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called us tonight. The bay is full of human blood. All the fish are dead or dying. You can imagine what we’re thinking.”
    Michael pursed his lips, ice-blue eyes sharp.
    Dash called up a news website on his phone, flipping the screen around so Michael could see. “Strike two. Manhattan virus. Rotting skin and munchies with a taste for human flesh. It’s all over Babylon County.”
    Michael read, and waved his elegant hand, dismissive. “This is a sign, that’s a sign, my pumpkin looks like Jesus. We got up to the fifth sign back in the twenties. Turned out it was just coincidence, and some asshole in Nevada with a cloud seeder—”
    “Ithiel’s missing, Michael,” interrupted Japheth coldly. “You and I both know what that means. His vial could be compromised. Are you seriously telling me you know nothing about this?”
    Michael stared, and new ice crackled in his glass.
    Dash’s drink froze solid, halfway through a sip. Icicles stung his tongue, and his feathers prickled in the sudden chill. “Well,fuck you, too,” he whispered in Japheth’s ear. Little shit hadn’t told he knew Ithiel was a Guardian.
    Japheth just shrugged. He and Michael still had issues, obviously. But how deep did it go?
    Michael tossed away his frozen glass, and it smashed. “Phone,” he snapped, and the minion scrambled to deliver.
    The archangel called a number, and listened impatiently. “Pick the fuck up, Ithiel.” But after several rings, he flung the phone onto the couch and cursed. Dash’s eyes stung, and a green fern in the corner withered and died. “Okay,” Michael snapped. “This goes no further than this room, hear me? Find the little bastard and bring him here.”
    “Lune’s already on it.” But dismay slicked Dash’s nerves cold. If Michael truly knew nothing…“What if Ithiel’s dead, and the vial’s gone? What if…someone did this on purpose?”
    “Then find me a demon with a vial in his trash that used to be full of the boss’s wrath, and gut me the son of a sinner.”
    Dashiel gulped. Demons, stealing God’s wrath? Jesus in a fucking jam jar.
    “What did you think, that it was an accident?” Michael scowled, frigid. “No, this has hell’s fingerprints all over it. Find me Ithiel. And figure out why there’s a zombie plague in Babylon. Find me proof, a demon sigil, anything. If those goat-fucking ashlickers are at it again, I want to know five minutes ago.”
    The caged hell-thing giggled and scratched his scrawny belly with his bone. “Never fucked a goat.”
    “Goats have higher standards.” Michael glared at it, and the cage bars glowed hot. The creature yelped, hopping on blistered feet. Michael sighed. “God’s warts, you’re so pathetic.”
    “Can we please concentrate?” Japheth snapped. “Killing these demons won’t stop the chain of signs, not if they’ve already dispersed the holy wrath. What about the other Guardians? If they’re in danger, shouldn’t we warn them?”
    “Easier said than done.” Michael gave him an eye-aching smile. “No one knows who they are. Not even I.”
    Dash frowned. “But Ithiel—”
    “Was like his brother: a charming idiot who couldn’t keep his mouth shut. The other Guardians are…more subtle.” Michael ruffled his shining hair with one wing. “No, it can’t be done. Not yet. Bring me proof that demons are doing this, andI’ll take it upstairs. Until then, we deal with what we know. Off the books. Get me?”
    Dash nodded, brusque, and stood, only half-satisfied. Michael could be cruel and capricious, but he was one hell of a leader when the shitstorm hit. Still, something didn’t sit right with Dash.
    Like why Michael wouldn’t tell the boss right away. What was in it for him to delay? Even if they were wrong, surely…
    Chill rippled Dash’s spine, a sharp threat, and Michael caught his gaze. “Don’t second-guess me, Dashiel,” the archangel said mildly, but his eyes glinted like icy shards, deadly. “I still own you.