Page 11 of A Chip on Her Shoulder

“What are they going to do to a chipmunk? He’s already caged. It’s like a rodent prison.”

“This is a sad truth. I will remind them of this and appeal to their better natures. It does not mean he may not need to pay for his crimes, but he may not need to pay for them quite yet.”

“I can work with that. Just tell them I’m rescuing a baby or something.”

“I will do this for you. Please sit still for a moment. This may sting. I would also be wary of thinking too much about fire for a while, else you may find yourself using magic you do not wish to. Use this fire with a purpose. Accidental incinerations would be distressing for you.”

“You’re trusting me with fire?”

“You certainly can’t wander into my brother’s many hells without protections. I will likewise safeguard your brother, although he will find he will not be able to summon any actual flames like you will be able to.”

“But a fire-breathing chipmunk would be so cool, Michael.”

“No.”

Oh, well. “Sorry, Jonas. I tried.”

My brother squeaked in his travel-sized prison and sulked in the bedding I’d given him.

Michael chuckled. “I will do my best to be gentle with you, but this sort of magic tends to be hard on humans. It will hurt, and you will be stunned for a few minutes. You will come to no lasting harm, however. That much I can promise.”

“Do your worst,” I invited.

He did.

Over the years, I’d gotten into my fair share of fights, and while having my clock cleaned hurt, not a single one of the punches I’d intercepted with my face came close to comparing. I burned from within, and by the time the pain settled to something closer to tolerable, I’d sprouted tails, ears, and a full coat of fur. I hissed at him, flexing my hands. My claws had grown in, too, a sign my body had gone into full defensive mode.

“I would apologize, except I had tried to warn you.”

“So you had.”

“I helped your clothes better fit your current form. I recommend you pick the child up as you are. It will comfort her.”

“It will?”

“She loves cats.”

“But she’s just a baby.”

Something about Michael’s body language made me believe the archangel smiled. “Cats are special to Egyptians. It will make her happy.”

Well, if something so little would make the baby happy, I’d play along. “That leaves my last problem. How, precisely, does one storm the gates of hell?”

“Your first thought is to storm the gates of hell?”

“Well, yes. How else would I gain audience with the Devil?”

“I have not been this entertained yet in this emergence. There are many ways to gain an audience with my brother, but I doubt any of them would be quite as interesting as you choosing to storm the gates of hell. Should your efforts to gain entrance to his many hells fail to go to plan, I will give you his phone number.”

“Excuse me, but did you just say the Devil has a phone number?”

“Yes.”

“They have phone service in hell?”

“He enjoys electricity, too. He is the Devil, Darlene. He is also quite spoiled and requires his luxuries. You will find his domain comfortable—assuming you win an invitation into his actual domain rather than a lengthy visit to his dungeons.”

“I’m receiving mixed signals about him, Michael.”