By all that was holy, this room was a mess. Clothes were draped over chair backs and puddled on the floor. A cup with an inch of cold coffee sat on the dresser next to a crumpled napkin. A large suitcase was sideways on the floor at the end of the bed — which had not been made. Gabriel itched with the urge to clean and organize. How in the world was he supposed to find anything in here?

Walking into the bedroom with some trepidation, he stepped over a discarded beach bag and opened the top dresser drawer. It held a Bible and some bunched up scraps of clothing. The other drawers revealed a slightly different mix of carelessly placed attire, but nothing that would give him a clue as to where the room’s resident had put the scroll.

Maybe she’d taken it with her, Gabe thought as he moved the beach bag with his toe and contemplated the horror of searching the rest of the hotel suite. No, that couldn’t be. He’d seen the three come in here, seen the Low and the Noodle leave without their beach bags. The human had had the scroll last, and she’d been the last to leave. The bag she carried in had the scroll sticking out of the top, but it hadn’t been in the one she carried when she left the room. The scroll had to be inside this suite since with the scant clothing they had all been wearing, there would have been no place for them to carry it let alone conceal it from view.

If he couldn’t find it, perhaps he could bribe the information demon to act as his agent and work to lead him to the angel. Demons were notoriously bribable. What would this one want, though? Human currency? Colorful baubles? Limited immunity?

Better housekeeping skills? He thought wryly. Whatever the Iblis was paying her, whatever side-deal she hoped to receive from the Gormand, Gabriel was confident he could top it. Although bargaining with demons was so very unsavory. Being anywhere near them was so very unsavory. No, it would be better to find the scroll. Of course, that meant searching this disorganized, filthy room.

And that was an equally unsavory prospect.

And after going through this mess, he’d need to find and meet with the Gormand. Greedy, insatiable beings. The only gift those monsters ever granted to humans was a desperate hunger that wouldn’t even end with death. He shuddered thinking of the souls trapped inside that demon, starving, needing and never getting more than just a taste. This whole trip would be filled with unpleasant experiences — rooting through this filth, dealing with demons, and even worse, having to be in a human form, surrounded by their perplexing customs and manners.

And sensation. No matter how he tried distance his spirit-self from the flesh, it was impossible to ignore the intoxicating aroma of flowers in bloom, the warmth of sunlight on his skin, the sound of birdsong in sunset. And the way the clothes in these drawers slipped through his fingers, inviting his touch.

Gabriel shook his head as he shut the dresser drawers and strolled into the living area of the suite. This room was just as much of a mess as the bedroom with an uncleansed coffee pot, stale pizza crusts on a plate, and an open box of cereal on the counter. His eyes slid over to the deck door where a damp bathing suit hung on the doorknob dripping water onto the carpet. It all made his eyes twitch. But there was no way around it. He’d just need to get over his disgust, get to work, and find that scroll before any of them came back.

* * *

Nyalla stared at the open door, her heart stopping then skittering in a frantic rush. She stretched a hand forward, then halted, carefully reaching into her bag instead. The cleaning crew always propped the entry wide open with one of their carts, not slightly ajar like this. Withdrawing a ring of cold metal, she nudged the door gently with her foot, and shifted to the side of the doorjamb.

It swung silently open. Nothing came blasting out. Taking a deep breath, she peered around the bright blue trim. Her swimsuit still hung on the doorknob to the porch, although it seemed far more dry than it should have been. The pile of beach reading was still stacked on the glass-topped table. A box of cereal still sat beside the books. But everything was different.

The cereal box was closed. The books were neatly straightened — and organized by size? The plate that held the remains of her pizza breakfast was no longer on the table. Maybe the maids had come by late to clean and had forgotten to close the door securely. It was a logical assumption, but given she was on the island to meet with a particularly repulsive greed demon, Nyalla wasn’t taking any chances.

Nearly two decades of living among elves had taught her to move silently. Gripping the metal band in her hand, she crept into the room and slowly picked up the frying pan from last night’s bacon. It was clean — squeaky clean. If this was the maids, she’d need to remember to tip them extra.

A noise from the bedroom halted her in place. A rustle, and the distinct sound of a dresser drawer opening. If this was the maid, she was going to have words with the management. It was one thing to clean up her dirty dishes and organize her books, it was another to be going through her dresser drawers. Not that she had anything to steal — yet.

She tightened her grasp on the fry pan, put the metal circlet back in her bag, then froze. Whoever was in there was grumbling under his breath, something about messy lives, messy souls, and his dislike of such disorganization. The thought of an OCD cleaning guy going through her personal belongings made her raise the frying pan. The sound of his words made her pull the metal band back out of her bag. This cleaning guy wasn’t speaking in English or Spanish, he was speaking Demon — a strangely accented Demon.

And he was folding her underwear. Folding. Her. Underwear. And now he was holding up one of her bras, turning it this way and that as he examined it. Nyalla clenched her teeth in anger, entered the room, and swung.

* * *

How in all of creation was he supposed to fold this thing? It was all straps, hooks, and little lacy bits. Whatever function this article of clothing held, it was rather pretty…and well-constructed. It also matched some of the tiny pant-like things.

“Filthy, nasty, perverted demon worm!” a woman shrieked.

Pain shot through Gabriel’s skull and a very unpleasant ringing sound assaulted his ears. An angel should barely notice such an attack, but he’d been distracted and wasn’t used to being in physical form.

Liar. You pushed your spirit-self too far into the flesh so you could touch the soft silk, the scratchy lace of these clothes, so you could smell the scent of lotion, soap, and the lavender these items had been washed in. You’re just as bad as your brothers, flirting with sin. And see what happens?

Gabe felt something cold on his neck, heard the snick of a lock, and spun about. A woman — the woman from the beach — stood in the bedroom doorway, holding a frying pan in a threatening manner. Her disheveled hair reached well past her hips, her eyes sparked like a wind-tossed sea.

What was it the Iblis always said? Busted. Yes, that was the word. Luckily he was an archangel and could easily subdue this woman, make her forget this ever happened with just a wave of his hand.

Or not. Where was the calming wave of blue that turned humans into such pliant, amenable creatures? The woman swung the frying pan again, and he tried to teleport away. Nothing happened. Well, nothing beyond the pain of the metal against his shoulder. It hurt even worse this time, and he jumped back, instinctively blocking another blow with his arm.

Ow. By Aaru, this woman packed quite a wallop. But he shouldn’t be able to feel it so strongly. Additionally, he should have been able to effortlessly pacify her and vanish, taking her memories with him. What in all of creation was happening here? The pan hit him again against his side, more of a glancing blow this time as the woman danced backward out of reach. Gabriel groaned and rubbed his waist, feeling the pull of cold metal against his neck. Reaching up, he touched the band and nearly doubled over in revulsion. What had she done to him? What was this thing?

“Who are you and why are you in my room?” She demanded. “Did the Gormand send you? Are you making a deal with him for the item? Trying to outbid us?”

He wasn’t about to answer her questions. And if he couldn’t subdue her with his angel skills, he’d have to do it the human way. The woman let out a short scream as he dove at her, taking a wild swing with her pan. He ducked and grabbed, looping a hand through the straps of the sack slung over her shoulder. The woman twisted and spun, dashing into the kitchen area and leaving him holding the bag.

Gabriel dropped it to the floor and followed her, slowly calculating the distance. There were only so many escape routes, and he doubted she was going to leap over the balcony to the pavement three floors down.

“Get out. Get out of my room.” Her voice held authority, but there was a note of fear to it.

It would be best to take advantage of that fear. “Not until you take this thing off my neck.”

She licked her lips, eyes darting to the object in question, then back to his face when he took another step. As he slowly approached, she maneuvered her position to put the glass topped table between them, dancing lightly on her feet to change directions depending on his movements. Well, this was interesting. They could spend all day running around the table, or he could do something…unexpected.

Grabbing the cereal box, he tossed it at her head and watched her bat it away with the frying pan. Clearly that wasn’t unexpected enough.

“Take this thing off of me, and I’ll leave. I would never hurt you.”

Her eyes widened. “You threw a box of Fruit Loops at me. How is that not hurting me? Besides, demons lie.”

That box wouldn’t have done anything beyond distract her. Worst case, she’d have gotten a paper cut. It’s not as though he really was trying to harm her. Wait — demons lie? She thought he was a demon?

“I’m not a demon! I’m a–”

“Liar,” she shrieked and darted for the door.

Gabriel vaulted the table, sending the books he’d just neatly stacked onto the floor. He couldn’t let her get away and leave him here with this…this thing on his neck.

She was fast, and he was uncharacteristically slow. Instead of grabbing her like he planned, the angel fell short, wrapping his arms around her thighs. She twisted as she crashed to the ground, the frying pan clattering on the floor as he landed on top of her, his face smashed into her lap.

It was a nice lap, soft and warm, smelling of lotion, soap, and something that caused his breath to catch and blood to rush downward…somewhere. Before he had time to contemplate the odd sensation, the woman screamed, struggling to get out from under him. He tightened his grip, unwilling to let her go even when she began pulling his hair and slapping the sides of his face.

“Let me go, you sick pervert. Get off me!”

Again there was that edge of fear in her voice.

“I won’t hurt you. Just take this off my neck and I promise I won’t harm you.” He wouldn’t. He’d just wipe her memories after getting her to tell him where the scroll was. That wasn’t hurting her at all.

Instead of complying, she twisted and scooted. Gabriel squeezed his arms around the woman’s thighs and held on. All this wiggling around was doing weird things to his body. Or maybe it was because of the repeated blows from the frying pan. Either way, if the blood didn’t go back up to his brain where it belonged, Gabriel feared he might pass out.

For some odd reason, passing out with his face in this woman’s lap seemed like a splendid idea to him. But not to the girl, evidently. He felt her strain, reaching for something, then hard metal clanged against his head, knocking him sideways off of her. Stunned from the blow, he looked up and saw a vision. Her Rapunzel-length blonde hair billowed around her, light reflecting off it as if she had a halo. Her tank top was askew, revealing far more than she’d probably intended when she put it on. Her shorts had completely come off in their tussle, and he saw a scrap of pink lace riding low on her hips.

Oh. That’s what those tiny pants were. They looked very pretty on her. They smelled nice too, although he was certain it was her that had smelled so nice and not the bit of fabric. And now there was no blood left in his brain whatsoever. It had abandoned every other portion of his body to rush into something between his legs. Something that was making his pants very uncomfortable.

Gabriel looked up into the woman’s eyes, seeing a spark there that drew him in. Her eyes were like the sea, shifting and changing, so full of life. They were beautiful eyes.

“Take this off me. I’m not a demon,” he slurred, the pain in his head affecting his speech. She made a ‘hmpf’ noise.

“Liar.”

Then she brought the frying pan down on his head one final time, and the world went black.