Scholes's face turned grave. "Jake is the exact direction, you know. In his true form. Just as wonderful. Angels and demons come from the same stock. He chooses that James Cusack wannabe shape by choice."
"Why? Why does he do that? And why do you decide to look like a stoner or a bum?"
The edges of the angel's lips turned barely upward.
"Why does a woman who insists she likes to avoid the awareness of nice men choose a form that makes everyone around her do a double take and stare?"
I gulped again, lost in the far reaches of his stares, but not in the exact way I had been misplaced in Shaman's or Gabriel's eyes. It was more like the angel could discern all the way through me, through all of my facades, down to my soul or what lingered of it.
With great effort, I broke that exploration, turning back toward my bedroom.
"No one is penalized forever," he told me gently.
"Yeah? That is not what I hear. Good night."
