Chapter 2

I had heardfrom Sylvie who heard it from a half-siren who had heard from another witch. When I first showed up at her door in Cloverleaf, a small town between Houston and Crosby, she had tried shooing me away, pretending she was appalled that I had called her a witch.

When she threatened to call the police on me, I caved.

"I'm an angel," I told her. "Well, a fallen angel." That hurt to admit. "And I need your help."

Every supernatural knew a fallen angel was a disgraced angel who had lost her wings and couldn't go back to Elysium—the place humans called Heaven. Putting on my best sad face, I told her I had lost my Celestial Sword when I lost my wings, and my magic had been stolen from me.

She had taken pity on me and let me in.

And now I depended on her.

I drove my car to her house, parked in the driveway, and weaved through the forest of her front yard—way too many plants for such a small place.

I almost tripped on a thick branch jutting from the forest into the small stone path, and then bumped into a wall.

"What the?—?"

I looked up and I stilled.

The wall was a man.

A handsome man in a black suit and with deep blue eyes stared holes into me.

I took a step back and opened my mouth to apologize, but he beat me to it.

"Watch your step, sweetheart," he said, his voice deep and charming. Then, he flashed a brilliant and perfect white smile at me.

I didn't like it.

I frowned. "You're the boulder in the way."

"Is that so?" The corner of his lips tugged up as he took a large step aside, almost stepping into the vegetation surrounding us. "There you go, sweetheart."

My frown deepened. Shaking my head, I walked past him, and made it to the front door. Despite myself, I glanced back at the man.

But he was gone.

What the hell?

I knocked on the door.

Ten seconds later, Sylvie opened it wide. "Did I miss—?" Her face fell when her eyes met mine. "Oh, it's you."

"Were you expecting someone?"

"I thought—" She shook her head. "Never mind. What is it that you want now?" She turned her back to me and disappeared through the doorway to the right.

I closed the door behind me and followed her from the foyer into her work area. The place was as full of stuff as her yard was full of plants. Long wooden tables with all kinds of herbs and ingredients, ranging from bone powder to bats' wings and mouse tails. Old, moldy books lined the shelves on the far left, and in the back of the room, three cauldrons stood side-by-side—a small, a medium, and a large one.

The medium cauldron was bubbling with dark green liquid.

"You know what I want," I said.

The old witch rounded one of the long tables, reached for a thick stack of a weird-looking plant, and started chopping it into tiny pieces with a cleaver.

Sylvie was probably almost two hundred years old, with long silver hair tied in a braid, and many wrinkles. She wore dresses from the last century, topped by thin scarfs, usually dark red or indigo.

Today she wore a dusky pink one.

I had asked before what kind of witch she was, and what coven she belong to.

"Have you heard of lone wolves?" she had asked me. "I'm a lone witch."

And that was all she ever said about the subject.

It was clear she didn't like me, or anyone for that matter. But like me, she needed money to survive, and the only thing she knew how to do were potions and elixirs.

"I need more." I fished my latest winnings from my duffel bag and slapped the bills on the table in front of her. "How many doses can you get me with that?"

She glanced at the money, then at me. She pursed her lips and continued chopping the plant. "Three."

"Three?" I almost shrieked. "The last time you made six!"

"Well, the main ingredient is Mage Bloom, a rare plant, and my supplier increased its price." She stopped chopping and stared at me. "I need to pass that price to my customers."

Damn it.

Three doses wouldn't last a week. To have more money, I would need to agree to more fights. Mr. Green would love that.

I sighed. "Fine. Give me three. I'll come back in a few days with more money for more."

"I can give you one now. Come back for more?—"

"What? Why just one?"

"Didn't you hear what I said? Mage Bloom is rare. Why did you think the price went up? It's hard to find. I have only enough for one. My supplier will bring more by Wednesday."

Her supplier was a little goblin who dealt with dark magic. My gut had tightened when I learned who he was, and I had almost given up on this deal. But I needed this potion.

I swallowed my pride and made a deal with her: I paid her well and she made me a potion to hide my aura from other angels.

Now, it seemed, I would have to pay her better than well.

I shook my head. "I can get the money for more, but if this plant is so rare, money won't matter."

"I'm afraid not."

I took a couple of steps back and sat on the armchair beside another table—a thick leather ledger was open on top of the table, and there was a lengthy list in a language I didn't understand.

What could I do? Without this potion, I had no way of hiding from the angels. And today, I had proof that I really needed it. I had been taking half doses to make it last, and the angels were on my tail.

If I stopped taking it, I was done for.

"There has to be something I can do," I muttered to myself. I glanced at Sylvie as she put the pieces of chopped herb into a small bowl. "You don't know any other suppliers? Or witches who could have other contacts, someone who can find more of the rare plant."

"I actually contacted a witch I know," she said. I stared at her with wide eyes. "What? I knew you needed it." She turned her back to me and spilled the chopped plants into the bubbling cauldron. Smoke rose high and a sweet, flowery scent filled the room. "Anyway, she didn't have any and said she hadn't been able to secure any in months."

"If we can't find the plant, then we need to create another potion, with other ingredients."

She chuckled, not amused. "You think potion creation is easy, Ariella?"

I almost winced at the sound of my name. I probably shouldn't have told her my real name when I first met her, but sometimes, even I made mistakes.

Hell, scratch that.

I made mistakes all the damn freaking time.

"I know it isn't," I said, dejected. But what else could I do? I needed a solution. "You don't know any genies, do you?" I joked.

Genies were tricksters and I wouldn't deal with one even if my life depended on it … And we were getting to that point.

"Well, I don't know a genie, but I know a higher demon who grants wishes."

I stilled. "What?"

"Didn't you see a man walking out of here just before you arrived?" She placed a big wooden spoon on the cauldron and mixed the liquid.

"Yes."

"He's a powerful demon who deals with wishes."

I almost turned around and ran out, but he was long gone. Besides, he was a demon. He was probably worse than a genie.

"What's the catch?" I asked, not able to let this go so easily.

"He always asks for something in return."

"Like what?"

"It varies from person to person. Or from supernatural to supernatural. It's rare for humans to know about him. Anyway, I heard he sometimes asks for a specific job to be accomplished, some help with something, special items, or … even for the supernatural's soul."

Of course. Why would a demon do anything out of the goodness of his heart?

"That's too big of a price."

She brought the spoon up and sniffed the liquid. "Still, if you change your mind, you can find him at one of the VIP booths at the Nine Club in Houston. He's always there."

I shook my head once. That was absurd. I wouldn't deal with a demon, much less sell my soul to him.

"Just … get my potion ready, please." I pointed to the money then to the cauldron. "I need to go make more of that, so you can make more of that for me."

She tsked. "I have never met such a rude angel before."

Oh, boy, she had no idea.