Мишель Роуэн - Angel with Attitude

“You didn’t,” Val scolded. “You cheated on Claire? How could you?”

“I didn’t cheat. Not technically, anyhow.”

“Not technically? What does that mean?”

“I was at the casino.” He gestured with his head toward the direction of Casino Niagara. “I’d had a few beers. I won a hand of blackjack and I sort of gave the dealer a big kiss. Tongues may have been involved.”

“You kissed a blackjack dealer.”

He looked sheepish. “Got her number, too. But I’ve already thrown it away. I never would have called her. It was just one of those things.”

Val took a deep breath. “Well, that sounds fairly harmless. Just a mistake.”

“Harmless if Claire’s friend hadn’t been walking past. Told her everything. Embellished some stuff. Now she wants to kill me.”

She shook her head. “You really shouldn’t have kissed the dealer.”

“But she was so hot.”

“You’re not helping matters.”

“I’m a rat. I’ll admit it. When I’ve got a good thing, I’ll always do something to screw it up.

And Claire is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“You need to tell her that. Apologize. Take her out for dinner. Fall to the floor and beg her forgiveness.”

Reggie shook his head vigorously. “No way. I’m not seeing her until she’s calmed down.

She’s a witch.”

Val rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who played kissy-face with a blackjack dealer and she’s the witch? Sure, that sounds like a fair assessment.”

“No, I didn’t mean it as an insult. She is a witch. Like ‘eye of newt’ witch? She has a ton of books on the subject that make me very nervous. If she finds me in her current state of mind .

. . well, let’s just say I prefer my genitalia in its current configuration.”

“Claire is a witch?” She was surprised Reggie seemed ready to believe it—full-fledged humans rarely accepted oddities unless they were shaken right in front of their faces on a regular basis.

The fact that Claire may or may not have been a real witch didn’t scare Val in the slightest.

There were more paranormal elements in the earthly realm than most humans knew about. In fact, there was a special section of Heaven where witches and other non-evil creatures like werewolves went to after death. The angels called it the “Hair and Scare” area, but just among themselves. Besides, most witches were very salt-of-the-earth and do-no-evil gals. No green faces and broomstick-riding. At least, for the most part.

Although thinking her boyfriend was a cheater might make any girl go a little green in the gills. Broomstick optional.

“Witchcraft is her latest hobby,” Reggie said nervously. “She’s been buying candles like crazy lately.”

“Scented?”

“Some.”

“Then I don’t think you should be out in the open like this. You should probably hide.”

“Yes. Hide. I’m going to go hide now. At the casino.”

“I’ll see you back at the motel later.”

He nodded. “Do you think you could talk to her?”

“Huh?”

“Talk to Claire. She likes you. Just tell her that I was a rat but I didn’t mean to do anything wrong, that it was a big mistake. That she’s the only one for me. Say something nice, all pretty and poetic and sincere. Make it up if you have to.”

“And why would I want to do that?”

He paused, brow lowered, then he looked at Val with a smile. “Consider it your good deed for the day.”

She stared at him for a moment before she burst out laughing. “You have a lot of nerve asking me to do this.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“I’ll talk to her. But you’ll owe me big time for this.”

His smile widened. “And will you throw her over the Falls if she tries to hurt me?”

“Do you want me to?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but must have had second thoughts. “Of course not.”

“Good answer.”

“Val, maybe if she doesn’t take me back, you and me should go out some time. There’s a little place in Tonawanda that has great lobster.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

His smile held but he didn’t say anything else.

She pointed in a direction far away from her. “Go.”

He went, but looked over his shoulder to blow her a kiss first.

What a jerk, she thought. But she was still smiling. He’d managed to pull her out of her current funk a little bit. Kicking and screaming, but she did feel better.

She was sure it would pass.

Val trudged back to the Paradise Inn, which was a ten minute walk up Clifton Hill, past wax museums, souvenir shops, restaurants, and around the bend.

On the way back she’d come up with a plan. And she was going to follow through with it right away before she chickened out.

There was one person in the earthly realm whom she’d come to trust completely. Somebody who’d never been anything but nice and kind and warm and thoughtful with her. Somebody who’d made the past two months of being human nearly bearable.

Even though he made her clean rooms.

Mr. Barlow. She absolutely adored the old man. She was going to tell him that she was a fallen angel. He would believe her, she knew it. Then she’d have someone who knew what she was—the fact that Seraphina also knew was, sadly, little comfort to her—and help her get back. She wasn’t sure exactly how he could help, but getting this huge weight off her mind would be a wonderful thing.

It made perfect sense to her.

Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten all day. She would talk to Barlow, clear her mind, then head over to McDonald’s for dinner.

That was the plan.

She moved past the rickety old patio furniture strewn about in the small courtyard in the middle of the U-shaped motel, sidestepping the pool that apparently hadn’t been in working order for more than five years and was currently covered by a thick layer of leaves and snow.

She marched right to the manager’s office, her plan clear in her mind, and pushed open the door. A little bell above it jingled. Nobody was at the desk.

“Mr. Barlow?”

No answer. She could hear soft music coming from his living area behind the office on the other side of a beaded curtain, so she moved toward that and pushed the curtain aside.

Barlow’s living room was small. Drab carpeting. A beat up La-Z-Boy armchair was positioned in front of a television with rabbit ears. A few copies of Reader’s Digest sat on the chipped coffee table. The room felt comfortable, but old and tired.

At the moment, though, there were a couple of things in the room that didn’t look old and tired. A balloon, for one. Red and shiny and tied with a long yellow ribbon that trailed down to the floor. Printed on the balloon was HAPPY ANNIVERSARY. It was a smear of color in the colorless room.

Barlow himself sat in the armchair, staring at Val in surprise. The pretty woman holding a cake and standing in front of Barlow didn’t look surprised. Which was odd since she was topless. Val would have expected a half-naked woman carrying a cake would look surprised that someone just walked in on her unannounced.

They all stared at each other for a moment as the radio played “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?” by

Rod Stewart.

Val finally averted her gaze. “Awkward,” she said aloud. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”

“This is”—Barlow gestured at the woman—“Alexa. She’s . . . um, a friend of mine.”

“I can see that,” Val glanced briefly at the woman. “I’ve, uh . . . never seen you around here before.”

Barlow cleared his throat. “No, Alexa hasn’t visited me for several months.”

“Charmed,” Alexa said. She put down the cake, then retrieved her blouse from the floor.