Nyalla leaned her head back against the seat of the party bus feeling the wind against her face and Gabe’s arm and thigh against hers. It had been a perfect day. The ship’s captain had not shown anything more than professional interest in her, which meant that the man and Gabe quickly became friends. She’d sunbathed on the back of the boat while the pair of them discussed how to operate the sails, as well as other nautical stuff. Normally she would have been just as enthusiastic to learn to sail, but somehow it seemed right for Gabe to know how to do one human thing that she didn’t know. He was a natural and by the time they were ready to head in, the captain sat back with Nyalla and relaxed while Gabe brought the boat in toward shore as if he’d been doing this his whole life.

Afterwards they’d had lunch on the pier and Gabe discovered that he enjoyed broiled scallops far more than he’d ever thought possible. Then they both read on the deck of their hotel room, Gabe abandoning the angel romance for the hockey one.

Nyalla read the angel romance, and actually thought the fictional Raphael to be totally sexy. But since she was already well on her way to falling for an archangel, she could sympathize with the heroine’s feelings.

But duty called, and they’d left their perfect day behind to join Terrelle and Snip on the party bus once more, this time heading into San Nicolas to meet with the Gormand. It was a longer ride than to the MooMba, but all too soon they pulled up to their stop, the four of them the only ones getting off the bus.

Charlie’s was in a section of the city with old concrete buildings, and quick marts, the oil refineries off in the distance. Nyalla had seen the resort section of the island, and the wild side of the island, but this was the industrial side, the side filled with sailors and huge commercial ships. The side filled with desalinization plants, and refineries. The sun chasers and gamblers might provide significant income to the island’s economy, but this less postcard-worthy side was just as important. And as rough and gray as it was in contrast to the glitzy, blue-sea tourist section, Nyalla loved it. Jekyll. Hyde. And Practical Salt-of-the-Earth. Entering the tiny building, she admired the eclectic and cluttered décor, and chose a table near the back with good visibility.

“All clear,” Terrelle announced.

Nyalla knew, not sensing any demons nearby beyond the two she was with. “We’re early. I wasn’t sure if they would be, too.”

They were way early. Nyalla and Gabe sat on one side of the table with Terrelle and Snip on the other. With time to spare, they ordered drinks and dinner, the angel deciding on a kale and beet salad and water.

“You’re joking,” Terrelle said after the waitress had left with their order. “Kale and beets? Nobody eats that shit, especially in a place known for its seafood. And water?”

“I’m told kale and beets are extremely healthy, and that I most likely won’t enjoy them at all. And as for the water,” he looked accusingly at the two demons with their alcoholic beverages, “I believe it’s important to remain unimpaired while we’re meeting a greed demon and are responsible for Nyalla’s safety.”

Terrelle turned red. “I’m a demon. I can sober up in a flash if I need to. Besides, I’m not likely to be sloshed out of my mind from one drink. You’re a real asshole, you know. I hope you choke on your beets.”

Gabe did not choke on his beets, and as Nyalla predicted, he disliked both them and the kale intensely. Which meant he ate every single bite of the salad, as well as dutifully drinking his water. The rest of them were on their second beer and nearly finished their food, and still the Gormand hadn’t arrived.

“Think he stood us up?” Terrelle muttered.

“Maybe. We’ll wait for a few hours just in case, then head back if we don’t see him.”

“Well, I’m going to scout around,” the information demon narrowed her eyes. “Maybe he’s spooked because there are four of us here, although why he’d be spooked at a Noodle, a Low and two humans, I don’t know.” Terrelle got up and strolled off, Snip heading in the opposite direction. Which left Nyalla with Gabriel.

“I doubt a Gormand will be shy about approaching you now.” Gabriel commented dryly. “Just in case, I’ll go elsewhere. If Tura is with him or nearby, I might be recognized.”

“Even without your angelic aura?”

Gabriel winced. “It’s improbable, but I do tend to use this human form, and Tura has seen me in it before. I’ll head toward the back or to the other side of the bar.

She bit her lip, oddly reluctant to have him leave her. It’s not like he could do much to protect her from a demon, but even so she felt better with him around. But he was right — if Gabriel were recognized right now it would be disastrous not only for her mission, but for the angel’s as well. She wasn’t exactly sure of the effect of the broken wand, but there was a strong possibility that he was mortal in addition to being human right now. And if he were, Tura would most likely not hesitate to kill him.

“Okay. Stay close though, okay?”

The angel looked over to Snip and Terrelle, his face grim. “Oh I intend on it.” Then he got up and walked to the bar, vanishing into the crowd of people.

Nyalla glanced over at the two demons. Snip was following the waitress around, probably the only patron eagerly hitting on the elderly woman in decades. Terrelle was busy reading the business cards, license plates, and notes that covered every square inch of the walls at Charlie’s. Information demons were obsessive, and Terrelle wasn’t an exception. Nyalla could be torn to ribbons inches from her, and the demon might not notice until she’d finished reading every scrap of paper in the place.

So much for her guards. She’d wanted to take this job alone, but Sam had insisted the demons accompany her.

She took another bite of her tuna steak, marveling that this somewhat rough bar in a declining part of town was such the tourist draw. Yes, the food was amazing, but the wealthy regularly left the resorts and casinos at the other end of the small island to come here. Nyalla shook her head as she watched a bejeweled woman and overly tanned man in golf pants gawk, much like Terrelle was doing.

Slumming it. The thought curled like a fist in her stomach. She was well aware that she too looked like one of the tourists, taking a break from luxury to rub elbows with the fishermen and dock workers. Years ago, she’d been in a similar position, obeying wealthy masters and trying to go about her day avoiding their notice.

Worse, actually. Bling woman and golf man were hardly likely to beat the local patrons or deny them food and water for some perceived misdeed. The worst they’d do is scream at the waitress and leave without tipping. A lesser degree of slavery, but still too alike for Nyalla’s comfort. No wonder there was such violence among the humans when people treated their own kind as if they were slaves.

“Do you see this?” Terrelle came back to Nyalla’s table and pointed at the wall excitedly. “Someone came all the way from Alaska and posted that picture.”

Before Nyalla could reply, the demon was off again, announcing that she was going to check out the walls in the bathroom. Snip raced after her, using the proximity of the restrooms as an excuse to follow his favorite waitress into the kitchen.

The heavy door swung open. Nyalla saw the movement out of the corner of her eye, but what hit her senses froze the fork halfway to her mouth. A demon. Humans were easier to read. She only had to open herself and their emotions and motives, images from their mind flitted through her own. With few exceptions, they were clear and although fast-paced, their thoughts were manageable if she didn’t try too hard to concentrate on specific thoughts but just let the overall impressions and tone sink into her.

Beings of spirit were different. Demons’ and angels’ thought processes were a speeding train that hit her brain with their weight. There was no way she could even begin to read their thoughts, and their motives and emotions were a swirling mess that made her feel like she’d just plunged down the first drop at a roller coaster ride. She could completely block them out, or manage to sometimes read their heart if she opened her walls just the smallest bit.

Even that was difficult. Demons were amoral beings. It was difficult to judge evil in someone’s heart when they viewed dismemberment on the same ethical scale as slicing into a medium-rare prime rib. If she wanted to get to the intent of a demon, she needed to brave the painful rush of thoughts and emotions, and try to pick out the few threads that would let her know if she could trust or not.

Angels were worse. They did have moral fiber, but it wasn’t what she, or any other human, would necessarily call angelic. And they were all so old that their speed of thought made her want to vomit. No, it was best to keep the walls strong, know that this was a demon coming through the doorway, and let the human senses that had kept her alive as a slave to the elves for nearly twenty years make the judgement call instead.

This demon made her slide one hand into her purse, ready to defend herself if need be. It wasn’t there, and the empty space where the wand should be made her feel sick. All she had was the collar, and it would be darned hard to get that on a demon if things went wrong. The one bright spot in all this was that the demon approaching her table didn’t seem to be all that powerful. In fact, from what she could tell, he wasn’t a Gormand. Not that she’d fare all that well against a lesser demon, or even a Low.

She’d flee if things went wrong, but demons were fast. And if one got his hands on her, there was a good chance she’d be dead before she could pull a weapon from her bag anyway. With demons, it was best to throw the first punch, but she had no punch to throw. Nyalla had never felt so vulnerable as right now.

But hopefully it wouldn’t come to that with this demon. He looked harmless, a skinny dark-haired man with a long nose that had been broken one time too many and teeth too large for his undershot jaw. Nyalla took a calming breath and pulled her hand from her purse.

He caught her eye and slithered over to the table, sliding into the chair beside her and scooting it uncomfortably close. “You must be the Iblis’ toy.”

Nyalla stiffened. She regarded Sam as a sort-of adopted mother. A demon’s toy was one step above a slave, and that title was a painful reminder of how she’d spent most of her life. But the past was gone, and she was a slave no more.

“I’m Nyalla, and I’m here on behalf of the Iblis. Where’s the Gormand?”

The demon turned his head and nodded. A group of people entered the bar, among them another demon. This one was about as wide as he was tall, walking with a confident swagger as he pushed past the humans. He had power. He was scary. And he was the Gormand, of that she was sure.

The other demon sat down across from Nyalla.

“All clear,” skinny demon said. “There’s a Low and a Noodle back by the restrooms. Other than that, everyone here is human.”

“Do you have the item?” Nyalla asked the Gormand.

The demon shook his head and pulled her plate over, stuffing food into his mouth. “Nope. I’m here to check you out and make sure we agree on my fees. After that, I’ll set up a day and time for the exchange.”

She wasn’t sure what irritated her more, the delay in getting business done, or the demon’s appropriation of her dinner. And additional fees? Nyalla flagged down the waitress, still followed by Snip. She’d need more food if she expected to get anything useful out of this guy.

“There are no additional fees. Sam — the Iblis took care of the deal. I’m strictly the courier, exchanging one item for another. No additional fees.”

“There are fees. Pay them or no deal.” The Gormand belched. “Nice piece of tuna. Could have used a tad more garlic and less of the lemon butter. And the fries were obviously frozen. How’s their grouper?”

“We’ll find out once they bring it.” Nyalla nudged the remains of Terrelle’s food over toward the demon. “It would be a shame if this deal fell through. The Iblis will be quite angry. I’m sure your client in this exchange will be, too. I get the feeling that he really wants this item I have.”

The demon didn’t seem bothered by the thought of Sam being angry, but he blanched at the mention of his client. “The artifact is mine to sell or trade as I see fit. There is no client. And if the Iblis has changed her mind, I can always find another buyer. There are a dozen ancients in Hel that would love to get their hands on this thing.”

This was the greed demon version of chicken. As much as she didn’t want to give in to this Gormand, he had the advantage. There were a dozen ancients, probably more, in Hel who would want whatever this artifact was. And although his angel-client might beat the snot out of him for the delay or for not getting the collar, it was possible that an ancient demon might have something better to offer. Sam might be the Iblis, but she was still just an imp, and not particularly respected in her infernal home, even with the title and the sword that came with it. The Gormand’s claim might not be the bluff it seemed.

“What’s your additional fee?”

The Gormand’s eyes raked over her, and she shivered.

“I want a fee too,” the skinny demon complained. “And do I get fed? You’re hogging up all the food. At least let me order a burger or something.”

“Shut the fuck up.” There was a sizzle of electricity and the skinny demon yelped. Nyalla caught her breath, feeling trapped. Where were Snip and Terrelle?

Someone slid into the chair beside the Gormand and leaned tanned, muscle-bound arms on the table. Gabriel glared at the greed demon, and even as a human, his scowl was intimidating.

“Cut it out. If you want to discipline your lackey, do it elsewhere. This place is filled with humans, and you’re scaring Nyalla.”

The Gormand blinked at him in surprise and started to laugh. “Is this your boyfriend, girl? Does he know who he’s dealing with?”

Gabriel’s face darkened. Skinny demon began to laugh, then reached over to grab a handful of Nyalla’s hair. Gabriel came out of his chair. His hand shot out to grab skinny demon by the back of the head and slam his face onto the table. The demon squealed, letting go of Nyalla’s hair. Blood dripped from his nose, spreading in a pool around his smashed face. Nyallla wondered if that was how he’d broken his nose previously.

“Touch her again and I will kill you,” Gabriel proclaimed. He might be human at this moment, but his voice carried all the authority of someone who could face down an army of demons and walk away victorious.

The entire bar was silent. The skinny demon lifted his face, his blood-streaked nose sideways. Nyalla held her breath.

Then the Gormand laughed again, clapping Gabriel on the shoulder. “You’re a gutsy guy. Got that anger thing down-pat, along with pride, and lust. Better than most demons I know.” He turned to skinny demon. “Get the fuck out of here, loser. No fee for you. And no food either. If you’re not gone by the time that waitress puts the plate of blackened grouper in front of me, you’re dead.”

The waitress stopped in front of their table eyeing the two demons nervously. With a shaking hand, she sat down a handful of mugs, beer sloshing over the side. Skinny demon bolted, making it out of the door just as the woman slid a plate in front of the Gormand. “As you asked, Sir. Basil thyme rub and a side of fresh tomatoes. The chef would like to know if you’re a food critic? A reviewer? What is your name sir?”

The Gormand inhaled deeply, nodding as he looked up at the waitress. “Gordon Ramsay. How about you bring me fried snapper too, just to get a feel for what you guys serve here.”

Nyalla rolled her eyes. This demon looked nothing like Gordon Ramsay, but he clearly had a bit of a fanboy thing going on. Which meant he’d been this side of the gates long enough to watch some Food Network television. It was an amusing appropriation of the famous chef’s name. Gormands were gluttons and food critics but their culinary skills were practically non-existent.

The waitress’ eyes grew huge and she scampered away. Nyalla eyed the four mugs of beer and dragged one over to her. With everything that had gone down tonight, she could use another alcoholic beverage.

“I’m not calling you Gordon Ramsay,” Gabriel scowled as he got up and sat down next to Nyalla in the chair skinny demon had vacated.

“You will if you know what’s good for you.” The Gormand took a bite of fish and looked to the ceiling. “Fresh caught. Broiled to perfection. These dumpster-hole paces always have the best damned food.”

“About the artifact.” Nyalla tried to redirect the conversation. “What sort of fee are you looking for?”

The Gormand paused mid-chew. “How about I get in your pants for a start? It’s been a while since I’ve had a decent fuck.”

The air crackled with static and Nyalla looked over to Gabriel in surprise. Was that him? He’d just been hit with a magical tsunami twenty-four hours ago. He shouldn’t be able to do more than flick a lighter at this point.

“The lady is not interested in your hands or any other part of your anatomy in her pants,” Gabriel snarled. “I suggest you think of something else.”

The Gormand’s eyebrows shot up, then he narrowed his eyes at the angel. “Did you have a demon daddy, there bud? Or maybe you took Magic 101 with the elves? Either way, a static shock isn’t going to do more than piss me off. And you don’t want me pissed off.”

“I’m not letting you feel me up or have sex with me,” Nyalla interjected, trying to regain control of the situation before someone, namely Gabriel, got hurt. “You’re a Gormand, not an incubus. Cut with the lust stuff and tell me if you want money, jewelry, food, booze, or perhaps a forty-foot yacht.”

That got his attention. “My fee is an eighteen-inch strand of ten-millimeter pearls, a two-carat VSV diamond ring, and a five-pound crate of these tomatoes.” He looked at the plate of them fondly. “I’ve got no idea where they get them, but they’re amazing. Venezuela? Brazil? I must have more.”

“How dare you–”

“The tomatoes, eight ten-millimeter pearls, and a voucher for the casino boat.” Nyalla interrupted Gabriel, who clearly had no sense of self-preservation or familiarity enough with demons to know that all things were negotiable.

“What would I want with a casino boat? I don’t gamble, I’m a Gormand.”

“They have one of the best chefs in the island cooking their meals, and rumor has it that their casino is particularly susceptible to robbery. Quick snatch-and-grab, and you’re only a mile from the Venezuela coast. Easy job, easy money, and all after a meal that would make Julia Child rise from the grave.”

“Nyalla! That’s–”

She jabbed Gabriel hard in the side and he grunted.

The Gormand’s eyes narrowed. “Plus one hundred in chips.”

“Deal.” Nyalla smiled her most innocent, human-who-had-been-an-elven-slave smile. “But I need additional verification of the artifact.”

The Gormand scowled. “It’s already verified. The angel sigil, feather, and blood-mark is on the scroll.”

“That’s–”

Nyalla stepped on Gabriel’s foot in warning. “Well, yes, but there’s no guarantee that the artifact he verified is the one I’m receiving at the exchange. Angels don’t lie. I trust them. I want an angel to verify that the artifact you’re handing over is authentic.”

A shadow flitted across the Gormand’s face. He’d been intending to screw her in the deal. It wasn’t like that was surprising. “How do you expect me to find that angel again? There aren’t thousands of them wandering around here.”

There were. Not that he knew that, though. Nyalla shrugged. “I don’t have the skills to verify the artifact, and neither do my human friend or my two demon friends. I need an angel to do that. That’s non-negotiable.”

He scowled. “I want an extra five pounds of tomatoes then.”

She noticed that he didn’t mention the angel would want anything. “Deal. So…time and place for the exchange?”

“It’s gonna take me a while to find an angel,” he confessed. “And I need to get clearance from my client.”

“Thought you didn’t have–”

Nyalla elbowed Gabriel once more and he glared at her.

“So you’ll be in touch?”

The Gormand stood, stuffing the last slice of tomato in his mouth. “I’ll be in touch.”