Devil's Halo

Chapter 7 (Lucius): Tangled Fates

Her scent was unmistakable in the close proximity, a blend of the yakitori from before and something uniquely her, fresh and intoxicating. It was a stark reminder of the human part of me, a part I often disregarded in the face of my duties. As Evangeline leaned over to rub her ankle, a fleeting moment exposed the curve of her legs, pulling my attention. They were, objectively, quite nice-looking legs. I cleared my throat, more to corral my wandering thoughts than anything else.

She scrolled through her phone with a frown etched deep on her face, the glow of the screen casting shadows over her features. "The closest Uber is 22 minutes away. Anything could happen to her in that time," she muttered, frustration lacing her voice. I felt a surge of energy within me, a byproduct of the night's earlier expenditures slowly replenishing. Yes, I could probably whisk us away to Ren's location in the blink of an eye, but the thought of draining myself for what seemed, in the grand scheme of things, a lesser cause didn't appeal to me. My power was a precious resource, not to be squandered lightly.

"Public transit might be our best bet," I suggested, watching her reaction closely. "The bus stop is just a block away." Without hesitation, she nodded, her determination igniting a smirk on my lips. Her character was as fiery as it was resolved, an intriguing combination that never failed to capture my attention.

As we made our way to the bus stop, my senses remained sharply attuned to our surroundings. Little Tokyo, though not as rife with demonic presence as Skid Row, still harbored its share of nocturnal predators. Evangeline, fortunately, had been too absorbed in her mission—first her concern over the unsettling events of the night and now the urgency of finding Ren—to notice the darker undercurrents swirling around us. Demons, after all, were masters of lurking unseen.

A pair of lesser demons watched us from across the street, their eyes gleaming with a malevolent curiosity. With a subtle, inconspicuous wave of my hand, I sent them scurrying back into the darkness from whence they came. It was a small reminder of the power I wielded, a command over the shadows that both isolated and defined me.

The bus arrived with a cacophony of squeaks and hisses, pulling to a halt before us. It had been ages since I last set foot on a city bus. Manhattan, decades ago, flashed through my memory—a time of reckless abandon and instigated turmoil. I had reveled in the chaos of the city, weaving my influence through the threads of its inhabitants' lives, tipping scales and nudging fates. The blackout of '77, a night of unbridled anarchy, echoed in my mind as a symphony of destruction and freedom—an event I had watched unfold with a certain pride in the part I played in stoking its flames.

Stepping onto the bus, the stark fluorescent lighting and the murmur of passengers felt oddly mundane yet strangely nostalgic. The world had changed, but the essence of humanity—its vices, its desires, its fears—remained the same. As the bus lurched forward, I couldn't help but reflect on the irony of it all. Here I was, a being of ancient power, riding a city bus in pursuit of a missing girl, alongside a woman whose spirit seemed as indomitable as the forces we faced.

"I hope she's okay," Evangeline's soft voice pulled me from my reverie. Her gaze lingered on the city lights dancing past the bus window, a silent testament to her worry for Ren. She chose to stand close to the exit, her hand gripping the overhead rail with a determination that mirrored her spirit. So, in solidarity, or perhaps out of an unspoken duty to protect, I remained standing too, observing her, and contemplating our next move.

The bus meandered through the streets of Los Angeles, the relative safety of our current situation affording me a rare moment of introspection. My thoughts drifted back to the chaos at the brewery, a sequence of events that, while on the surface seemed like just another night's work, had unnerved me more than I cared to admit. Mal's altercation with Brad was predictable, even necessary, in the grand scheme of things. A diversion, a play in our complex game against the backdrop of human and demonic entanglements. It was the demon attack that gnawed at the edges of my mind, an anomaly that demanded attention.