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There was always one. Someone always wandered in after closing time. It was human nature. One thing or another brought them back in after hours. A lost wallet. A car that needed a jump start. A request for help. All of them were gentle reminders from Father. I might have been out of the game, but I wasn't immune from the rules. He'd made me for a purpose, even if I could only fulfill it in painfully limited ways.
Still, there was a script to adhere to. When the gentle knock on the door came, I called out, "The bar is closed," and waited. Sometimes it would be enough to drive away those who didn't need to be there. I always knew which voices were pushy and which were seeking salvation. I'd offer what I could.
It was in my nature, after all.
"I know," a soft contralto called from the threshold. "May I come in anyway?"
There was something naggingly familiar about the intonation, though I was sure I'd never heard this voice before. I remembered every soul that wandered in here. It pained me to lose a single one, no matter how brief our acquaintance. Grief was a constant companion when you lived in the world of man.
I waited for the explanation. They always had an explanation ready, as though they had to justify their presence. There was only an amused silence waiting for me. It made a muscle in my jaw tic, though I couldn't say why. The sense of familiarity crept through me once more.
I knew the person behind that door, but could not name her. It would have been wise to tell the woman to go. I sensed trouble but...
He was here. I could feel him like the sun on my upturned face. I felt him so seldomly that it shocked me into stillness.
"Come in," I said quietly, hand gripping the bar top to steady myself. I felt punch-drunk from just a moment of contact. I wanted to laugh. To sing.
The noise strangled in my throat when Lasciel stepped through the door. She looked like a woman in the full bloom of youth. It didn't shock me that she would choose a form pleasing to the eye. She had the beginnings of pride in her even before the Fall.
The curls and baby blues softened the image considerably. I'd expected a vamp, not the shy girl next door. It suited her, somehow. She'd changed when she made the choice. It hurt. Dear Father, but it hurt to be cut off from the majority of your grace. She looked softer, like a newly shorn lamb. The corruption had been cut away, leaving a lightly rumpled Watcher in its wake.
"Lasciel," I whispered.
Her lips quirked. "Lash. Molly calls me Lash. Names are important, don't you agree, Camael?"
The name sent pain spiderwebbing through my chest. Camael. Yes. Once, long ago. No longer. Not since my dear Rachel had gone.
"Mac. And you've made your point. I won't make that mistake again."
Names were important. Too important to get wrong.
A lazy smile spread across her face. Again, it was softer than anything I'd seen from her in billions of years. "Mac."
"What happened to you?" I wondered aloud.
She laughed. "The same thing that happened to you. A woman. I'd like to talk about it over a beer if you're willing."
Well, what could I say to that?
"Pale or dark?"