“Not for much longer, there won’t be.” He turned away and pulled out his cell phone.
From where she sat in the café, Ginger wrapped her hands around her coffee and stared into the dark brew, eavesdropping on the poacher’s conversation.
“The house has been abandoned for years, but it’s the right place. I saw him fly in the fog this morning. Devil has a balcony entrance on the third floor.”
Devil. Ginger hid a snort of disgust under a fake cough.
The poacher continued after a moment. “Yeah, white wings, black markings. It’s Wren, for certain. And not a Guardian in sight. He’s all ours.”
Ginger tensed. No Guardians? Why would an archangel be without his demon bodyguards?
“Meet you there in thirty? He’ll be back before the fog clears.” The poacher accepted his drink from the barista with a charming grin. She refused his payment and wished him luck. He blew her a kiss and left the café.
Clenching her teeth, Ginger tucked a twenty under her coffee and rushed for the exit without waiting for change. She stepped into the foggy autumn morning, shivered, and buried her hands in her pockets. Two police officers chatted next to their cruiser, but she turned and hurried in the other direction. Archangel poaching, though technically illegal, was applauded and encouraged by most of the human population. She couldn’t trust the police.
She’d warn this “Wren” herself.