I marched with momentum. Not from gravity or running, but from the brutal, indisputable verbal beatdown delivered by Chivos. I let it carry me, for I had one more ‘good’ guy to go piss off, and he was in the church.

Not because I wanted to repent for any sin of course. No, it was just business. And what a prospective business partner to approach! Archbishop Illemnas Nartley. Or, as I call him… Dillweed. We knew each other well; I’d likely taken a few years off his life just by existing. If only he believed in taking his blood pressure meds, rather than praying the illness away. Oh well, it was time to yet again fast forward his aneurism clock by a few weeks.

As I journeyed the streets of Nassai, my focus fell not on the people or the goings-on, but Grif. He was still curled up and snoozing! I could not once recall him sleeping longer than 30 minutes without waking up and causing some sort of trouble, yet there he was, going on an hour plus! He’d not stirred since I saw Nidael in our room. Not dead or sick or anything, just… napping.

I entered the cathedral plaza and beelined for the front entrance. The place was on the tail end of clearing out the crowd from afternoon services. I slipped in through the large, arched door and into a side hall, where some monks received me. At least, I hope nobody else decided to go for that brown-robes bald-centered bowl-cut look.

“How may we be of service, O wayward son?” one asked.

Rather than speak some inefficient jumble of words, I flipped out my stat card and they knew what’s up the moment they saw it. I was ushered to the back, finding a rather grand office of carved stone. Archbishop Nartley was organizing his bookshelf in the back, so the monks announced my presence and he responded in his typically dismissive manner.

“Take a seat, I’ll be done in a moment,” he mumbled without, say, checking who I was.

I waited quietly, deciding not to poke the bear right off the bat. Somehow, he pulled a book from the shelf, delivered it to the desk at which I sat, and didn’t notice my stupid face. Gotta give it to the guy, he’s mastered the religious skill of living in your own separate world. Building atop that, he sat in his seat, tidied his desk, signed a missive, set it aside, and finally looked up to me with the world’s most short-lived smile.

His face dropped in an instant. “You,” he snarled.

I returned the long-dead smile. “Hello again… Dillweed.”

“Come to repent your sinful marriage?”

My smile turned to an authoritative frown. “Til death do us part. A bond sturdier than most you have tied. No, I’m here to seek a blessing,” I stated, placing a cheque on the desk.

He snatched up the cheque and read it. “Blessing of a mount? Finally risk that poor mule’s life and it didn’t pay off?”

“No. He’s retired off to the countryside. Too old to work. New horse, new equipment, new permanent blessings.”

“Unfortunately, I cannot say no,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Blessing of the warhorse, I presume?”

“Blessing of the brittle peace, please. It’ll have to be tomorrow at the palace stables.”

Dillweed furrowed his brow, but cashed the check with a drop of blood. Figures that he hates me for marrying a demon, buuut he still takes money from the Bank of the Hells. He wrote it down on his schedule, then looked me in the eye.

“Now, unless you have anything else to–”

“I do, actually,” I interrupted, raising a hand. “Can you take a look at this fellow? I am concerned for his health.”

“Why would you…” he started, trailing off as I placed Grif on the table. “A night griffin? You chose conservationism as atonement for your indiscriminate killing?”

“Ehhhhhh sure, let’s go with that. But this isn’t normal,” I explained, indicating the snoozing ball of fluff and feathers. “He’s a grump, and he’s hyperactive. I can’t get him to sleep half the time I want, but ever since Nidael petted him he’s been completely out!” I scratched Grif’s exposed belly for emphasis, showing that he didn’t attack such a mandatory target.

He paused, mulling it over a moment. Then, he opened a drawer and produced a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He put them on and looked at Grif, immediately flinching.

“AHH! Too bright!” He rubbed his eyes. “It appears your griffin has been blessed with serenity. But he has been wildly overblessed. Hold on, I will dissipate it.”

Maybe-not-so-dillweed got up and fetched a smudge stick from a shelf. He ignited it and the smell of smoldering sage filled my nostrils. He placed a hand on Grif, waving the sage around and chanting. Seconds ticked on into minutes as the process slowly continued. Then, he extinguished the smudge stick and sat back down.

“It was a strong blessing, but I believe that should be enough.” He looked down a moment. “Its pulse should show if the effect is dissipating. Too slow and I’ll have to do that again.”

He leaned down and placed an ear on Grif’s belly, listening. “Hmm, I think–”

It must have been the vibrations of his voice that did it. Grif’s eyes shot open and he detected contact with his belly. 16 keratinous little hooks dug into his face as Dillweed shot bolt upright in surprise, taking Grif with him. In one deft move, I snatched Grif by the nape of the neck and he let go… mostly. There were some nasty red streaks on the Archbishop’s face.

“Now that’s no way to thank the man for… restoring factory settings, Grif!” I scolded.

Dillweed swiped a hand across his face, removing all the cuts in an instant. “There! I did that ungrateful little beast its kindness, now begone from my sight!” He slammed a palm on the desk. “Speak nothing of this! I have cured your pet of the ailment, so do not dare besmirch our holiest of protectors!”

With that, I was kicked out of the office. I blinked, wondering why he said that. Then I sighed and started down the hall with a fussing Grif in my arms. He sounded hungry. In the absence of anyone else, I addressed the empty air.

“Thanks for behaving near him, I know how annoying… he… is…” I looked over my shoulder, listening for the tap of feet or that subtle breathing my ears had sometimes caught. But…

I was alone.

You know what? Fuck'm! Not my problem.

……

One thing I appreciate about Nassur is the businesses you just know were started by GCs (and not just mine). A favorite example being… In-Front Steakhouse. And that’s where I was, feeding Grif his 6oz rare ribeye next to my cheeseburger and fries. It was forgettable, if nostalgic fare, since I was badly spoiled by the Prairieton veggies. At least the fresh bread was fire.

Grif was more important to me at the moment. He was a growing little murder machine and was late for his supper by almost two hours! It showed too because he got so impatient with me cutting strips that he started tearing into the steak himself. He looked at me smugly, as if to say I was being too slow. However, I was the victor of that exchange; one more thing on the parenting checklist was struck off! [✓] Can tear up and eat his own food.

I let him scarf down his dinner as I ate. The spectacle turned a few heads, but the consensus with the restaurant-goers seemed to be that it was cute. My burger and fries disappeared and I barely noticed it diminishing until I was done. Try as I might to think of something fun, my brain was hung up on what Dillweed said while shooing me out of his office. As I paid the bill (and let the waiter pet Grif) I decided on my activity for the night.

……

Grand this, great that, I grumbled inwardly as I followed the librarian through the shelves of the Grand Public Archives. My request for all relevant reading on angels was being taken quite seriously! However, their policy against magic-based sorting systems in a library with over a hundred-thousand books made it… interesting. At least Grif was in a food coma and not bothering anyone for once.

I had already bagged On the Presence of Angels, Angelic and Celestial Biology Vol I-III, The Archangels’ Charge, The Royal Almanac of Runes and Written Languages, Tales of the Pale Crusade, and The Secret Scrolls of Judgment (2nd Edition). I thought it would be enough, but there was supposedly one more.

“There it is,” the young librarian boy stated with a point.

He adeptly slid a ladder over and got me the book from the 17th shelf up. Sliding down and landing with a satisfying clomp, he passed it over. I looked at the title.

“To Lay the Heavens Low: The Seven Angels I Bedded; How, Why, and the Aftermath.” I blinked, then put it in my bag. “Umm, thank you for your help. Let’s go get these checked out.”

……

I approached the castle wall on foot, 4,500 gold lighter. I’d get it back when I returned them of course, but still, ouch. The gate captain stopped me again, and I was scanned, again. It came back blue and he seemed confused. I waved him off.

“I left it in the room. Saves you the trouble,” I lied, omitting that the ring was in my pocket.

Soon enough, I trudged into our quarters. It seemed empty, and Varia was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the map, so I assumed Cam was still out having fun. Good on him I thought as I hung my jacket on the hook to my right. I trundled over to my room and opened the door. And… wow.

At the foot of my bed was a mess of chains—made solely of pure, solid-pink light—wrapped around something so thickly that I couldn’t see what was underneath. I set Grif down on the bed, seeing a key made of the same light on the nightstand. After some digging, I was able to pry the chains aside and saw… nothing.

“Wind? Is that you?”

“Hrgfff. ẞßß! ẞßß!”

“Ooh, gusty today!” I quipped, digging around for the lock.

With a little searching, I found it buried in the tangle of celestial chains. I stuck the key in and turned, causing the key, lock, and chains to vanish into the air. I heard two feet find the floor, then the sound of multiple joints popping. Then, the wind crawled under the blankets and curled up, quivering like a scared child. I shook my head. [Redacted] LVL 592, meet: Archangel LVL 1,000.

I didn’t mind though, I sat myself down on the other side of the queen-size bed and opened up the first book of my reading list. On the Presence of Angels. Even by the foreword, I knew it would be dull. Someone had clearly never once deviated from their dusty, grumpily-written old style guide.

The sounds of pages turning got the attention of the wind. The lump in the blankets moved over a bit and I felt a shoulder press against mine. It read some of what I skimmed, then went to the stack I’d made on the bedside table and went through them.

“Hey, be gentle with those.”

As it checked the stack, it read each title and set the book down. Eventually, it held up two and shrugged, judging by the motion of the invisible hands gripping the books (and operating under the assumption it was humanoid and, god forbid, using its hands correctly).

“Why? Cuz Nidael went and overdosed Grif on chill-pill magic and I want to know why the fuck that happened! She harmed my fluffy murder-nugget!”

There was a huff, then it picked up the erotic autobiography and laid down next to me to start reading.

Typical…

……

Halfway into my candle-lit skimming of the first book, a knock fell on my door. The wind and I set our books down as I hopped up to go answer. I cracked the door open and it was Cam. He looked tired.

“Hey, Boss, I uhh, had a good night. Got a bit plastered and accidentally went in a dark alley. ‘Mfine, but Varia needed to have a bath after… uhh. Yeah, poor thief guy.”

I held my hand out and Varia jumped onto me from his shoulder. “Pulverize and cauterize. Whoever offended her will live. Go get some sleep, we’ll be busy tomorrow.”

He frowned cautiously. “Not angry at me?”

“I’ll chalk it up to the alcohol, you lightweight sonofabish.”

I shut the door and locked it, then put Varia on the bed, where she promptly curled up next to Grif on an invisible lap. I looked out the window, seeing the moon rising higher. A bookmark saved my progress on the dull slog of saltine-cracker-flavored prose and I hopped into bed proper. With a crack of the back, I was just about to lay my head onto the magic pillow, but first…

“You better turn those pages reaaaaal quiet over there.”

……

I awoke to the clanging of bells, the typical 6:30 am cacophony of noise to start the day city-wide. After a yawn and stretch routine, I went and hopped in the tub, earning a little soaking time before breakfast. I had the critters join in too since Grif was still slightly more chill than normal, and Cam had missed some blood behind Varia’s ears. Two little fuzzy bundles of murder, and they were all mine!

Soon I was dressing by the bed, getting on my more disposable clothes in case shit went south. As I was doing that, the fucking erotic autobiography was shoved in my face.

“Whaaat?” I griped, hearing a finger tap against the page.

I read the headline of the section. STBs: Sensually Transmitted Blessings. After I finished doing up my belt, I glanced around the page and grabbed another bookmark for it.

“Uhh, thanks. I’ll have a look later. You stay here, alright?”

Out in the common area, our breakfast had already been delivered. A three-tiered silver platter with proteins, pastries, cheeses, fruits, and jellies. Cam was greedily shoveling together a nice country-style breakfast plate thing while I snagged a custard-filled fruit muffin.

“Morning, Cam.”

“Mrm’m, Boff,” he responded through a mouthful of sausage roll.

I bit into the lovely pastry and pulled the trunk that had been brought up from our cart the day prior. “Alright, Cam, you’ve probably been dying to know how we’ll do this whole job in a day, yeah?”

He took the time to actually swallow his food before answering. “Yeah, actually. I’ve been wondering. But, also, I know that you’d have told me in advance if I needed to hear it.”

“True, true. The fact is, this job is a joke. I just happen to own the magic item that solves this whole thing in a day. It’s a custom piece that I commissioned and it’s a bit… special,” I explained, popping the latches on the trunk. “You ever heard of the Pied Piper?”

Cam looked rather excited all of a sudden. “Oh shit, magic flute? Gonna play a song and lead all the vermin out of the castle?”

“Yeah almost. The prototype was a flute, but the sound doesn’t carry far enough. Hafta hear it to fall under the spell. We had to… upscale it a bit.”

At that, I turned around, clutching my implement of destruction.

Bagpipes.

……

“Staff operator?” I bellowed, readying my lungs to blow a lot of air.

“Ready!” Cam shouted back, somewhere between excited and concerned.

“Engage!”

As I channeled a flurried wind spell into my breath, Cam raised the 2-piece channeling staff. He threw the glass orb into the sky, which hovered 50 feet up. The tallest tower of the palace opened its roof and an eerily-familiar crystal fired a beam of mana into the flying orb, which redirected to the ball-topped staff in Cam’s hand. Then, he directed the flow into the bagpipes of doom™ (actually trademarked this time, for realsies, will sue).

And so, the loudest song one could imagine began to flow from the pipes. I’d spent a few skill points in it, so it sounded like… music, rather than just incoherent screeching. Would have worked either way, but it did dodge the sanity drain… a little. We began our circular march around the palace grounds.

With each passing moment, the drone reeds slowly showed their magic more and more. The air rippled with what looked like soundwaves, but they moved far too slow to be such. With pure magic flowing into them, the power of the pipes reached their peak and the effect kicked in.

It started with a mouse. Then a handful of roaches. Some rats… soon it was a procession. Rodents in the thousands, roaches in the tens of thousands, perhaps ten thousand more of bugs too small for the eye to see. They followed behind us, mesmerized by the song. We completed a loop of the grounds in 20 minutes, then I marched for the front door. If I hadn’t told Cam the route, he might have been concerned…

We circled the inside of the palace as well, following a route of corridors (with conspicuously put-away carpets) that ensured that the music reached even the deepest ‘secret’ detention areas. A tide of vermin followed in our wake, unable to do anything other than pursue the tune. We made the last turn and got to the anxious part: The finish.

Leading an army of filth, Cam and I strolled headlong into the throne room, stopping in the center. I stood and played for a few minutes, allowing the crowd to catch up and surround us. Princess Lidanae and her archangels watched on, the former amused, the latter impatient. When the flow of vermin ended, we were surrounded by a sea of fur and chitin. I stopped playing and we both buried our mouths n’ noses in our elbows.

At that precise moment, the princess fired a bolt of energy from her hand. The custom-tailored little radiant spell was, well, the right one for the job. Moonfury cascade: Single target, cannot miss, 100 damage. If target is killed, target explodes for 100 damage to everything within 1 yard (fuck meters). Allies unaffected by splash damage. Anything killed by explosion… also explodes. Repetitions limited by literally nothing! Stuff continues exploding until there is no more stuff to explode. (Explosions brought to you by our sponsor: Torgue!)

The sea of filth went from extant, to a smoldering mess of blue flame, and rain of ash. I shook my head, causing a cloud of smoldering cinders to fall off me and Cam coughed from all the smoke. I removed an earplug and heard the princess clapping.

“Just as good a show as last year!” she joked.

I dusted off the pipes and did a little bow/curtsy mix. “Thank you, thank you very much. I’ll see you again, same time next calendar, ladies and gentlemen!”

Upon exiting we were accosted by cleaning staff, who got us dusted off lickety-split. We were marching on down the halls soon enough. Cam seemed pretty stoked.

“That Lidanae really knows her magic, eh? She just wiped out the whole crowd in one pop! And you’re totally the Pied Piper!”

I finished getting some ash out of the drone pipes. “Yup! That spell was literally made because I proposed it in a letter. She gets a kick out of it and a bunch of XP. You’re wrong on that last bit, though. I’m the Paid Piper.”

He chuckled. “So… is that the job done then?”

I snorted. “Nope! That was the tutorial.” I passed him a potion of boundless stamina. “We’re doing the whole city! Three fucking laps around the place…”

Cam fell silent for a long few moments. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?” he asked with an indignant voice crack. “If I’d known, I’d have stayed in bed and let the palace dude help you like all the other years.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you until now, sucka! Walking and being miserable builds character!”

He groaned. “What are you, Calvin’s fucking dad?”

I snapped my fingers and pointed. “Fuck yeah! You got my reference! You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a hot minute, Cam.”

……

After a solid 2 hours of expedient marching, we’d finished lap 2. Standing in the great market square—then entirely cleared of stalls—we were surrounded by an ocean of vermin nearly a million strong. I kicked Cam in the shin and he sent up the firework-ish spell. At that exact moment, Lidanae cast moonfury cascade on the channeling crystal in the palace. The spell then shot down the beam, striking the glass orb above us, bouncing to the staff, hitting a rat and… nothing happened.

…

I’m just kidding, it fucking exploded, what did you expect? One epic grand-slam mob wipe later, we were getting dusted off by the local populace. They loved us! Kinda. Nobody really liked the music, but they majorly appreciated the part where they’d open all their doors and the vermin would literally come running out to go follow us. A truly wonderful service if you get to watch it pass you by.

Cam, however, did not have such a privilege. As he ate the brunch provided to us before the next lap, he was blissfully unaware of one. simple. fact.

I only knew six songs.

……

Lap 3: 3 hours 20 minutes. After being dusted off, again, and eating another small meal, again… we were about to head for the final lap. Cam sagged into his chair at the thought.

“Do I have to? I don’t wanna hear that shit again,” he whined.

I whipped out a piece of paper and a pen Chivos gave me some time ago, then scribbled out my answer. ‘Get paid, builds character. Hop to it.’

Cam read the note and let his head fall back limply. “Fuck you too, man. Now I know what you meant when you said ‘free’ like that.”

……

Lap 4: It only took 4 hours, 45 minutes… and our will to live. It looked like a fucking white christmas when the explosions stopped. As yearly jobs went, it was the best and worst of the bunch. It was also the only consistent yearly job, but that’s neither here nor there. Cam looked like shit, as if his knees would buckle any moment.

I didn’t feel much better either; 10 hours of bagpipes has a way to do that to a person. Thanks to something I’d hashed out in years past, a state coach came to take us back to the palace. Cam looked like he’d won the lottery when he figured that part out. I finished deflating the bag as we rolled along, and we finally took our earplugs out for good.

“Thanks for… bringing me along for all the cool stuff, but don’t invite me next year.”

“Mmhmm.”

He sighed. “Still, that’s ten jobs together!”

“Mmm…” I groaned, doing the so-so hand and holding up nine 9 fingers.

“Whaaat? Waddya mean this one doesn’t count?”

I started scribbling out another note. Walking simulator ≠ pest extermination tycoon.

Cam read it and sighed. “Fine. But are you really that fucked up that you can’t just say it to my face?”

I opened my mouth and made some zombified gargling noises.

“Yeah, okay.”

……

We dragged ourselves indoors, passing by the dinner offerings left on the table to get some rest. I snagged a cherry-flavored taffy and headed for my room to go collapse on my bed. Grif and Varia were there, along with a clean bill of health for Grif from the royal beastmaster. Nice, he got my note.

I sat on my bed, seeing the depression in the mattress and picking the other side. Varia hopped up, as she’d remembered the drill from years past. I passed her a healing potion from my bag and she held onto it. Her body temp skyrocketed and the potion followed. Soon, the cork popped off and aerosolized healing potion drifted from the neck of the vial in a fine turquoise steam. I scratched her on the chin and took the bottle off her, pressing it to my nose and huffing the stuff.

After a few repeats, I felt my lungs stop screaming. Then I let the potion cool while Varia acted as a heated scarf around my neck. Then I gargled the no-longer-scalding potion for my poor throat, then swallowed the lot. It didn’t fix the problem, but I felt a little better. A bit later and I’d eaten a modest dinner before returning to bury myself in pillows. The tiredness wasn’t quite there, so I fetched the book I’d half-skimmed and opened it.

And then I passed out on the first paragraph.

……

The next morning was a dead-on-my-feet blur. I vaguely recalled washing myself, packing, eating, and getting on the carriage, but it was all just kinda fuzzy. I wasn’t myself until after a nap on the ride to the gate town after which I went up front.

I yawned big-time. “Ugh… so, how’d you like Nassai, the ‘capital of the world’?”

He pursed his lips. “Bit egotistical, but I guess it’s in the name. The free shit is cool, but after that? It’s okay. Six outta ten… six and a half.”

I huffed in lieu of a proper laugh. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

……

I was nosing into On the Presence of Angels when I saw movement to the left. By the time I’d looked up, all I could see was a pair of wooden feet careening back into the woods and a puff of leaves where some dryad hair was a second ago.

I smirked. Thanks, wind. Waitaminute, didn’t you… I put the book back in my bag and exchanged it for the… horny one. Cam raised a Spock-tier eyebrow at the title. But then I flipped open to the marked page and started reading. Next, of course, came the part where I had to recap why I had the book to him. My voice was barely recovered enough, but I finished the expositing and started reading.

‘In the end, Zimbdael’s psycho nature was more than just a bottomless wellspring of new kinks to try… or an endless source of names on her hit-list. It started subtly. At first, I was becoming more lethargic, then my ‘sinful’ drives began to fade out. She noticed after about a week without good sex and got on my case about having eyes for someone else.

She was right of course, but I wasn’t anywhere near acting on it. Not with those eagle eyes over my shoulder. It was a few days later that she finally started acting benevolent. You see, I had stopped eating, appetite was gone. She tried to use healing or blessings to make me better, but to our shock, I got worse! In a rare act of wisdom, she brought in a priest.

He diagnosed me quite quickly with chronic over-blessing. I distinctly remember Zimbdael running out of the room in shame as the priest cursed me repeatedly to neutralize the holy energy. When I found her a few huge meals later, she was in our basement sobbing up a storm. Now, as many times as she’s cried before, this was different, I swear. There was no scheme for personal gain, no fakeness in her tears, and her wings were turning grey and molting!

It took hours man, girl could cry a river and not break a sweat. Eventually, she finally spilled on what happened. So it fucking turns out that angels can give a lot of positive energy if they want. BUT. They’re not supposed to without consent. SOMETIMES, when an angel feels superior and infallible in their opinions, maybe even correct on all fronts without the need for input… they can start leaking blessings onto things without even thinking.

This is called Holy Savior Syndrome. And it doesn’t even need to be during sex! Kissing, caresses, hugs, handholding, ANY positive, sensual, physical contact can send one across! Bitch was giving my STBs (Sensually Transmitted Blessings) EVERY TIME we touched. On top of ALL that, they weren’t random. They were tailor made to correct everything she didn’t like about me!

Eat too much? Fuck your appetite! Have eyes for pretty girls that aren’t her? Impotence for life! Getting out too much? Mellow out! Get tired! Spend more time with me! Me, me, meeeeee!

So I had to give her an ultimatum: Get tested. If you have it, get treated. Oh boy, she hated that, but she was too devastated to disagree. So she told me about the feather test. Take a feather fallen from the wing within the last week, make a small, bleeding cut on yourself, and hold the feather to it. This unthinking little angelic energy-battery SHOULD defer to the rule: No help without consent.

If you’re still bleeding, ask the feather to heal you and it should. But if it heals you without you asking, then she has HSS. This one goes out to all you fellow angel-bangers, you should know this one. Of course, I told her to get it treated! This is a serious condition for angels, and a major taboo; you lose your standing until it gets fixed!

That crazy bitch refused! I had no choice but to break up with her on the spot. The results of which…’

The page ended and I flipped to the next page to see the chapter header. ‘The Part Where Zimbdael Goes to Jail for 400 Years and Has to Pay for 35 Resurrections’ it read. I nodded slowly, then flipped back to the part about HSS. There were some handy illustrations and instructions in the margins, which were clearly written by someone else who wasn’t a douchebag.

I looked to Cam, who had been reading over my shoulder. “So she accidentally overblessed Grif while he was on her lap in our lounge?”

“I think so… if it’s tailored to what the angel dislikes, then she must have been annoyed by his hostility.” I rubbed my chin and sighed.

She already got a lot of shit from me. The weight of my apology on her psyche is a big problem for her as-is. Do I really kick her while she’s down? I looked at Grif, who was in his E-D playpen shredding a toy. She coulda hurt my boy. Hell, she could hurt someone else. Someone who isn’t already planning to visit a priest… I gotta.

“Get me that feather I gave you, we’re doing the test.”

“One step ahead of you!” he announced, handing it to me without the need for digging.

I got my knife and cut a tiny little gouge into my wrist. Something just big enough to not close on its own in a minute. Hesitantly, I held the feather to it. Instant zing. I didn’t even need to look! The magic was so strong that I had my answer by feel alone. My eyes shut and I sighed with genuine sympathy.

“Keep an eye on the gang, Cam. I’m gonna make the call.”

I crawled back and got the calling stones out, reciting the calling pattern for the palace by heart. An aide answered.

“Hello? … Yes, Dennis T Lawson. I just departed the palace today. … No, I didn’t forget any belongings. I want to speak with someone in the palace. … Nidael, please. … That’s fine, I can wait.”

Some minutes ticked by as I felt a tension in the air. I wasn’t doing the easy thing; look away, pretend there is no problem, sweep it under the rug. But I’m not an angel, and I’m not the fucking church. That burning flame of determination roared to life, fueled by my conscience, awoken from its deep slumber. It drove me to remain, no matter how many minutes of anxious holding for the problem to pick up the stone. There was a shuffling noise.

“I hope you haven’t called to taunt me now that you’re at a safe distance, Dennis.”

“No, no… it’s not that. I, uhh… I have some bad news. … You know Grif?”

“I do. He was quite amicable for a night griffin. Is he alright?” she asked with a degree of concern.

“He is now. I was fortunate to have visited the archbishop with him in tow, who was able to diagnose him with a severe case of overblessing.”

She did not speak for a very long time. “This conversation is over. Goodb–”

“NIDAEL I HAVE A FEATHER!” I cried, sealing her lips once more. ”I already did the test. You’re positive.”

Heavy breathing could be faintly heard through the stone. “That is… that is forbidden knowledge! How did you find such things?” she blubbered.

I refrained from answering, half because I didn’t want her to sniff out the source of my info for censorship, and half because I didn’t want to say ‘porn’ to a highly chaste archangel.

“That doesn’t matter. What does matter, is that you have HSS, and you need to seek treatment. I wrote a note to Chivos, and he will be notifying your superiors via formal channels within the week. It… will look a lot better if you tell them yourself. I’m sorry, Nidael, but you can do actual, unintentional harm until you fix it, and that’s not the way of light. We both know it.”

A single, defeated sniffle came through the line. “Okay,” she choked out on the verge of tears before hanging up.

I genuinely felt bad for her as I put the stones away. Cam had a similar look as I rejoined him on the seat.

“So that was the angel that kissed those skill points into me?”

“Yup. You should be fine though, short contact.”

He nodded in understanding. “Dayum, that blows dick. I hope she gets better.”

I put a hand on my chest, feeling that high heart rate. “Yeah, hope she does. Hoo boy, I really should have called my lawyer before that. Poking that hornets’ nest was a bad idea without some legal shielding.”

Cam looked at me sympathetically. “Righteous indignation makes people do some strange things, man.”

My thoughts turned to a long foot trail in a shimmering wasteland. “It sure does, doesn’t it?”

……

It had been a long day at the office. Not a busy one, just slow. I sat in my chair reading through a comprehensive list of every language ever seen on Nassur, comparing each one with even a passing resemblance to the runes on my stat card. Nothing. Not a single match. Plenty of close misses, but nothing concrete. I sighed and flipped to page 55/672 when Pokle knocked on my door.

“Big client wants to see you!” she announced as she opened a crack.

I shut the book. “Sure, bring me the stones.”

“No, she’s here here, wants to talk face-to-face. Says she knows you.”

I blinked. “Huh, a walk-in. Okay, send her in.”

I put the book and stat-card away and straightened up as a brunette in a sun hat strolled in and shut the door behind her. She wore a heavy, fancier take on traveler's clothing with an emphasis on the fine use of greys. The face was not ringing any bells.

“Um, welcome. I apologize, but I can’t seem to recall your name.”

She smiled, blinking her blue eyes to make those long lashes dance. “I knew you wouldn’t recognize me after the up-aging!”

Those sapphire eyes turned ruby in a flash and her hair flushed raven-black. She grinned and held her arms akimbo.

“Does that help your memory?”

I squinted, looking at the slender, dark, tall-ish frame. “Matti?”