Page 81 of Grave Humor

Weed whacker or the devil, weed whacker or the devil. How much did I truly hate my former boss?

Huh. I hated him enough I couldn’t find any disadvantages in allowing the devil to deal with the fool should he at all threaten the snow leopard—or come within reach of her. “I’m a terrible person, aren’t I?” The archangels laughed, and I started the weed whacker. “Bring it on, you winged menaces.”

“So vicious,” Azrael said with laughter in his voice. “Are you sure you’re ready for an eternity with her, Eoghan? I could save you.”

Eoghan picked up a slice of honey rock, raised a brow, and partook of my favorite treat. “I am finding the current situation to be pleasing.”

“Of course. You discovered there was, in actuality, a soul you did not want to slip from your grasp. Frankly, your bellyaching over it was becoming obnoxious. Not even you can circumvent what we are.”

I realized the true reason so many had believed I’d struggle with Eoghan.

He understood he would live forever.

He understood I would not.

“You will now,” Azrael promised. “But yes, that was a factor, and an important one. He will still resist your attempts, but he will do so for the love of the game rather than the fear of what he once believed was an inevitability. His is a gentle soul no matter how he postures. Think of it this way. You are a gift from the universe, one meant for Eoghan as much as you’re meant for humanity and this Earth’s many creatures. You serve a purpose, but you were created as a mercy. The universe is many things, but it loves its children—and Eoghan is one of its beloved children. It didn’t put sufficient thought into being stuck with him permanently, but even the universe has its flaws.”

“Azrael,” Eoghan warned.

“Eoghan,” the archangel mocked. “You are always so annoying about life and its inevitable conclusion. Even I am capable of understanding the desire for companionship. That is my role, after all. I am a companion through death. You are the welcoming arms of death. You are no different from me beyond how you go about your purpose.”

“One day, may you get exactly what you deserve,” Eoghan growled out from between clenched teeth.

“He means a wife and a demon to go with her,” the devil announced. “I can help you with that. I know some excellent incubi who will make even better fathers, and I even have a few defective ones who crave loyalty running around. I’m just not sure how that keeps happening. I should beat it out of them one of these days.”

“Please, no. I have seen this wife.” Azrael pointed at me before pointing at Darlene. “I have seen that wife, too. Why would you wish such a thing upon me?”

The devil laughed. “Because wives are wonderfully fun, even when you wish they didn’t hurt. My wife is a delightful creature, and in reality, I will count her spots for her benefit this evening, however much I will enjoy my manly duties. For all she postures, she enjoys when I count her spots. By nature, she is an affectionate creature, but she had always been taught she could not seek out such affections, as it would require the sacrifice of her pride. She is a work of art, beautiful because of her flaws.”

I realized the woman had passed out on her husband’s lap, and she purred in her sleep. “That poor woman. Is she all right?”

“I do not want to erase what has become an integral part of her, although I wish it would not hurt her so much to remember,” the devil admitted. “There are some things even I cannot do.”

“When young Anwen witnesses death in the flesh, she will be able to close and open that door and make acceptance an easier thing for your kitten,” Azrael promised. “He understood the necessity of what she endured, but it is not His duty to finish healing her soul. You will find your role in the matters of death to be mostly enjoyable, Anwen.”

“I will?”

“Yes, you will. You will see soon enough. Test your weed whacker, and see what holy fire can do.”

Curious over what sort of tool my implement of lawn correction had become, I moved a safe distance from the picnic blanket, revved the motor, and gave it a test swing.

The grass ignited, and a wave of blue fire stretched out in an arch. Back before my parents had turned to drugs and other vices for happiness, the back yard had been a favorite place of mine, with neatly trimmed grass and the scattered trees standing tall, proud, and full of life, with the tallest oak sporting a swing for my enjoyment.

The yard from my memory returned, although the flower beds and gardens would need to be replanted. The holy fire left dark soil in its wake, ready for my attention. The flames engulfed where the house had once stood and stretched into the front yard, halting at the property line and extinguishing at the street.

“That is so cool,” I blurted.

Gabriel chuckled. “I am many things, but I enjoy when I can transform a house into a home, and this yard was more of your home than the house itself, was it not? Holy fire is many things, but it is a tool of creation. My fire linked to your memories and brought many of those memories back to life. It is a form of healing blended with a form of destruction. Some of my brothers and sisters are even better at this art than I. We all have our purpose.”

I killed the motor of the weed whacker and hurried across the perfectly trimmed grass to the giant oak, its swing, and the big, dark rock I had liked using as my launch platform. It took a stick or pole to bring the swing to my rock, but I’d loved the thrill of jumping off.

My mother had thought of it as a death trap. My father had provided the stick and a little rope with a loop so I could pull the swing to me without wasting hours of time struggling with the task.

I’d believed they had loved me then.

While the holy fire had cut the grass and restored the yard to rights, the swing was long gone, and not even scraps of its ropes remained. I climbed onto the rock and sat, giving it a fond pat.

Gabriel followed me. “Did you spend much time here?”