Beloved Purgatory (Fallen Angels, Book 2) (15 page)

Kim's voice grew quiet. "Devi, don't take this the
wrong way but you can be a little dense sometimes. You can't always
trust that someone is happy just because they put on a happy
face."

My throat grew tight. The light streaming through my
curtains hurt my eyes. We weren't talking about Jasmine anymore, we
were talking about Kim. Kim, who I knew carried her unhappiness
within her, but was unwilling to voice it. Kim, my first and
deepest friend after my brother. Kim, whom I loved.

Her voice broke. "My mom always warned me not to go
into debt--not monetary debt, mind you, but the other kind--those
debts you can't repay. If you amass too much of that, you can no
longer be friends."

"You're way over thinking this."

"Do you know how long it took me to work up the nerve
to call you?" She whimpered. The sound was so shrill and unlike Kim
I almost dropped the phone. "I can't face her. I owe her too
much."

I planted my forehead on my palm. Perhaps I should
have seen this coming. Kim would rather not eat lunch than owe
someone $5, which was a little insane in my opinion, but I guess it
made sense. Besides, it was a much more admirable characteristic
than someone who just took whatever anyone offered and rarely gave
anything back.

My heartbeat pounded in my throat. I'd begun feeling
like
that kind
of person lately. Oz had given me his entire
life, and I might kill him someday.

I blew out slowly. I couldn't keep thinking like
that. I'd go insane if I did. "Well, Jasmine actually did ask me if
I'd do a favor for her."

"Really? What kind of favor?"

My mind was racing. Why did I lie like this? Why was
this even necessary? I should just tell her to get over it, but no.
I had to make up some story.

"Devi, is there actually a favor she has in
mind?"

The skeptical tone in Kim's voice burned me. I knew
at that moment I had two options. I could say that I was a liar and
move on, or keep going.

I chose to keep going.

"Yeah, something about watching her little
brother."

"She has a little brother?"

"Um, yeah." Wait, where was I going to find a kid to
play Jasmine's little brother? "I mean, I don't know."

"She was your childhood friend and you don't
know?"

Damn. Good point, Kim
. "Well, she does. I
mean, yes."

"Well, I'd be more than willing to help out with this
little boy that may or may not exist," she laughed. Good. She liked
the idea of doing a favor for Oz. I mean Jasmine. Oh God, was Oz
going to be upset about this?

"Look, I have to do something but I'll call you back.
Leave tonight open!"

"It is open, Devi." I could tell she was shaking her
head.

"Great. I'm excited. I'll call you back in a
sec."

I flipped the phone shut, then pressed it to my
temple. "What did I just do?"

"You lied," the angel said.

"Hey, you did too. I told you to stay in the
closet."

The angel looked at the floor. "I did."

"What do you mean? You were out here this
morning."

He glanced at me and bit his lower lip. "You were
making sounds in your sleep this morning. I was worried."

I frowned. "What kind of sounds?"

He let out a high-pitched whimpering, almost-orgasmic
sound. Then another. And another.

My cheeks grew hot. "Stop!"

This time it was me who looked down.

"I was worried about you, Devi."

"Alright, I believe you. Next time I make a sound
like that when I'm sleeping, just make me stop and then go back
into the closet," I mumbled. It was probably good that I couldn't
remember my dreams last night.

***

Oz was sleeping when I called, but his greeting was a
lot sweeter than the one I'd given Kim. "Hey. I was just thinking
about you."

I felt myself blushing. How could he say that sort of
thing in front of the angel? "I don't think you should say that to
me right after you wake up, anymore."

"Oh, because of you know?"

Great. How could he start with that nonsense less
than a minute after waking up? "Look, I didn't call you to talk
about that."

"That's too bad. I'd love to talk to you about
that."

"I'm sure you would," I said, trying to keep myself
from grinning. "However, this is about something else. This is
about Kim. She's a little hesitant to hang out with us
tonight."

It was news to Oz that we were hanging out with her.
"I guess that means I get to be Jasmine, again," he yawned.

I looked up at the ceiling. "Not exactly."

"So I get to be Oz? I guess she wants to interrogate
me."

My voice grew softer. "That's not it either."

A pause. "Devi, what's going on?"

"Don't get mad," I blurted out. Then banged my fist
into my head. Wrong thing to say!

"Why would I be mad?" Oz asked slowly.

"Okay. Okay. I told Kim something."

"What did you tell Kim?"

I bit my lip.
I said that Jasmine had a kid
brother that we would babysit for. So, could you pretend to be a
little boy and let us take you out trick-or-treating
tonight?

I just couldn't say it. There are things that you can
ask your boyfriend to do, and then there are things that you simply
can't. I had a pretty good feeling this fell into the latter
category.

So I decided to stall for as long as I could, because
I guess I wanted to give my body time to go into shock from
adrenaline poisoning. "I told her that Jasmine wanted us to do her
a favor tonight because she was afraid of facing Jasmine after we
took the fall for her."

"Oh, I see. So you need to think up something for us
to do. Well, I have an idea."

The tension in my shoulders relaxed. Great.

And then he told me what his idea was. "You guys
could come over and help me clean up my place."

"Um, what?" Had I heard him correctly?

"The bookstore could use some dusting. And it would
be nice if the upstairs was cleaned. You know, clothes washed,
dishes washed, etcetera."

"That's not going to work."

"Why not? She wants to help me--"

"No, she wants to help Jasmine. Not you."

"Just tell her that...Jasmine's parents own the
place?"

"Then why would she be cleaning your room?"

"She won't know it's mine."

"Oz, there is no way a girl would live in that
mess."

"Hey, it's not so bad. It's a lot better than your
room at least."

Okay, he had a point there. "Still, it looks like the
room of an 80 year old man who spends his days listening to old
records and reliving his wonder years."

Oz laughed. "Ouch. That hurt."

"Look," I started. "You can't just bring us over to
clean because you're too lazy."

"Fine, fine. What did you have in mind then?"

I bit my lip. "Well, maybe Jasmine has a little
brother."

This time it took Oz a little while to respond. "I
don't think I like where this is going."

I didn't want to give him time to think about where
it was going. "Well, maybe that little brother would like to go
trick-or-treating."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Um, maybe." But I wasn't kidding.

Oz sighed. "I really like you, you know that?"

My heart started stuttering. "I know."

"I hope you do," he groaned.

"I like you too."

He chuckled. "I hope so. God, I mean, I guess we can
do this? What time do I need to be over there?"

"How about four o'clock?"

"Alright, see you then," he said, then hung up.

I sighed and looked at the clock. Only a few short
hours to put together a costume. Luckily I had something in
mind.

"Angel, back to the closet. I have to get ready for
tonight."

Chapter 8

At 4pm, a four foot dinosaur rang my
doorbell.

The little green-eyed monster gave me a
smile with plenty of missing teeth as I opened the door. "Hi
Debbie!"

I immediately realized this was a bad idea
thanks to him pronouncing his v's as b's, but I only had about half
a second to regret my request before the dinosaur launched forward
and dug his foam claws into my thighs.

"Stop it," I choked out. I hopped back twice
and almost bit my tongue. Damn, it tickled so much.

He let go. "I didn't realize you were that
ticklish."

I could still feel the
imprint of his "claws" on my skin. A breeze blew between my legs,
and I snickered. "You should have been that creepy kid from
The Omen
. Or
Rosemary's Baby
."

"Nope." He spread out his
arms. "I'm a
Velociraptor
!"

Then he looked down at the ground and slowly
slipped his right toe over his left. "I like your costume,
Debbie."

I had to laugh at that. Since he was going to
be an annoying little kid, I figured I should pick something
equally unsexy.

It had been a tough
decision. Leatherface seemed a little too over the top and yet, at
the same time, generic. I could also have gone for the troll
in
Troll
, or the
goblins in
Troll 2
.
But when I reflected his nauseating request to "express myself" at
work (aka wear fetish gear), I knew I only had one
option.

I'd picked up an ancient, brick-red and
eggshell cheerleader outfit at the Goodwill on Burnside. I then got
to work with charcoal, scissors, 2-year-old face paint, flour,
black eyeliner, Vaseline, and Kool-Aid, with which I'd attempted to
dye my black hair.

It didn't go exactly as planned, but did
leave a nice rose color on my scalp, forehead, and the back of my
neck, matching the oozing open sores on my powdered white face. I
decided not to wash it out, so it dried and made my wonky pigtails
crusty.

"I decided to express my inner zombie
cheerleader," I said.

He took a step forward and gave me a very
Oz-like grin. It was so surreal to see a little boy look at me like
that, but then again Oz didn't really have an age, a race, or a
gender.

"I'm glad you decided to express yourself,
Devi," he whispered. "You can wear that to work anytime."

I peeled off part of my cheek and stuck it
on his nose. "You really don't want customers, do you?"

He waited for the piece of faux-rotting skin
to fall off before continuing. "Where are your pompoms?"

"Pompom," I corrected. "They only had one.
And I'm going to wave it in your face if you don't share your
candy."

The dinosaur pouted. "You're gonna to steal
my candy?"

I smiled. "No, I'm going to give you lots of
opportunities to share."

He wrapped his claws around my hand. The
foam crunched when he tightened his grip. "Do I
smell...pancakes?"

"Yep." I turned my head to the side, away
from him. Why was I so nervous? "I figured we could fuel up before
we head out. No blueberries this time, but I stuffed them with
plenty of chocolate chips."

"Did you make them, Devi?"

I fidgeted with the hem of my skirt. "It's
just something I whipped up," I murmured.

"I'd really like to try one."

Adrenaline coursed through
my veins. I couldn't speak anymore, not even to say something
like
come in
or
right this way
. Instead, I slumped over and lurched forward like a freaking
zombie. Was I really this nervous because this was the first time
I'd cooked something for him?
Really?
Was I twelve?

No, I didn't even have the presence of mind
of a twelve-year-old. They, at least, wouldn't make pancakes for
their sweetheart that looked like severed ghoul fingers.

I took a deep breath. I'd deal with that
when we got there--which happened only to be about ten seconds
because, even at my undead pace, my kitchen was really close to the
front door.

I looked at my mom's kitchen and yelped.

"Devi!" The dinosaur yelled.

I raised a shaking finger to the table.

The dinosaur followed it, then groaned.
"Bloody Hell."

The angel was seated in between the other
two chairs. He'd also pushed our place mats significantly further
apart than I'd had them. Though he didn't have pancakes, he did
have three napkins--one "waterfall style" tucked into his shirt,
one on his lap, and an extra on the table. I decided to take
offense to that, even though I was a messy eater.

I straightened my skirt. "Sorry, I just
didn't expect to see you there."

The angel said nothing.

I walked around the table, grabbed one of
the chairs, and brought it to where the dinosaur would sit. When I
went back to gather my plate and fork, the angel put his hand on my
wrist. "Devi."

His touch felt like an electric shock, but
instead of passing through me it left something behind--the memory
of that white, incandescent light that had spilled over us when he
held my face, the way I'd--

I pulled back, steadied my breath.
"What?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the
dinosaur go still. His eyes narrowed on the place the angel had
touched. I rubbed my wrist.

"I wish you wouldn't sit away from me," the
angel said.

What was going on here? I snatched the plate
and retreated.

And then I saw what the
angel saw when he looked at me--my reflection, framed in the dark
window by my mother's starched doily curtains, was absolutely
horrifying. My corpse paint had already begun to run down my face,
making me look like a
Kiss
fan girl who had lost a wet t-shirt contest. The
open sore I'd pasted on my cheek had slipped down to my neck,
leaving a trail of flour, Kool-Aid and caramelized sugar that
looked like bloody sandpaper.