the Dukes.” In truth, I carried the hilt as a weapon, but it could only be wielded against demons.

  Zania breathed heavily through her nose as I slowly took the step forward and slipped the knife into her hand. An awful thought crossed my mind and I squeezed my hand over her fist.

  “Do not try to hurt Kopano when he lets you go, or you and I are going to have a problem. He’s a good man.”

  “There is no such thing as a good man,” she snarled.

  “Yes, there is. And you’ll see for yourself if you give him a chance.”

  “Tell this good man of yours to release me with my back to the street.”

  “Okay, but don’t run away.” I let my desperation for her cooperation show as I stayed close for a few more seconds. I took my hand off hers and stepped back, nodding at Kope. He turned her and let her go, stepping swiftly back, next to me. Zania spun and faced us in a slight crouch, eyes skittering as if expecting our malicious intent to come out now. Her head scarf was dangling like a hood, and she ripped it from her neck, throwing it to the ground. She looked like a warrior princess. Kope cleared his throat.

  “Perhaps my presence is a hindrance.”

  Good point. She definitely had issues with males. I nodded my agreement, still watching Zania, but her eyes were on him. He took a careful step forward and she jutted the knife out.

  “I must pass you, Zania,” he said in a silky, deep voice. “I will keep to the wall.”

  They sidestepped along their own wall with few precious feet of separation, eyeing each other. She followed his every move until he passed her and was out of sight. Keeping her back to the wall, she turned her head toward me.

  “I am no fool. I know he stays near.”

  “Yes, you’re right. He’s my friend and he wants me to be safe. But he won’t interfere now unless you hurt me.”

  Speaking of that, I lifted my hand to the spot under my chin. It was still wet and sensitive but healing fast. Adrenaline kept me from feeling anything. I looked down at the spots of blood on my shirt. That was probably going to get me some unwanted attention during the walk back to the hotel.

  “I might need to borrow a shirt,” I said, chancing a small smile. “Should we talk here, or do you want to go somewhere else?”

  Her breathing had finally slowed, but she still watched me warily.

  “You may come inside, but not him.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “Thank you.”

  She waved me forward with the knife to walk in front of her. When I got around the corner, Kope was nowhere to be seen.

  “Go in,” she told me. The door was unlocked, so I pushed it open. Inside she quickly closed
the door and locked it behind us before peering out a side window and motioning me into a parlor. I took in the array of color and design. Everything from the multicolored Persian rug and gold drapes to the handcrafted woodwork of the furniture. Taking a seat in an ornate chair, I ran my fingers over the thick maroon and yellow tasseled cushion, then the mosaic tabletop next to me. I looked up to see Zania watching me from across the room, knife still in hand. For the first time I noticed the dark band of addiction, running under her black badge, as if it would squeeze the life from her.

  “Will you sit with me?” I asked.

  Without answering, she moved gracefully to a wooden case and lifted the lid, revealing a beverage bar. She poured a shot of something dark-amber colored and drank it, the knife coming dangerously close to her eye. She poured a second glass and looked at me. My insides were tight enough to snap.

  “Do you want one?” she asked.

  Yes. I paused two beats. “N-no, thank you.”

  “No?”

  Just one! I didn’t know what to do. I was already jittery, but I really wanted that drink. As if sensing my internal struggle, she smiled as she sipped the second shot.

  “Okay,” I whispered. “Maybe—”

  Zania straightened up and made a faraway face. “He whistled. Why did he whistle? Is he signaling someone?”

  “Who? Kope?” Oh . . . I slouched a little. I was officially the only Neph I knew who didn’t regularly use their extended hearing to listen out. “No, he’s whistling to me. To tell me not to drink.”

  My insides unraveled the slightest bit. Kope wouldn’t whistle for no reason. If he was telling me not to drink, then it was a good idea for me to listen. I suppose two girls with a weakness for drink and a bottle of liquor wasn’t the safest combination. I had a job to do and a limited amount of time to do it.

  Zania’s stricken face revealed that she thought otherwise. “He forbids you to drink? And you obey? Why?”

  “No, it’s not like that.” I swallowed hard. “He doesn’t forbid me or anything—he’s just looking out for me. He knows . . . how carried away I get if I’m not careful.”

  She huffed and poured another, then sat in a chair across the room from me, placing the knife on her lap. We watched each other across the space.

  “I remember you,” she said. “And the angels. I believed the Dukes planned to kill me that night.”

  “I thought the summit was about me, too,” I admitted. I wondered if every Neph feared they were the cause of that summit, only to feel relieved when Gerlinda was called forward.

  “You should not have spoken out that night,” she said.

  So I’d been told. I breathed a small sigh.

  “May I ask a personal question . . . about your sin and how it manifests itself?” I asked. “I mean . . . do you feel hate for people in general?”

  She raised an eyebrow, and I squirmed a little on my cushion.

  “I detest men.” Her eyes widened as she spoke freely of her sin. She rolled the knife in her palm, jolting me with a memory of how Kaidan used to do the same thing. “Men are vain, selfish fools. Every one. I enjoy when they fight and hurt each other. I wish they would kill one another completely and be done with it.” Zania wiped her mouth and watched for my reaction. I swallowed hard and cleared my throat.

  “Do you know of my father, Belial?”

  “I have not met him. But I know his sin.” She held up her drink and sipped it. “How do you so easily deny the drink I offer?”

  “It’s not easy.” No, in fact, before Kope’s whistle I’d been trying to talk my good conscience into it by telling myself it would be inhospitable not to have one. The key word there was one. And moderation really wasn’t my thing. “It’s harder for me with drugs,” I admitted. “The thing is, my father doesn’t force me to work for real, so I mostly pretend. That makes it easier because I don’t have to fight the addiction.”

  Her arm froze midair as she read my face with incredulous disbelief.

  “My life is very different from other Nephilims’, Zania. It’s my hope that during our lifetime, all the Neph will have the option to stop working.”

  “Impossible.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

  I smiled. All things were possible.

  We spent three hours talking, and Zania would not commit to helping. I don’t think she believed or trusted me, even after I showed her the hilt. But I didn’t know how else to prove myself to her in two days. She refused to be seen out in public with me when I invited her to lunch, and she adamantly refused to see or speak with Kope.

  At one point the call to prayer sounded on speakers outside—a soulful warble of Arabic song ringing over the town. I’d learned about the Muslim prayer times and heard the morning call to prayer before leaving the hotel. Zania seemed not to notice.

  “Do you ever join the prayer time?” I asked out of curiosity.

  She gave a shrug. “When I am in public I perform the prayer motions like the other good women. In my home I do not.” She took a drink.

  She drank so much during our three hours, I didn’t know how she stayed coherent. She brought me one of her shirts to change into and then told me it was time to leave.

  “Can we talk again later?” I asked. “After you’ve had time to think about everything?”

  “I do not think that will be necessary.” She stood by the door with her hand on the knob. A horrible feeling of failure spread through me.

  “What will you do today?” I grasped for something, desperate. “And tonight?”

  “I will work, of course. He has been known to send his dark ones to watch me while he travels, so I must always work. And now, you must go.”

  She opened the door and squared her shoulders before looking down at me. I walked out and turned to say good-bye, but she shut the door in my face. I stood there for a minute, shaking inside. What was I supposed to do? Looking down the cobbled road, I began walking back in the direction we’d come. By the time I sensed Kope step out of an alley and follow me, I was biting the insides of my cheeks, keeping my head down. I wanted to cry. Or kick something.

  To add to my mood, I almost got hit by a car when I thought I saw Kai and froze in the intersection. Pedestrians definitely didn’t have the right of way here. The guy on the sidewalk had the same exact height and build, but when the stranger turned his unfamiliar face toward the sound of the honking car, an absurd feeling of disappointment settled inside me. I jumped out of the way just in time. My head was a mess.

  Kope spoke from behind me as we neared the hotel. “You did well, and she has much to think about. Tonight we will follow while she works. Perhaps there may be another opportunity to show we mean no harm.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, and I clung to his optimism.

  The sun had set when we approached Zania’s street as silently as possible that night. Using my special senses, I heard the ruffling of clothing and clinking of glass inside her house. When she came out, she stayed on her doorstep for a moment. Kope and I stood very still in a pathway where she couldn’t see us. We waited until she’d rounded the corner at the end of the street before following. Other people were out, so I hoped our footsteps would go unnoticed.

  After a ten-minute walk we ended up outside the touristy restaurant Zania was in. Kope waited outside while I peeked through a window. She’d gone to the bar, which had a large dance floor separating it from the dining space. Most of the patrons looked to be college age.

  Since it was past the dinner hour, the seating area was dimly lit and had the atmosphere of a lounge or nightclub. It was not crowded yet, but there were enough people to keep us out of sight. I motioned Kope to follow me inside, and we went to a small table at the back of the room. For one paranoid moment I wondered if sitting with Kope was going to gain us unwanted attention, but nobody gave us a second glance.

  A waitress came over and we both ordered cups of the city’s famous hot tea, though my body longed for something stronger. When she walked away, I moved the
table’s flower arrangement and standing drink menus to the end of the table to block us. Kope sat at an angle so Zania could not see his face. I dipped my head down when she turned in our direction. She was eyeing a table of men on the other side of the lounge from her.

  The room was quickly filling with cigarette smoke that tickled my lungs and burned my eyes. I had to tighten my vision into focus. What I noticed was unsettling. The four men at the table were not like the others in the room. Most of the men in the bar and lounge were sort of slick, GQ-looking guys with their hair heavily gelled, facial hair trimmed and shaved into neat lines around their jaws. Those types were talking and laughing, dancing and drinking, with colorful auras. But not the four men Zania chose to watch.

  They wore traditional, black tunic shirts and had full beards. They were not drinking, and they seemed to be having a serious discussion. One in particular took notice of Zania’s attention, and his aura immediately muddied. She smiled coyly, moving her hair and looking away as if she were embarrassed to be caught watching. He looked back down, shifted in his seat, and then looked up at her again. She was running her fingers softly up and down her neck. Zania was an expert at taking small, seemingly innocent gestures and packing them full of meaning.

  The man’s emotions went into overdrive, swirling around him, dangerously dark with zaps of red as Zania bit the pad of her thumb. The dude was scary. Of all the men in that place, he was the one I’d steer clearest of. His eyes darted around with unease. Zania didn’t seem afraid in the slightest.

  Every few minutes Kope would shift just enough to glance at the scene. There must have been something in the look on my face just then, because he turned abruptly to see what was going on. After a moment he pivoted back toward me and we looked at each other, mutual in our worry. Zania was a good worker. She’d chosen the one man in the room who probably prided himself on being chaste. If she had anything to do with it, his morals would be smashed to pieces that night, and his opinion of women would hit an all-time low.

  The man had given up on trying not to look at her. He now stared with open lust and hatred, lost in a red and gray haze. His companions finally made the connection, looking from him to Zania, who’d looked away to finish her drink. The men spoke low in Arabic, with heated passion. Kope pulled out his phone and began typing, then passed it to me.