Demon's Delight

by MaryJanice Davidson

  Her chest was still burning, yet to draw in a new breath when they pulled into the parking lot alongside the Oasis. Zane turned the truck off, jumped out and spun around the front of the hood whistling, tossing the keys and grabbing them out of the air before he reached her door and offered her a hand out.

  Slapping his arm away, she stumbled out of the truck, her head still spinning and her heart pounding.

  He frowned. “You okay?”

  She jabbed him in the chest with her index finger. “You. You. Are. Insane!”

  He shook his head. “It was just a little race.”

  “A little race? You—We—” Her voice failed her, so she made an arcing, flying motion with her hand, her eyes wide.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and chuckled. “A little rattled, are we?”

  “Rattled? Why, you—You want to see rattled? I’ll show you rattled!” Zane Halvorson could be damned for all she cared. There was only so much an angel could take.

  She felt the well of power within her. Like the buffer in some kind of massive generator, the energy built up in her body, sizzled from her heart to her fingertips. She raised her hands, already feeling the lightning sizzling toward her fingertips, ready to strike out. But before the first bolt left her hands, a wind kicked up, blowing her hair in front of her eyes and whispering urgently in her ear.

  Zane threw his arm in front of his face to protect his eyes from the blowing sand. Rosemary dropped her hands and clenched her fists at her sides, then turned and stomped toward the bar.

  “Rosie, wait!” he called behind her, but she gritted her teeth and marched on without turning back.

  When Saint Peter whistled, even she didn’t dare refuse the call.

  Rosemary sat on the last stool at the end of the bar, hunched over a half-empty glass until the last of the Oasis’s patrons called it a night.

  “Careful there,” Pete said, swabbing his way down the bar toward her with a damp cloth. “Or I’ll have to be calling a cab to get you home.”

  She looked up at her mentor, confused. “It’s ice water.”

  “It’s not the drink I’m worried about.” His eyes sparkled when he smiled, and the wings of the eagle tattoo on his bicep fluttered as he slung the dishcloth over his shoulder and stepped her way. “Friends don’t let friends drive depressed.”

  She ducked her head again. “I’m not depressed. I’m just—” She sighed. “I hate this.”

  “Being human?”

  “I don’t know how people stay sane in this form.” She plunked her elbows on the bar and propped her chin in her hands. “All the ups and downs and noise and people. It’s…chaotic.”

  “It’s life.”

  “Life is highly overrated.”

  “Says the Angel of Death.”

  She looked up at Saint Peter through eyes bleary with exhaustion. That was another thing. She never got tired in her true form. The Angel of Death never needed a nap.

  She rubbed her temples. “This guy has a death wish, Pete.”

  “Then why is he still alive?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  Pete finished cleaning the bar and began to straighten the open bottles in the liquor bin, making sure each was securely corked. “The usual, I suspect. Unresolved issues.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, like the fact that he’s an adrenaline junkie.”

  “This you’ve decided after what, a whole hour in his company?”

  “That’s about fifty-eight minutes longer than I needed.”

  Saint Peter stopped his cleaning and leaned over to her across the bar. “Does the phrase ‘Judge not, lest ye be judged’ ring any bells with you?”

  She dropped her gaze, a rush of heat flooding her cheeks. By the heavens, it wasn’t just the sensory overload anymore, but in the last few hours all these human emotions had begun to surface, as well. How was she supposed to do her job with all these feelings distracting her? One minute she wanted to laugh, the next she wanted to cry. And when she stared into Zane Halvorson’s hazel eyes for too long, a whole other set of wants altogether began to make itself known.

  She slumped back in her chair. “So what am I supposed to do, Pete? Stalk the guy until he finally figures out what’s wrong with his life so that he can die?”

  Pete went back to his work, turning his back to her. “Perhaps.”

  She studied his expression in the mirror behind the bar and knew there was something he wasn’t telling her. “Or perhaps not,” she guessed, then mumbled, “I have other work.”

  “You have only the task He gives you.”

  Embarrassment rose again in her cheeks. “I just want to go home.”

  “Then you need to complete your task.”

  “You know I can’t affect the outcome one way or another. Only He decides who lives and who dies. I’m just here to bring home the ones He chooses. Why would He keep me here like this, waiting for this one man to resolve his issues?”

  Pete set down the glass he’d been drying and met her gaze in the mirror. “Perhaps you should consider that Zane Halvorson is not the one with issues to be resolved.”

  An hour later, Rosemary stumbled through her dark apartment and fell spread-eagle on the bed.

  What did Peter mean, that perhaps Zane Halvorson wasn’t the one with issues? Of course the man had issues. He’d jumped out of a perfectly good airplane and set his own parachute on fire, for goodness sake.

  She pulled pillows up to either side of her head to drown out the ticking of the clock and the rumble of cars on the street below.

  She would just have to wait him out, that’s all. Stay close to him. Sooner or later Zane Halvorson would die, and the Angel of Death would be there to save his soul. Then she could go back where she belonged.

  End of story.

  Chapter 4

  ZANE stood on the landing outside Rosemary’s door and resisted the urge to tug at his collar. Jesus, he wasn’t some kid picking up his date for the junior prom. Just because he’d put on a shirt that actually had buttons for once didn’t mean anything. Nothing at all.

  He was only here to apologize. He’d been a little rough on her last night at the Oasis. Sometimes he forgot that not everyone liked to risk life and limb for a hundred-dollar bet and bragging rights. Some people preferred a slower pace. Time to smell the roses, or whatever.

  He didn’t understand those people, but he knew they existed, nevertheless.

  Oh, hell. Who was he kidding? He was here because he wanted to see her again.

  His dark-haired angel intrigued him on a lot of levels. The ones south of his waistband were easy to understand. She definitely had a look about her. Sexy and innocent, world-wise and naïve all at the same time. She had that fresh kind of face that didn’t need makeup, a body that didn’t need designer dresses to look good.

  Some of those other levels, though, weren’t so easy to explain. Like the whole guardian angel thing. He didn’t believe in the “angels among us” propaganda, but she had saved his life. He figured that created some kind of bond between them.

  He was curious about her. Since he’d been a kid, he’d liked to take things apart and put them back together again to see how they worked. Bicycles, toasters, engines—he always had to know what made them tick.

  Now he wanted to know what made Rosemary D’Amica tick.

  Pulling his shoulders back, he pasted a pleasant smile on his face and rang the bell. A moment later she answered, and the sight of her erased every word of his carefully rehearsed apology from his mind.

  “Um,” he said.

  Her feet were bare, as were her legs up to the fringe of her cutoff denim shorts. She wore an old football jersey that fell off one shoulder, and her wild curls spilled out of a ponytail that looked like it had been caught in a windstorm. In the crook of her arm she held a pint of Ben and Jerry’s double fudge chocolate ice cream with a soup spoon sticking out of the open tub.

  He grinned. “Breakfast of champions, huh?”

&n
bsp; Good going, Romeo. Way to make points.

  “I, uh, I wasn’t expecting company.” She dropped the ice cream on an entry table and turned back to the doorway, looking at him quizzically. “What are you doing here?”

  “Brought you something.” He pulled the bouquet of daisies from behind his back and held them out for her.

  Her eyes widened as she took them. “Why?”

  “I’m sorry about last night. I got a little carried away with the whole race thing.” He peered over her shoulder. “Can I come in?”

  After only a brief hesitation, she stood aside and ushered him over the threshold. In the kitchen, she put the daisies in a vase in the middle of a butcher block table and gestured him toward a chair. He sat while she retrieved her double fudge chocolate from the entryway.

  “Isn’t nine a.m. a little early for ice cream?”

  She hugged the tub protectively. “It’s never too early for chocolate. I never tasted any until yesterday. I think I’m addicted. You want some? I can get another spoon.”

  “No, thanks. You never tasted chocolate?”

  “Mmm,” she said, spooning a bite into her mouth. “I’ve led a very sheltered life. So you were saying? About the race?”

  “Yeah.” He traced a finger over the beak of a hummingbird embroidered into a navy blue placemat in front of him, and his mouth watered as Rosemary’s lips closed over another bite of ice cream. “We goof off sometimes,” he said, looking away. “Just letting off steam, you know? I shouldn’t have dragged you into it, though. It can be a little intense.”

  “Intense is one word for it. Crazy would be another that comes to mind.”

  “You think what I do is nuts. I get that. But in reality, every stunt I do is planned out, every detail. My team is the best, and we take every precaution to make the show safe.”

  She waggled her spoon at him. “So I ended up fishing you out of the lake…why, exactly?”

  “I miscalculated the burn rate on the chute. Look, I didn’t say there isn’t some element of risk. But if you really want to know why I do what I do, then come see for yourself. Come out to the airfield and let me show you how much preparation goes into every stunt.”

  “Okay.”

  He opened his mouth, but managed to stop the argument he was about to make just in time. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  He narrowed his eyes. That was way too easy. “Why?”

  “Actually, I was talking to my editor at the paper this morning. I told him a little bit about what you said—making kids believe they can fly and all—and he wants to do a story on you. Sort of a follow-up to the accident piece. And he’s agreed to let me write it. This could be my big break.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that. It’s a date, then.”

  The spoon froze halfway to her mouth.

  “Well, not a date, exactly,” he corrected. “More like a…a…” He lost his train of thought as she ate her ice cream and pulled the spoon out of her mouth slowly between closed lips, wiping away every hint of chocolate. Except for the smudge left at the corner of her mouth.

  “A business meeting,” she said.

  “Yeah. Sure.” He swallowed, working hard to pull his gaze away from the chocolate smear. “Business. I should go now.” Before he did something stupid, like taking care of that little dab of chocolate on her lips—by tasting it for himself.

  He stood and headed for the door without looking back. She followed and leaned against the jamb as he stepped outside. If he hadn’t turned around to say good-bye, he might have gotten away clean. But no, suddenly he had to be Mr. Manners.

  Aw, hell. He lowered his head toward hers, until he could feel her breath on his cheek and see the individual flecks of green in her wide eyes. With his heart thunking against his breastbone, he blew out a deep breath, and lifted his hand. “You’ve got a—” He motioned toward her face.

  He moved to wipe the tiny daub of ice cream away, but her hand got there first. She frowned, looking for somewhere to wipe the mess, and with his gaze still locked on hers, he took her fingers in his and brought them to his lips. Gently he nuzzled away the chocolate, then released her.

  Her hand hovered in midair, as if she hadn’t realized he’d let her go.

  “So. I’ll see you this afternoon.” His voice sounded rough all of a sudden.

  “This afternoon.” She still hadn’t moved.

  He smiled to himself as he turned and left, checking his watch as he jogged down the steps. He had to get to the airfield. He had a hangar to clean up and a crew to browbeat into being on their best behavior.

  Most of all, he had to figure out how he was going to pull his head together enough to perform an aerial stunt this afternoon, when all he could think about was the taste of chocolate and Rosemary D’Amica on his lips.

  “Hello? Earth to Rosie!”

  Rosemary felt someone tapping on her shoulder and turned to hear Zane’s muffled call. “What? Oh.” She pulled out the plastic earplugs she’d bought at a drugstore on her way to the airfield.

  “Sorry about that,” she said, shrugging. “All the engine noise and such. Have to protect the old eardrums.” Actually it wasn’t just the engines, but the crying children and their cheering parents, the hawking of the hot-dog vendors, the blare of the loudspeaker that bothered her. She was still having a hard time adjusting to the constant noise. She hadn’t realized that the noise had abated when they’d left the field and walked into the hangar.

  Zane guided her over to a vintage biplane and she walked along the fuselage, trailing her hand across the riveted metal.

  “It gets a little loud out there sometimes,” he said, “but I doubt it’s anything that’ll do you any permanent damage.”

  “Better safe than sorry.”

  “So some people say.”

  “Not a theory you subscribe to, I take it.”

  “There is such a thing as being too cautious. Missing out on some of the best moments life has to offer just because they involve a little risk.”

  Near the front of the plane, Rosemary climbed the stepladder and peered into the rear cockpit.

  “Go on,” Zane said behind her. “Climb in.”

  In the copilot’s seat, she tried to imagine soaring a thousand feet up with nothing beneath her but air. The thought brought goose bumps to her arms.

  “So what’s on the bill for you today?” she asked. “Hurling yourself out of a perfectly good airplane with nothing but a bed sheet to slow your fall? Shackle your hands and feet like Houdini and see if you can escape the locks in time to pull your parachute cord?”

  “’Fraid not—although that last one is not a bad idea.” He patted the side of the biplane like a favorite pet. “It’s Louise’s turn. Wing-walking day.”

  “While the plane is flying. Wing walking.” She pointed forward and to the left of her seat. “Out there.”

  “That’s generally where the wings are, yes.”

  “You really should have your head examined, you know that?”

  He swung up onto the wing to demonstrate. “Look, it’s not that bad. I have these struts here to hold on to. And when Jasper gets ready to do the barrel rolls, I slide my feet into these straps here on the lower wing.”

  “Barrel rolls?”

  “Yeah, we do a few acrobatics while I’m out. Slow and easy, though, nothing—”

  She held up her hand to stop him. “I really don’t think I want to know.” The turkey dog he’d bought her for lunch wasn’t sitting well on her stomach, and this conversation wasn’t helping.

  Smiling, he grabbed her hand and pulled. “Come on. I’m closing the show tonight, so I’ve got a couple of hours before I have to get ready. Let’s go walk around.”

  She let him lead her around the aircraft on display and listened patiently while he lectured her on wing design, air speed and avionics. Surprisingly, she found if she focused on his voice, the background noise didn’t disturb her as much as it had before. And she enjo
yed listening to him. To her, they were just a bunch of airplanes, but he was like a kid in a candy store. His eyes lit up as he made an airplane shape with his hand and flew it around, even making engine noises as he explained the concepts of bank, pitch and roll to her.

  Everywhere he went, people watched him. He’d been right about the kids, she realized. They stared at him in awe, and a few of the braver ones even ran up and asked for his autograph.

  Amused, she noticed the children weren’t the only ones staring openly. Rosemary caught a fair number of young women ogling him as well, especially at his backside as he walked away from them. Not that she blamed them. He did fill out those worn jeans quite nicely—

  She caught herself and stamped out that thought before her own gaze wandered into forbidden territory. What was she thinking?

  The Angel of Death should not be lusting after the soul she’d come to collect.

  All too soon the afternoon wound down and it was time for the last stunt—Zane’s wing walk.

  Her stomach quivered unhappily as he climbed into Louise’s second seat behind Jasper, his pilot, and gave the thumbs-up. It protested significantly more vehemently when the yellow biplane soared over the upturned faces of the air-show crowd and a figure clad in black coveralls and goggles climbed out onto the left wing. He waved and they cheered, and her breath stalled as he ambled along the rear edge of the wing all the way to the tip, where he held on to a strut with one hand, braced his feet and bowed dramatically backward off the tip of the wing, before levering himself up and proceeding down the front edge of the wing as if he were strolling down a country lane.

  The plane made a large loop at the edge of the airfield. Zane crossed over Louise’s fuselage and repeated his performance on the right wing.

  When Zane was headed back toward the cockpit, Rosemary finally dared suck in a lungful of air, thinking the show must be almost over. Until he stopped halfway up the wing and stretched his arms out to the struts on either side of him.