Eleventh Grave in Moonlight (Charley Davidson #11)(69)

“Probably no more than you, but yes.”

“Me?” I asked, appalled. “What did I do?”

He deadpanned me. I didn’t even know angels could do that. “Did you or did you not threaten to unseat the Father?”

Wow, did my fingernails need a good filing. I turned them this way and that when I answered. “Pfft, dude, I make threats all the time. Like I’d know how to unseat … wait.” I stood, astonished, and stepped closer. “Are you telling me that’s possible?”

He didn’t answer. I couldn’t blame him. Who would want something like that getting out?

“So,” I said, changing the subject lickety-split, “we’ve been holding back time for quite a while now.”

“Time is of no consequence.”

“Tell that to someone in a car accident, bleeding to death.”

Michael started to touch me, but Reyes was there in a heartbeat, sword drawn, the tip piercing the angel’s throat.

Uncle Bob stumbled back, still freaking a bit.

Michael held up his hands. “I was just going to show her.” With the sword still at his throat, he turned a hand over and offered it to me.

I reached out and brushed my fingertips along his upturned palm, and the images that flooded my cerebral cortex defied logic. The creation of Earth. The depth of the ever-expanding universe. Living creatures in the farthest reaches of space. And the gods. So many more than I ever imagined possible. Almost every dimension, and there were thousands, had at least one. Some more. A few none.

When he’d finished, I stepped back and lowered my head. Absorbed what he’d shown me. And why. It wasn’t a documentary on the mysteries of our amazing universe. It was to let me know just that: thousands of dimensions. Thousands of options. And I could be cast into any one of them.

I glanced at him and nodded my acknowledgment. My understanding. We came to an accord of a sort.

Almost.

I leveled a hard stare on him and said, “These men are mine.”

“Those slated for Lucifer’s domain are not my concern.” He offered a congenial nod and vanished.

Time slammed back into place, the sound deafening for a split second, then the men glanced around, looking for their guns.

“You know,” I said to Reyes over my shoulder, “we should let Osh in on this.”

He scowled but shrugged, leaving it up to me.

“Uncle Bob, you are about to see something that might be a little disorienting.”

Ubie’s expression went from stunned to comical in under six. He was really good at the deadpan thing, too.

“Osh,” I said, summoning the slave demon to us.

He stepped from a shadowy corner as though he’d been there the whole time.

“Take your pick.”

A grin far too wicked for the grim situation flashed across his handsome face. By that point, El Jefe had figured out he’d made a grave mistake.

I didn’t understand men like him. So loyal and loving with his own family and yet a monster, an absolute monster to others.

Valencia gave Osh a once-over and smirked. I wanted to tell him Osh only looked like a kid, but he’d find that out soon enough. Osh was on him so fast, he was impossible to see. He pinned him against a wall, then lowered his mouth onto the older man’s and breathed in his essence. Absorbed his soul. Fed on his aura.

It was like watching gay porn without the nudity, the whole exchange one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen.

Valencia’s men scrambled to help their boss, but Reyes had been chomping at the bit long enough. He let loose. Got into a couple of fistfights for the fun of it before snapping necks one by one. They didn’t know what hit them. Then again, their deaths were merciful compared to what they did to their victims. Their eternal damnations following death, however, would be another story.

I escorted Uncle Bob out under the guise of plausible deniability. Also, he didn’t need to see it all. Reyes and Osh were demons. Sometimes they enjoyed the kill a little too much.

“We have to go to hell in less than three hours,” Uncle Bob said to me, as though we were walking out of a meeting or had just come from dinner.

“What? Oh, right, the mall.” I suppressed a giggle. “You know, I’ve been. They really are very similar.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Uncle Bob, I still can’t believe what you were about to do for me. You could have died.”

“Charley, I know how special you are. Or, well, I thought I knew.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I guess I had no clue. Not really.”

I wrapped an arm in his. “That’s okay. I don’t always get it, either.”

“Was that … was that an angel?”

“Oh, him? Yeah, that was Michael the Churlish Cherub.” I bent at the waist, giggling.

Uncle Bob just stared all aghastlike. Not everyone got my humor.

“Does … how much does Cookie know?”

“Not as much as you. Not anymore.”

He nodded as Reyes stepped out.

“Feel better?” I asked him.

“You know, I think I do.”

I studied the run-down hotel. “I essentially killed those men. Am I slated for hell?”

He stepped to me. Put his fingers underneath my chin. Raised it until our gazes locked. “You’re a god, Dutch. And the reaper. You don’t get slated. You are the slate.”