Interviewing the Angels - Part 4
Inwardly grousing, I march through the open door and into the elegant entry of the living room. Or should I call it a common room? Really, with its multiple couches and side tables, it always reminds me of a hotel lobby rather than a living room.
Turning left, I slink into the kitchen and head right for the pantry. Sometime ago Betty had decided that her new motherly idols were Betty Crocker and Julia Childs. She'd reserved the lower shelf spaces for all manner of baking ingredients for her and Legion. However, after the duos twelfth cake had either burned, come out too salty or, in the case of one unfortunate pie, melted, she'd given up on idea. The ingredients were still there though and knowing the devil like I did. . .
I reach for the large canister of cornstarch and pop the lid open. "Jack pot," I quietly crow in victory and pull the bag of Milano cookies out of their hiding place. Thanks to Syn's influence, Luce has been cursed with a sweet tooth. And has become a coffee connoisseur, I mentally tack on, eyeballing the Keurig machine and French press on the kitchen counter.
The sound of nails on the hardwood floors draws my attention to the kitchen door where Daisy stands eyeballing me. I guess she's been assigned as my guard for my trip here today.
I hold a finger to my lips and dig a cookie out of the bag with my other. "Don't tell your boss and I'll share with you," I say, tossing her one.
She's across the room and snapping the treat out of the air before I can blink. Honestly, I'm not sure if she teleported or if she's just that damn fast. Either way, when I notice things like that, it reminds me that I'm here only because they tolerate me to be so.
Taking the bag with me to the kitchen table, I plunk down in one of the chairs and pull out my laptop. If I have to be stuck here waiting, I might as well get some work done. At least that's my thought process until my email won't connect to the internet.
"What that—?" I check and double check my connections to no avail.
"Azazel changed the WiFi password since you were here last," a voice says from behind me.
I jump at the rich Irish brogue and spin around to see Raziel standing at the side door leading in from the wrap around porch.
Of all the angels, he puts me on the edge the most. Granted his title, the Angel of Secrets, makes the why of my trepidation around him pretty obvious. To top it off, since moving in with Luce and the gang, he's been getting back into peak form. The forced sobriety probably had a lot to do with that, but I digress. . .
Oblivious to the hike in my blood pressure or ignoring it altogether, Raziel waves at me and heads for the fridge. "Last I heard the password was: Devilkins, why haven't you asked me to marry you yet? It's legal in this country now and everyone knows we are meant to be." He reaches in and pulls out a Corona before coming over to me. "Try that, all lowercase letters with no spaces or punctuation."
Tapping the string of words into my computer, I mutter, "Isn't there a cap on the number of characters you can use?"
He hears me, but doesn't answer; doing that angel thing of staring me down which somehow equates to an answer to them. It's annoying as hell.
To my surprise, the angel pulls out a chair next to me and turns it around. Straddling it, he folds one arm over the back before taking a long pull at his Corona bottle. Those hazel eyes of his never leave my face and I can't help but shrink a few inches away from him in my own chair.
"You know why Luce detest you right now," Raziel says in a carefully monotone voice. "So, why'd you do it? Why did you lie?"