LITMIR.BIZ

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don’t understand,” admitted Zac.

      “No. It’s not an easy one to get your head around, is it? We tried explaining it to Albert Einstein once, shortly after he got here. He’s been having a lie-down in a darkened room ever since. Whimpering into a pillow, by all accounts.” Gabriel flashed his politician-smile again. “So let’s not go into too much detail. Suffice to say the book has been taken at some point and that right now it is in the possession of Hell and all its minions.”

      The door opened and Michael strode in. Zac saw a subtle look pass between the angels, and the briefest of nods from the one in the armour.

      Gabriel took his seat again, while Michael remained standing behind him. Both angels looked expectantly at Zac.

      “Our offer is this,” said Gabriel, clasping his hands together. “You find the book and bring it to us, and we wipe the slate clean. A fresh start. You are returned to life, and all your sins are forgiven.”

      “And if I say no?”

      “Then you will still go to Hell, but as a prisoner of Satan, not as an agent of God. There you will be roasted, flayed, impaled and so on and so forth, for the remainder of time.”

      Zac didn’t flinch. He held Gabriel’s gaze. The angel shifted in his seat slightly, then leaned back and placed his hands behind his head.

      “And then, of course, there’s your grandfather to think about.”

      The tiny hairs on the back of Zac’s neck stood on end. He almost reacted to that, but he bit down hard on the inside of his bottom lip to stop himself.

      “He’s how old now? Ninety-six? Ninety-seven?” Gabriel asked, not expecting an answer. “Old for a human. All alone down there. Defenceless. How is his health these days? The mind can start going at that age, can’t it? Wouldn’t it be a shame if you could never go back to him? Never even got the chance to say goodbye?”

      Zac’s voice was like the rasp of a saw. “OK,” he said. “You win. I’ll do it.”

      “Excellent. Excellent,” said Gabriel. He spun his chair in a full circle, then stood up suddenly. “Michael will accompany you on the quest.”

      “No, thanks,” Zac said.

      Gabriel raised both impeccable eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

      “I don’t want him with me.”

      “Why ever not?”

      “I don’t like him. I’ll go alone.”

      “I’m afraid that’s quite impossible. Without him, you would not be able to cross over the barriers between realms.” Gabriel gave a dismissive wave. “Michael will get you out of Heaven, and Michael can bring you into Hell. You could not do these things on your own.”

      “Then I’ll take someone else,” Zac said. He met Michael’s furious glare and shot it back at him. “Preferably someone who hasn’t held a sword to my throat. In fact, preferably not an angel at all.”

      Gabriel laughed a hollow laugh. “This is Heaven. I’m afraid angels are all we have. But I don’t understand – why don’t you want an angel to accompany you?”

      “Because an angel in Hell is going to stand out, I’m guessing. I want to get in and out without making a scene,” Zac said. “Also, I’m still an atheist, so technically I don’t even believe in angels. You two included.”

      “Well, I’m afraid there’s nobody else,” Gabriel said. He tapped a manicured fingernail against his flawless teeth. It made a sound like footsteps on marble. “Unless...”

      “Unless what?”

      “There is one who may be able to help, although he has nowhere near the strength or experience of Michael.”

      “I don’t need strength or experience, I just need a guide,” Zac shrugged. “Is he an angel?”

      Gabriel shook his head. “No.”

      “What’s his name?”

      “His name? It’s... ah... yes. His name is Angelo.”

      “Angelo?” said Zac flatly. “And he’s not an angel?”

      “No. Yes. Well he’s half angel. But he’s the closest thing to a human that we have.”

      Zac jumped up and pulled the drawstring of the closest blinds. They lifted, letting a flood of sunlight into the room. He gestured at the busy city-centre plaza beyond the glass, and the hundreds of people who milled about there, all happily going about their business.

      “Humans,” Zac said. “Dead ones, maybe, but humans. What about one of them?”

      “Send a guest?” Gabriel gasped, his eyes widening. “We couldn’t possibly do that. Think of the paperwork. No,” he said, shaking his head. “It is Angelo, or it is Michael. The choice, Zac Corgan, is yours.”

      “Angelo, then,” said Zac. It wasn’t a difficult decision. He’d met Michael less than an hour ago, but already he wanted to stay as far away from him as possible.

      “Very good,” said Gabriel. “Michael, would you be so kind as to fetch young Angelo for me?”

      Michael nodded, shot a final glare at Zac, then pulled open the door. A look of exaggerated surprise crossed his face. “Oh, now would you look at that,” he said. “What are the chances?”

      He let the door open all the way. Gabriel looked past the other archangel and then he too reacted with shock. “Angelo? Just walking past at that very moment! What a stroke of good fortune.”

      Michael stepped aside. Zac saw the figure framed in the doorway.

      “Oh, come on,” he sighed as Angelo shuffled into the room. “You have got to be kidding me.”

      T WAS THE T-shirt the boy was wearing that had first caught Zac’s eye. It was white, with yellow print on the front in the style of the Baywatch logo. The text read:

      MY LIFEGUARD WALKS ON WATER

      And then, underneath, for those struggling to work it out:

      (BECAUSE HE’S JESUS)

      The rest of Angelo wasn’t much more promising, either. He was a good fifteen to twenty centimetres shorter than Zac, and about half the width across the shoulders. The T-shirt hung loosely from his skinny frame, reaching down almost to his knees.

      The knees themselves were on full display, knobbly and ever-so-slightly grass-stained. His legs were also bare, and Zac really hoped the boy was wearing some kind of shorts beneath the trailing shirt.

      On his feet, Angelo wore flip-flops with I LOVE MAJORCA printed in jolly lettering across the plastic strap. They were the most violent shade of fluorescent green Zac had ever laid eyes on.

      Zac’s gaze went from the feet to Angelo’s face. The boy looked young – eleven or twelve, at a guess – with eyes that seemed cartoonishly large. His hair was blond, like the angels’, but it was a dirty, brownish blond, cut into an uneven bowl shape round his head.

      Angelo smiled nervously. “Good King Wenceslas walks into a pizza shop,” he said. His voice was wobbly and unbalanced, as if he were still learning how to use it.

      “What?”

      “It’s a joke,” Angelo explained. “Good King Wenceslas walks into a pizza shop, and the assistant asks, ‘How do you want your pizza?’ And Good King Wenceslas says, ‘Deep pan, crisp and even.’”

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