“Sure. Shall we have the demonstration on the desk or in a bed?”
Her lips pursed. “I was not asking for fornication.”
“Um, a little confused, because how do you think babies are made?”
“Sex might make human babies, but angels are different.”
“Says who?”
“Me.”
“And who else?”
“Everyone in Heaven.”
“It’s a lie.”
“Really? Then explain why there are no pregnant angels in Heaven.” She had a ready argument.
He almost felt bad for her, knowing what he did. “That’s because Elyon’s got the females on birth control.”
“He does not! You’re as bad as Bambi,” she exclaimed.
“You’ve spoken with Bambi?”
“She spent the last few days teaching me about your world and trying to convince me that Heaven is a lie.”
And not succeeding, apparently, since Curls was standing in front of him with her cheeks pink.
“Hate to break it to you, but Heaven is all kinds of false.” He took his feet off the desk and leaned forward. “Do you know why there are no pregnant angels in Heaven? It’s because Elyon rendered the females sterile.”
“Our Father, who—" Helen halted and snapped, “He wouldn’t do that. Our babies are created by our Father, who is the creator in Heaven, and delivered by storks not…between the…from the…” She turned red as she gestured and stammered.
“Is this your way of saying you don’t think angel babies are shoved out vaginas?”
Her cheeks were so hot he might have been able to fry bacon on them. “I’m not that naïve. A baby would never fit out of there.”
“I’ll admit, it’s shocking, but true. Let me know if you’d like to see a live birth. I’m sure we can find someone who won’t mind an audience.” Helen appeared speechless, and he grinned. “Keep your mouth open like that and—” He almost said something dirty about having the perfect thing for it but amended it to, “you’ll catch flies.”
It snapped shut before she muttered, “You are so annoying. I should have stuck with Bambi as a teacher.”
“Please do. I’m sure it won’t be long before she’s teaching you how to wear fewer clothes. Maybe show off your tits. Teach you how to smile.” He added a leer to his suggestions, knowing they were misogynistic as fuck, but her huffing and puffing embarrassment amused. Not to mention, she should learn to handle dirty talk with someone safe before she met a prick who knocked her off balance.
Chin tilted, she sassed, “I will not be removing my clothes. Nudity leads to sin.”
“Yes, it does.” He winked. “Babies, too.”
“According to the devil’s helpers.”
“Really? Let me ask you, where do you think baby angels come from? Because the stork obviously gets them from somewhere.”
Her shoulders rolled. “I don’t know. Perhaps they are born of a seed in the bole of a magical tree.”
He snorted. “Now you’re pushing it and being overly stubborn. Angels are born the same way as humans.”
“And how is that possible? After all, didn’t you say angels are sterile?” She threw back his claim, not knowing all the facts.
“Females are, but male angels aren’t. Heaven relies on cross breeding, Curls. Apparently, angels and humans are compatible when it comes to making babies. Says so right here in my book.”
He reached into the desk and pulled out a massive tome that showed its age with the worn leather, previously worn by an animal that probably never walked the Earth. The office used it to ensure proper compatibility when setting up the visiting demons with possible baby mamas and dadas.
“What is that?” she asked, nearing in fascination.
“The Hellacious Book of Demonic Beasts.”
She recoiled.
“Ignore the grand title. It’s an encyclopedia of beings. It’s got entries on every single living creature, including angels.”
“Someone wrote about us?” She couldn’t hide her curious note.
“Curls, there are hundreds, thousands of stories about angels, most of them garbage, I should add. But this…this is what we call non-fiction. Researched and peer reviewed.” He slapped his hand on the cover, repeating the words he’d memorized when he’d visited Chad in archives, looking for information on angels.
He flipped open the book, which wasn’t exactly alphabetical, given it was constantly being added to. At least this version had a magical auto update and an index.
“Angels. Page three thousand and forty-three.” He opened the book wide at random and, as per the magic, landed on the right page. He scrolled to the correct section and zoomed it. “Shall I read it?”
“No. I can do that myself.”
It wasn’t a very long passage. It stated male angels could procreate, and with humans only. Acceptable progeny would be delivered to Heaven. Those lacking wings remained on Earth. Along with the info, there was also a warning. Absolutely no fornication with any denizens of Hell. Punishable by death. Permanent death, as in don’t stop at Hell or linger in Limbo. Right into the pit of perdition for recycling.
Harsh.
She recoiled. “That can’t be true.”
“It’s right there in print.”
She flattened her lips. “And I’m saying it’s impossible. What your book claims would require thousands of angels and our Father, who art silent in Heaven, being complicit.”
“Yup. It’s a massive conspiracy. But you can change that.”
“Me?”
“What if you were to bring the truth to Heaven?”
She bit her lip. “Who would listen? I am still struggling to believe.”
“How about if I could show you proof?”
“What kind of proof?” she asked.
The kind that would start the revolution the devil hoped for.
12
Julio offered to show her proof that angels consorted with humans to make babies. Surely it was a lie. A mistake.
Although she no longer doubted that some angels sinned and fornicated. She’d seen Michelina disobeying and had been on Earth long enough to realize sex was a popular thing to do.
But his claim about cherubs being made the same way as animals?
Devastating if true because it would mean yet another lie in a chain of them. Such as the one claiming Earth was a dirty, sinful place and Heaven the good. For all that she’d had to learn and overcome culture wise, the last few days had been the most interesting of her life.
The sights. The sounds. The people.
She’d met more than a few because Bambi insisted on dragging her around when she showed up at random times during the day. She’d ordered Helen to stop watching television—the most annoying demand coming right in the middle of a show called The Witcher where a fellow with white hair showed off his impressive sword skills. Helen couldn’t have said why she found it riveting, yet there was something about the strong and dexterous man that drew her eye.
She’d looked away when the violence and carnal stuff happened on the screen. At least she did the first day. By the second, she had learned to use the ten-seconds back button, rewinding the things that fascinated or demanded more study.