“Saints above, Mike! Between the two of you, I may as well get back into the bed!”
“Sorry.” Michael smiled sheepishly, but it didn’t come close to reaching his clouded grey eyes. “I’m a bit distracted, apparently.”
Uriel softened. “Are you okay?”
“Maybe.” His eyes lit on Glory, still tucked halfway into Uriel’s shadow, and his expression brightened. “Gloriana!”
He stepped towards her, lifting his arms to offer a hug, and froze midstep when she flinched away from him. His brow furrowed, and she cleared her throat daintily.
“Sorry, sorry.” She apologized and came around to embrace him tightly. “I’m a bit on edge and you startled me, that’s all.”
Michael relaxed, breathing in the old familiar scent of sweet flowers that always hung on the delicate woman. Her slender arms were deceptively strong, enclosing his waist with a steady pressure that touched a sore spot deep inside him. Some things were still constant.
“You haven’t changed at all,” Glory pulled back, releasing his waist to fuss with his hair, and trying in vain to tame the unruly curls. “You should consider going bald like Uri if you’re not going to bother styling this mess.”
“As if he could pull off this look,” Uriel grinned, running a hand over his smooth-shaven scalp and tossing her a wink.
“Still a menace, I see,” Glory giggled. “I missed you both, and of course, Raphael. How is he?”
“He’s well.” Michael smiled. “As lost in his books as ever. We should hurry home to make sure he remembers to eat something and take time to see the world beyond his archives.”
“Speaking of home,” Uriel cut in, “are we free to go, or does Luce?—?”
“We aren’t prisoners, apparently, though it goes without saying Mags will not be joining us.” Michael frowned. “And while you might be well received, I’d wager I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
“How are we supposed to find our way home when we were blindfolded coming in?”
“Oh,” Glory clapped her hands together, smiling wide. “I know just the man for the job.”
The man for the job turned out to be another demon – a female demon, at that. She was as tall as Zaj was short, with skin of acid green. Her slender, willowy limbs were just a touch overlong, with fingers that stretched and flexed like curling vines towards the floor as she hovered on skeletal wings. A hint of scale patterning ran down her reptilian face from forehead to collarbone and disappeared beneath her gauzy black slip dress. Dark pits of violet smoke smoldered where her eyes should have been, and a shock of pure white hair poured down her back like pale water.
“Pyzyk,” Glory smiled, but she looked puzzled. “I was expecting Porb.”
“Yess,” the demon confirmed in a low, hoarse whisper with a slight lisp that belied a reptilian ancestry as she shrugged. “He iss otherwisse occupied, helping in the Pit.”
“Oh no…”
“It iss fine,” Pyzyk dismissed her concern. “I will be returning to put the fear of Pyzyk into them when I am done with you.”
“I can’t imagine you’re especially terrifying,” Uriel smirked.
“You have never sseen my other facess, dark one.” She grinned, revealing a mouthful of razor-sharp, serrated fangs.
“Dark one,” Uriel laughed. “I like that, it makes me feel edgy.”
Glory rolled her eyes. “Dramatic boys, all of you. It makes me miss Jophiel even more.”
Uriel sobered. “I’m serious Glory, you should call him. He’d be glad to hear from you, I know it.”
“Maybe,” she deflected, patting him on his unscarred arm. “But you can also give him my regards when you get home.”
“We can indeed,” Michael nodded seriously. “It is…very good to see you again, Gloriana.”
“You too,” she croaked out, tearing her gaze away as her eyes went misty and clearing her throat. “You both look so good, it’s like nothing has changed.”
“The things that matter most are constant,” Uriel assured her softly, resting a hand on her shoulder.
Michael brushed a knuckle against her jaw to turn her face back to them. “Distance does not change the love we hold for you, or the other Fallen.”
