Any other day, I believed the cops would have been thrilled to question me for hours, but I figured the presence of three divines unnerved them. The CDC representatives packed up the flowers and my envelope, hauling them outside in layered plastic bags. After Gabriel’s comment, I wondered how many would be poisoned before it was studied and contained.
No, I already knew the answer: too many. For the sake of my revenge, I didn’t give a shit I’d been poisoned.
Anyone other than me was too many people, and the archangel’s warning implied someone else would be sickened from the toxin. For all I knew, the Devil could be poisoned, although I doubted anything as mundane as mere poison would do anything other than annoy him.
No, I wouldn’t worry much for the Devil. He could take care of himself. Unlike me, I doubted anything could actually hurt him.
“You would be surprised,” Gabriel said, and it unnerved me I could feel the archangel staring at me despite his lack of a head.
“Has anyone ever told you that reading someone’s mind is creepy at absolute best?” I complained.
“Yes. It is amusing how unsettled humans become when they realize their thoughts are no longer private.”
I pointed at the Devil. “Why isn’t he listening in, then? Well, at least it doesn’t seem like he’s listening in.”
“He is not, unless he deems it to be important. Who knows what he deems to be important? My brother enjoys playing games, and your thoughts would bereave him of his enjoyment of the games he plays. He particularly finds satisfaction in the mystery you are, and he does not wish to ruin that. He is monitoring you for evidence of the toxin, but he is only listening whenever you attempt to remember someone’s name.”
“You’re an asshole,” the Devil announced.
Gabriel laughed. “You are annoyed because I speak the truth, and you do not wish her to know the truth for you think you are sly when you are, in actuality, rather pathetic.”
“Gabriel.” While Lucifer’s growl promised violent retribution, he continued to rub my back.
The cops, rather than try to ask me any more questions, fled from my home and closed the door behind them.
“Mortals,” the archangel muttered. “One little complaint out of you, and they flee.”
Michael sighed. “Limit the bickering for later, if you please—and even if you do not please.”
“Is it bad I know I can’t remember that one cop’s name?”
As one, the archangels shrugged.
“Let me rephrase that. Is the toxin progressing faster than you anticipated?”
“It progresses as anticipated,” Michael replied. “Within a few hours, you will remember only those who have had close ties to you. Your brother’s name will be the one you cling to the longest, but within the next eight hours, even his name shall be gone from your memories. Once that occurs, you will begin experiencing significant discomfort, and your general awareness of your surroundings will diminish.”
“Which is when I’d be most pliable so this Gallo asshole can take advantage of me.”
“Correct.”
The Devil growled.
“Lucifer, please try to contain yourself at least a little.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of my life. “That’s rich. An archangel is asking the Devil for a miracle.”
“It happens from time to time.” According to Michael’s tone, the Devil performing miracles annoyed the hell out of him. I couldn’t blame him for that, although I found the dichotomy of their relationship intriguing.
The Devil liked his brothers, and they seemed to like him, too.
Someone had lied to me as a child. What had happened to the eternal struggle between good and evil? Why were representatives of both sides of their conflict in my living room acting like long-lost friends? I couldn’t ask how the hell I’d gotten dragged into it; I’d thought it’d been a good idea to participate in a hostile takeover of the Devil and everything he owned. The fault went to me on that one.
I appreciated the perks of having lost my mind, though.
“Essentially, what you’re saying is that I have no longer than eight hours to complete my revenge before I’ll forget the details on why I’m seeking revenge in the first place. Is that correct, Michael?”
“Not precisely. You will still have your memories, but your ability to access them will be severely hampered. You will be aware of some elements of your situation, including your determination to indulge in revenge. Your brother’s name will be no longer accessible, but you will remember you have a brother and you care for him deeply enough you would storm the gates of my brother’s many hells for his sake.”
“Yeah, about that. It was a lot easier than I thought it would be. What’s the deal with that?”
“My brother is a glutton for punishment, he has an enjoyment of soft things, and he loves beautiful things. That you are beautiful and soft pleases him greatly, especially as you make him work to get his hands on your soft beauty. Doling out rewards in spot-sized pieces was quite wise of you. I recommend you use this as a primary weapon in your arsenal against him.”
“Don’t give her such a terrible idea,” the Devil complained.
“I am not giving her a terrible idea. I am giving her a wise idea, one she should use ruthlessly, for you are a ruthless menace upon this Earth.”
I giggled. “No apocalypses in my living room. Gabriel, tell them they’re not allowed to start any apocalypses in my living room, please.”
Gabriel sighed. “If you wish to start any apocalypses, please do so outside. We are guests.”
“Could you wait to start any apocalypses until after I’ve died and gone to hell, please?”
Both archangels snorted.
Damn. I’d met my fair share of assholes over the year, but the archangels took the cake. “If I swipe my hand over your shoulders, will I hit your neck?”
Once again, both archangels snorted. The Devil halted his massaging duties, rose, and waved his hand where his brothers’ heads should have been. “Pretty cool parlor trick, isn’t it?”
“It is disconcerting and strange,” I replied.
“To look upon the face of an angel is to look upon the face of God, and no mortal may see His face and live to tell the tale. It is not a sight for mortal eyes, although divine blood can make such a vision survivable.” The Devil strode into my kitchen and returned a few minutes later with one of my mother’s clear glass vases. “You’ll find this useful, along with the other six or so of these things you have in your cabinet.”
I resented the loss of my massage, but rather than voice my opinion over its conclusion, I got up, stretched, took the vase out of the Devil’s hands and set it next to my brother’s cage. “Those things are vases. Mom liked fresh flowers. Why will my mother’s vases be useful?”
“You’re going fishing.”
Great. The Devil had lost his mind. “I don’t fish.”
According to the Devil’s expression, I had struck him with a cruel, low blow. “You don’t fish?”
I pointed at my rodent brother, who beat on the glass of his cage, probably trying to prevent me from doing something he wouldn’t like. “When I want fish, I make him get it for me. He’s lazy and goes to the grocery store. Most times, he gets a can of tuna and tells me to cope.” When I ran as a snow leopard, I hunted for fish as often as possible, but I never called it fishing. “Do I look like I fish to you?”