Demons Run

Demons Run (14) An Unlikely Enemy

Demons Run (14)

Once Raziel realized I wasn't up for much talking, he said his goodbyes and disappeared again, leaving me in a buzzing silence with Roman and the two faeries.

     A very insufficient amount of time after Raziel's departure, we saw a car headed down the road toward us, its headlights shining brightly in our faces. I shielded my eyes.  The car moved past Roman and the twins who were trying to flag him down, and instead pulled up easily beside me.

     I stopped in my tracks to face the car as the driver rolled their window down. In the driver's seat sat a Mexican man with tanned skin and dark eyes. He we was smiling at me, revealing teeth that would have appalled any student in dental school.

     I approached the window a bit cautiously, but I wasn't too worried. I wasn't really worried about anything by this point. By now, a shady foreign guy in a beat down car was the least of my worries.

     "¿Cómo puedo ayudarle?" He asked in a thick, authentic accent.

     And suddenly I was struggling to remember the two years of high school Spanish lessons that I had done ridiculously bad in. I only remembered the names of months and a few different foods. Knowing that leche meant milk didn't really come in handy in these types of situations.

     My eyes went wide, "Pardon?"

     "¿Cómo puedo ayudarle?" He repeated, this time a bit slower. Roman was now somewhere close behind; I could feel his presence like sun rays pounding down onto black pavement.

     "Do you speak English?" I tried, "Yo soy hablar englas?"

     Okay, so pretty sure I just totally butchered his language, but he knew what I was asking all the same.

     "No." He answered, shaking his head.

     That's when Mr. I speak fluent Latin and I'm very hot and bilingual stood next to me at the window, "Puedes llevarnos a Key West?"

     His voice was so inviting, something I was seriously beginning to resent. He caressed the words with as much care as a native speaker, so much I almost forgot he spoke English.

     "Si, si!" He gestured to the seats around him and then his eyes trailed to me, "¿Quién es tu amiga bonita?"

     Amiga meant friend and bonita meant pretty. Those were the only two words in the sentence I could pick out, but I felt flattered. Unless of course he was talking about Pain and Panic, who had taken to playing slaps while they waited.

     "Esa es mi mujer." said Roman, "No disponible."

     The Spanish man nodded understandingly and gave a good-natured smile. I was curious to what Roman's answer was. So curious, in fact, that I made a mental note to translate it on google later-- if I could manage to spell it.

     Roman and I got in the backseat (don't ask me why, it was his idea— which made me not want to do it, but I wasn't in the mood to argue) while Pain and Panic got in the front two seats.

     The man seemed happy to be taking us to Key West and even enjoyed the company of the twins. All three of them sat up front, blaring La Cucaratcha and obnoxiously singing along to it.

     Deciding we probably had an hour left in the journey, I laid my head back and tried to sleep. It was hard to find any rest feeling Roman's eyes on me, hearing the blast of Mexican party music, and feeling like I would evaporate into nothingness.

   ...

     I felt Roman softly prodding at my arm sometime later, "Angel. Wake up, we're here."