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Interviewing the Angels - Part 2 / Like I said, he doesn't like me much

January 15, 2018


Interviewing the Angels - Part 2

Like I said, he doesn't like me much


            Before I can officially chicken out, a wet nose presses against the back of my arm. I'm not lite on my toes, but I swear I jump three feet off the ground. Whirling around, I come face to face with one of the hell hounds patrolling the property. It's not the one I spied while driving in, but I recognize the female from my first trip up here. Not knowing her name, I've taken to calling her Daisy for no particular reason.
            She drops into a playful pose, front paws down, butt in the air and tail wagging wildly. She welcomes me with a soft yap, then tilts her head as if sensing my indecision. I swear to God, she rolls her eyes at me before standing up and catching the strap of my bag between her teeth. Yanking on it she pulls me away from the garage and towards the mansion.
            "Fine," I grouse at her. "You guys have already told him I'm here anyway, haven't you?"
            Daisy chuffs and prances up the white stairs of the mansion ahead of me.
            Following, I reach for the doors handle only to have it ripped out of my grip and flung open from the inside. I'm not a short woman by any means, but even I have to crane my neck up – and up — to look the figure standing before me in the eyes.
            Lucifer Morningstar is over seven feet tall and unlike the lanky basketball player's equal to his height, he's built like a brick shit house. He's an odd visual mixture though. Far from being hard on the eyes, the allure he was born with tempts everyone to come closer, to touch, to taste, to be taken by. . . To counteract and detour people from doing so though, he's cultivated a predatory aura that screams, "Act on those desires and you'll lose more than your hand."
            Every time I see him, I can't help but hear Alice Cooper's Poison on repeat in the back of my mind. I wanna love you, but I better not touch.
            "Scribe," he practically spits down at me.
            Like I said, he doesn't like me much.
            I lift a hand and wave. "H—Hi. I'm just here for our—"
            "Not now." Without giving me a second glance, he pushes past me.

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