Celestial Magic

I have a question,” said the vampire, leaning on the bar next to me. “If you screw a celestial soldier, does that guarantee you a place in heaven?” “No,” I said, “but I can offer you a one-way ticket to hell if you take one more step.” I lifted my hand to show the celestial mark on the underside of my wrist. It was shaped like an arrowhead, and his proximity—like any preternatural being—brought out a flash of white light underneath the tanned skin of my wrist. If I turned the power up to max, he’d probably go up in flames. The vamp’s cocky grin slipped, and he quickly slunk away back to his mates on the other side of the bar. I switched off the light and took another sip of my drink. On reflection, this wasn’t the type of bar you went to if you preferred to avoid attention. Even if I hid my tattoo, my aura was visible to certain people—piercingly white, like the Divinity who’d given me the mark. It didn’t fit with my cheap tank top and jeans, but I’d deliberately played down my ap-pearance. The trouble with places like this is that if you’re not one of them, they catch on pretty fast. Still, a job was a job, and my client had offered a reasonable bonus… if he ever showed up. I’d be