Mel and Brice, before his character was softened. If all he'd been is a shape in the shadows, throughout the whole series.

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Silver Shoes

It was laughably easy. Angels are pretty damn lax in their security, counting on their light'n'love vibes to prevent any wee beasties creeping in.
They didn't count for a fallen angel popping in to say hi, a plain black box in his hands. Someone who can withstand any amount of torture they pour on, neither a demon nor an angel, something in between.
It only stung a little, as I shifted through the walls. I got used to it after a while—and when I got to my target's room, it barely hurt at all.

I wasn't obsessed. I didn't even care about her. I didn't care about anything, bar one person. Yet I couldn't deny something about her irritated me. It was...purity, maybe. After all she'd been through, she had still some semblance of humanity. Goodness. Sheer saccharine. Pollyanna.
I wished I could hate her. All I could manage was a hint of dislike.

I spent some time in her room, poking through her stuff. It was pretty Spartan, actually—I would have expected clutter, and glitter. Pink fluff and cuddly toys. There were a few photos, a diary—which was heavily protected from angels and demons alike—a few cheap biros, but nothing special. Nothing about her was special at all, really.

*

If she really wasn't that special, the paper-pushers back in Hell were expanding a lot of energy for nothing. The spells on those shoes had been hideously expensive, and the raw material of just one shoe had cost them a pretty penny. With these—if everything went to plan—she should dance into my grasp, and then I'd have a real angel to keep as a pet.

I kept myself out of sight after I planted them. The Dark powers had done well—nobody, not even Hendrix, twigged something was up. It made it so much easier for me. So much easier and less messy than a fight. I didn't want to end up permanently scarred by an angel's blade—that really would be a tragedy.

Eventually, the door opened. She led the way, hair rippling behind like so much silk. I couldn't wait to see it dusty, matted, as she shivered on my floor. Absolutely couldn't resist. Didn't feel any modicum of respect for her. Not an inkling of regret for what she was about to experience. I just enjoyed knowing something none of those featherwings could even guess.

*

The shoes almost left sparkles on the floor—but then Mel always brought her own atmosphere to the place, of spangles and sequins and an ultimate goal to be good. It made me sick.

I didn't follow, exactly, but I didn't stride ahead. I suppose you could call it stalking. Lurking. Hunting. Meandering. Whatever it was, I arrived at the venue only a little after Mel, but decided to give her a little fun first.

I guess it's just the type of guy I am.

At times like these I wish I smoked. With nothing to do with your hands, you look too obviously waiting.

*

I jammed my hands into my pockets, invisible to the humans milling outside. I let them get too close, so I could bring them down. If anything, the angels would be so busy zapping them to cheer them up, they might not notice Mel's old friend before it was too late.
Not that they'd be able to do much. They might threaten their weapons, but they'd drop them as soon as I threatened to hurt Mel. Nobody, though, would be as scared as Mel herself.

I hoped I'd see tears. Always proof of a job well done.

*

Twenty minutes later, I sauntered in. Mel was on the dancefloor, silver skirts swirling around her, shoes catching the light. I kept my vibes low; so what if I wanted to watch for a while? I may be dead, but I'm still a man.

For a bit of skirt, she wasn't bad-looking. Pretty. Never beautiful—beauty's sad, not bubbly. Elegant—beauties don't go clubbing. Beauty's terrible.
Maybe she'd be beautiful, then, after a day or so with me—before I started the real fun. Beyond that, attractive would not be a word linked to her features.

From all angles, Mel looked to be having fun. Dancing with Jules and Hendrix as a few guys looked on jealously. Pity it was all about to come crashing down. The sugarplum fairy was about to taste bitterness.

*

I stepped out of the shadows. Mel's eyes widened, and she stopped her dancing, before rushing towards me, calling out. I didn't stop to wonder. I snapped my fingers, and suddenly her feet held her fast. Try as she might, she couldn't take them off or move independently. It was neat. Smart. I approved.

'Brice!'

I shook my head as Jules realized what was going on. 'Nah, I go by 'Dave', now.'

They were converging on me now. I casually snapped my fingers once more, and Mel was propelled to me against her will. I held her fast, sneering as the entire angel contingent stopped. There was silence there, until Mel's voice broke the silence.

'Please…'

*

'Some other guys wanted a crack first,' I told her casually, trailing a finger up her jaw, sniffing her lilac-like scent and biting gently on her earlobe. 'I got here before 'em, though. And, baby, I'm much more creative…'

'Get your hands off her,' came a growling voice. I casually swung her round, as if she weighed no less than a doll. I ignored the retching coming from her throat.

'Come and get her!' I offered, but he didn't seem to take me up on it. Shame.

*

Now for the fun part. With the humans dancing—though away from this spot, Jules must have worked hard on the dawn vibes—I was free to dance with my own angel. She was mine now, of course. I knew she'd be happy with my chain around her neck. You can tell she's a kinky bitch, but she needs to be told what to do. Like every girl I've known. Women are hopeless, let's face it.

I realized her from my hold, and she couldn't stumble away and fall. She swayed, pale as a ghost, and her eyes looked panicked as her feet began another rhythm.

A tango.

*

She spun towards me. I caught her, plunging her backwards and trailing my tongue up her neck. Another growl from Hendrix at the touching Mel obviously wanted to shy away from, but he didn't dare do anything. Not when I had the newest, purest angel in my grasp—none of them would dare do a single thing.
It made it much more sporting. Five of them, one of me.

And Mel still wasn't enjoying it, though she was dancing more gracefully than she ever had in her life. She wasn't that close to crying yet, but almost! It was pathetic. She whispered my name, and I shook my head teasingly. All those times I'd seen her on screen; I was going to turn her into an elegant beauty. I had decided…it's much more fun when they decide to become demons instead of being forced into service.

*

She spun. Faster, and faster. I could fling her about and she wouldn't fall! The perfect partner. But to beat all the hope out of her first…

I didn't call her to me again after she'd tapped her way once more across the floor. And then I stepped back. One boy had his arms around her, like he was trying to brace her; Jules was attempting to see if she'd dissolved like a sugarcube already. I would have milked it, but Hendrix was coming towards me…

*

Snap of the fingers once more.

I tore her out of her friend's arms, and she careered to me, twirling faster and faster, hair acting as a buffer between angels and demon alike. I caught her, bent her over, kissed her once—

Well, it'll take some time for her friends to find her. But in the time we have left together, I'll make sure she remembers me.

But who ever forgets Brice de Winter?