Passing by the handbag boutiques that were set against the wall, she checked out Prada, Miu Miu, and Chanel. The merch looked great even in the dim glow of the security lighting, and she cracked when she got to Gucci. Slipping through the chain-link security gate, she nabbed a python bag in dark green, and then kept going.

Man, short of sex, high-end department stores were the best high there was: Thousands and thousands of square feet full of things, all of which were well-ordered, tagged, and cataloged. And protected.

A total OCD-gasm.

So she had to watch herself. She could feel the bonding happening, and if this kept up, she would be in danger of grafting a sense of ownership onto all these precious things. And that wasn’t good for anyone. She’d have to kill the humans who came in to buy them, and that was exhausting.

But it did make her think that she should get her Lenovo on and go digital with her own collections.

Next virgin that she slaughtered to protect her mirror? She was going to have to reanimate them and get them to geek-out her things.

After all, there were a lot of computer programmers out there who couldn’t figure out how to get their boney asses laid.

Cutting into the center of the first floor, she found the makeup counters clustered together, the Chanel its trademark black and glossy, the Lancôme all glass cases…and the Yves Saint Laurent, which had a lot of gold around its stand-up displays.

Flickering in behind the counter, she sprang the lock on the cupboard that was down by the floor, and as she lowered herself onto her haunches, her palm lit the way, illuminating the tiny labels on the butt ends of the packaging.

1 Le Rouge was easy to find, and she took one from the careful arrangement, flipped open the box, and slid out the shiny metal tube. Lovely, so lovely, all unscratched, never been touched. She nearly trembled as she twisted and exposed the perfectly formed column of lipstick.

The smell, flowery and delicate, made her eyes roll back.

The therapist was right: The panic attack hadn’t lasted forever in that office, and as Devina had gone about her work afterward, the separation anxiety from that tube she’d tossed had gotten plowed over with her focusing on other things. The anxiety had resurfaced, however, when she’d gone back to her private space and sat in front of her mirror, ready to go down to her wall and enjoy some private time with her children.

Cue the trouble.

Her thoughts had quickly spun out of control, images of all manner of trash compaction and oozing Dumpsters and overcrowded, stinking landfills making her want to cry.

She could have gone back for the specific tube, but she wanted to honor at least part of the therapist’s religion: It would have been very much part of her cycle to become obsessed with getting that one particular lipstick back, and execute that plan no matter what got in her way.

Except she couldn’t keep going down that road—and so she was here and not at that office, and she had this fresh, pretty new tube to replace the one that she had sacrificed in the name of self-improvement.

There were five more in her color, all stacked one on top of another in the cutest little tower. Reaching forward, she wanted to take them all as backup for her backups, but she stopped herself. Closed the cabinet. Flickered out of range.

She was proud of herself as she walked away.

Enough with the break; time to get back to work.

Returning to the window display she’d come in through, she stopped in front of one of the mannequins. The thing had a straight blond wig on and had been dressed in a flowery creation Devina wouldn’t have been caught dead in—

It was galling to wonder what Jim Heron would think of her in it.

No doubt it was right up his alley, feminine, pretty, not too revealing. Modest.

That fucker. That lying double-crosser.

Naturally, the fact that he’d played her so well in the last round only made him more attractive….

Devina frowned as the therapist’s voice came back to her. Cognitive behavioral therapy…a rewiring of the brain through experience.

The demon leaned in and fingered the fake hair, the long, straight fake hair that was the color of a canary diamond.

Sissy Barten, Jim’s precious darling, had had hair just like this. Would have loved a dress like this. Would have stood in the back and waited for Jim to approach, never forward, ever f**king virginal.

It was enough to make her want to kill them both—and with that stupid little girl, that would be an “again” thing as she’d already sliced the kid’s throat open over that tub—

Devina began to smile. Then laugh.

With a quick jerk, she yanked off the wig, stripping the plastic model bald…and headed out through the glass.

6

It had to be a dream, right?

Adrian had to be dreaming. Except, damn, this felt real, everything from the velvet couch under his ass to the cold beer in his hand to the heat in the club visceral and authentic.

He was afraid to turn his head. Terrified to discover that he was alone here in this noisy, desperate place filled with hollow people who were just like him.

If he were alone, Eddie really was dead.

Taking a swig of the longneck, he braced himself, and pivoted—

Adrian slowly lowered the bottle, exhaling all the oxygen out of his lungs. “Hey, buddy,” he whispered.

Eddie’s red eyes swung around. “Ah…hello.” The guy shifted in his seat. “Listen, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just…”

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“I’ve missed you,” Ad said in a low voice. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”

“Just because I went to the bathroom?” Eddie smiled. “Usually I do come back.”

Ad reached out a hand, knowing touch would prove which side they were walking on—

Eddie frowned and eased out of range, looking like Ad had grown a horn in the middle of his forehead. “What up with you?”

That face was exactly right, the darkly tanned skin sporting a beard shadow, those reddish eyes open to the world, neither suspicious nor naive, that heavy braid down a thick, muscled back.

“I don’t”—Ad rubbed his face—“know.”

“You want to leave?”

“God, no.”

“Okay.” Those red eyes shifted back to the crowd. “So are you going to force me to have sex again?”

Ad laughed loudly. “Right. That’s happened. Suuuuure.”

“Throwing women at me—”

“I’ve never thrown—”

“Picking ones you know I’ll like—”

“Well, I have done that—”

“Ruining my virtue.”

As the guy took another swig, Ad got serious. “No one could do that.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Before I was an angel, I was a vestal virgin and it stuck.”

“Which would explain all the hair.”

“Nah, that’s because it makes me look hot.”

Ad laughed again and leaned back, a sudden surge of energy coming over him. The sense that life had returned to normal, that tragedy hadn’t occurred, that everything was reset back to the way it should be, was a relief so tremendous he was flying even as he was sitting down. In a rush of optimism, his eyes went to the crowd, his f**k filter slipping into place, a rare happiness turning the slutty candidates into beauty queens.

“See anything we like?” Eddie said dryly.

“If it weren’t for me, you’d never get laid.”

“You know, I’d like to argue with that.”

“You’re too honest.”

“Damn it.”

Ah, yes, that redhead would do, Ad thought. And she was with a black-haired—

He frowned, stiffening. There was someone on the periphery, over in the far corner in the shadows, watching them.

“It’s time,” Eddie said. “Either we do what we’re going to do, or we have to order another round. Ad? Hello?”

Adrian shook himself. “Yeah…sure.”

His best friend gave him the hairy eyeball again. “What’s wrong with you, man?”

Good question, he thought as he got to his feet. “Just gimme a minute to reel something in.”

“Take your time—and make it quick.”

“Isn’t that a contradiction?”

“Not when it comes to you.”

Easy laughter. And then he was all about the two ladies. As he closed in on the red and black, their giggled responses were predictable, and not nearly as satisfying as the orgasms they were all going to have.

“My name’s Adrian,” he said, as he came up to them. His slow smile got the females blinking fast, and doing little rearrangements of their stances—breasts up, bellies tucked in, legs out more in front so thighs showed.

“I like your perfume,” he said, leaning into the neck of the redhead.

In actuality, he hadn’t smelled it yet, and he didn’t care what it was—

Breathing in, he froze. That scent. That…

“I’m glad,” she said, her hands roaming around his back and settling on his ass. “I wore it just for someone like you.”

Adrian moved away, his brain hurting. Or maybe that was his chest. “Yeah. Good.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Eddie was over on the couch, sprawled out, but focused intently, as if he were ready for the sex.

Just like normal.

Ad nodded in the direction of his buddy. “I come with a friend. How ’bout you?”

“She has a BF,” the redhead muttered, like that was a character defect.

“Sorry,” the other woman said.

Like it mattered. “Okay, just you then, provided you can handle two?”

When the chippie nodded like she’d won the lottery, he took her hand, and that perfume of hers followed them, making him wish the black haired one had been single and willing, and that Jessica Rabbit with the Goth makeover had been the chick with the boyfriend. No going back, though—it was just too much like work to find another recruit, and besides, this was nothing permanent. None of them had ever been permanent.

Goddamn flowery smell, though. It gave him the creeps.

When he got to the couch and sat down, the redhead made like a throw blanket, covering both his and Eddie’s legs, and, as she happened to be facing in the other angel’s direction, Eddie got to work kissing the hell out of her.

For a guy with no game, he’d always had a hearty appetite.

As Ad watched, and did some stroking of the hip and breast variety, he thought it was amazing how much power a nightmare could have over you. It was like all that imagined shit about Eddie had actually happened: that harpy sweeping in from out of nowhere and nailing the angel with a blade, taking the I-M out of immortal. Then the death, in the lobby of that bank that was not far from here. Then the suffering afterward, the sense that the purpose had gone out of the world for him…

Adrian frowned and wondered why he was talking to himself like it had actually gone down—

The redhead arched and parted her legs, clearly inviting him to play in her sandbox. And as he complied, Eddie took over working on her breasts, pulling down the top of her black shredded something-or-other, being more aggressive than usual as he exposed a pair that were considerably smaller than they’d looked.

Just as Adrian was slipping a hand in deep, the waitress showed up with some fresh bottles, and she obviously was used to the kind of business that was being conducted: she didn’t bat an eye as she put the beers down.

“I got it,” Ad said, squeezing his wallet out of his back pocket and popping her a twenty. As she left, he glanced at the beer, and then shot a glare over at Eddie. “Coors Light? What the hell?”

The other angel disengaged from the lip lock and shrugged. “Watching my weight.”

Ad rolled his eyes and got back in touch with touching the meal that was about to be consumed. Moving his hands upward under the short skirt, he discovered to his surprise a pair of underwear with all the holding power of steel girders—and the sprawl of an army tent. What the fuck? Then again, he supposed Spanx was cheaper than lipo—

That perfume flooded back into his nose, suggesting that maybe it hadn’t been the woman’s after all.

Glancing around, he could see nothing unusual—

“I think you should do her first,” Eddie said, playing with those breasts…that now seemed rather flabby.

And that hair. Once thick and wavy, it now looked kind of frizzy.

The woman smiled, revealing teeth that were crooked.

“Go on, Adrian…do her.” Eddie’s eyes were all but sparkling in the darkness. “I want to watch you.”

The woman took Ad’s hand and moved it back between her legs, rubbing herself against his palm and fingers—