The Sinner

“You’re not afraid of me?”

I swallowed. “Should I be?”

“Most humans are.”

“Okaaaay,” I took a step back. “I really think I should call someone.”

The police or maybe mental health services.

Casziel pinned me with his amber gaze. “Do you believe in second chances, Lucy Dennings? For even the worst sinners? For unthinkable crimes?”

The yawning chasm of bloody death and grief from the vision or dream or whatever it was fell on me like a shadow. I went cold all over and nearly missed that he knew my full name.

“I-I never told you—”

Casziel muttered in a language I didn’t recognize—something exotic and old.

“Forgive me, Lucy Dennings. It’s not my intention to frighten you, though I know it can’t be helped. But if you insist on calling the authorities, perhaps something to cover me first?”

“You need clothes,” I said stupidly. “Right. Okay. Sure. I’ll…be right back.”

I took the rickety stairs up to my studio and unlocked my door with trembling fingers, nearly dropping the keys twice. Once inside, I shut the door behind me and threw every lock, barricading myself within.

Everything looked the same as when I’d left for work. This morning’s coffee cup on the counter. My bed neatly made. My houseplant—Edgar—in the window. All the strangeness of the situation with Casziel seemed more unreal against the ordinary realness of my place.

There was a naked man in my back lot. That’s all.

And the wings? And black eyes? And bloodless white skin?

“There’s a plausible explanation for all of this,” I murmured, taking a steadying breath. I hit my head on the wall harder than I thought.”

Except I’d discovered Casziel before I hit my head. Did a version of him have wings…?

Not going there.

I raised the phone, my finger poised to dial 911. The police would show up and this man would be out of my life. Everything would go back to normal. I could take a hot bath, heat up some ramen, and curl up in bed with my books until the weekend was over and I had someplace to be again.

Same as last weekend. Same as the weekend to come.

Would it be so terrible if I brought Casziel some clothes first?

Yes. Yes, it would.

I dialed nine and stopped again.

The heroines in my favorite romantic fantasies were always finding themselves in dangerous situations. They faced them bravely and wound up learning they had special abilities, or they became queens of fantastical lands. Bringing clothes to a naked man—a beautiful naked man—with scars and exotic eyes wasn’t the same as saving a kingdom or stepping into Narnia, but it was something.

Ridiculous, scoffed the sneering voice that always seemed to pop up when I wanted to stand up for myself or try something new. This isn’t a book, it’s real and you’re not special. You’re Silly Lucy, living her silly little life.

I tilted my chin. “Not today.”

My nerves didn’t magically turn to steel with that declaration, but bravery, I’d read, wasn’t doing something because you were unafraid. It was being afraid and doing it anyway.

At my closet, I scanned the simple blouses, sweaters, and dresses for something that would fit Casziel. I was almost 5’5”. He was easily six feet and broad in the shoulders…

With or without wings?

“Stop it.”