behind his desk. “Anybody else? I’ve got a whole pot here.”
None responded, showing as much life as department store mannequins.
“They are not as . . . daring as I,” offered Nathanuel.
He watched as Remy, carrying the two mugs of steaming coffee, careful not to spill them, walked to his chair behind the desk.
“Please, take a seat.” Remy motioned with his chin to the angel leader as he prepared to sit.
Nathanuel looked at the comfortable chair to the right of the desk, his shiny, dark eyes taking in every detail.
“Yes, that would be fine.”
The others were suddenly attentive, watching their leader as he sat, as fascinated with that act as they had been with the wall.
Remy had placed his cup on a cardboard coaster advertising the latest in light beers. He tossed another coaster in front of the Seraphim before placing Nathanuel’s coffee mug atop it. “How do you like it? Cream? Sugar? I drink mine black.”
The Seraphim leader studied the steaming mug on the desk in front of him. He reached out with both hands, gripped the cup, and brought it stiffly to his face. The angels standing around him leaned forward in unison.
“I will drink it as you do,” Nathanuel answered.
The Seraphim leaned closer still, watching with rapt attention as their leader brought the steaming cup to his lips and gulped the scalding fluid.
“Careful, that’s hot,” Remy cautioned.
Then he watched the angel’s expression turn from fascination to sudden pain and confusion as the hot liquid burned his throat. Coffee dribbled from the corners of his mouth, leaving angry red welts.
“You’re supposed to sip it,” Remy said shortly. “Coffee is for sipping.”
“I do not see the enjoyment in this,” Nathanuel said coldly, gently touching the seared flesh with his unusually long fingertips.
He set his mug down on the desk, ignoring the coaster, as the others hovered over him, studying his burns and nodding their agreement with his assessment.
Remy took a sip from his own cup. The angels now studied his every movement. “Practice,” he said, savoring the hot refreshment.
Then he set his mug down and met Nathanuel’s black, soulless gaze. “So, what are you doing here?” he asked. “I’m smart enough to know that this isn’t a social call. Heaven doesn’t work like that—or it least it never used to.” He picked up a pen and tapped it impatiently on a notepad before him.
Nathanuel squirmed, the burns already starting to fade. “The experience of being human—it is not to my liking.”
Remy shrugged, leaning back in his chair.
“It’s not for everybody. What do you want?”
The angel leader smiled. It didn’t look right; far too many teeth. It reminded Remy of a trip to the New England Aquarium, where he was given the opportunity to take a good, long look at a shark. He remembered staring at the gray-skinned beast as it gracefully cut through the water in search of prey—an animal to fear.
Nathanuel’s smile was suddenly gone. “Masquerading as one of the Creator’s special monkeys brings you pleasure. I do not see it.”
Remy leaned forward again, his eyes blinking angrily. “I’m not asking you to. What I am asking, for the last time, is what you want.”
The Seraphim leader seemed taken aback by Remy’s open hostility, as he looked to his brothers and then back to the detective. “We have need of you, Remiel, not as an angel, but as what you pretend to be.”
Remy didn’t like the sound of that and quickly rose from his seat. He definitely needed more coffee. The Seraphim were silent, their heads turning smoothly, following his every move. He poured himself another full cup, set the half-empty container down, and took a sip.
“You need what I pretend to be? Explain,” he demanded.
Nathanuel again tried a smile. It was equally as horrible as his first try. “Do not pretend that you have not felt something amiss in the natural world. You have not so completely disconnected
None responded, showing as much life as department store mannequins.
“They are not as . . . daring as I,” offered Nathanuel.
He watched as Remy, carrying the two mugs of steaming coffee, careful not to spill them, walked to his chair behind the desk.
“Please, take a seat.” Remy motioned with his chin to the angel leader as he prepared to sit.
Nathanuel looked at the comfortable chair to the right of the desk, his shiny, dark eyes taking in every detail.
“Yes, that would be fine.”
The others were suddenly attentive, watching their leader as he sat, as fascinated with that act as they had been with the wall.
Remy had placed his cup on a cardboard coaster advertising the latest in light beers. He tossed another coaster in front of the Seraphim before placing Nathanuel’s coffee mug atop it. “How do you like it? Cream? Sugar? I drink mine black.”
The Seraphim leader studied the steaming mug on the desk in front of him. He reached out with both hands, gripped the cup, and brought it stiffly to his face. The angels standing around him leaned forward in unison.
“I will drink it as you do,” Nathanuel answered.
The Seraphim leaned closer still, watching with rapt attention as their leader brought the steaming cup to his lips and gulped the scalding fluid.
“Careful, that’s hot,” Remy cautioned.
Then he watched the angel’s expression turn from fascination to sudden pain and confusion as the hot liquid burned his throat. Coffee dribbled from the corners of his mouth, leaving angry red welts.
“You’re supposed to sip it,” Remy said shortly. “Coffee is for sipping.”
“I do not see the enjoyment in this,” Nathanuel said coldly, gently touching the seared flesh with his unusually long fingertips.
He set his mug down on the desk, ignoring the coaster, as the others hovered over him, studying his burns and nodding their agreement with his assessment.
Remy took a sip from his own cup. The angels now studied his every movement. “Practice,” he said, savoring the hot refreshment.
Then he set his mug down and met Nathanuel’s black, soulless gaze. “So, what are you doing here?” he asked. “I’m smart enough to know that this isn’t a social call. Heaven doesn’t work like that—or it least it never used to.” He picked up a pen and tapped it impatiently on a notepad before him.
Nathanuel squirmed, the burns already starting to fade. “The experience of being human—it is not to my liking.”
Remy shrugged, leaning back in his chair.
“It’s not for everybody. What do you want?”
The angel leader smiled. It didn’t look right; far too many teeth. It reminded Remy of a trip to the New England Aquarium, where he was given the opportunity to take a good, long look at a shark. He remembered staring at the gray-skinned beast as it gracefully cut through the water in search of prey—an animal to fear.
Nathanuel’s smile was suddenly gone. “Masquerading as one of the Creator’s special monkeys brings you pleasure. I do not see it.”
Remy leaned forward again, his eyes blinking angrily. “I’m not asking you to. What I am asking, for the last time, is what you want.”
The Seraphim leader seemed taken aback by Remy’s open hostility, as he looked to his brothers and then back to the detective. “We have need of you, Remiel, not as an angel, but as what you pretend to be.”
Remy didn’t like the sound of that and quickly rose from his seat. He definitely needed more coffee. The Seraphim were silent, their heads turning smoothly, following his every move. He poured himself another full cup, set the half-empty container down, and took a sip.
“You need what I pretend to be? Explain,” he demanded.
Nathanuel again tried a smile. It was equally as horrible as his first try. “Do not pretend that you have not felt something amiss in the natural world. You have not so completely disconnected
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