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“Peasant.”
Quill gave me an odd sort of smile, which I returned. He didn’t break eye contact, not even when his own eyes went orange as he uttered his favorite spell.
“Ignis.”
My hands flew up to shield my eyes when his body burst into flames, consumed from the ground up as he disappeared into nothing, this fancy helleportation of his.
Another arm draped over my shoulders – man, people just had no concept of personal space – this one heavy, hard, and freezing cold.
“Aww,” Sterling cooed. “Look at you, making friends.”
“Shut up, old man. You didn’t even make it to the fight.”
He flinched, nudging me in the chest. “Hey, pipsqueak. Me and the others were down there in the city, hacking at those stupid bloody flowers. Do you know how hard it is pruning with an electric katana? Of course you wouldn’t, because you were up here playing grabass with demon princes instead.”
I glowered at him. “Hey, I just risked my life tonight, several times. It’s not like I was – ”
Sterling pulled me in for another one-armed hug and ruffled my hair. “I’m joking, kid. You did good. You saved everybody’s butts.”
I tried not to look so pleased with myself, despite my chest puffing out a tiny bit. “Well, you know. Lucifer helped a little.”
“Yeah, about that. Making friends in low places, too. Better be careful.”
“I know,” I grumbled. “Listen, it’s not like I knew it was his sword that I, you know, borrowed. I thought the Vestments only let me take stuff from upstairs.”
He shrugged. “Hey, the guy used to be an angel, right? Maybe that counts. Mean old fallen angel. The meanest of them all.”
“Nephew,” I said, a late echo of what Lucifer had said. “He called me nephew. You knew my father, didn’t you, Sterling?”
“Samyaza? Yeah, for a hot minute. Didn’t trust him when I met him. But we fought alongside each other, and as far as angels go, he was pretty swell. He’d be proud of you, kid.”
It was so damn cold on that rooftop, as chilly as it could get dozens of stories up on a California night, but Sterling’s words warmed me from the inside. I smiled, at a loss for absolutely anything to say, my thoughts still lingering on what Lucifer had said about my mother.
Sterling ruffled my hair again, then squeezed my shoulder. “Enough nostalgia for one night. I heard someone’s walking around with a thermos full of hot cocoa. I’m in the mood for something sweet. Let’s go mug the bastard.”
31
Little drops of rain pitter-pattered across the street outside my favorite coffee shop, making oddly relaxing drumming noises against the awning just above the glass windows. I was sitting inside where it was nice and toasty, nursing a rich, aromatic cup of mocha, bundled up in a jacket, with no wings in sight. No flying sickness this time, either. Maybe I was getting better at this whole nephilim gig.
I made good on my promise to hang out with Raziel, and not just in situations where I clearly only needed his help. The angel of mysteries was full of miseries, at least when it came to our friendship. It was interesting, seeing how genuinely invested he was in meeting up outside of something that was strictly student and mentor. I admit, I definitely considered Raz a friend. It felt like he needed to be reminded of that.
Of course, I had to hope he could find me, first. The bracer made sure that he couldn’t just track me down anymore. Besides, extra instructions never hurt when Raziel was involved. He was like a befuddled uncle, one with expensive taste in clothing. Setting up coffee with Raziel was no easy task, let me tell you. First, I had to extend the invitation, which meant spilling some of my own blood and summoning him. Then there was the long, laborious task of explaining how to find the café in the first place.
“Why is it called Human Beans? That’s just silly. Why can’t they just call it, say, Coffee Shop?”
I slapped my forehead. After explaining the concept of business names, drawing him out a map, then reminding him at least three times that we were supposed to meet at four sharp, Raziel disappeared into a pillar of light that shot into the sky, looking confused, annoyed, and excited, all at once. I’d offered to just meet him in Paradise so we could walk to the café together, but he staunchly refused. It was the principle of it, he said. He wanted to learn.
And so there I was, taking happy little sips of my café mocha while the heavens peed in dribbles all over the world outside, waiting for my mentor, friend, and occasional pain in the ass to show up. And show up he did, looking like a drowned, harassed rat, his hair clinging in wet clumps to his forehead, his clothes in ruins. The glass door clattered shut as he stalked into Human Beans, the scowl on his face holding me personally responsible for his condition. My fingernails dug into the top of our table as I fought to keep a straight face, my insides quietly bubbling up with laughter.
“They’re called umbrellas,” I said, dabbing at Raziel’s forehead with some paper towels. “I’m sure you’ve heard of them.”
He spread his hands out to his sides, indicating what he was wearing: matching body-hugging black slacks and a sweater that hugged him even closer because he’d gone gallivanting in the rain.
“An umbrella would ruin my outfit, Mason,” he hissed.
“Actually, I’d argue that the rain ruined your outfit.”
He turned beetroot red, and I couldn’t help laughing at him then, half expecting steam to come out of his ears. I told him to clean up in the restroom and fetched him a caramel macchiato while he went to dry himself off. We all know that he didn’t bother, of course, and he was just in there materializing a new, drier copy of what he was already wearing. By the time I got back to our table with his coffee, he was already done primping, his hair somehow voluminous and styled. I thought I heard a blow dryer go off somewhere.
