Chapter 1
Azrael
“Diapers?!”
“Humans have always had a strange approach to the supernatural,” Micah says, leaning over my shoulder. Wide, unnervingly doll-like eyes stare back at me from the page,Cupidprinted underneath in fancy, flourished script.
The absurd drawing has me mesmerized, and it takes a few seconds for me to force my eyes away from the freaky flying monstrosity. “Strange? That’s a seventy-five-pound human baby, likely with type two diabetes, wearing an extra-large pair of Depends. Why are his wings so small? Physics is real, people, and I’m going on the record to say those tiny things? They could never carry his weight.”
The longer I look at it, the more disturbing the image becomes. “That’swho humans believe is responsible for truelove? Out of all the crazy ideas they could’ve come up with, this was the one. Someone… no, a whole-assgroupof people actually looked at that and said, ‘Yep. That strange man-baby helps us fall in love. Here’s hoping he doesn’t need his nappy changed.’Really?”
I lean in, my eyeball damn near touching the paper. “And what’s with the harp?” If we were going to play an instrument while we fly, an electric guitar would be much cooler.
Air guitar, if you will.
“That’s nothing,” Micah says with a snort. “You should hear their take on Easter. It’s this bizarre tale… something about giant rabbits that lay eggs.” He leans in, a thousand-yard stare taking him out of the present. “Then theyeatthem… tiny bunny idols and their foil-wrapped unborn children.”
Horrified, I whisper, “No,” but he only gives me a grim, shivering nod.
My eyes land on the drawing again as I try to get that particular image out of my mind. Thick layers of baby fat billow over the top of the diaper, so it’s no surprise he struggles with those itty-bitty wings. I shake my head.
Okay, sure, most Cherubs aren’t the fittest creatures in existence, and I could stand to lose a few pounds myself. Teleportation has made us lazy with exercise, and wings mean we are more likely to fly than walk. Admittedly, a nap in the clouds sounds far more exciting than a jog in the park.
Subconsciously, my hands land on my soft belly underneath my shirt and squeeze. I may be small, but tiny things can still jiggle.
“Pay attention, Azrael,” Micah reprimands, his annoyance amping up as he gestures towards the whiteboard. There’s a fine line between mild irritation and apocalypse-level fury with him, so I force myself to concentrate even as the image of the hideous flying toddler burns into my mind.
A jumpy muscle in his jaw ticks as his eyes flicker to my neon pink shirt,Just Wingin’ Itprinted across the chest. “This is history in the making, and you’d do well to heed that. Our first Interim Cupidever, and it falls on your shoulders.” Pastel purple eyes burn into me, and I wither under the stare. “Youryouthfulshoulders. You already know my opinion about such a young Cherub taking the position.”
Oh, boy, do I ever.
It’s not like he has mentioned it a time or two… per minute.
Necessary evil, he likes to call it. The current Cupid, Seraphiel, has been in the role for over a thousand years, making him the longest serving in our history. And while he’s always done an acceptable job, as of late he seems to be getting…
Bored.
At least, that is what his recent…interestingpairings have indicated.
The lead singer of a metal band with an Amish woman.
Averyout-and-proud groomsman with the brother of the bride, who was straighter than a ruler. I mean, the man was wearing cargo shorts at the rehearsal dinner, for Christ’s sake. It was a ballsy move on Seraphiel’s part, I’ll give him that, but it worked out in the end.
Most of the time, his matches are suitable, so everyone has always left him alone about it.
Let him blow off some steam, you know?
Then he had a bit of a meltdown a few months ago, and almost caused World War III. The American President and the Queen of England were caught in aquiteprecarious situation, and the scandal that followed was…
Well.
War was avoided, but just by a hair.
We’re taking bets on whether the UK becomes a state or England reclaims the US.
Fifty-fifty, really.
In the aftermath, a remarkably unanimous group decision was made to force Seraphiel to take a vacation. It shouldn’t have been a surprise he needed one, considering he hasn’t had a day off in over three hundred years.
