perfect,” Sunny continued even though Tierra turned ice cold as the blood drained from her face. “Not only will they serve you something to loosen your inhibitions, but looking like you do, fresh meat and all, you'll find your guy. Just stop and pick up some protection first.”
“I have my crystals.” She held up her arm with the multiple bracelets wrapped around her wrist trying to take in all that Sunny had just said. “Oh, wait you're not talking this kind of protection…are you? Pregnancy. I knew that.”
“There are worse things than getting pregnant. Which one is the gonorrhea crystal?”
“Eww. Okay, good point. So…uh…where do I get the other kind of protection?”
“They're called condoms and every grocery or convenience store carries them. You know, never mind.” Sunny headed into the back room and retrieved a purse that looked like a saddlebag. She reached inside and pulled out a square box. “This should do. It has a range of sizes to fit any man.”
“Sizes?”
“Oh hon, you'll soon learn, all men basically come down to size.”
42
Death walks into a bar…in Port Townsend, Washington.
Where's the punchline?
Killian Bane claimed the table in the shadowy corner, his back to the wall, where he could sit and watch. Not much happening in the bar since it was well before happy hour. He checked the clock over the bar.
He was about four hours ahead of schedule.
Guess I'm the punchline.
He stretched out his long legs, clad in black denim and black leather boots, crossing them at the ankles. A sleepy seaside town with an artistic, hippie bent with a population that had no idea Death had arrived.
He was tired of waiting. So fucking tired. He hoped to God or the Devil or the freaking goddesses—since they were apparently dealing with witches this time—that this was finally the actual Apocalypse.
He was supposed to meet up with his brothers later, but he'd made good time and decided a few drinks—maybe a good lay—would put him in the right frame of mind to deal with the Three Horsemen who'd failed in their duty and now required he step in.
How hard was it to kill one witch? There were four to choose from.
Death was inevitable. Everyone, even these prophesized witches, had an expiration date. Didn't matter who you were or how you lived your life, Death came for you at some point.
The amiable waitress came up to him with a loose-hipped walk that seemed effortless. She was petite, with a Cupid's bow mouth that he could put to work. Blonde ringlets were artfully styled and he enjoyed that she didn't oversell her sexuality. In fact, she played up her goodness which was a facade. Clever. He looked deeper into her soul, and evil shivered over him. When her time came, she was headed to Hell.
Never ceased to amaze him. Now the big bald, tattooed and pierced biker mixing drinks behind the bar looked like he'd just graduated from Demon High with honors, and he was headed to Heaven.
“Welcome to Port Townsend,” the waitress greeted. “You must be new to town because I haven't seen you around. My name is Angelica–” Of course it was.
“–but you can call me Angel. What might I get you…to drink?” Clearly she was up for more if he'd prefer.
“I'll take a Cardinal Sin.”
“Which one?” Her pretense slid off like a stripper flashed with a greenback. “I'm a fan of all seven myself, but looking at you all I can think about is lust.”
Yeah, she'd do in a pinch, but he was tired of her flavor of the month. He was in the mood for something different. Someone like… Her.
In walked a rose, a blue moon rose to be more exact. He swore he could smell her from here. Dressed in shades of lavender with slate blue hues, she brightened and revived the bar with her very presence. He heard a slight jingling in his ears and knew it came from the Bohemian enchantress. It was like someone had opened a window and let the sun shine into a room that had continued to darken, smothering the life out of it.
She was life.
“Excuse me.” He stood, not taking his eyes off the vision in vintage clothing, her hands clutching the strap of her purse. “My…woman has arrived,” he growled, the word woman already staking claim.
He strode toward her, radiating vibrations of possession to every heterosexual male in the vicinity. A man who'd set a trajectory toward her changed direction as Killian approached.