Chapter Thirty-Eight Azrael
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Azrael
I scour the In-Between and the Nothing, trying to confirm what Greed reported about Uriel and the location of Charlotte’s friend, but I don’t find anything. Something’s keeping her obscured from me.
The thought of that doesn’t sit right with me, especially now that we’re only a week out from our plan to retrieve her.
Charlotte has only just begun training with Seraph, though she’s still working with me and Greed—and my ex, unfortunately—but none of us can even begin to know what Michael has planned.
And that makes me uneasy.
Before I can stop myself, I’m at the church on Seventh again. Drawn to the answers I find there like a moth to a damn flame. I don’t know what it is about the place that keeps calling to me, but it tugs at me.
Reminds me of His promise.
And I know better than to ignore my instincts.
I find Father Brown almost exactly where I left him a few days ago, in a pew on the left-hand side of the sanctuary. He rests his head back, eyes closed, like he’s just taken his last confession for the night and is ready for sleep. I approach silently.
“How did you know about my deal with God?”
He sighs. “Not you too.” He opens his eyes, the lines on his face making him look weary. “Lucifer already came to see me.”
“He did?” I arch a brow.
The priest huffs. “He accused me of being a prophet.”
I snort. “I don’t think you’re a prophet.”
“Then what?” He turns to look at me, but I don’t see the flash of something ancient I saw before. Just a tired old priest whose greatest accomplishment is being allowed to live rent-free in the rectory. Lucifer’s distrust of the clergy may have rubbed off on me.
I’m the only one the church has given an even worse rap sheet to.
Lucifer may have started it all in the Garden, but humanity chose to make me their boogeyman. I can’t say I blame them, honestly.
I lift my eyes to the altar the priest is staring at, my thoughts shifting to Charlotte, to the way she looked at me when I had her on the bench inside the playroom the other day. Like the first moment I got a bit rough with her she feared me.
I close my eyes, exhaling.
Even if she’s immortal now, not even immortality makes her truly safe from me.
From the fear of the unknown.
“I think you’re just a tired old man,” I answer eventually. “A tired old man who wants his life to mean something.”
He forces a laugh. “Don’t we all?”
“Heaven or Hell. Up or down. All life is meaningless in the end.”
He chuckles, coming to stand. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised the Angel of Death is a nihilist.”
My head snaps toward him. “And how do you know I’m—”
“I feel it. In here,” he says pointing to where his heart beats. “And so I know it in here.” He taps the crown of his head.
“So, you are a prophet?”
“No, Azrael.” He shakes his head as he pats my shoulder. “That’s just what it means to have faith.”