The problem was that Florian also tended to sleep with just the blanket. Like, bare-ass naked on the couch. It wasn’t exactly the worst since dryads didn’t seem to share the same physiological needs as humans – I was pretty sure he went to the bathroom once a week – but it was the principle of it. That couch was a disaster before Florian started living on it, and now it was a nightmare.
In contrast, Raziel was a study in elegance. This was a guy who liked the finer things, dressed in the kind of clothes that seemed nonchalant on first glance, but were nonetheless extremely luxurious. Hundred-dollar T-shirts, acid-washed jeans made in limited runs, squarish spectacles that looked like they had lenses made out of solid quartz instead of actual glass – kind of a hipster, really.
He probably moisturized every day – mornings and nights – and went for weekly manicures. And he had this mop of hair that looked floppy and careless, but you knew he paid hundreds for every cut. You knew that he used something impossibly luxurious like crushed pearls and gemstones to style it. If the light hit him at just the right angle, the sheen of his hair almost made it look like he had a halo, just like an angel.
Albeit one who couldn’t engineer miracles, or so he claimed. Raziel was the angel of mysteries. Not an angel of mysteries, mind, but the. He was an authority when it came to recording strange and terrible arcane secrets, to tapping into the riddles and rhythms of our chaotic universe.
That was the exact reason I found it so frustrating when he did his whole befuddled schtick. The dude had to be ancient, and he knew just about everything there was to know about the arcane underground and beyond, my actual tour guide to the cosmos and – don’t ever tell him this – kind of my mentor. He knew a hell of a lot about the Vestments, for example.
And yet.
“So you’re sure you can’t just use some kind of angel magic to get us out of this jam,” I said.
Raziel rolled his eyes and shook his head. “For the millionth time. No.”
I stopped myself from asking how he could afford all his damn luxuries. “Then we’ll do this together. Mom and Dad giving little Florian the talk about work and finances. No more allowances.”
“Am I Mom or am I Dad?”
I groaned. “I don’t care. Pick one.”
“Mom it is, then.” Raziel nodded at me, determined and ready.
I sighed, squeezing the bridge of my nose, then went to park both my mug and my butt on the coffee table, which squeaked threateningly. I only watched Florian snore for a couple more seconds before I started nudging him awake by the shoulder. He was heavy, and dense, too, way denser than a human his size would be, which meant that I didn’t really get to do much actual nudging.
“Florian,” I murmured. “Florian. Hey, man. Get up. I need to talk to you.”
Raziel stepped up quietly to my side, bent his head low, then spoke right into Florian’s ear. Sorry, yelled, I should say. A single ear-splitting “Florian!” was all it took.
I jerked away, cringing at the sound and wiggling one finger in my ear to check that I hadn’t gone deaf. All that stuff about choirs of angels and them singing on high at Christmastime and what not – that doesn’t apply to Raziel. The guy was slick, and sleek, and he could speak all nice and charming when he wanted. But when he raised his voice it was like rusty nails on the world’s biggest, scratchiest chalkboard.
Florian sat up straight away, his head snapping left, then right, eyes huge and terrified. He locked gazes with me, then with Raziel before he finally relaxed, heaving a sigh and sticking one finger into his ear. “There are nicer ways to wake people up,” he grumbled, glaring reproachfully at each of us with eyes the color of moss.
“Sorry,” Raziel said sweetly, smiling like the damn angel that he was. “Mason has something to say.”
Traitor! I looked at Raziel and turned my hands up questioningly. Then I turned back to Florian, sighing as I gathered up the courage to say what I needed to.
Leaning in closer, I clasped my fingers together, watching him intently. “If you’re going to stay here with me,” I said, “I’m going to need you to start selling your body.”
5
Florian looked up at the two of us with huge, sad eyes, confused and betrayed. “You – you what? Like for firewood?”
The poor, sweet idiot. Florian wasn’t a terrible person. He had kind eyes, a strong jaw, and even stronger arms. If only he’d put them to good use. He was just so damn lazy.
I shook my head, sighing. “I thought that would wake you up. I was just trying to get your attention.”
“Here,” Raziel said, pushing his own mostly untouched cup of coffee into Florian’s hands. “This’ll wake you up even more. Or kill you. Depends on your tolerance for instant.”
“Raziel, please. Listen, Florian. We’ve talked about this before. You know the price of sticking around me. I’ve spent a lot of time warding this place to keep us hidden. Anyone who comes knocking to claim or kill me will probably find use for a dryad, too.”
He raised his finger. “Male dryad.”
“Sure,” I said. “Whatever, like it matters.”
Raziel pushed a finger into his chin. “I still find it confusing. None of the books say anything about male dryads or nymphs. All dryads are female. It’s the nature of the species.”
Florian folded his arms, sulking. “And we’ve gone through this before. Maybe I’m just different, okay? Do you ask a dog if it’s a dog?”