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It hadn’t even been that long, and Peter was nervous. So many things could go wrong. Maybe he should have gone with them?
No, that was dumb. What good would be to them? His job was to watch the gates of heaven. Not even guard. Just watch. A glorified mascot. Hell was no place for him.
Hell was no place for Abel either.
This was a bad idea. Who had suggested it? Who had okayed it? Certainly not him.
He leaned against his podium, drumming his fingers on his book, doing his duty—watching the gates behind him while keeping one eye on the portal to hell. It really hadn’t been that long. A few hours at most. But it felt like an eternity.
He looked down at his book. No new names.
He looked at the clouds beyond. No new souls.
Had this job always been this tedious?
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement.
Peter looked sharply to the portal, which had begun to glow. He leaned forward in anticipation. An eternity had passed, in his mind, but it still seemed too early for them to be returning. Right? His heart picked up an eager beat as the first figures erupted through in a flurry of black and white feathers.
The exorcists, the angels Peter had always seen flocking around Adam—especially Lute. They’d always been an oddity, and he’d only recently learned what their true purpose was. To cull the sinners in hell and diminish their numbers. It was shocking to think something like that had been going on for centuries, all while he’d been watching the comings and goings of heaven without a clue.
Glorified mascot indeed.
There were three or four of them now, huddled around a figure in their midst. Not the familiar, towering figure of Adam, but the smaller figure of Abel, who had inherited them. They were fussing over him, and Peter’s heart started pounding in earnest. Why were they back? Why were they huddled around him? Several more exorcists appeared behind them, armed with spears.
Peter abandoned the podium. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
The exorcists flared their wings, trying to block him coming closer. “Stand back,” the lead one snapped. At least, she seemed to be the lead. It wasn’t Lute. Nobody had seen her in several days. Probably off moping about her demotion. “The head exorcist has been wounded.”
“Wounded!?” Peter tried to shove his way through, but the lead exorcist knocked him back with a snarl. “Abel? What’s wrong?”
He heard Abel’s nervous chuckle from within the flurry of feathers. “I’m fine!” he called, like a man just barely keeping his head above water. “Really, I am. Thank you for your concern, ladies, but I’m—I’m fine.” He waded his way out of them, with them grabbing at his sleeve and trying to pull him back.
Peter darted in and helped pull him along. He grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him around, and looked him over. “What’s wrong? They hurt you? The sinners?”
“No.” Abel waved his hand dismissively. “No, no, no. Well—I mean—it’s fine.”
Peter gripped him tighter, a sudden flare of anger rising up. “What did they do?”
“The sinners were not receptive to our mission of peace,” the nameless, faceless lead exorcist said.
Abel grimaced.
“Weapons were drawn. A riot broke out. We needed to retreat before the head exorcist was hurt further.”
“Further?” Peter pressed.
He didn’t miss the way she kept calling Abel “the head exorcist.” It felt so impersonal.
He took Abel’s face in his hands. “Did they hurt you, babe?”
Abel’s face turned solid gold. “N-no,” he muttered. “They tried but—but I’m fine!”
“We need to report this to Sera,” the exorcist went on.
“Later,” Peter said, making a snap decision. He pulled Abel closer to him and used his own wings to shield him from the exorcists. “I’m going to get Abel seen to.”
“Y-yeah,” Abel agreed. He shot a look over his shoulder. “Maybe you can—draft up the report…um, Melody, was it?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied with a curt military nod. “Please call if you need anything. We are at your disposal.”
Abel let himself be led along through the gates into heaven. The main thoroughfare opened up before them, welcoming them back into anonymity. Abel had been waiting for millennia to finally throw his own wait around, and now that he had it, he didn’t seem to know quite what to do with it. Once they were out of view of the exorcists, he leaned his head against Peter’s shoulder and let out a sigh. “I’m not cut out for this.”
“Do I need to take you to the infirmary?” Peter asked.
Abel shook his head. “No, they didn’t hurt me. It’s just—” He winced. “Someone threw a rock.”
“A rock?”
“It wasn’t a holy rock or anything. It didn’t hurt. It just…” He reached up subconsciously for his bent halo. “I overreacted.”
Shit.
Peter pulled him into the nearest alleyway, double-checking to make sure no exorcists were behind them. Alone and out of the way off traffic, he pulled Abel to him and pressed his lips to his temple, where he had taken his original wound so long ago. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into his hair, just now realizing Abel wasn’t wearing his exorcist mask. He’d probably thought to make himself look more approachable to the denizens of hell they were appealing to. The helmet would have buffered the blow from the rock, however. “I’m sorry that happened. Are you…okay?”
Abel breathed out deeply. “No. I’m not.”
Peter ran his hand through his hair, bidding him to go on. Get it off his chest.
Abel would not meet his gaze. “I suck at this.”
“No, that’s not true. You’ve hardly even started yet.”
“And I already started a riot!” Abel wailed, burying his face into Peter’s shoulder. “God, I’m pathetic. Dad was right about me.”
“Shh, shh. Don’t say that. Your dad was an asshat.”
Abel sniffled in the fabric of his jacket. “You shouldn’t—I dunno, talk about him that way. Or something?”
“It’s true, though. He was an asshat, and whatever he and his batshit girlfriend were doing down there in hell—he’s left it for you to fix.”
“I can’t fix it, though. I can’t fix anything. I’m just the First Victim.”
He turned his head this way and that against Peter’s shoulder.
“First Man. First Woman. First Eater of the Forbidden Fruit. And I’m just…the First Murder Victim. That’s all I am. That’s all anyone remembers me for.”
Peter patted his back. “You’re more than that to me.” Gently, he pulled Abel from his shoulder and stood him upright. “Listen, you’re amazing, Abel. Sera gave this position to you for a reason.” For one, you’re not a violent psychopath. Peter wasn’t sure Abel would take that as a compliment, though, so he didn’t voice it. Instead he said, “You’ve got this. Sera wouldn’t send you down to smooth things over with hell if she didn’t have faith in you.”
“But they threw a rock at me!” Abel cried. “They started a riot! Sera didn’t think I was ready for it. She doesn’t have faith in me and she shouldn’t have faith in me and…”
He either trailed off or Peter lost focus on his words because his eyes had found something in the crowd moving along the main street. A familiar figure strutting with purpose right past them. He felt his fist tightening in anger.
“One second, babe.” Peter released his hold on Abel and exited the alleyway, slipping among the winners passing by. There was one in particular he had his sights on, a flash of silver and black amidst all the bodies.
He caught up to her quickly. She didn’t even notice him approach, too intent on whatever else she was thinking about.
“Lieutenant Lute.”
She still didn’t notice him until he grabbed hold of her wrist, the shining gold prosthetic, and whirled her around.
“Lieutenant Lute!”
She spun, her eyes wild in her head and threatening murder. Even when she saw it was him, recognized his face, the look did not retreat. She yanked her wrist free of his grip and bared her teeth at him. “What do you want?”
“Where have you been?”
She scowled. “None of your business.”
“You should have been with Abel.”
“What?”
“Your commanding officer,” he said, emphasizing to remind her.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “He is not my commanding officer.”
“Well, according to Sera he is. And you should have been with him, protecting him.”
“Peter!” Abel had caught up to them, huffing. He looked from Peter to Lute nervously. “Wh-what are you doing?”
“Trying to find out where she was while you were getting attacked.”
Lute sneered. “Attacked?”
“On the diplomacy mission to hell. You should have been there to pull him out of trouble.”
Lute’s sneer deepened. “Diplomacy mission to hell?” There was not an inch of her face untouched by disgust. “You went on a diplomacy mission…to hell?”
“Well, I…” Abel tapped his fingers together. “Thought we might reach out to them.”
“Are you insane? They murdered your father.”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“We’ve been at war with them for millennia. Did you really think you’d just sit down and talk it out with them? They’re sinners, Abel.” She stepped forward, her entire body as tense as a string on her instrument’s namesake. “If you don’t have the balls to think about what they did to Adam, at least have the balls to think about what they did to you.”
Abel’s hand went to his halo again.
“They attacked you?” Lute let out a mirthless laugh. “No shit! They’re demons!”
“You should have been there!” Peter repeated, putting himself in front of Abel. “Whether you agree with it or not, it’s your job, Lieutenant. To protect the head exorcist. Abel is the head exorcist now.”
Lute looked the both of them up and down. There was something about her—something like a cornered animal. Peter did not appreciate the look in her eye, like they were both obstacles to get out of her way.
“He may be the head exorcist,” she said at last, “but he’s half the man Adam was.”
Abel flinched.
“I am an angel of war,” she continued, “not a babysitter.” She spread her wings, causing several passersby on the sidewalk to give her a wide berth. “Call me if you need a war. Until then, stay out of my way.”
And with that, she took to the air. A gust of wind traveled in her wake, rustling their robes.
Peter huffed. “I’m going to report you to Sera!”
There was no response. Lute spiraled up into the sky, a woman with no time to waste on the likes of them.
Peter felt a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention back to Abel. “Please, Peter, just let it go.”
“But she—”
“I know.” He smiled guiltily. “I did take her job, though. And—you know, she and my dad were close.”
That much was clear. Lute was probably the only person in heaven who could tolerate Adam’s shitty personality.
Peter was a little ashamed to admit there had been a time when he’d had a bit of a crush on Adam. He’d just seemed so big and masculine and larger than life. And then he’d met Abel and found out that what he really liked about Adam was his hair. Because there was no logical explanation he would be attracted to Adam’s son over Adam himself if it was otherwise.
Abel was not especially larger than life. He had a certain thirst for attention and praise, but he lacked Adam’s bombastic nature. He was sensitive and excitable and he had a soft spot for all things fluffy. In short, everything Adam couldn’t stand.
But Peter adored him.
His little wishy-washy dork.
Adam didn’t want him? Fine. Peter did.
“Ignore her,” he said, taking Abel’s hands. “She says you’re not the man Adam was. I say that’s a fucking good thing.” He tightened his hold. “And if she’s not going to do her job of protecting you, then I will.”
Abel’s eyes widened in surprise. “You will?” The skepticism was thick.
Okay, Peter was going to try to not take that personally.
“You bet I will!” he replied in his cheeriest voice, the one reserved for welcoming nervous souls into paradise. “I…I’ll come down with you next time, and the next sinner who tosses a rock at you gets one of these.” He closed his fists and made the jabbing motions of a boxer to demonstate.
Abel snorted in his hand.
“Don’t laugh. You’re looking at the guy who, when they asked him how he wanted to be crucified said, ‘Upside down, please and thanks.’” Peter grinned cheekily, then winced. Maybe it wasn’t a great idea to remind Abel that they’d both been murdered.
Abel didn’t seem to mind, though. He was laughing now. “Yeah, that sounds great, Peter. We’ll dress you up in one of the exorcist’s uniforms.”
Peter raised his eyebrow, glad to see his dork in better spirits. “You know, I don’t think I’d mind that.”
Abel flushed. “I-I mean…” He tapped his fingers together. “I’ve got access to the uniforms now…” He bit his lip nervously, accenting his buck teeth and cherubic face.
Yeah, Peter would take him over Adam any day.
He looped their arms together. “Okay, tell you what. You let me come with you when you give your report to Sera.”
He intended to chew her out—as much as he was capable of such things—for okaying this stupid diplomatic mission. Abel didn’t belong in hell. He belonged up here, where it was safe.
“And then, after that, you can dress me up any way you want.” He started to pull Abel along. “I’ll be your glorified mascot any day.”