It appeared humanity didn’t just indulge in fornication; they reveled in it. Enjoyed sex. Watching it on screen left her feeling…odd. Tingly. Ashamed. It also had her thinking of Julio and feeling even more tingly.
What did it mean? She didn’t dare ask even as Bambi seemed determined to teach.
Bambi said she couldn’t learn everything by staying inside watching television. She made Helen wear pants—shocking!—and brought her into the world to explore. She introduced Helen to a chip truck, a vendor on the street who, for the tap of card, would provide flavorful sustenance. A bacon poutine, Bambi called it.
One bite and Helen inhaled the rest. She’d never imagined food could taste so incredible. And she didn’t see the sin in it. No one got hurt. On the contrary, everyone was pleased by the transaction.
Poutine was only the start of the flavors she tested. In a cold box, called a fridge, there were jars and containers of food with tastes so varied she couldn’t stop trying them and ended up on the floor, stomach distended, groaning. Her gluttony was punished by her hugging something cold and hard. Bambi blasphemed and called it the porcelain god.
Whatever it was, she donated copious amounts of puke to it. But worse was what came out of her bottom.
It turned out on Earth it wasn’t just the animals who defecated.
As she lay groaning in bed, vowing to never eat again, she wished she’d never left heaven.
By the time she woke the next morning, she felt better, especially once she looked outside. No blue skies today. Water fell instead.
Rain.
Helen stood on the balcony, head tilted back, feeling it hit her skin in cold droplets. A day without sunshine, how refreshing. It made her curious about snow and storms and so much more.
“Are you done getting wet?” Bambi had hollered from inside. “Because I’ve got to leave, but before I do, I want to show you how to use the internet.”
She taught Helen the basics of a mighty machine called the internet. It was so easy to get information. All Helen had to do was say, “Okay bitch-tits, find me—” fill in the blank. A little black box by the television would then reply and show the result on the screen. The thing called internet acted like a giant repository of information, smart enough to pull up anything Helen asked—which turned out to be a copious amount about angels.
It placed images of angels with big fluffy wings, robes, and haloes on the television for her to ogle.
“How is this possible?” she muttered. Humans weren’t supposed to see angels. Only others of her kind should be able to see her wings, although it seemed those from Hell could see them, too.
Yet the pictures revealed humanity knew about angels, proved they interacted. More research showed there were enough stories to muddle any truth.
She discovered books about forbidden romances between angels and humans. Angels and demons. Movies featuring angels. Television shows.
How to separate truth from lie?
Currently, she relied on the devil’s daughter to feed her information. However, Helen had more questions and wondered if the answers would change if she talked to someone else. Hence why she ended up making her way to the offices of Grim Dating to speak with the reaper who’d been on her mind since the moment they met. A man who said he could show her proof that Heaven was a lie.
Julio snapped his fingers. “Curls, I asked you a question. Do you want me to show you where babies come from or not?”
She did and didn’t, which was why she admitted, “Is it odd that I do and don’t?”
“I’d say that’s a normal reaction to having your perception of the world turned upside down. Would it help if I said I’ll be beside you the whole time?”
Actually, it did help. “What kind of proof do you have?”
“Come with me to find out.” He rose and reminded her of his height. As he moved, she caught glimpses of his cloak, a living black fog that undulated at his back.
Exiting the building that she’d travelled to via something called a taxi, he insisted on driving. It meant being in close proximity with him in his truck, the kind that had a box in the back to carry things. The enclosed cab meant his scent was everywhere, as was his cloak, swirling and teasing around her.
She slapped at it. “Would you stop that?”
“Sorry. It likes you.”
The inanity of the comment had her snorting. “A cloak doesn’t feel.”
“A reaper one does. It’s a part of me and reacts to my environment and my emotions. I imagine your wings are the same.”
Her nose wrinkled. “My wings are not satanic magic.”
“Never said they were. I referenced the fact they’re a part of you and yet, at the same time, can act independently if needed.”
As if speaking woke them, she felt her wings shivering, invisible to humans on this plane. Like his cloak.
She cocked her head. “Can you manifest your garment for humans?”
“Yes, but I rarely bother.”
“How is it that I can see it?”
He shrugged. “No idea, but I guess it has to do with the fact I can spot an angel even if their wings are tucked away.”
“Have you met many angels?”
“A few. Goading Michael is one of my favorite things.”
“The Michael?”
“If you mean the douchebag with blond hair and seriously annoying attitude, then yes.”
At his lack of deference, she coughed. “He’s one of the highest placed angels in Heaven.” Everyone knew his name, and his rages. Michael came through the nursery once, ranting about the empty cribs, wanting to know why there weren’t more babies. The Archnanny had followed at his heels and muttered something about contraception, which made no sense at the time.
But now… Her mind shied away from it. Not ready. She focused on Julio instead.
“Michael is a pompous ass, and it gives me immense pleasure to get him spitting mad,” he said.
“And he hasn’t punished you?” Michael was their greatest enforcer.
“I keep hoping he’ll try.” Julio winked at her.
“Shouldn’t you be watching where you’re driving?” She’d seen accidents on television. They didn’t appear enjoyable.
“You’re not dying in the next five minutes.”
“How would you know?” she sassed.
“Reaper, remember? Imminent death always smells.”
“Like what?”
“Depends on the person, but for me it’s usually baking bread. Yeasty and yet delicious.”
“Death smells good to you?” The idea seemed strange.
“Yup.”
He turned onto a street and she asked, “Where are we going?”
“You asked for proof, and lucky for you, I happened upon the perfect thing. I’m going to introduce you to someone.”
“Who?”
“You’ll see in a minute.” He parked his truck, and a moment later, they stood in front of a door painted a deep red.
At his brisk knock, a beautiful woman answered. Her hair was even curlier than Helen’s. As she gazed at Helen, her face went through a series of expressions before settling on incredulous. “Okay, did someone put pot in the brownies again, or are you wearing a halo?”
“What? No.” Helen put a hand to her head as she felt for it. If visible, it would be solid. Her fingers met nothing but air, meaning the woman in front of her must be like Julio, some kind of Hell minion who could see it, and yet she appeared quite human. Could there be others capable of seeing her true nature?