Demonspine: Angelhide, #2

By Barb Rude

After solving her own murder and saving Heaven from a bureaucratic coup, Aggie retired from her three-day stint as a guardian angel. She has a contract with God to prove it—no one in Heaven will bother her until she dies again.

Except she didn’t make that deal with the Devil. His favorite artifact has been stolen and for some reason, he wants Aggie to serve as his personal sleuth.

But really, what was Lucifer thinking? Aggie’s completely mortal. Suppose for a moment she could actually procure a lead, track the thief back to Earth, and find their super-secret lair. Then what—knock on the door and ask for it back? And how is she supposed to defend herself when she inevitably gets busted snooping? Worst. Mission. Ever.

Oh, and Lucifer conveniently forgot to mention that he won’t protect her from all the enemies she makes doing his dirty work. Great.

Apparently, there’s no such thing as retirement for guardian angels—even the clueless, wingless variety.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barb Rude
• Release date: Aug 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516366583

Book preview

Chapter 1

Not a Late Person

I won't be late, Aggie had promised.

Who actually said things like that? Only people who ran late all the time. Aggie was not one of those people. She clutched three crumpled, almost-sweaty dollars in her palm and counted out forty-seven cents in change.

A line of people curled around the gas station. Aggie took her place at the end, holding the box of no-brand panty hose at her side to minimize judgment. Not that anyone was watching her—with only one cashier at the lottery-laden counter, they had messages to send, news to check, and haughty airs to affect.

Well, if she had to be late, she could use this time to practice her interview answers again. 'Belvedere and Associates is a great company with a long history of supporting the community, as well as excellence in legal defense.

In the past year and a half, I've been working as a page at the community college library. I love it, but they don't have enough hours available.'

Hopefully, he wouldn't ask about what she did before the library. No one would believe what really happened. 'Well, after I was murdered, an archangel completely wiped my memories and convinced me I was an angel. Then he sent me down to Earth where I was hunted by demons for my immortal soul, so they could sell it to God, who was completely, utterly addicted. That would have worked, too, except I helped God sober up at the last minute.'

It got better—after that, Aggie begged to become human again. She underwent surgery to remove her angel-parts and 'live a normal, human life.' And what had she done with her life, besides shelve some books and apply to every single job opening in a thirty-mile radius?

Without an official job history, diploma, and references, there were a whole lot of gaps in Aggies’s CV.

I should have negotiated a job or a fake resume with God when I had the chance. I was too excited about the prospect of being human again to remember all that human... stuff.

A woman barged right to the front of the line. She ignored protests and pushed the first customer out of her way. Her voice was shrill, demanding—an overgrown child. Are you Latoya Brown?

The cashier blinked in surprise. Look, if this is about Darnell, you can't come here while I'm working. It's part of the court order—

Trashy bitch. The woman eased her well-tailored ass onto the counter, spilling candy displays and scratch cards. Her emerald suit had a name—not that Aggie knew names of suits or the people who built empires of fashion. "I’m not here for your bullshit family drama. Give me your hand.

The clerk withdrew, arms crossed about her as though she were suddenly naked. No. And I think you need to leave. Before I call the cops.

The woman grabbed the clerk's throat with a single hand, her nails glittering like wet blood.

Aggie suddenly felt sluggish, and could think of no better thing than to take a nap right here on this gas station floor. The other people standing in line seemed to feel the same way. Shoulders hunched. Heads drooped. Someone snored softly.

The clerk went limp. Her eyes glazed over.

Aggie fought her eyes back open with panic—this wave of drowsiness was some sort of psychic attack, which meant that woman was either an angel or a demon. She had too much style to be an angel.

The only way to survive a demon, in Aggie's humble experience, was to run away. She needed channel that good, old-fashioned fear into an exit strategy. Now.

The demon released the poor clerk, who collapsed behind the counter. She turned and surveyed the crowd, looking for the next victim.

The doors were on the far side of an impulse buy aisle. Aggie sidled slowly past a guy with a case of beer on each arm, cleared the end cap of pre-packaged breakfast sweets, and darted.

It was a great plan, except for her skirt caught on a bent shelf, and she swung around it and slammed into the In door.

The demon grabbed her arm. Not so fast, mortal. I came for the clerk, but I can tell you're a tasty morsel. What a nice coincidence.

Eighteen months. Eighteen goddamn months without a single encounter, and now today when her life was starting to look up, she had to get on the wrong side of a demon at a chance encounter.

Aggie squirmed. I'm not tasty. I'm nobody.

The demon's eyes glittered with hunger and too much eyeshadow. Her grip tightened.

Aggie felt pulled to the demon, as though her blood and even her veins were being drawn from her arm. The desperate mantra survive, survive, survive ran through her head. She steeled and summoned every bit of willpower to keep her insides inside of her.

A warm and pleasant buzzing rolled up her spine and blossomed out to her shoulder blades. It offered her strength, and she took it.

The demon roared back with a hiss. You aren't mortal at all. You must be God's new pet, the Stupidest Angel I keep hearing about.

Aggie didn't have time to argue technicalities—she wasn't an angel, she wasn't anyone's pet, and she certainly hadn't had time to earn such a terrible nickname. She flung a box of cheese muffins into the demon's face and ran—this time through the right door, to the feeble protection of her boyfriend's weather-beaten compact.

The demon poked herself out the glass door. Stay out of my way. If I see you again, I’ll devour you whole.

Sam's car started right away, thankfully. Aggie drove off without a rebuttal. Witty replies were impractical. They stole valuable time from her cowardly escape.

Interview Questions

Nine minutes late. Aggie smiled as she walked up to the desk, preparing to charm the receptionist with her introduction. Hi, I'm Agnes Halcomb, here to see Mr. Belvedere.

The woman behind the faux marble counter was heavyset with a conservative bun and plaid cardigan. She stared at the clock until it rolled over to 1:10, then slowly handed a clipboard to Aggie. Sign in, please.

Aggie wrote in 1:09 as her arrival time, which was embarrassingly late. That kind of late was a strained interview and a we'll-get-back-to-you that never happened. She wanted to cry, but she kept smiling.

Have a seat. Mr. Belvedere will see you shortly.

Aggie sank into the nearest chair, clutching her purse with near-perfect posture. The chairs were stiff and the plastic had an almost sticky quality, like they were factory new, just like everything else in this twelve-story building. She checked to make sure her hand was still covering the duct tape that held her purse together. She pretended to look interested in an art deco painting of an orange desert hanging on the wall.

Hopefully, Mr. Belvedere wouldn't notice her disheveled appearance. Or her out-of-season autumn blouse and skirt, purchased last week on blue-tag special from the thrift store.

Her shoulders tightened with the same buzzing she experienced at the gas station. It was dull and insistent, growing and filling her with pressure, like her muscles were swelling and her skin couldn't stretch enough.

Demons. It felt just like demons.

Aggie froze. That couldn't be. Her angelhide was locked up in a safe in the most secure part of Heaven, dormant until her return in the distant future. Well, supposed to be dormant.

The sensation of demons, itchy and cloying, grew stronger as they came closer. Two of them, neither signatures she recognized.

Calm down, Aggie. They aren't even coming for you. It's just a fluke, a random coincidence—

A man with a grungy t-shirt speckled with stains on the shoulder burst into the room. Palpable evil surrounded him like a fog of cheap cologne. His fish net sleeves had more holes than not. Stringy black hair was spiked into anti-gravitational orbit around his head, but his punk aesthetic ended there: no piercings, no tattoos. His face was shaven, his eyebrows a bit too perfect not to be professionally plucked. He threw out his hands in a pseudo-gang sign that made Aggie cringe. Ags! What up?

She kept her focus on that orange sand painting. Oh, God, this can't be happening. Not here. Weren't demons supposed to ruin lives? Job interviews should be strictly off-limits.

Mr. Belvedere emerged from the other side of the room. He was just another suit, one of many Aggie had seen in the past few months, a middle-aged man with a slouch and bland flyover-state smile that no one could mistake as sincere. Ms. Halcomb?

Hey, Ags, is that your boss-dude? Another demon popped in the room behind the first. He wore a black leather trench coat and a red clown nose. His baseball cap, which sported a bent peacock feather, was on backwards. Hey, boss-dude, how's it hangin'?

Aggie tried not to sound desperate and terrified, and she failed miserably. I don't know these people! Um, hi, Mr. Belvedere, it's nice to meet you.

She thrust out her hand to shake his, but the clown-nosed demon grabbed her wrist and yanked it up. Ags' got the powah! Yeah!

Mr. Belvedere stepped back, as though by distancing himself from the weirdness, it could be contained on one side of the room. What's going on here?

We're busting Ags out of corporate prison. The grunge demon played air guitar. We don't need your permission, suit-man. We live below the grid.

Aggie's cheeks burned with what could only be an epic blush. She wrenched herself free but lost her purse in the process. It slammed into the painting, tore through the canvas, and everything flew out in a mad clatter.

Is this some sort of joke? Belvedere demanded.

No, Aggie whimpered. I've never seen them before in my whole life. I'm here to interview for the administrative assistant position—

Clownie kicked up his feet to reveal authentic clown shoes, bulbous and two feet long, and let out an exaggerated sob. "Ags, why you say that? We're your friends."

We love you, Agnes Halcomb. Pseudo-punk tried to hug her, but she jabbed him in the shoulder.

This is wasting my time. Mr. Belvedere shook his head and pointed at the door, in case anyone had managed to forget where that was. Get out of my office.

So much for a career in law.

Right on, boss-dude. We're taking dear old Ags on a joyride now. Pseudo-punk bobbed his head front to back with pursed lips. Catch ya later, losers.

Belvedere stormed off. The receptionist gawked with a phone at her ear. She snapped, I'm on the phone with security. They're on their way.

That's our cue, the demon replied.

Aggie gathered her meager belongings. Her hands shook and her knees felt wobbly. You won't get away with this.

I'm so-o-o-o scared, said Clownie. He took her by the arm and pulled her to the door, ripping another seam in her skirt. Come on.

She tried to wrench away from him, but he was stronger and bigger. I'm not going anywhere with you.

Without responding, they dragged her into the hallway. She kicked Clownie in the shin. He stumbled and screeched but didn't let go, and they both tumbled to the floor.

What's the problem here? Two security guards stomped out of the elevator. They looked alarmed, until they beheld Aggie and her demon captors, then they huffed in anger. We'll need to ask you to leave at this time.

Pseudo-punk grinned. No problem. We were just on our way out. If you'll just excuse us—

Wait! Aggie cried. I don't want to go with them. They're going to hurt me.

"We haven't told you what we're going to do with you. Pseudo-punk winked. Are you going to keep laying there like an undignified fool?"

She nearly reminded him that less than a minute ago, he was playing air guitar. Once the demon helped her up, she threw herself at the chest of the sturdier-looking security guard. Help me, she begged.

Pseudo-punk waved his hand dismissively at the security guards. You don't want to help her. Do you, boys?

The other security guard wouldn't even look at her. He gazed in a fugue state at Pseudo-punk and growled, I'll show you the exit. Does that help?

But you have to help me, you're public servants—

He tapped the embroidered logo on his collared shirt, which read 'Armed-All, Inc.' My employer wants you off the property immediately.

Pseudo-punk smirked at Aggie. Come on, now. Nobody wants to save you.

Like Hell. Aggie kept the guards between her and the demon, like a chubby, fleshy shield. "Call the real police! They're trying to abduct me."

"Right now, you're trespassing on private property. That's a real charge. The guard turned, hands on his hips. Don't make us use force, ma'am."

Force—now there was an idea. Unfortunately, these for-hire men didn't carry much on their belts Aggie could use—not even a pair of handcuffs to chain herself to a door or a taser to point at the demons. Oh, I will, she said, feeling very much like she was standing on the ledge of a very high window. I'll do it. I'll make you use force.

Pseudo-punk snorted and muttered in the infernal language, which was a guttural, scary version of Latin. Goat horns sprung from his head. His eyes became red like coals. A scythe appeared in his hands. Well, I guess it's time for wanton chaos and destruction.

Clownie summoned his mantle gleefully. His weapon of choice was a scimitar, its blade a dull red. Have you ever tasted human blood, Simon? Delicious.

Pseudo-punk Simon licked his lips. I bet it tastes just like chicken.

The security guards appropriately lost their shit. They quivered and stared, too stunned to do much else.

Aggie knew the demons were just kidding, but that didn't stop her stomach from turning.

Simon rushed at the nearest security guard, driving the end of his scythe through the man's tender, roundish gut. The poor guy never really processed what was coming. He crumpled with a shocked, pained look and clutched his intestines as they slid out. Spasms rocked his limbs.

The other guard had the wherewithal to flee, but he was no match for two immortal predators drunk on violence. They caught up to him a mere twenty feet down the hall. Aggie frantically looked around for some way to hide before they remembered her. All she found was a fire extinguisher built into a wall cabinet.

Well, it was better than nothing. She twisted the knob, pounded on the red button, and yanked the extinguisher free. Deafening alarms clanged overhead. With a grunt, she heaved the extinguisher to chest level and pointed herself at the demons, who had dragged the other guard to the floor and were tormenting him with shallow cuts on his face and chest.

Secretaries, managers and clients fled into the hallway in a flurry. They screamed and fled, pushing against each other to get away from the murdering monsters.

Aggie popped the pin and squeezed the trigger. A cloud of dry powder puffed out of the hose. It grew quickly, obscuring everything in the hallway and making the air itch. When the extinguisher ran out of steam, she abandoned it and took off running into the nearest crowd, heading toward the stairs. A pair of young women complained that this drill was wasting their lunch break.

Aggie wormed through the crowd, looking for a less-obvious exit. Square windows framed the base of each stairwell. Tiny locks secured the windows.

Shouts rang out overhead. The demons must be pursuing her. Of course they were. What kind of demons would give up after the paltry distraction of a fire extinguisher?

Aggie shouldered past an older man and yanked at the latches. They popped open with ease. Her plan was not, in any fashion, well-formed. The ground below was a few feet away. She was in dress flats. As if being clothed for a jump would make any difference.

A dumpster lay slightly to the left, full but topped with carpet remnants and foam bits. There was no time to think about how horrible of an idea this was. She climbed onto the sill and threw herself at the dumpster.

She lost momentum with her lower half dangling over the side, hips pinched at the raw metal edge. She reached for a sturdy-looking two by four and kicked wildly, worming her way deeper into the dumpster like a fish flopping.

A breeze wafting across Aggie's posterior suggested that her skirt was all the way up—or was that down?

With another sound kick or three, she slid inside. As she rolled all the way in to the dumpster, her ankle banged against the edge with a loud, gonging sound. A roll of carpet fell on top of her, which while unpleasant was probably the best possible thing a girl could find in a pile of refuse. Good thing she hadn't applied to a diner.

Yet.

Aggie lay there for a long moment, maybe two, trying to tell herself to keep breathing. Her foot stung something fierce—then again, so did the rest of her. A cut throbbed on her arm.

Shouts pierced the air on the other side of the parking lot. Aggie pulled herself up slowly, wincing the entire time, until she could prop up against the side and peek out.

The crowd formed in front of the building. Simon barked orders, scattering terrified workers like wolves corralling sheep. One young girl was pushed forward. The only resemblance to her and Aggie was their hair—long and dishwater blonde. When Simon realized it wasn't her, he threw her onto the hood of a nearby car. She shrieked in agony with her arm twisted beneath her.

Aggie ducked back down, pressing her eyes tight to keep them from watering.

Look, that's her shoe, Simon called, his voice coming closer. Down the hill, over there.

She flexed her good foot. Shit. She must have lost it right outside the dumpster. Her shoe would lead them right to her.

The other demon swore. No good, man. I bet she picked up a ride on the interstate. She could be anywhere.

We can't lose her. We just can't. Simon's voice came from further past the dumpster, where the constant buzz of high-speed traffic just down the hill made him harder to understand. This is the only point of contact we have. We're fucked unless we wanna admit to Lucifer that we lost her.

Aggie held her breath, squeezed her eyes shut, didn't move a muscle. Could she be so lucky? She chanted to herself, Demons are too good to look in dumpsters, which are dirty and gross and completely un-demonlike. And Aggie would never, ever hide in one. Just walk past it...

The unnamed demon snorted. Relax. That P.O.S. over there? It's hers. She'll come back for it.

Oh, yeah. Good thinking. She'll have to backtrack soon—before they tow it tonight.

Let's stake out her car after we grab a bite to eat. A good slaughter always makes me hungry.

Me too, man. Me, too.

The Not-Dream

Em?

Huh? Em blinked and wiped her eyes. Did you say something?

Schwartz cocked his head. I said a lot of things, actually. What's going on, sweetums?

I dunno. She stabbed a piece of lettuce and stared, wondering why she was eating when she wasn't hungry. Or maybe she wasn't hungry anymore because she'd already eaten most of dinner. I must be off today.

I noticed. Schwartz leaned back in his chair with a sigh. Did you sleep well?

Last night was fine. Em nodded to assure him. A tornado could hit the apartment and he'd sleep through it. My afternoon nap, though... it was weird.

Weird dreams? he asked with trepidation. Considering Em's dreams were of the prophetic variety, he usually kept that subject at arm's length. His breed of atheism didn't believe in anything remotely supernatural, even though he'd seen angels and demons and proof that her dreams came true.

More like... Em chewed her lip while she searched for a description. She hadn't given it much thought, but now that she couldn't seem to focus, it merited her attention. A blank dream.

So you didn't dream, then.

I did. I always dream. Em set down her fork, since the rest of the lettuce looked too wilted to enjoy. It's not like I don't remember. I think I dreamed of nothing.

So, you didn't dream?

She said, You know, like a tape that's been recorded over with silence. Not a blank tape with nothing on it. A tape with silence.

Or like a corrupted data file?

Yes, exactly.

He shrugged. I have no idea what you're talking about.

Jerk. If he didn't understand, he shouldn't be positing such great analogies. Well, that's all I got. I'm sure that I dreamed, it was just empty. Void. Error message, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

He piled the dirty dishes and disappeared into the kitchen. When he appeared a moment later, he dragged his chair around the table, next to hers. It must be rough. Disorienting, too.

Yeah, it is. She gave him a weak smile to appreciate his efforts at empathy. I rely on those snippets to get me through the day. Even if my dreams don't tell me anything important, they are, I dunno, information I'm used to having.

Have you talked to your mentor?

She's on an anniversary honeymoon for the next few days, Em said. I'll ask when she gets back. I guess it can wait until then.

Have you considered some alternatives in the meantime?

The question threw her off guard. He sounded sincere enough, but what could he possibly mean? Em took a deep breath. Considering this problem is a couple hours old, I haven't gotten that far yet.

He smiled playfully. Fair enough.

What do you have in mind? I smell ulterior motives.

Hey now. He sniffed his pits. I smell like man-spice. No motives here, unless you'll punish me for caring about my girlfriend.

I might.

Oh. Well, in that case, I guess I can't give you this. He patted his pocket.

Give me what?

Schwartz held a business card over his head so she couldn't read it. Nothing.

You lying liar of lyingness! Em grabbed for the card, but Schwartz held it further out of reach. This resulted in her plowing him in the face with her face. She kissed him sloppily, while not-so-subtly reaching over his head. When that didn't work, she plastered a silly grin on her face. Oh, noodlums, I would never in a million years punish you for caring. You're the bestest and I wuv you.

He raised one eyebrow. What was that you were saying a minute ago—something about a lying liar of lyingness?

It's true. She retreated to her chair, only a bit deflated. I mean, you did lie. But you're my liar, and that makes it okay.

"Ohhh... well, if I'm your liar... Schwartz flipped the card onto the table with a flourish. You could check this place out."

Purple and blue embossed the card with trippy lettering. The Lunar Laboratory offered 'spiritual healing, ancient wisdom, and new age gifts.' The logo was a dream catcher and the address listed the shop on the north side of River City, probably in the kitschy part of town locally famous for bullshit boutiques. Schwartz, what are you up to?

Nothing. Just thought if you didn't want to wait for your mentor, you had something to try in the meantime.

So you've just been keeping this card in your pocket, waiting for the right opportunity to toss it out there and help me?

He chortled. Remember Steve, the guy who helped me do the lighting for the spring musical?

Vaguely.

I ran into him today. His brother just took partial ownership of the store. He insisted I take a card and 'pass it on to a lost soul who needed some direction and community.' Schwartz smiled. Not that I think you're lost.

So you think I need a bunch of looneys? Em tossed the card back on the table. If I remember right, Steve was a little excitable.

What talent with understatement you have, my darling. Schwartz pulled her onto his lap and squeezed her tight. The only looney you need is me. If you don't want to go, then don't. I don't pretend to understand what makes you tick. I just want to see you happy.

Em didn't understand how she ticked, either, but somehow she had come to accept it. Dreaming the future was one thing. Admitting it aloud was another entirely. And Schwartz, bless his dear heart, was doing his best. Aww, shucks. Is this the part where we kiss then dart to the bedroom?

"That would certainly make me happy."

Chapter 2

Secrets

What happened to you? Sam ran to the door and held out his arm for Aggie.

The hobble to their second-floor apartment had winded Aggie and made her foot throb even worse. She was terrible at lying. Everyone knew it. So instead of directly answering the question, she whimpered. Can you help me get to the couch?

He offered his steady strength until she sank into the worn cushions. She sighed and kicked off her remaining shoe.

Sam's apartment hadn't changed much in the year and a half Aggie lived there. His wall of fedoras was the focal point of the living room, and the boxy television across the couch was turned off. One of three guitar stands stood empty, which meant he left his acoustic in the bedroom, where he often played.

It was awful, Sam. As though it weren't obvious by her injured foot. On the way home, she had stopped at a different gas station to clean up her arm and throw away her bloody cardigan. The attendant was nice enough to let her have a bandage, so her scratch was covered. She wouldn't have to answer questions about that—yet.

I bet it was. What can I do to help? Sam glanced at the clock. It was almost time for him to leave for work at his second part-time job. He was already dressed in a white collared shirt that made his shoulders look stiff, even when he slumped. At least if he had to wash dishes for money, he could do so at a fancy restaurant that paid a dollar an hour more than most places.

He always tried to be optimistic about it, but he worked three times more than she did, all dead-end jobs that had nothing to do with his long term goals. The only reason she even had her part time job at the library was from her contacts. Schwartz, really.

She gingerly touched her ankle, which had swollen in the hour it took her to crawl out of the dumpster, jump-start the car, and drive back using the wrong foot. An ice pack, if we have one?

Sure. Sam went into the kitchen, which was nearly as sparse as Aggie's wardrobe, and came back with a bag of frozen corn wrapped in a thin dishtowel. Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off.

The cold brought relief through numbness. Thank you.

He fetched some ibuprofen and offered it with a glass of water. You might want this, too.

She swallowed the pills obediently, grateful he spared her the trip. That was worth a smile. You're sweet.

He sat on the far side of the couch, staring at her leg through droopy eyes. So what happened?

It's so stupid, Aggie said. Her cheeks burned. She had to look away. Deceiving him made her want to cry. The pain made her want to cry. Hell, she should stop trying not to cry. I tripped going up the stairs.

It was obviously a lie. She didn't even sound like she believed herself. Yet Sam merely eyed her bandage and said, What about your arm?

He would believe the truth. He knew that demons and angels existed. In fact, he probably suspected she'd had a brush with something today.

But.

He shouldn't have to worry about her like that.

She sniffed. I fell down at least half a flight. I don't know what I got caught on.

He held up her shoe. The sole slopped free of the base and hung limply. Not to kick you while you're down, but you need to take care of yourself better.

You're right. She pressed her palms against her face. The pressure against her eyes felt good, like she was tapping a release valve in her head. I thought I wouldn't have much walking to do. It was a desk job.

So I take it the interview didn't go well?

He said he'd call me in a couple of days. They all said that. Aggie had a job interview once every three weeks or so, but she never got callbacks. Even the lowliest jobs found better candidates with actual work histories and experience.

Sam's mouth was stiff. There was no way he could believe her. Maybe he was just too tired to care anymore. With a shrug he said, I'll keep my fingers crossed for you.

And hopefully, while he was keeping his fingers crossed, he wouldn't catch the local news. The 'robbery' at Sky Terrace would stick out in his mind—though the reporters wouldn't mention the supernatural, he would wonder why the robbers wore costumes and strange hats. A fog enveloped the mind of humans after they dealt with demons and angels. People justified, twisted, explained everything they saw into something mundane.

Sam would recognize the signs. Then he'd want to know why she had demons after her.

Why did she have demons after her?

I gotta get to work, Sam said after a long moment of silence. Take it easy. I'll bring some food when I'm off.

Have a good night.

He kissed her softly on the forehead, lingering a bit longer than usual, and trudged to the door with the faintest smile.

At least he wasn't worried about her.

Aggie scrunched her face, as though by clenching all those muscles she could gather and release the day. It didn't work. She couldn't escape the pain, exhaustion, and worry.

Simon and the other demon didn't have her address, but it was only a matter of time before they did. Her address was on file at every employing business in East River City. And seriously, what could