Page 48 of A Chip on Her Shoulder

“Correct.”

The Devil growled.

“Lucifer, please try to contain yourself at least a little.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of my life. “That’s rich. An archangel is asking the Devil for a miracle.”

“It happens from time to time.” According to Michael’s tone, the Devil performing miracles annoyed the hell out of him. I couldn’t blame him for that, although I found the dichotomy of their relationship intriguing.

The Devil liked his brothers, and they seemed to like him, too.

Someone had lied to me as a child. What had happened to the eternal struggle between good and evil? Why were representatives of both sides of their conflict in my living room acting like long-lost friends? I couldn’t ask how the hell I’d gotten dragged into it; I’d thought it’d been a good idea to participate in a hostile takeover of the Devil and everything he owned. The fault went to me on that one.

I appreciated the perks of having lost my mind, though.

“Essentially, what you’re saying is that I have no longer than eight hours to complete my revenge before I’ll forget the details on why I’m seeking revenge in the first place. Is that correct, Michael?”

“Not precisely. You will still have your memories, but your ability to access them will be severely hampered. You will be aware of some elements of your situation, including your determination to indulge in revenge. Your brother’s name will be no longer accessible, but you will remember you have a brother and you care for him deeply enough you would storm the gates of my brother’s many hells for his sake.”

“Yeah, about that. It was a lot easier than I thought it would be. What’s the deal with that?”

“My brother is a glutton for punishment, he has an enjoyment of soft things, and he loves beautiful things. That you are beautiful and soft pleases him greatly, especially as you make him work to get his hands on your soft beauty. Doling out rewards in spot-sized pieces was quite wise of you. I recommend you use this as a primary weapon in your arsenal against him.”

“Don’t give her such a terrible idea,” the Devil complained.

“I am not giving her a terrible idea. I am giving her a wise idea, one she should use ruthlessly, for you are a ruthless menace upon this Earth.”

I giggled. “No apocalypses in my living room. Gabriel, tell them they’re not allowed to start any apocalypses in my living room, please.”

Gabriel sighed. “If you wish to start any apocalypses, please do so outside. We are guests.”

“Could you wait to start any apocalypses until after I’ve died and gone to hell, please?”

Both archangels snorted.

Damn. I’d met my fair share of assholes over the year, but the archangels took the cake. “If I swipe my hand over your shoulders, will I hit your neck?”

Once again, both archangels snorted. The Devil halted his massaging duties, rose, and waved his hand where his brothers’ heads should have been. “Pretty cool parlor trick, isn’t it?”

“It is disconcerting and strange,” I replied.

“To look upon the face of an angel is to look upon the face of God, and no mortal may see His face and live to tell the tale. It is not a sight for mortal eyes, although divine blood can make such a vision survivable.” The Devil strode into my kitchen and returned a few minutes later with one of my mother’s clear glass vases. “You’ll find this useful, along with the other six or so of these things you have in your cabinet.”

I resented the loss of my massage, but rather than voice my opinion over its conclusion, I got up, stretched, took the vase out of the Devil’s hands and set it next to my brother’s cage. “Those things are vases. Mom liked fresh flowers. Why will my mother’s vases be useful?”

“You’re going fishing.”

Great. The Devil had lost his mind. “I don’t fish.”

According to the Devil’s expression, I had struck him with a cruel, low blow. “You don’t fish?”

I pointed at my rodent brother, who beat on the glass of his cage, probably trying to prevent me from doing something he wouldn’t like. “When I want fish, I make him get it for me. He’s lazy and goes to the grocery store. Most times, he gets a can of tuna and tells me to cope.” When I ran as a snow leopard, I hunted for fish as often as possible, but I never called it fishing. “Do I look like I fish to you?”

“You’re a cat. Cats like fish.”

“Yes, I do like fish. I like fish when someone provides fish for me. Why would I fish when I can have someone else fish for me? I prefer my hunts to be where the water is frozen and unsuitable for fishing.”

“Ice fishing is a thing.”