I have a pretty good idea of what I want it to look like. Luminescent skyscrapers reach greedily for the sepia-tone sky, windows flashing like Morse code. Each building will be a different color: indigo, cerulean, fuchsia, goldenrod. A dazzling architectural rainbow.

Unfortunately, this sketch I have just drawn looks nothing like that.

I feel my mouth twist into a scowl, my nose wrinkle. I didn't notice when I was drawing it. Every inch of my body and neuron in my brain was focused on the press of graphite to paper, lines flowing from the tip controlled by my fingers. When I'm drawing- or painting, for that matter- nothing can distract me. I don't care about whether what I'm drawing is "good"- not until I finish the last line and snap back to myself.

I tear out the paper and crumple it into a ball, then get up to pull the plug-in fan closer. It's stinking hot in here because the air conditioning's been broken since I moved in about four years ago. I'm currently in my underwear (and socks, because bare feet make me uncomfortable), and I'm still cloaked in sweat. I close my eyes as I hold the fan up to my sticky neck and let out a sigh.

"I thought it wasn't half-bad."

My eyes snap open- and I freeze. In front of me is a stunningly gorgeous man who makes my fingers itch for my paintbrush. Rich caramel skin with scintillatingly cerulean hair, falling gracefully to an inch above his shoulders. He's wearing a robe the color of fresh blood, baring one bronzed, tattooed shoulder. Another tattoo sprawls brazenly across his right cheekbone. His crimson eyes sparkle as his mouth twitches into a crooked, lazy grin. He would be a perfect model.

And then I notice the batlike wings stretching from his back and the silver-black horns curling up from his head, and I realize his feet aren't touching the ground.

And then I remember that I'm in my underwear.

I slowly put the fan down and rise to my feet. "The sketch?" My voice rasps. "It was crap."

He chuckles.

I feel like I should be shocked or horrified or something. Maybe I should be screaming or trying to get away or throwing things at him. But the situation is just too weird. It's so weird I default to acting normal, like this kind of thing happens to me every day.

He's watching me with those glittering eyes. After I stare at him for a second, he smiles again. "I'm Diaval. Yes, the wings are real." His voice is deep and smooth like melted butter. "I guess you could call me a demon."

"A demon?" I echo. I've never really believed in that kind of thing, but it's hard to deny that something exists when the evidence is literally staring me in the face. I shake my head to myself. "I'm Naomi."

"I know your name, babe."

Babe?

Diaval lands on my cluttered apartment floor and approaches me slowly, that half-smile of his never wavering. He curls a hand around my cheek. His touch is electric; my skin sings in response, blood rushing to my face. "Any guesses why I'm here?" he says in a low voice. Those mesmerizing eyes hold me captive. I can't look away.

I shake my head slightly. My heart won't settle down. It's not like I see guys this attractive every day, demons or no. "I'd guess you're here to make me pay for my sins," I manage.

His eyes widen. "Sins?"

I shrug. "Isn't that what demons are supposed to do?" I still can't peel my eyes away from that gorgeous face of his.

After a second, he smiles again, stroking my cheek with his warm fingertips. I shiver. "You don't need to worry about that," he says softly, his breath tickling my lips. "Relax." Slowly, he moves in closer.

Panic suddenly seizes me. This is too familiar.

My hand flies up and strikes his cheek.

He flinches back. I stare at my palm, dumbstruck. Typically I'm not a violent person, but… it was like I moved without thinking.

"Sorry," I say, lifting my gaze back to his. My eyes flicker to the rapidly reddening mark on his cheek, and I can't help but wince a little. I hit him that hard?

"Feisty," he mutters.

"I've been called worse."

The corner of his mouth quirks up.

"We'll take it from here, Diaval," a voice from behind him cuts in.

My head jerks to the side. Two more men are now in my apartment. One of them is clearly meant to be an angel- provided this whole thing isn't some paint-induced hallucination. Creamy white wings unfold from his back, and he's wearing robes the color of eggshells. His lips are pressed tightly together, his eyes screaming disapproval.

The other guy's wearing an obsidian-black cloak that shadows most of his face, though I think I see a flash of auburn hair. In his hand is a scythe almost as tall as he is, the sharp tip gleaming silver. I can see his mouth, but I can't tell what he's thinking.

Diaval scowls, turning slightly away from me. "Why do you always have to interrupt?"

"If we didn't, it might already be too late," the angel replies. He turns to me and opens his mouth to speak- then abruptly closes it. His face starts to redden. "W-why are you…"

What? I glance down. Oh. That's right. Still in my underwear. I guess it makes sense that an angel would be a prude. "I can put on some clothes," I offer. "If I'd known I'd be having company…"

He looks relieved. "Yes, do that. Please."

Diaval scoffs. "She can stay like this. What's the big deal? It's not her fault it's effing hot in here."

"You just want an excuse to look at her body." The angel's nose wrinkles.

"And you're just too damn much of a prude."

That's the last I hear of their argument before I shut myself in the bathroom to change.

When I come back out, they're still going at it. The guy in the cloak isn't saying anything, just standing there like a statue.

I cough. "I'm back."

That shuts them up. They all turn towards me, even Scythe Guy.

"I suppose we should explain ourselves," the angel says. "My name is Latis. As you might have guessed, I'm an angel."

"An angel," I repeat, nodding. Again, this is too weird for me to act in any way but normal.

Scythe Guy finally opens his mouth. "Ruvel," he says. It takes me a second to realize this must be his name. "I'm a reaper."

Like the Grim Reaper, I guess. "Okay," I say. "So… why are you all here?"

Diaval answers me. "You're gonna die in a month from now." He says it so casually, like he's talking about the weather.

My body stiffens. There's a light buzzing in my ears all of a sudden. I try to speak, but no words make it past my lips.

One month?

"We can't tell you how it's going to happen," Latis continues, just as calmly. "Otherwise you might try to stop it, and if you succeeded… our jobs could be on the line."

"Jobs?" I croak.

This time it's Ruvel who answers. "Taking souls."

I think it's finally getting to me. The idea that I only have one month left to live… only one month to try and accomplish something meaningful on this earth…

"Naomi." Latis's firm voice snaps me back to reality. "You should know that we don't come for everyone who's about to die. Not in person, anyway. There are two kinds of souls that are special cases, two kinds of souls that we need to appear in person to collect. The first kind is souls that are unusually pure."

I worked as a stripper to help pay for art school. I've had sex (just once, but still). On hot days, I like to lie around at home in my underwear with the fan on full blast. "What's the second kind?" I ask.

Diaval looks right at me, and for a moment, despite everything, I can't breathe. The smile he gives me now is surprisingly kind. "Souls with a creative spark," he says softly.

"Artists, writers… even some scientists," Latis continues, his voice also quieter than it was a second ago. "Creativity is as highly valued among souls as purity."

"You're special," Diaval clarifies, still with that oddly gentle smile. "You should feel proud."

Proud? I don't know if I feel anything other than the gnawing dread in my stomach, the pressure of a solid deadline. Only one month…

"We should go," Ruvel says.

Latis looks at the clock radio on my nightstand and frowns. "You're right. We need to leave. That goes for you as well, Diaval."

"Yeah, yeah." Diaval makes a face, his crimson eyes still penetrating into me. "Just give me a minute."

Latis levels a fierce glare upon him. "Don't do anything you shouldn't."

"I know, I know." He rolls his eyes, like he's been given this lecture a million times before.

With that, the angel and the reaper disappear. I blink. They just… vanished somehow. Maybe I am hallucinating.

Diaval hasn't removed his eyes from me for a second. I swallow as he approaches me, slow and soft. "No one's ever hit me when I tried that before," he says quietly. "And before that, I could have sworn you…" His smooth voice trails off. "It surprised me," he finally says.

I can't be bothered to process my feelings towards him right now. All I know is that he makes my heart beat triple time in my chest and my skin tingle… and yet when he was going to kiss me, I panicked. I don't know how much I can trust him. "I said I was sorry." My voice rings hollow.

His eyes widen. "You've got it wrong. I'm not looking for an apology." He finally comes to a stop a foot in front of me. "I just think it's interesting," he says softly, crooked smile tugging at his lips. "You're… interesting."

Suddenly, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. His heat envelopes me, catching my breath. Up close, I see that he has surprisingly long eyelashes.

How long has it been since someone's held me like this?

What a stupid question, when I know exactly how long.

Again, there it is: the panic bubbling up inside of me. My heart is galloping from fear and excitement and wanting- but I don't know what I want. I want him to let me go and leave and never come back, and I want him to kiss me hard and hungry and touch me everywhere-

"Naomi," he whispers, carefully watching my face.

My heart twists in my chest. I turn away, my heartbeat roaring in my ears.

I feel something softly brush against my cheek. My skin prickles. "I'm sorry," he whispers in my ear.

What?

I whip my head towards him. There's something strangely tender in the way he's looking at me, something almost vulnerable exposed in his eyes. His smile looks… softer somehow.

I blink, and the look is gone. Maybe I imagined it.

Before I can pull away, Diaval kisses my other cheek and then steps back with a grin. "I'll be back, babe." And just like that, he's gone.

"God…" My voice cracks in the empty apartment. I fall to my knees. My body starts shaking uncontrollably.

Only a month left…

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