Raya’s eyes were very round. “Like an amnesia victim.”
Justinian pulled the sword from the grate and swung it through the air. “We fulfilled our duties. We fought, wrestling for the souls of mankind.” He replaced the sword in its holder. “But the years weighed heavily upon us. Angels and demons alike withdrew from the battle until only a handful remained.”
Phoenix smirked. “Mostly because none of us knew what the point was anymore. Humans certainly didn’t need help sinning—and once they really got going, they didn’t want an angel telling them to stop. Am I right, Justinian?”
“You are right, demon.”
“In that sense, you were right, Raya, when you called demons a bunch of pleasure-seeking dilettantes. We are.” Phoenix got up and picked up a dusty bottle from the rack. He blew the dust away and examined the label. “I partied myself into oblivion. Others, like my friend Andromalius, played at being human.”
“So did Justine,” said Raya.
Phoenix put the bottle back in the rack. “Exactly.”
“I hid from the world.” Justinian’s face took on a doleful look.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, mate. We did what we had to do to stay sane. Well, sane enough, anyway.”
“If you will help, and Justine, perhaps we can find our purpose again.” Justinian’s hopeful expression reminded Phoenix of a dog wanting to play fetch.
Phoenix had zero interest in finding a purpose, especially if it involved work, but there was a tiny part of him that felt sorry for Justinian. “I’m sure we can. You’ll be basking in glory in no time. By the way, is there a reason you stopped wearing your angelic warrior getup?” Phoenix glanced around the room as if there might be a long wig, a robe, and sandals hidden in a corner.
“It did not suit me anymore. This”—he gestured to his clothing—“is not out of place among thecataphiles—the explorers who visit the caves. I talk to them, sometimes.”
Phoenix patted him on the back. It felt like patting a tree trunk.
He looked at Phoenix with a new gleam in his eye. “Maybe I should change now, if we are going to go searching for the deity.”
Phoenix and Raya exchanged alarmed glances.
Phoenix cleared his throat. “Soon. Very soon. We’ll get right on that, only—” Having boxed himself into a corner, he looked to Raya.
Raya stood. “Only we need to remove a threat to Phoenix—and the rest of the demons—first.”
26
Phoenix gravitated to the bottle rack and held another bottle up to the light. “Madeira,” he murmured. “Hey, Justinian—can I crack one of these open?”
Justinian took the bottle from his hands. “Very old. Very delicate. You would not appreciate the nuances.” He cradled it like a baby.
“I beg your pardon. I have been tasting wines practically since wine was invented. Ask Raya.”
Raya rolled her eyes. “Oh, he drinks a lot, I’m sure.”
Phoenix put his hands on his hips. “That is not what I meant and you know it.”
Justinian carefully set the bottle on the stone table. “On the other hand, it has been a while. I have not shared a drink with anyone in a—”
“Very long time,” Phoenix finished. “Well, then—no time like the present.” He rubbed his hands together. “Got a corkscrew?”
“No.” Justinian looked around as if one might suddenly reveal itself.
“Use the sword,” said Raya.
Justinian blinked. “I suppose … ”
“Brilliant.” Phoenix reached for the flaming weapon, but Justinian blocked him with a powerful arm.
“I will do it.” He drew the sword from the grate, then picked up the bottle, holding it at an angle, and struck the neck. The top went flying and clattered out of sight. He handed Raya the bottle. “Be careful. The opening is sharp.”
