Chapter 1

Being an angel sucked.

Or at least, being a low-ranking angel sucked. The seraphim and cherubim sure seemed to live comfortably, not to mention the archangels. Of course, they had a full schedule with a truckload of responsibilities, but those were more along the lines of organizing competitions, resolving inter-angel disputes, or supervising soul storage.

Rather than shoveling unicorn shit.

I blew an errant strand of hair out of my face as I leaned against the wall of the large box in the stable where Derdekea kept her personal herd of unicorns. As a cherub in charge of a sizable territory, Derdekea had amassed quite a bit of wealth, which showed in the fact that she had several of the rare animals in her possession. Not for riding, of course. One didn’t ride unicorns.

No, they were for display only. To present them to visiting dignitaries from other territories and brag about the successful breeding program. There were always a lot of oohs and aahs when Derdekea showed off her herd. Comments such as “spectacular silver shine” and “intricate twisting pattern of the horns.”

Just a single one of the pointy bastards was worth thousands of souls.

If only their tempers didn’t rival those of grumpy trash monsters.

I eyed the particularly feisty specimen over in the far corner, who in turn glared at me with the notion of utmost offense. So much hostility, packed into the shape of an ethereally beautiful animal.

Long, slender legs that moved with the grace of a dancer, fur the color of pearls—complete with iridescence—a slim lion’s tail tipped with a tuft of sparkly white hair, an elegantly arched neck adorned with the same glistening white hair for a mane, a finely sculpted head that looked like someone once saw a horse and thought, “I can improve that,” and, of course, the telltale horn that rose from the forehead like an ivory tower, thicker at the base and becoming ever more slender with each twist toward the sharp end.

How sharp exactly that end was, I had experienced on more than one occasion. I’d run out of fingers to count the times I’d been skewered while cleaning the stables. The wounds might have closed within minutes, but they’d hurt like a bitch. And while my own body mended itself right quick, my clothes didn’t, which was why I was walking around with a wardrobe of amateurishly fixed holes. Sewing wasn’t my forte, and I couldn’t afford to have a higher-ranking angel magically mend them for me.

“Tabris,” I said, addressing the cantankerous equine across the box from me. “I’m just here to clean your stall, okay? No need to get all stabby with me.”

Tabris the Menace snorted and stomped with one front hoof.

“You know the drill,” I continued, inching forward with the shovel grasped in a white-knuckled grip. “I’m going to remove your droppings, and you’re going to be a dear and not spear me. Are we clear?”

His shrewd silver eyes tracked my progress.

Slowly, I made my way over to the heap of excrement to his right. Far too close to him for my liking.

“You’d think you beasts would be more grateful. I’m shoveling your shit”—which, contrary to popular belief, was not made out of sparkly rainbows—“making sure you don’t roll around in your own filth, and all I get in return is a horn through my guts.”

Tabris shifted his weight, muscles rippling underneath his pearlescent fur. A thousand pounds of pure strength, ready to jump into action.

I paused with the shovel pushed under the droppings and shot him a glare. “Do. Not.”

The beast flicked his tail, and I could have sworn his lips pulled back in the semblance of a sneer. The next second, he charged. The thing about unicorns was that they were lightning fast. They could move in the blink of an eye. One moment Tabris was several feet away from me, and the next his horn came straight at my chest. My own angel reflexes allowed me to evade the strike just enough that the sharp tip only grazed my shoulder instead of lancing my heart, but unfortunately, I’d also tried to block the attack with the shovel.

The shovel full of shit.

All of which landed with a nauseating thwack smack-dab in my face.

It was still warm.

I doubled over, retching and sputtering, blinking my eyes clear of unicorn poop as I stumbled out of the box. The sounds I made were so un-angel-like that I’d probably get demoted just for that alone. Tabris’s neighing followed me out into the hall, unmistakably mocking.

Ugh. Ugh, ugh, ugh.

I hated these pointy bastards.

As I stomped past the stable master’s lounge, a voice called out from within. “Are you done cleaning the boxes?”

“Yes,” I hissed over my shoulder. The boxes were clean. I wasn’t.

“Don’t forget to clock out,” Geron shouted without bothering to emerge from the stable master’s lounge.

“Yes, sir,” I yelled back and marched over to the shift recorder.

Stopping in front of the shelf with the employee cards, I pulled out mine and then held it out to the fancy bird perched on a golden branch on top of a column right next to the door. Her feathers ranging from hues of orange and red to midnight blue, with a lovely magenta thrown in as well, Karoz tilted her head, the feather crest on the top rising inquisitively.

“Punch me out, please,” I said.

She uttered a lovely chirp and then bit into the card I held out, marking the spot beside the hole where she’d punched me in earlier.

“Thank you.” I saluted her with the card. “See you tomorrow.”

Karoz trilled in answer.

I stashed the card again, threw open the large wooden doors, and stalked out of the stable building. Outside, facing the view of the rolling purple plains and meadows dotted with the white sparkles of unicorns underneath a sky caught in eternal sunset—or dawn, depending on one’s interpretation—I took a deep breath. And while that would have normally relaxed me a bit, with the usual notes of honey and lavender in the air, this time I coughed and gagged at the stink of unicorn manure that wafted up from me.

Right. I was still covered in shit.

Gritting my teeth, I forced my wings from my back. They appeared with a whoosh and a tingle of magic running over my skin, and I shook them out and stretched them once. One might think appendages that were magicked away most of the time and only appeared corporeal when summoned wouldn’t get sore while they were tucked away. Alas, that was not how things worked. My wings tended to feel stiff when I called them, and it usually took a few minutes of stretching or flying for them to become less tender.

“Here we go,” I muttered, and then I took off running.

In a maneuver that resembled a jacked-up parkour, I jumped, dashed, and heaved myself up the sides of the stable building, using my wings as help, until I’d scaled my way up to the gently sloped roof. There, I caught my breath for a second, my boots crunching on the slate tiles, before I ran toward the edge and launched myself into the air. My wings beat hard, my muscles straining, but then I caught an air current—and I soared.

To my embarrassment and the unending mockery by fellow angels, I still couldn’t manage a vertical takeoff.

I might have been made an angel, with all the bells and whistles that went along with it, such as fast healing, wings, some powers, and the general physical requirements to fly. But what it didn’t say in the New Angel Manual that they’d never given me was that this whole wing deal didn’t come with the innate knowledge of how to fly. No, I’d had to learn that part, like a fledgling bird.

And, like some bird species do with their young in order to teach them how to use their wings, my angel superiors had thrown me off a branch when they’d started my flight training. Or rather, off a high building, in my case.

Unlike a baby bird, I wouldn’t die if I crashed onto the ground; I’d only hurt myself. A lot. But, hey, I healed fast, right? Which was why my coaches hadn’t had any scruples about repeatedly pushing me off high buildings. Either I’d healed quickly on my own from minor injuries, or they’d mended any more-serious damage with their powers.

Not getting hurt anymore by crashing down again had been a really powerful incentive for me to learn how to fly, and I’d managed eventually.

The vertical takeoff, however, was my nemesis. I just couldn’t do it. My muscles were still too weak. According to my flight coaches, though, it was all in my head.

So I had to resort to using whatever higher perches I could find to give me a bit of a lift, like just now with the stable roof. Once I was airborne, though, I was free.

Flying was the absolute best thing about being an angel. The sheer exhilaration of soaring high above the ground, unbound and unburdened, the wind caressing my wings, was beyond words. I never felt as strong, as wild and carefree as I did when I defied gravity and hurtled across the sky.

The barn shrank to miniature size far below me, a speck of charcoal gray among the sea of white-dotted purple plains. Everything dwindled away, worries and constraints falling off me more and more with each powerful beat of my wings. Nothing mattered anymore, not the demands placed upon me, the strict schedule that chafed like an ill-fitting chain, the rules and regulations that pressed and pressed upon me until I thought I might choke. None of that mattered up here. Beneath this hauntingly beautiful sky, it was only me and the wind and the feeling of vast, open spaces.

Sadly, today was not the day to linger up here. As much as I enjoyed dancing with the breeze, doing so covered in excrement dimmed the pleasure just a touch.

So instead of riding the wind further, I angled my wings to take me back to Derdekea’s estate proper, and soon the sprawling set of buildings made of glistening white stone came into view. The main house was a thing of filigree beauty, with slender columns and elaborately carved designs decorating corners and spires. High windows would allow the warm hues of the sunset sky to flood the rooms, and there were balconies and terraces galore from which to take flight or land on. I’d seen pictures of cathedrals on Earth, their gothic architecture a feast for the eyes, but Derdekea’s mansion put them to shame.

I didn’t veer toward the main house, though, but instead dove for the set of smaller buildings to the right. An estate like Derdekea’s required a veritable army of staff to keep it running, and most of the lower-ranking angels in her service had their accommodations in these side buildings, out of the way of the mansion proper. Only the higher-ranked angels—seraphim, cherubim, and thrones—warranted a suite in the main house, where they were closer to the comings and goings of visiting angels and the pleasantries of the main household.

Those of the lower ranks—dominions, virtues, powers, and principalities—lived in the outer buildings, and most of us didn’t get a room of our own, let alone a suite. No, we had to share our “private” quarters with another angel. Private, my ass.

As a virtue, I only had one roommate, so at least I had that going for me. Still, my roomie sure made me wish I had just a tad more power and could rise through the ranks to dominion, which, among other rights, came with the privilege of a room all to myself. That alone was motivation enough for me to try to work my way up.

I landed in the courtyard between the different staff buildings, tucked away my wings with a thought, and proceeded to march into the house where I lived. Made of white stone like the main mansion, it echoed the estate’s overall style, though it featured fewer intricate carvings and decorations. It was more functional, after all, and less meant to impress visitors.

The dark wooden door gave way to a corridor wide enough to allow two angels to pass each other with their wings out. Skylights in the roof let in the shimmering colors of the never-ending sunset, which painted the white stone of the hallway in a sumptuous symphony of light. To the left and right, doors led to individual rooms.

I passed several other angels on the way, all of them breaking out in a gagging fit as my eau de merde hit their noses.

“By God,” someone croaked.

“I can’t breathe,” came another strangled voice from behind me.

I would have actually enjoyed the whole thing if it weren’t ruining my own olfactory sense, too.

Finally, I’d reached my room. If I was lucky, Bifiel wouldn’t be here, and I’d get some true alone time in which I could take a long, long shower and scrub my body clean of all lingering unicorn poop. I sighed, already imagining how good it would feel to catch a break like this before my next shift.

As an angel, I didn’t really need to sleep, and I didn’t require rest as I once had when I’d been a human, which meant that, technically, I—as well as other angels—would be able to work nonstop. Given that we didn’t even have to eat or drink in order to stay healthy, seeing as we took our sustenance from Heaven itself, we wouldn’t need any breaks.

But as much as the angels in charge liked to make us lower-ranking staff toil for their benefit, not allowing us any leisure time would apparently go too far. I wondered if there had been a revolution at some point that had claimed that regulation as a victory, an uprising of the working-class angels against the tyranny of the elite, demanding labor rights like the twelve-hour workday and a day off once a month, or else high-ranking heads would roll.

Or maybe we had unions? I paused, scrunching up my brow. I should find out. I’d been here long enough; I should know about any potential organizations working for my rights.

But first, shower.

I pushed open the door to my room and froze at the sight of the angel perched on the edge of my bed, her innate power a hum in the air. Her auburn hair fell in loose waves around a face of light brown, and as I halted on the threshold, she raised her turquoise eyes to meet my gaze, a smile illuminating her fine features.

“Naamah,” I croaked.