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I’m the social butterfly of the colony—living proof you can’t judge a person by her family.”
    “Thank you.”
    “We’re all holding our breath, though, you understand.” A gently voiced warning.
    “Fair enough.”
    “Try this.” Carny passed a small pink jar. “It’s marvelous.”
    Thankful for the change of subject, Saffron rubbed some of the facial moisturizer that smelled like roses and lemon onto her skin. “It is. ”
    “Carny, it’s starting to rain again,” Kestrel hollered. “Lightning.”
    “Phoo.” She set the comb down. “Can’t argue with that. I have to go. Later.” She pulled a white cloth from her jeans pocket and wrapped her hair in it. She squeezed Saffron’s shoulder and winked. “ Do have fun.”
    …
    Kestrel glanced up from preening his wings—dull, time consuming, but necessary maintenance—as Saffron emerged from the bathroom dressed in white cotton pants and a skin-tight red halter top. The bold color brought out the natural hue of her cheeks and lips.
    “I’m not sure why Carny needs to have bright-colored clothing,” she said with a grin.
    “It suits you.”
    “Thanks.” Her blush deepened a shade. “You’ve made quite the mess.”
    He followed her gaze to the layer of feathers on the floor. Well, wasn’t this precious? As if unaware of his own actions, he’d gone overboard and pulled out every single old, frayed feather he could find. His wings gleamed. He hadn’t bothered to clean himself up so thoroughly in the longest time. After all, wings were meant to be functional, not gawked at.
    Unless you were trying to impress someone of the opposite sex.
    Shit. What was wrong with him? He cleared his throat. “Necessary evil.”
    “I don’t meant to offend, but you know, the colony could make a fortune selling discarded feathers. Some of them aren’t that beat up. It would be practical, wouldn’t it?”
    “No. Fuck, no.” He folded his arms and flicked his wings. “Many poachers are, or work for, religious fanatics who want us dead because we were supposedly cast out of heaven. They hunt demons, as well. The money is a bonus for those people. As long as the widespread persecution persists, attempting to negotiate over the feathers will solve nothing.”
    “But it would help. If feathers were readily available, they wouldn’t be worth so much money. That would put my father and others like him out of business. It’s not about religion at all for my father.”
    “People like Abel Morin and the poachers who work for him don’t want the value of feathers to go anywhere but up. That’s why even those without a religious motivation kill us—to make the feathers they steal unique and irreplaceable. Once, a few archangels gave a friendly human business feathers as a gift to try exactly what you’re suggesting. Know what happened? Poachers burned the business down and killed the owners.”
    “I…see. I didn’t know about that.”
    “It happened in 1930 and the poachers were never convicted. There was a demon witness to the arson, but of course the human court didn’t trust her testimony.” Kestrel sighed. “Normally, poachers are extremely careful about human laws to avoid prosecution. Clearly, they are willing and able to cross that line if pushed, and we can’t overwhelm them by flooding the market. We don’t shed feathers like this often and there aren’t many of us left.”
    “Oh.” Her face fell.
    After a long, uncomfortable silence, he forced a grin, determined to lighten the mood. “Breakfast?”
    “Oh, yes, please.” She settled a hand on her stomach. “What time is it, anyway?”
    “Going on nine. Virgil is waiting, but I told him I’d bring you down after we ate.”
    “Thanks. What’d he have to say about that?”
    “I hung up when the strings of curses started. Frozen waffles okay?”
    “Depends,” she said. “Do you have real maple syrup or that fake crap?”
    He bristled his feathers in exaggerated indignation. “Real,