CHAPTER SEVENDawn kissed the sky as Charouth slunk back to the West Village townhouse. She quietly shut the front door then collapsed against it. Each time she saw Azazel her mind went spinning in fifty different directions. She put a finger to her lips. They still burned with the intensity of his kiss. She closed her eyes, savoring the memory.
“I hope you’re thinking about the new Vera Wang collection and a not certain demon.” Onomata bounced down the stairs and into the kitchen, pigtails flying.
Charouth straightened up, composed herself, and followed her friend.
“How’d the auction go?” Onomata asked while slicing up a pan of baklava cooling on the counter. No knife for her. She preferred the lazy angel way of channeling energy through a fingertip and slicing it that way. Charouth gri
