Page 80 of Grave Humor

Darlene scowled, and she hid her face against her husband’s chest. “I’m not a coward.”

“No, you were mortal. Most mortals are immediately slain for beholding the heavens,” the archangel replied.

Even Michael and Gabriel, who remained silent spectators, fidgeted.

“And since I’m not precisely mortal, I can see you as you are,” I guessed.

“Precisely,” Gabriel said, and he sat nearby, reaching over to pick up one of the uncut honey rocks. “This is a divine soul—or a soul that is more than mortal. The outer rind is what protects those of us with it from the reality of an angel’s existence. Or His existence. Comparatively, humans lack the protective rind. They are beautiful but fragile. Divines are less beautiful, but we have the strength and defenses they lack.”

“You consider yourself to be less beautiful than humans?”

“Humans are every possibility. That is a thing of beauty. We angels are set in our ways, and change is rare for us. Yes, I consider us to be less beautiful than humans. But they are also frustrating beings, and there are times I do not at all mind they reap what they sow.”

“Angels are assholes,” Darlene muttered.

The devil kissed the top of his wife’s head. “That we are, my darling. Would you like to use the weed whacker on that foolish mortal? I know how you enjoy some wholesome carnage.”

She shook her head. “Anwen should come into her own, but make sure your fire hurts extra. The jerk deserves it. I like existing.”

“So do we all. I shall make sure her weed whacker becomes a suitable tool of justice.”

“That sounds so wrong coming from you,” Michael complained.

I laughed.

Eighteen

This really isn’t an efficient weapon.

I’d seen enough trauma pass through the funeral home to recognize Darlene lived in the past, present in body only. The devil served as a quiet anchor, listening to his brothers discuss their options while waiting for the final player of our twisted game to arrive. Instead of guilt over planning to kill someone, I prepared the weed whacker, removing the protective shield designed to prevent people from turning it into a lethal weapon.

A gun would have done the job better and more humanely, but I didn’t own a gun and had no idea where to get one. Well, I had a good idea where to get one, but I’d have to go rob my neighbor’s house. He wouldn’t miss a few of his guns. Hell, he might not even notice I’d taken one—or ten—of them.

“This really isn’t an efficient weapon,” I confessed. “A gun would do a better job. And a quicker job. It would probably do a cleaner job, too.”

Gabriel joined me, and he touched the weed whacker. The cord burst into blue and white flames. “You will find this contribution to be helpful. His death is both necessary and symbolic. It must be at your hand, too. At your hand means triggered by an action you take. In this case, be it choosing to stand where he will reach his ultimate end, by taking this weapon you’re fashioning and slicing his throat with it or shooting him. For the record, letting the devil do your work would be the most merciful way to kill him, although you will find this weed whacker more efficient than you thought possible. Anything else will prolong that human’s suffering, which you would not enjoy.”

“Why must his death be at my hands?”

“You cannot grow into your true self without witnessing a death you ultimately hold responsibility for. Only then will you reach your full potential. It must be a deliberate death, one of your choosing. Essentially, a murder, although this is a deserved one. You will understand soon enough. And Eoghan?”

Eoghan scowled. “What?”

“Do try to control your impulse to protect her from what she is, even should his soul scream—or he startle her into screaming.”

“I hate the screaming,” he muttered.

I frowned, considered what I knew about Eoghan and his secrets, and asked, “The souls scream upon death, don’t they? And you can hear them. It’s not the literal screaming that bothers you.”

Eoghan sighed, and Gabriel patted my shoulder. “He strongly dislikes when you scream, although he doesn’t dislike your screams for the same reason he dislikes most screaming. He is concerned you will suffer. He fails to remember you are an entirely unique entity, embodying everything Azrael and he do not.”

“I don’t understand,” I admitted.

“You will soon enough. Try your weed whacker out on your yard to amuse yourself—and to understand the power you currently wield.” Gabriel turned to Eoghan. “None of your overprotective whining.”

“Why do you think I’m going to whine?”

“You are male and you are invested, but most importantly, you are male. I present my brother as a prime example of what it means to be annoyingly male. However, if you wish to see the devil in all his glory, you would merely have your lady stand somewhere over there.” Gabriel pointed behind the devil. “This Director Hammel would step within his reach and find himself directly escorted to my brother’s many hells. It would also fulfill the condition she holds responsibility for his death. She would merely choose her weapon wisely.”