Chapter 26
Lionel
“What are you? A fucking comedian?”
Given the state of me, with my stolen clothes that made me look as if I’d shrunk in the wash, the angel’s question was justified, especially when my speechlessness made me look like I was goldfish breathing for laughs.
Metatron frowned and put a hand on her hip. I lowered my head, feeling guilty even though I wasn’t sure exactly what for.
She spoke again. “You have to have your damn breakfast juice.” She made a sharp noise of displeasure. “You should’ve brought some of your clothes.”
Juice. Ugh, no. Hers was good, but it wasn’t food. I had real food at home. There was my emergency apple and peanut butter, and that was going to be a very healthy breakfast, with the added bonus that I’d be able to use my teeth.
Bolstering myself with the knowledge that I’d faced down zombies and succeeded in killing them before they could hurt anyone, I straightened and looked the angel in pink straight in the eye.
“I’m not staying. I’m leaving. Where’s my phone?”
Metatron jerked her head. “Kitchen.”
I didn’t move. Maybe this was a trick? I considered running and giving up on the phone, but I got the feeling the angel was not to be messed with, candy-colored shorts or not. Also, all my contacts were in my phone.
“Okay.”
I walked past her, through the archway I might have called Mediterranean if not for the bone-white color theme. It should’ve made the house feel cold and unwelcoming, except it was airy and inviting instead, especially with the morning light coming in.
It shouldn’t have worked that way, should’ve looked like a slaughterhouse before the cattle shipment arrived.
Perhaps it was magic that changed the ambience, because it sure as fuck wasn’t the Devil’s special touch, his overbearing presence, or the smugness he spread like bad cologne everywhere he went.
Not that I cared enough about the atmosphere or the Devil to stick around and wonder where he’d gone. Nope.
The kitchen continued the white color theme, but with paintings breaking up the monochrome look.
One wall featured square ones of the severed, bleeding heads of various animals, or sliced-open fruit spilling dark red juice.
I quickly decided that wasn’t my kind of art and kept my eyes focused on the corners of the counters and cabinets.
I spotted my phone on the large kitchen island and went straight for it.
“Oh, fuck.”
I had half a dozen missed calls from Christine and several messages too. I was going to read through all of them once I was in my car and on my way far, far away from the Devil’s lair.
Metatron huffed. “What? I even charged it because I care. Do you want grapefruit in your juice?”
I turned to her, waving my phone. “Need to get to work. They called.”
She rolled her eyes and walked over to the refrigerator. “Fine. I’ll make it to go. Grapefruit, yes or no?”
“Thanks, but I—”
“Yeah, yeah, need to get to work. I get it. Not that what you’re getting calls about is going to get any deader. Answer about the grapefruit.”
Her tone of voice gave big fucking or else vibes, and she moved the produce out of the fridge with more force than was necessary.
“Uhm. Isn’t grapefruit super bitter?”
“It has antioxidants. I’m not an expert, but I think you need those. I’ll take it as a yes.”
Well, okay then. She sliced an apple into quarters and fed that to a juicer, then went on to feed it grapefruit chunks from a glass container. The juicer was noisy as it turned perfectly good fruit into flavored water. With antioxidants.
I cleared my throat. “I can’t not answer my phone though. They might need me for other stuff.”
She pushed a purple carrot down the juicer’s chute. “When you’re in Lucy’s bed, other stuff doesn’t matter.”
Oh, gods. Was she suggesting…? No. Soul, the best little cursed poodle ever, had undressed me. I pulled out one of the stools from under the island and sat so I wouldn’t pace.
“That’s not—”
“It is.” A bowl full of raspberries joined the purple carrot.
I needed to get out of the house and out of this conversation, but one problem at a time. Perhaps I could distract her while showing off my knowledge of obscure religious mythology.
I clutched my phone and tapped my finger on the island’s countertop. “So you are the Metatron, voice of god?”
She looked over her shoulder and chopped two pears into chunks.
“I’m not responsible for the gullible nature of some goatherds I appeared to once or twice in order to get a laugh during a few very boring centuries.
The ability to infer and believe in the existence of nonexistent all-powerful and all-knowing beings is something you humans exceed at.
” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s our fault. Not everyone has the time to devote to cultivating a following of zealous humans that will build you altars and strip naked to celebrate you, but perhaps we should designate some of us to make the time. ”
She added cucumber. Ugh.
“Ah. That’s…okay. You’re already doing so much. Uhm. But you have wings? Like the cherubs?”
That earned me a withering look, although I wasn’t clear on which part had offended her.
Maybe she just didn’t like that I was talking.
After all, she was an immortal, much like the Devil, and I was human—inconsequential to them, easily forgotten and dismissed in the larger picture that was their immortal existence.
Metatron shook out her hair while pushing the entire cucumber into the juicer.
“Do I look like a fat baby to you? I’d show you the wings, but I like to keep them folded away in interdimensional space. Keeps the feathers neat and tidy.”
That piqued my interest to the point where I didn’t even mind the cucumber. “Did you just say interdimensional space?”
“Beyond you, little human. You want to know why I don’t conform to your preconceived and biased ideas of my kind and hang out with Lucy?”
“Maybe?”
I watched her pour the juice into a large to-go mug. The color wasn’t too bad, sort of pink. I’d be okay with drinking that, and if there was a crime scene, maybe juice wasn’t such a bad idea. There was no way I was going to throw up juice.
She walked over to me and handed me the massive mug.
“Because he’s fun, and a lot of angels tend to be dicks.
Like, I mess around with a bunch of goatherds for my own amusement, but they go around being downright mean and inflicting bodily harm.
Just not my crowd. I left your shoes by the door.
Do not ever drag grave dirt or worse over my floors, understood? ”
I relaxed. “I don’t plan on coming back here.” I hopped off the stool and pushed it into place.
She rolled her eyes and tossed her curls back. “By the balls of Zeus, you actually are like the sweet innocent heroine in those damn novels.” She shook her head. “I need to make sure there’s enough lube in the house.”
And that was that. Nothing more I needed to hear from the candy angel. I wasn’t going to engage any further in this conversation. In fact, I was going to add it to my amnesia.
I almost ran out of the kitchen, barely avoiding falling over Soul, who could sneak, as it turned out, and ran to the door.
At least Metatron hadn’t lied about my shoes.
They looked like new too, almost as if someone had bothered cleaning them, but I didn’t care, just grabbed them and pulled the door open.
I ran to my car, holding the pants up with one hand while trying not to drop the damn juice, my shoes shoved under my arm.
I stopped in front of the Honda. “Fuck, keys,” I hissed.
The air on my left shifted.
“These?” Metatron asked, wiggling my key chain in front of my face.
Teleportation. That was teleportation. Sort of cool, but I needed to go and let the amnesia take me.
I snatched the keys from the angel’s fingers and jammed my thumb down on the fob. My heart was racing.
“Thanks.”
“Show your gratitude by drinking that juice. He’s been going on and on about that damn cleanse, even if no one sees the point.
I’m worried it’s going to be the sex throne all over again if the antioxidants and the wheatgrass don’t work on you.
” The angel scrunched up her nose. “Maybe I should get ginger and turmeric and grab some goji berries.”
I made the executive decision to ignore the thing about the antioxidants and not ask about the sex throne. I was reasonably certain sex throne knowledge wouldn’t do me any good before I could go on my amnesia experience.
“Totally,” I said with all the conviction I could muster as I got behind the wheel, putting the large juice cup in the center console because the cup holder was for normal-sized beverages.
I pulled the door shut and started the engine, then got out of there as fast as was responsible.
Maybe a little faster than was responsible, but I had to get to work.
Okay, I had to go home and get dressed before I could get to work, and then I had to make up some sort of believable lie to tell Christine about why I hadn’t answered her calls, and also, I really, really needed to make sure never to talk to Lucifer ever again.
I needed to not run into him from here on out.
I needed to forget the Devil existed, maybe take up one of those religions with the altars and the undressing Metatron had mentioned so I could find oblivion in faith.
“Just forget it ever happened,” I mumbled as I slowed to a more reasonable speed. “Forget Lucy and his stupid hairdo and how nice he smells.”
I knew I could do it. What was that saying, you can do anything if you put your mind to it?
I was putting my mind to forgetting the Devil, hard.