Nephilim. Mary Ann Loesch

      The angel stood outside the tattoo shop and listened to the hum. The red neon sign attached to the building blinked the words “Hell’s Leak” and cast dark circles under his eyes. But the humming…oh, how it tempted the angel to go inside the sterile little shop and let it trickle through the senses until his body pulsed with it. That was one of the vices of his kind. The flick of a silver lighter, traffic lights swaying in the wind, a soft swirl of motion from a child’s pinwheel…these things transfixed the angels and allowed life’s little accidents to catch them off guard.

      Inside the shop, the hum of the tattoo gun stopped, and a man with inky black eyes placed the instrument on a table next to him. The loud, heavy sound of metal music replaced the noise of the gun, and as if sensing the anomaly outside, the man turned around. A hint of cruelty grew in the stubborn lines of his features as he stared through the glass at the angel. He shoved a lock of his long, black hair away from his face and frowned.

      Azal.

      A small ray of hope flickered in the angel’s chest at hearing the other man acknowledge him in his thoughts. But the man turned his attention back to the intricate design he branded onto his client, uninterested in communicating further. Disappointed, the angel turned up the collar of his long overcoat and walked away.

      Though a cold January night, a crowd surged down the street. Frosty puffs of breath swirled around the people hurrying to nightclubs and bars ready to get drunk or laid. Their eagerness and desperation perfumed the chilly air.

      Sloth, the angel thought. Absolute sloth. Why isn’t anything done about it?

      But he wasn’t here to worry over these sweating, sinning mortals. There had been a breach of gigantic proportions. If it didn’t get fixed, they would all pay.

      Azal stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, disrupting the flow of foot traffic. Ignoring the colorful comments painting the air around him, he closed his eyes and concentrated. The woman was on the street somewhere. He could smell her voice–light, but whiskey husky with a touch of smoke to it. He blocked out the stench of pizza and stale beer, letting his senses search.

      There. He had it. The sound of her pulled the angel past the scents coloring the sin-infested street, beyond the raucous metal music from one of the clubs, through the steam and smoke of a blues lounge, and to the tiny little piano bar called Black Cat.

      The angel flinched at the tinkling sound the gold bell above the door made as he pushed it open. Not wanting attention, he quickly moved to a back table in the room, noting the place was almost empty for a Friday night. Good. Less people made it less likely his attention would be drawn elsewhere. And he needed to be focused. The woman was important.

      “Can I get you something?” A waitress smiled down at him. Her black hair shimmered in the glow of a dim candle placed on the table. Above snug black pants and a white T-shirt, the bar’s logo stretched across her breasts. According to the small glossy nametag pinned on the tight shirt, her name was Barb. She tapped a foot before crossing her arms, and Azal realized he’d inadvertently been eyeballing her cleavage. “What would you like to drink?”

      “Vodka tonic.” Azal opened his mind to listen to her thoughts. They trailed behind Barb as she walked away, a leaking balloon of disgust.

       Asshole. It’s always about the tits. Who does he think he is? Too bad he’s so cute. I really dig the scar.

      He smiled and touched the long scar that ran from his hairline down the side of his face. These humans. So beautiful in every way, and yet so fickle. Such an appealing reason to make his many frequent trips between the veil.

      He forgot about Barb as the reason he’d been drawn to Black Cat walked onto the stage. Her sequined green dress swished as she sat on the bench of the black Steinway piano parked center stage. A cheer went up from the small crowd, and she gave her blond hair a modest pat. She smiled, bright and vivacious, but the angel noticed it didn’t match the coolness in her green eyes.

      “Thank you,” she said with a slight Texan drawl. Azal remembered how she liked to portray herself as an innocent country girl when she performed, born to the simple life. This persona always brought a smile to his face. She was far from innocent. “My name is Faye and I’m here to sing the Vodka Set tonight.”

      Another cheer went up from the audience. Faye smiled and began playing an old standard, My Funny Valentine.

      “Here’s your vodka tonic.” Barb placed the drink on the table and liquid sloshed over the side of the glass. Flustered, she grabbed a napkin to clean it up. The angel wrapped his hand around her wrist and gently pulled her toward him.

      “I’m sorry for my earlier offense,” he whispered. “But don’t worry. Good fortune will come to you tonight.”

      Confusion flowered on Barb’s face and her black hair fell forward, a curtain shutting off the world for a moment. He kissed her. A little spark of light sizzled between them before Azal pulled away and severed the connection.

      Barb stumbled backward and ran a finger across her mouth. He could tell she was not quite sure what had happened, the memory of it already fading. Azal watched her walk unsteadily away. As she passed the stage, his gaze met Faye’s. The angel shrank back into the shadows, but knew it was no use. She’d caught his scent. Faye finished the song and nodded good-naturedly at the audience as they applauded.

      “Ya’ll ever see that old movie The Outsiders? The one with the kid called Ponyboy?” Faye smiled at the eager nods in the audience. “My favorite part is when they read the Robert Frost poem Nothing Gold Can Stay. You know, ‘Nature’s first hue is gold, her hardest color to hold.’”

      The angel felt the beginning of nervous butterflies in his stomach.

      “It’s about how we all start off life being gold and pure. As we get older we lose some of the gold of youth. I guess we can’t be innocent forever.” She chuckled, but it was a harsh, bitter sound to Azal’s ears. “Stevie Wonder sang a song in the movie called Stay Gold, and I have an old friend here tonight that I’d like to sing it to. Now I know it’s not really a Vodka Set song, but this friend is special, so I figure we can make an exception.”

      Faye sang the first notes into the microphone. As her sweet tone enchanted the drunks, the angel fought the urge to laugh. Stay Gold. He knew how Faye felt about his tarnished soul–not one drop of gold left in it by her estimation. Hadn’t she told him so the last time they’d met? Back then it seemed ludicrous that an angel of his caliber would be less than 14kt. But now…well, the world and heaven had gone and changed on

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