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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.
