Beloved Purgatory (Fallen Angels, Book 2) by Katherine Pine Page B

walking
before.
    It had also never taken me over an hour to walk six
blocks. Princess loved to sniff things, receive pets, bathe in the
sun, and walk in circles.
    I felt a little sorry for the angel, who didn't
appear to find this as amusing and adorable as Oz and I did. He
followed a few steps behind us. Every time I caught a glimpse of
him he was glaring at our joined hands. It made me grip Oz tighter
and laugh harder, so by the time we got to the Park Blocks, my hand
was sore and I had a mild headache.
    People took afternoon naps on the benches. A few
fellow skippers from my High School were skateboarding down the
rails near the dried-up fountain. And a group of twenty-somethings
in 'Rasta garb' played hacky sack on the grass. Princess crouched
behind the statue of some guy riding a horse and studied their game
intently.
    We were taking the long route
to Powell's , my
other favorite bookstore--but I couldn't tell Oz that because I'd
be cheating. "It's good that you're scoping out the competition," I
told him.
    "No, there is just a book I wanted to pick up."
    So he was the one who was cheating. Or maybe we both
were. Well, it didn't matter, because either way this was bad!
"You've gotta start thinking of Morrison's as a bookstore and not just
your place to crash."
    "Why? I've already got the only customer I
want."
    My cheeks flushed. That again? It was ridiculous, so
why did I get so giddy whenever he said it? "You have the business
sense of Princess. You'll chase after anyone who wiggles their
fingers at you."
    He wiggled his fingers at Princess, who jumped into
his arms. "Yeah, pretty much."
    Everything about him looked softer and yet a little
more dangerous in the shade--perhaps because the shadows of the few
orange and gold leaves that hadn't yet fallen brought out the green
in his eyes. A gust of wind blew some of his hair over his cheek.
It would have been really sexy if Princess wasn't gnawing on his
finger.
    "Doesn't that hurt?" I asked, afraid to point in her
direction in case she'd decide to do the same to me.
    "She's just teething."
    "She's like eight, isn't she? Isn't she a little old
to be teething?" I frowned. "Wait a minute, do cats even
teethe?"
    "I don't know. Maybe." He gave her a protective
squeeze. Princess purred and drooled on his hand, then jumped off
and stretched.
    I brushed a few wild strands of hair behind my ears
as he began to say something.
    Whatever it was, I didn't hear it. My mind even
drowned out the sound of his voice. I couldn't think of anything,
do anything, the moment I looked up and saw the angel staring back
at me.
    Why did my eyes go to him? Why, whenever I lost my
focus for even one second, was he the first thing I always saw? And
why, once I saw him, could I not glance away? He leaned against the
trunk of a giant Oak, though I doubt he was tired. Spindly shadows
shifted across his face. Every part of him was so white, so silent,
so still. I didn't understand why looking at him reminded me of
clouds drifting over a violent, bruised sky.
    A hand gripped my shoulder. "Devi?"
    I jumped. "Sorry, just thinking," I said, trying not
to think about the worried look in Oz's eyes.
    Oz nodded as he adjusted his grip on Princess'
leash. "It's alright. Let's go."
    ***
    Oz bought three issues of Street Roots , the
newspaper written by the homeless, from a homeless guy
outside Powell's --one for me, one for him, and one for the angel. We took the
elevator to the top floor, and he picked up his "special book" from
the Rare Book room. It was wrapped in a brown paper bag and he
refused to tell me what it was, no matter how big my puppy eyes
got.
    On our way back down the stairs, I pulled Oz into
the Red Room, behind a display case of devotional Hindu statues of
Shiva, Shakti, and Ganesh. "This is where I always come with
Kim."
    "Oh really?" Oz asked.
    "Yeah. We look for cheap books on magic stuff. Plus,
people in the metaphysical section always have the funniest
conversations."
    Oz leaned against the