The Grimrose Path (Trickster, #2)(66)
Now that was the thinking of an archangel . . . and a demon.
“Tell us what you would not tell Ishiah.” The sword in his other hand sputtered to flickers of flame and disappeared. “Those who sent him are satisfied to stay in the dark for a while longer, but others of us are not. Tell us and we will go.” His tone turned suspiciously mild. “For now.”
The angels were disagreeing over how to face the Cronus crisis. That was interesting but not surprising. God had withdrawn from them, present but silent, and given them free rein to develop free will at their own pace and make whatever decisions they wished with that will. Some of those decisions had turned out to be not so different from the ones humans or demons themselves would make, and being an angel didn’t mean you automatically agreed with your canary compadres. Heaven’s history was full of strife. That free rein God had given the angels, sooner or later, would end up the rope by which to hang more than a few by.
“Fine. If it’ll get you out of here. I didn’t tell Ishiah because I didn’t want to ruin what could be his last days. You, sugar, I don’t have that problem with at all.” I kept my shotgun pointed at him. He might come over mild as milk and smooth as syrup, but he wasn’t called the Angel of Death for passing out lollipops. He killed; that was his sole purpose, and from his history, he was more than pleased to do it—a very righteous and enthusiastic work ethic. Didn’t that just figure. “Cronus wants Lucifer’s power.”
“Obviously,” said the other angel, not nearly as impressed by the two bullet holes beside his head as he should’ve been. I shot him in the leg to reinforce the point.
“Don’t they teach you manners in Heaven?” I asked, dropping the shotgun and pulling the Smith from its holster. The angel, leg already healing, started to move toward us until Azrael dropped a hand on his shoulder.
“Go,” he ordered. “Now.” The angel didn’t hesitate, vanishing. Some angels were disagreeing with Azrael, but the ones with him didn’t have that kind of guts. “I apologize.” He didn’t bother to try for a hint of sincerity. “Continue.”
It was the best and quickest way to get rid of him . . . besides shooting him, and while Zeke had nailed the one angel, Azrael was far quicker and more clever than his companion had been. “With Lucifer’s and Hell’s power, Cronus will start taking over every world that exists. He’ll have Hell. Then there’s Heaven, Earth, Tartarus, the Elysian Fields, Hades, Tumulus, thousands of worlds, dimensions, and afterlives. They’ll all fall like dominoes. Who knows in what order? You might get lucky and be far down on the list. But as closely as you are related to demons?” I pretended to give it consideration. “I don’t think so.”
“He is pa?en. Why do your gods not stop him?” Azrael demanded, his wings reminding me more and more of a cemetery’s weeping angels, the color their wings would turn when Cronus blotted the sun from the sky and ashes would fall instead of rain.
“Because they are gods, what there are left, and he is a Titan. If you don’t know what that means, go home and ask someone who does. We’re rungs on a ladder, you and me, but Cronus is standing on top of Everest.” I used the barrel of the Smith to point to the glittering heap beside him. “If you don’t know that, you’re no more use to Heaven than your friend was.”
Unhelpful to the end, Zeke added, “There’s some superglue in Leo’s office. You know, if you’ve got the time to put the * back together.”
Either he didn’t or gluing a shattered angel back together wasn’t an option. “I’ll take this news to my brothers.” Azrael’s human form began to fade to an ice sculpture. “Or I’ll find a Titan and tell him where a demon’s wings can be found. Gold as Solomon’s crown, quite easy to see if one knows where to look.” The ice melted away, leaving his last words behind. “I will return and in a much less forgiving mood.”
Angels, fallen or not, did love to get in the last word.
“Eh, Schwarzenegger said it better and in only three words.” I lowered the Smith after he was gone.
“You think he’ll tell Cronus about Griffin?”
Zeke tried not to sound too concerned, but I would bet my new decorative pile of angel shards that he was thinking about breaking out the handcuffs again. “No, Kit. He’s not putting Cronus one wing closer to Hell, and Griffin’s wouldn’t work anyway. He’s not a demon.” Not that Cronus would be able to tell the difference, but the logic was sound. Azrael was a dick, as Oriphiel before him had been, but he wouldn’t endanger Heaven for vengeance. Anything else, yes, but not Heaven.
But on to business. The plan didn’t stop because a heavenly * popped in to make a bad day worse. It only slowed it down slightly.
“All right. Someone grab the DustBuster from my closet and clean up what’s left of Daffy here.” I holstered my gun. It was time to act on what I’d thought earlier. Only a select few could get into Greek Hell now. Hades was dead as were all the Greek gods I knew of except Dionysus, and finding what table he was passed out under would be impossible. The only other free pass into Hell rested with one particular segment of the population—the deceased. “And then let’s find ourselves a medium.”
Chapter 13