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"Guano," Trsiel said in response to my gagging. When I gave him a "huh?" look, he translated. "Bat shit."
"There's a special name for it? Can't imagine why that never entered my vocabulary before. What's guano doing in--"
I stopped as my brain made an abrupt logical click. Where there's bat shit, there must be...I looked up, way up, and saw rows of little bodies suspended from the ceiling. I shuddered and wrapped my arms around my chest.
Trsiel smiled. "You'll wrest a burning sword from an angel, but you're afraid of bats?"
"I'm not afraid of them. I just don't like them. They're...furry. Flying things shouldn't be furry. It's not right. And if I ever meet the Creator, I'm taking that one up with him."
Trsiel laughed. "That I'd like to see. Your one and possibly only chance to get the answer to every question in the universe, and you'll ask, 'Why are bats furry?'"
"I will. You just wait."
As Trsiel prodded me forward, I tried hard not to glance up. Judging by the damp chill and the flying rodents, we were either in a cave or a really lousy basement. The stacks of moldering boxes suggested option two.
"I thought we were going to the jail," I said.
"We are."
I scanned the room. "I think your teleport skills need a tune-up, Trsiel."
"Close enough."
He led me through a door and into a cleaner part of the basement. As we walked, he made good on his promise to explain about Shekinah and Balthial.
Earlier, Trsiel had mentioned a structural reorganization in the angels' ranks, whereby only ascended angels went out into the world on missions. The full-bloods did other tasks, higher tasks. Most of the full-bloods were more than happy to leave the daily grind as "divine instruments of justice" to the ascendeds. A few, though, like Trsiel, chafed at this new world order like career beat cops assigned to desk duty. Can't say I blamed him. Give me the down-and-dirty life of a warrior over a sanitized office job any day.
That, Trsiel explained, was part of his "philosophical difference" with Shekinah and Balthial. They were glad to be out of the trenches, away from the taint of humanity, while Trsiel embraced that "taint," and all that went with it.
"It's not that I want to be human," he said as he led me through the basement. "It's just that I don't see anything inherently wrong with being human. Wait--oh, this way." He swerved around a corner. "It comes down to one question. Who do angels serve? We serve the Creator, the Fates, and the other divine powers. That's a given. But do we also serve humanity? I think we do."
"And they disagree?"
"Vehemently." He paused at the bottom of a rotted set of unused stairs, then took my elbow and guided me up them. "So that's part of the problem. The other part, not unrelated, is that I'm younger than they are."
"So you weren't all created together?"
"For full-bloods, there were three waves. As the human race grew and expanded, the Creator saw the need for more angels. I'm from the third wave, the last one. Since then, the ranks have been increased by recruited ghosts. The ascended angels."
"So how old are you?"
"Only about a thousand years."
I sputtered a laugh. "A mere tot."
He tossed me a smile. "Well, according to the old ones, that's exactly what I am. A child--a willful, uncouth, inexperienced child--one who definitely shouldn't have been assigned this job."
"Seems to me you're doing just fine."
Another smile, broader. "Thanks."
We found Amanda Sullivan sleeping fitfully in her cell, jerking and moaning with dreams...or visions of the Nix. I hoped they gave her nightmares, horrible nightmares, the kind that disturb sleep for months and scar the psyche forever.
Again, Trsiel offered to scan Sullivan's brain for me. I refused.
Since he'd been here only minutes before, he knew exactly where to look for the visions, and zipped me over to that part of her sleeping brain without so much as a glimpse at the putrid wasteland elsewhere.
