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‘True,’ Michael said, ‘but I prefer to give Him the credit unless I have a good reason to believe otherwise. It seems more polite than the other way around.’
My nose hurt like hell and my neck hurt like someplace in the same zip code.
But louder still was the voice of Michael Carpenter, Knight of the Cross, avenging angel incarnate, bearer of the blade that had once belonged to a squire called Wart.
It’s easier and safer to shut the door, be quiet, and turn up the TV. We’re ostriches and the whole world is sand.
Molly was committing dinner by that time, aided and abetted by Sanya, who seemed to take some kind of grim Russian delight in watching train wrecks in progress.
‘Caring about someone isn’t complicated,’ I said. ‘It isn’t easy. But it isn’t complicated, either. Kinda like lifting the engine block out of a car.’
‘I was going to put the dinosaur back,’ I said. ‘But I was unconscious.’
‘That’s the problem with you nearly immortal types,’ I said. ‘You couldn’t spot a pop culture reference if it skittered up and implanted an embryo down your esophagus.’
‘Likest thou jelly within thy doughnut?’ ‘Nay, but prithee, with sprinkles ’pon it instead,’ I said solemnly, ‘and frosting of white.’
‘The Prince of the Host is all pomp and ceremony, and when he moves it is with the thunder of the wings of an army of seraphim, the crash of drums, and the clamor of horns. The Trumpeter never walks quietly when he can appear in a chorus of light. The Demon Binder takes tasks upon his own shoulders and solves his problems with his own hands. But the Watchman . . .’ Mab smiled. ‘Of the archangels, I like him the most. He is the quiet one. The subtle one. The one least known. And by far the most dangerous.’
The reward for work well-done is more work. ‘Ain’t that the truth,’ I muttered. I stuffed the book back in my pocket and hit the road again.
