If he was as dangerous as Michael said, I needed some kind of backup plan, someone who could come and help if I needed it.

“Can I ask you a favor?” I said to Heather when we were on the ride home.

She turned down the car stereo and checked the rear-view mirror. “You know you can.”

“Can you call me tonight at eight, just to check in?” I asked. I didn’t want to worry Heather with the reason why, not without proof, but I figured if she called me I could make up an excuse to get out of there.

“You mean a bail-out call?” she said, her attention focused on the road. “I doubt you’ll be bored.”

“Probably not,” I said. Being bored was the least of my worries. “You will call, though? At exactly eight o’clock.”

“Of course.”

After she dropped me off at home and I was alone, I tried to convince myself that the sweaty palms and tightness in my chest were just nerves, but I knew it wasn’t true. Something about going out with Damiel, alone, seemed really wrong. It was misleading, and I didn’t want to do that. What I wanted were answers, but I didn’t know how else to get them.

To bolster myself, I decided to wear the temporary tattoo Heather had given me. I’d been saving it for a special occasion, and for some reason tonight felt like I needed to have wings. Wearing my hair up would even show them off. I was so curious about how they’d look, I applied them right away. It took a little while to center them between my shoulder blades and the nape of my neck, but when I was done, they looked amazing.

I put on a little black dress. It was cut low in the front and back, so you could see the tattoo, but not too low. Soft and comfortable, it hugged my curves without being too clingy and looked good with my high black boots. My hair was tied up, and I was putting on eye shadow when the doorbell rang. Startled, I checked my watch; it was only 6:55. Was Damiel early? I double-checked myself in the mirror. I still needed mascara at the very least. He would simply have to wait on the sofa while I finished.

The knock on the door came again. Determined to not let the idea of seeing Damiel intimidate me, I flung the door open.

“Michael.” I almost fell back on my heels. “What are you doing here?”

He scanned my outfit with a quiet intensity that made the skin on my neck flush. Catching himself, he focused on my boots and let out his breath. “I’ve been sent.”

“What do you mean you’ve been sent?” I demanded. “Who sent you?”

He raised his hands as though I held him at gunpoint. “I’ve come to talk. May I come in?”

I’d forgotten how tall he was. He towered over me, and I couldn’t help but notice how clear his eyes were, how even the dim porch light played off his skin, making it glow. His hair shone almost black.

“I’m still getting ready,” I said, moving out of the doorway and leaving him to close the door while I put on a light.

He cleared his throat. “Nice tattoo.”

“It’s not real,” I said, turning back to face him. “I can’t get a real one ’til I’m eighteen.”

“Wings, huh?”

“Yeah. I had this dream about them once. It meant a lot to me.” It seemed natural to tell him, as though he’d understand. But when he looked away with a wry grin, I regretted saying anything. “Why are you here?”

“Look, I know Damiel will be here soon…” He ran his hand through his hair. “But—”

“I know. I know,” I cut him off. “You don’t want me to go out with him. He’s dangerous.”

If he was upset, he didn’t show it. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he gave me a shrug that said he didn’t care either way. “Why are you going?”

“Because.” I sighed. His lack of reaction made me feel all the more foolish. “I need to know what’s going on.”

“You think he’s gonna tell you?”

I hadn’t thought of that. Here I was about to go all Nancy Drew on Damiel’s ass, and my big plan was to lay my cards on the table and ask him what he’d said to Fiona. Maybe I’d dance around it a bit, but I was relying on him to tell me. Michael had all but called him a liar the day before. Why would Damiel say anything resembling the truth?

“Okay,” Michael continued. “Say he did tell you. What then?”

“I’ve got a safety plan,” I said defiantly, trying to hide how foolish I felt. “Heather’s going to check in, come get me if necessary. I won’t be alone.” I wasn’t sure about the Heather coming to get me part, but I figured she would. I would do the same for her.

“He’s a predator, Mia. He could hurt both of you.”

The word predator caught me off guard. I remembered my dream that morning where Damiel kissed me and it felt like he was draining me dry. I wanted to argue, but I knew deep down that Michael was telling the truth. I’d never wanted to go out with Damiel. I’d been pulled into it right from the beginning, like watching a train wreck. Only the train wreck was me.

Michael took a step closer until I had to crane my neck to see his face. “Tell him you don’t want to go.”

His eyes met mine and they were filled with genuine concern, same as that day I’d fallen in the woods. I wanted him to come even closer.

“Okay,” I said. “You’ve got to give me some answers, though.”

Clearly amused, he raised his eyebrows and said, “I don’t have to, but I will—once he leaves.”

“Once he leaves?” I confirmed, before he could change his mind. “You promise?”

He tensed, as though a jolt of electricity had shot through him, and spun around to face the door. “He’s here.”

Chapter Twelve

The sound of the doorbell should not have startled me but it did. Michael’s presence on the sofa was reassuring, but only to a point. What was I going to say? Swallowing my fright, I opened the door.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Damiel said, unabashedly checking me out. His black leather jacket and crisp white shirt accentuated the hard and soft elements of his face: angular nose and cheekbones and plump, full lips. For the first time, I noticed a shiny haze around him—shadows so black they glistened and shone in the porch light.

Heat rose to my cheeks and a queasy sensation wrestled with my stomach. He seemed creepy to me now. How could I have even thought about going out with him?

“I was going to call you earlier,” I said, “but realized I don’t have your number…”

There was a sudden pulsing at my throat that made me jump. Thinking a fly had landed on me, I raised my hand to feel what it was. The necklace from Fatima had started to vibrate.

“What’s the problem?” he asked, reaching for my hand. “Your skin is like ice.” The shadows around him darkened as his hand clasped mine. I’d never seen them so clearly before—maybe that was the necklace too, protecting me. A tingle of heat shivered the length of my arm, and then a wave of dizziness came over me as the strange haze that surrounded Damiel flowed toward me.

“I’m sorry.” My eyes started to burn. I scrunched them, trying to concentrate. “I can’t go to dinner with you tonight.”

The angles of his face hardened and his eyes turned as cold and black as a crow’s. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

The gleaming haze around him grew, getting darker and fuller. I couldn’t find my voice to speak.

“She’s double-booked. Sorry,” Michael said. His hand on my shoulder steadied me, as a warm golden glow surrounded us. The blackness dissipated the way shadows escape the morning light.

“Well, well. Michael.” Damiel released my hand. “Should’ve known you’d go for the girl…given your history.” He turned his attention to me, smiling menacingly. “Mia, you’re making the wrong choice. Michael will only hurt you.” A dark wave came at me again, in ripples this time like tattered black streamers.

Michael flanked my left side, tense as a bow ready to spring. “Leave her out of it,” he said. “It’s me you want.”