Uriel (Speed Dating with the Denizens of the Underworld #39)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Emilia

I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my mind. That, or the earthquake knocked something loose in the universe, because what I’m seeing can’t possibly be real.

The... being in front of us defies description. One moment, it’s a swirling vortex of light and shadow. The next, it’s vaguely human-shaped, but with too many limbs and eyes that shine like distant galaxies. I blink, and suddenly it’s a man—sort of. He’s impossibly tall, with skin that shimmers like mother-of-pearl and hair that seems to be made of living flame.

I press myself against the wall, trying to become one with the tacky beige paint. Dr. Angelstone stands frozen, his face a mask of awe and terror.

The entity speaks, its voice reverberating through my skull: “Uriel, Archangel of Chastity and Repentance. The time has come.”

Archangel? What the actual...?

“The prophecy is in motion. Hell marches. And you...” Those otherworldly eyes fix on me, and I swear I can see entire universes swirling in their depths. “You both have been chosen.”

Oh god. This is it. I’m about to be smited. Smote? Whatever the proper term is for being obliterated by some cosmic being. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the end.

“Right!” The booming, ominous voice suddenly shifts, becoming cheerful and oddly... British? “Now that we’ve got the dramatic entrance out of the way, how about a cup of tea?”

My eyes fly open. The terrifying entity is gone. In its place, lounging in Uriel’s ergonomic office chair with his feet propped on the desk, is a completely ordinary-looking man. Well, ordinary if you ignore the fact that he’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and flip-flops.

He grins at us, all friendly and casual, like he didn’t just turn the laws of reality inside out. “Oh, come now. Don’t look so shocked. Did you really think I’d keep up that whole ‘voice of doom’ routine? It’s exhausting, let me tell you. I’ve had enough of it for centuries.”

He snaps his fingers, and suddenly there’s a steaming cup of tea in his hand. “The name’s Azrael, by the way. Angel of Death, Celestial Messenger, part-time surfer. Pleasure to meet you both.”

I look at Dr. Angelstone—Uriel?—hoping for some explanation. But he seems just as dumbfounded as I am.

Azrael takes a sip of his tea and sighs contentedly. “Now then, let’s chat about this little apocalypse brewing, shall we? Pull up a chair, Emilia dear. And Uriel, do close your mouth. You’ll catch flies.”

As I shakily lower myself into a chair, my mind reeling, I can’t help but think that all those years of therapy definitely didn’t prepare me for this. Earthquakes, angels, and the end of the world? Just another Tuesday in L.A., apparently.