Page 2 of Angels Don’t Date

I finally made it out to the main street and sidewalk. A woman pushing a shopping cart full of trash looked at me up and down, as disgusted as the angelic woman, although this wasn’t an angel. She smelled like sewage and looked like gray seaweed had grown down her head and body.

I flashed her a smile and tried to keep my skirts from dragging the ground. I’d definitely have to wash my skirts out in the tub when I got home, but at least I didn’t drop the kittens.

I got to the performance hall’s entrance and was able to slip inside while the ticket taker was talking to someone about how long the intermission lasted. She’d pre-ordered, so where was her soufflé? I stared at her as I passed, because who would eat a soufflé at an opera? Kittens couldn’t eat souffle’s, could they?

People walked towards the right down a broad hall that probably had the snacks if my senses were right. I followed the throng, trying to ignore the way that people were looking at me in my pink ballgown with kittens.

Someone stepped in front of me, blocking my way. She was heavyset, older, with bulldog jowls and a glint of the infernal. Oh, she probably wanted to eat the kittens.

I curled them closer and half-turned. “They’re not for eating,” I told her with a polite smile. “I’m taking them home as pets.”

Her lip curled and she pointed a finger at me with a very sharp claw. “Who do you think you are?” Her voice rasped against my senses like sandpaper. She was definitely infernal with a voice like that.

Was she talking about my brand platform? Wasn’t it obvious with the pink princess gown and the tiara on my head? I swept her my best princess curtsy without dropping a single kitten, and straightened saying, “I’m a princess.” I opened my mouth to ask her where the hotdogs were when she jabbed me back with her finger, poke, poke, poke, knocking me back until I hit an enormous marble pillar.

“Princess of fleas?” Poke. “Princess of garish taste?” Poke. “Princess of Stupidity?”

“I beg your pardon, but you’re quite rude,” I said, struggling with my self-control. I could defend myself to save my life, leaving her dead, but her attack did not feel like a death threat. Was I supposed to slap her? Pull her hair? What else did you do in non-lethal fights? If only I had my fencing foils.

Her blood was filling my senses, and in a few seconds, I’d probably forget the kittens and attack her. No, I wouldn’t. I was almost fifty. Much too old to lose control because some old harridan was assaulting me in an opera house.

She snarled at me. “Rude is exposing your betters to fleas and bad taste. Not to mention the fidgeting. I couldn’t focus on the last two songs because you kept shifting and your dress sounds like plastic bags in a windstorm. If you’re going to dress so stupidly, the least you could do was make certain it wasn’t loud.”

Ah. She’d noticed that? She must have supernaturally good hearing. Taffeta may have been the wrong choice.

“I apologize, but that’s no reason for you to be rude in return.” Unless it was. I didn’t know much about societal niceties outside of the laboratory.

She raised a hand and claws formed while her eyes burned. “Rude? I’m rude? You little…” Her swipe at my throat was interrupted by a pale hand protruding from a suit coat, ruffled cuffs rippling delightfully. I heard her bones cracking and her frightened gasp when she saw the vampire.

It was Herald, my birth father’s favorite messenger boy. I saw him as rarely as possible, like all vampires tied to my father. Still, I was always very polite.

“Herald. How good to see you.” I gave him a proper curtsy which he returned with a deep bow.

“Princess. May I escort you back to your box?”

“Oh, no. I’m in the balcony. Also, I’m trying to find hotdogs for the kittens. Do you know if kittens like hotdogs?”

He stared at me with his slightly red-eyed glow before he turned to look at the surrounding crowd who were staring, some with phones out recording, the woman on her knees, his hand still grasping her wrist, pale fingers seeming delicate, particularly with the lace cuff. “I will escort you to my box, and then see to the kittens.”

I held them close. “They’re not for eating.”

He gave me a slight smile while his flat eyes flickered red. “Of course not, Princess.” He inclined his head again at the word.

“What do you mean, princess?” the bulldog woman said, ripping her wrist out of his grasp.

He gave her a sharp smile. “The Vampire King’s daughter would be a princess, wouldn’t she?”

I flinched, particularly with the way everyone was looking at me, more phones coming out all the time. This wasn’t the brand I wanted. I wanted pastel fairytale princess, not Vampire Princess goth. It was fine for some people, but I wanted pretty and light with flowers and kittens. Cake. Tiny cakes slightly larger than cupcakes SunRae made for her animals. I should learn how to bake. When I got my little cottage, I’d definitely get an oven so I could bake small cakes and put them on pretty pastel cake stands. Baking would be much safer than going to opera houses where you could run into deadly dangerous vampires you knew you should avoid.

I edged away from Herald. “So good to see you. Give everyone my regards.” I curtsied and turned, but the crowd was a wall of bodies, penning me in. Ah. And quite a few of them looked like they’d enjoy killing someone tied to the King of the Vampires. I could defend myself. Libby had taught me some wonderful death spells, and the Scholar had taught me how to kill with my vampire abilities, but in public, particularly with the kittens…

I turned back to Herald, holding in a small sigh. “I will accompany you to your box.”

He held out his arm and I took it, letting my skirt drag while the kittens mewed and clawed at my neck. This was not how I’d meant this evening to go. Would he try to get me involved in some political vampire games? I’d rather die. But if I were undead, would that make me more or less interesting to my father? I didn’t think I could be less interesting to him since he’d never bothered to see me once in fifty years. Good thing. The Vampire King was absolutely insane and dangerous, and had nothing I wanted, not since I realized that the disinterest was mutual.

When we got to the fancy box, much nicer than my balcony seat, I smiled at the other vampires, Herald’s bodyguards probably, although he didn’t need them. It was probably so he looked rich and impressive. One of them was sent to fetch hotdogs while the other glowered at me darkly. He was blonde with a startling scar running through his left cheek.

“I like your scar,” I said brightly.