Heaven't You Heard? by Geanna Culbertson

Author:Geanna Culbertson [Geanna Culbertson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BQB Publishing
Published: 2022-03-04T00:00:00+00:00

19

FRIEND AND/OR ENEMY?

I couldn’t believe I was having quiche with a demon. Even after declaring I’d never engage in that specific activity, like, a half hour ago.

Maybe I shouldn’t use the word never in the afterlife. So many crazy, illogical things happened here. Planting my foot in the ground could be a waste of time.

“Are you actually hungry?” Oliver asked as I stabbed at my slice. The diner whirred with activity. Glasses of orange juice clinked, hot coffee steamed, servers moved with such grace and coordination it was like they’d choreographed a dance.

“So what if I am?”

“Didn’t all that flying upset your stomach?”

“Ugh, is this what I’m like?” I said, putting my fork down. “You ask a lot of questions to avoid talking about issues other people want to discuss. Spill the tea, Oliver. We’re throwing a lot of protocol out the window and possibly breaking, like, a commandment or something by having this little Heaven-Hell brunch date.”

“Brunch date?”

My face probably turned redder than the fires Oliver came from.

“You know what I mean.” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “Seriously. First off, what’s the deal with your missing Soul Pulse?”

Oliver raked a hand over his hair then leaned forward too so our noses were only a foot apart over the small table. “Look, I needed to run an errand, but those things track us. I took mine off and hid it in Monkonjae’s jacket pocket when the loser wasn’t paying attention. I’ll swipe it back from him later. For now, it will seem like I’m still with the group.”

I paused a moment and digested this info before digging further. “So the mirage of you with the others . . .”

“We take to our demon powers differently,” Oliver said. “Mirages are my strength. I created one of myself to go with our tour. Mirages aren’t tangible, so as long as nobody runs into it, that version of me will fly around with your sunset painters and no one will notice the difference.”

My eyes fell away for a moment, my mind wild with curiosity that I had trouble articulating. Though Oliver was a huge mystery and I was a girl motivated to find answers, I found it difficult to form succinct questions when looking directly into his eyes, as if their aquatic nature short-circuited my train of thought, like a cell phone falling into the ocean.

Kaput.

I rapped my fingers on the table until I had the right query. “How did you get it off?” I asked, pointing at his bare wrist. “Soul Pulses can’t be removed.”

“I’m not going to tell you,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

“But you have to,” I argued. “Honesty filter.”

“And I’m being honest with you. There is literally nothing you can say or do that will make me answer that question.”

I huffed in exasperation, then leaned back in my own chair and crossed my arms. “You do realize you are giving me zero reason not to call my mentor and drag you back to Hell. I’m sure the folks down there would also like to know how you got your Soul Pulse off.

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