The Book of Doom

AC GLANCED OVER his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t been followed, then slipped into his house through the back door. He closed the door and turned the key without a sound, then jumped as the kitchen light clicked on.

“Zac?”

“Granddad, it’s you,” Zac breathed. He looked at the old man standing in the doorway in his striped pyjamas. He held a green and blue stress ball in one hand, squeezing it gently between his fingers. “What are you doing up?” Zac asked.

His grandfather, Phillip, passed the stress ball from one hand to the other and back again. “I was hungry,” he said. “Or... thirsty? I forget which. Where have you been?”

Zac crossed to the window and drew the blinds. “Working, Granddad, remember?”

“Until three in the morning?” Phillip asked. “Who eats hamburgers at three in the morning? I hope they paid you overtime.”

“Yeah, well...”

“I mean, eating hamburgers at three in the morning. They need their heads examined.”

“It takes all sorts, Granddad,” said Zac, not meeting the old man’s eye. He took a glass from the draining board and filled it with water. “Here, have this.”

Phillip frowned. “What for?”

“You’re thirsty.”

“Am I?” He took the glass and gulped down some of the water. “Oh, yes, so I was.” He licked his cracked lips. “Catriona’s very worried. Very worried.”

“Is she?” Zac asked. He glanced past his granddad into the darkened hallway, checking for any sign of movement. “What’s she worried about?”

“Oh, everything. You know what Catriona’s like!”

Zac filled himself a glass from the tap and sipped on it. The coppery tang of blood swirled around inside his mouth. “Well, no, not really,” he said. “Who’s Catriona?”

Phillip paused, his own glass halfway to his lips. “Catriona? She’s...” His eyes seemed to dim as he struggled to remember. He squeezed hard on his stress ball. “You know. Catriona.”

“Oh, you mean Catriona. Of course. Now I remember,” lied Zac. “Yeah, she’s a worrier, that one.”

A relieved smile lit up Phillip’s face. “Catriona,” he laughed. “Fancy not remembering Catriona. She’s asked me to help her out, but, I mean, what can I do?”

“You can do lots of things, Granddad,” Zac said, patting the old man on the shoulder, “but I think it’s time Catriona learned to stand on her own two feet. Stop worrying about her. She’ll be fine.”

Whoever she is, Zac added silently. Phillip spoke about people like Catriona all the time. People who snuck into his head at all hours of the day and night and told him their problems. People who, as far as Zac could tell, didn’t actually exist.

“Where have you been all night?” Phillip asked.

“Work, Granddad. I told you, remember?”

“Is that a bruise?” Phillip said, peering at his grandson. Zac pulled back before the old man could get a closer look at his face.

“Oh, yeah, I walked into a door,” Zac said. “Nothing serious. Anyway... I’m going to head to bed. Will you be OK?”

“I’ll be fine,” said Phillip, putting his glass in the sink. “If I can’t sleep I might do some reading. Or listen to music. Or I might even watch some television.”

“We don’t have a TV, Granddad.”

“Oh, don’t we? Well, bang goes that idea. Maybe I’ll just feed the goldfish, if I can get it to stay still for long enough. Anyway, I’ll be fine. You go. You go. You need your beauty sleep.”

Phillip shooed Zac out into the hallway, where an orange shape was zipping around inside a glass bowl. They both watched it for a few moments, moving so fast it was almost a blur of speed. Phillip had owned the same goldfish for as long as Zac could remember. In all that time, Zac had never once seen it stop moving.

Zac tore his eyes away from the darting fish and made for the stairs. He stopped to check the front door was locked, then turned to his granddad. “Listen, if anyone comes looking for me... I mean, if anyone calls round...”

Phillip frowned. “Expecting someone? At this time of night?”

“No. Maybe. Probably. If anyone comes to the door, tell them I’m not in.”

“Are you heading out?”

“No, I’m going to sleep, so tell them I’m not in.”

“You’re not in. Got it,” said Phillip. “Where is it you’re going?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Granddad. Just sleeping, remember?”

“Sleeping. Right.” The old man tapped a finger against the side of his nose. “Say no more.”

“You be OK?”

“I’ll be fine, Zac,” said Phillip. “Which is more than I can say for poor Bill.”

Zac made an admirable attempt to contain a sigh. “Bill?”

“Lost his job, apparently. In a lot of financial trouble. He doesn’t know what to do.” Phillip shook his head sadly. “Keeps asking me to sort it out for him, as if I can do anything about that kind of thing.”

For a moment, Phillip seemed to drift away. He gazed into space, a fog descending behind his eyes. Eventually, he gave himself a shake and looked over to his grandson.

“Now, where were you going again?”

“Nowhere, Granddad,” said Zac. He smiled weakly. “I’m just going to go bed.”

“Right you are!” said Phillip, and he turned back to the goldfish bowl as Zac bounded up the stairs.

The door to Zac’s bedroom was old and heavy. He closed it firmly and pushed his bookcase in front of it, just to make sure he wasn’t disturbed. He needed time to think, to figure out who the Monk was, and why he was trying to kill him.

He sat on the end of his bed, facing the window. The adrenaline that had been pumping through him for the past few hours was wearing off, and he could now feel all the cuts and bruises he’d earned on his way through Geneva’s front door.

A car. With a single punch, the Monk had flipped a moving car. It had to be a trick of some kind. It had to be. Like the birthmark on his hand, which had vanished again by the time he’d got home. Those things weren’t possible.

He looked through the window, along the leafy suburban street lit up orange by the glow of the streetlights. For a moment he thought he saw something glint on a roof at the other end of the street – a reflection of moonlight off a lens, maybe. He jumped up and quickly drew the curtains, suddenly unable to shake the feeling that he was being watched.

He was agitated. That was new. He never got agitated. Whatever the situation, he was a master at keeping his cool.

But a car. The Monk had flipped a car.

“Get a grip,” he told himself. “You’re being paranoid.”

He turned from the window. A figure in brown stood against the wall near the corner of the room.

“See, kid?” said the Monk. “Told ya I was stealthy.”

The roar of a gunshot echoed through the house.





AC OPENED HIS eyes and instinctively grabbed for his stomach, where he expected the gunshot wound to be. He had felt the impact of the bullet hitting him. The brief but overwhelming agony as it had torn up his insides.

The last thing he remembered before the world went dark was the Monk’s voice, soft in his ear: “Don’t worry, kid, I’ll stick your body in the cupboard.”

And now...

And now...

Nothing. There was no pain. No blood. He hadn’t yet sat up, but he could tell he wasn’t in his bedroom, and he wasn’t in the cupboard, either. He was... somewhere else, lying on his back with something soft and fluffy below him.

“It’s awake,” said a gruff voice.

“He’s awake, Michael, please,” said another. It sounded friendlier than the first, but with the sort of upper-class lilt that Zac had never been keen on.

The smiling face of a youngish-looking man leaned over him. “Why, hello there,” the face said. “You must be Zac.”

Zac tried to leap to his feet, but the ground was squishy, like plumped-up pillows, and it took him longer than he would have liked. He stared, first at his surroundings – bright blue sky, fluffy white ground, with an imposing gate standing off to one side – and then at the two men he had heard talking.

They looked similar, and yet different, like twins whose lives had taken them down very different paths.

The one who’d spoken to him – the smiling one – was still smiling. He had long blond hair, hanging in curls down to his shoulders, and eyes that sparkled a brilliant shade of electric blue. He wore a long white... Zac hesitated to use the word dress, but he couldn’t think of a more appropriate one. It was plain in design, and reached all the way down to the floor. The sleeves looked to be a little on the long side, with gaping cuffs that hung several centimetres from the man’s wrists.

The other man – Michael, was it? – was facially very similar. Same blue eyes, same blond hair, but there the likeness ended.

Instead of a gown, Michael was dressed like a Roman soldier. He wore a tunic of red leather, decorated with golden trim. On top of this was a breastplate, also the colour of gold. It wasn’t real gold, Zac guessed, because real gold would make useless armour. It would be steel, painted to look like gold. Unless the wearer had no intention of actually using it in battle, of course.

A sword hung in its scabbard at Michael’s side. The first man appeared to carry no weapon, although he could’ve probably hidden a bazooka up those sleeves if he’d wanted to.

“Please don’t be alarmed,” he said. “My name is Gabriel. It’s a pleasure to—”

“What’s going on? Where’s the Monk? Where am I?”

“The Monk is on Earth,” said Gabriel. “You, on the other hand, are not.”

Zac’s gaze went between the two men. “What? What do you mean I’m not on Earth? What are you talking about?”

“I thought you said it was smart,” Michael grunted. “Doesn’t seem so smart to me.”

“He is smart. He’s just a little... jet-lagged,” said Gabriel, not taking his eye off Zac, and not lowering that smile. “It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it, Zac? Take a moment. Look around, and then tell me where you are.”

For a long time, Zac kept watching Gabriel. The man’s voice, like his smile, was as insincere as a politician on the campaign trail. Despite Michael’s sword and demeanour, something about Gabriel made Zac suspect he was the one to watch out for.

“Go on,” Gabriel urged. “Look. See.”

Zac shifted his eyes to the left. The swirling mist that covered the ground stretched out in all directions, extending far beyond the limits of his vision. There were no hills, no buildings, just an endless plane of wispy white, and a dome of bright blue sky overhead.

Then there was the gate. It was, Zac realised, actually two gates, fastened together in the middle. They stood fifteen metres high, an elaborate tangle of silver and gold. There was no fence, just the gates themselves, standing proud and alone.

And a small desk. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but there it was, right at the foot of one of the gateposts. It was fashioned from dark oak, with faded gold-leaf gilding decorating the carved legs.

A rectangle of cardboard had been propped up on the desktop. On it, someone had written:

GONE TO LUNCH

BACK IN 20 MINS

“Well?” asked Gabriel, seamlessly shifting his smile from friendly to encouraging. “Any ideas?”

“I’m in a coma,” Zac said. “That’s the only explanation.”

Michael made a sound like the growl of a wild animal. “This is a waste of time.”

Gabriel’s smile faltered, just briefly. “No, you’re not in a coma, Zac. Would you like to try again?”

“Not really,” Zac said, with a shrug. “Because the only other explanation is that I’m dead, and this is Heaven.”

“Aha!” began Gabriel.

“And I don’t believe in Heaven.”

“Oh.” Gabriel’s smile fell away completely, but rallied well and came back wider than ever. “Well, believe in it or not, that’s exactly where you are. Or on the outskirts, at least.”

“The outskirts?”

“Yes. Heaven itself is beyond the gates. This –” he gestured around them – “is sort of the suburbs. Outer Heaven, if you will.”

“No,” said Zac. “It’s not. That isn’t possible.”

“The Monk tells us you evaded him. Twice,” said Gabriel. “Congratulations. That’s two more than anyone else ever has.”

“His boss,” Zac muttered. “He said his boss wanted to see me.”

“Correct. That would be me,” said Gabriel. Michael gave another growl. “Or rather, us. We have need of your... talents.”

“So you had me killed? Couldn’t you have, I don’t know, phoned or something?”

Gabriel ran a hand through his golden locks. “I suppose, when you put it like that, it does sound a touch drastic.”

Zac shook his head. “No, this is all nonsense. I’m dreaming. This can’t be real.”

“I assure you it is real, Zac,” Gabriel insisted. “I’m afraid you have to face facts, my boy. You are dead.”

“You killed me,” said Zac quietly. “You had me killed.” He took a sudden step towards Gabriel, his hands balling into fists. Gabriel didn’t flinch.

There was a sound like silk tearing. A sudden pressure across Zac’s throat stopped him moving any further. The blade of the sword felt uncomfortably warm against his skin.

“Make another move and I slice,” Michael warned.

“What difference does it make if I’m already dead?”

“Oh, there are many worse things than death,” Gabriel said, still smiling. “I can think of at least a hundred off the top of my head.” His smile widened and his blue eyes seemed to darken. “Would you care to pick a number?”

He waited a moment, until he was sure his point had been understood, before gesturing to Michael to step back. The man in the golden armour hesitated, then removed the blade from Zac’s throat and slid it back into its sheath.

“And the whole fate-worse-than-death issue is precisely why we wanted to talk to you, Zac,” Gabriel continued. “You see, what with all your exploits – stealing and whatnot – I’m afraid you’ve booked yourself a place in Hell.”

Zac rubbed his throat. He could still feel the heat where the sword had touched his skin. “Hell?”

“Yes. You know, fire and brimstone; demons poking spikes into places you’d really rather they didn’t; etcetera, etcetera. It’s one of the Four Suggestions, see? ‘Thou Probably Shouldn’t Steal’.”

“Four Suggestions? What are you talking about?”

“The Four Suggestions,” Gabriel said again, as if that explained everything. When he saw it didn’t, he continued: “That God gave to Moses on Mount Sinai.”

“You mean the Ten Commandments?”

“Ah, of course, I forgot. You’re a human,” said Gabriel, giving himself a tap on the forehead. “That was an error in translation. Much of the Bible’s spot-on, of course, but sometimes the authors took a few liberties, or just missed the meaning completely. God doesn’t give out commandments. What would be the point in that? Ordering people around all the time? No, it’s not His style. He’s quite laid-back, really.”

“But He does make suggestions,” Michael added. “And if you don’t follow them, you’ll burn for ever in the fires of Hell.”

“Doesn’t sound very laid-back,” said Zac.

“I said He was quite laid-back,” Gabriel replied. “I didn’t say He was a pushover.”

“If I’m going to Hell, how come I’m here?”

“We decided to intervene,” Gabriel told him. “We snatched you away before Hell could claim you. We wanted to offer you a chance to—”

A smaller gate, built into the frame of the larger one, swung open. A man in a grey robe, with matching grey hair and beard, strolled through, whistling below his breath. He had a newspaper under one arm and carried a takeaway coffee cup.

The man walked towards the desk, then stopped when he realised he wasn’t alone.

“Oh, erm, hello,” he said. “I just popped out for a quick bite to eat. Wasn’t gone long.” He looked from Gabriel to Michael. “Nothing’s happened, has it?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with, Peter,” said Gabriel, turning the full force of his smile on the newcomer. “Be a good chap and give us another five minutes, would you?”

The man in grey looked like he couldn’t believe his luck. “Well, I suppose I could find some paperwork to be getting on with,” he said, playing it cool. “Filing an’ that.”

“Wonderful. That would be splendid,” said Gabriel.

Peter backtracked towards the gate he’d come through. “Right you are, then. I’ll just go and eat some... I mean file some, um...”

Michael growled and fixed Peter with a furious glare. Peter’s face reddened and his brow became shiny with sweat. “I’ll go file some... some... sandwiches,” he blurted, then he bit his lip.

“Very good, Peter,” said Gabriel. “Peace be with you.”

“Peace be with you,” said Peter, bowing ever so slightly. “Peace be with you, Michael.”

Michael growled again. Peter gave a final bow, darted through the gate, and let it close behind him. Zac couldn’t see the man through the gaps in the metalwork, even though common sense said he should be able to.

“So, that was Saint Peter?” he asked.

Gabriel gave an approving nod. “For a non-believer, you know a lot.”

“I’m an atheist, not an idiot,” Zac said. “And you’re Gabriel and Michael, the archangels, right? So where are your wings?”

With a sound like a flag flapping in a hurricane, a pair of wings unfolded suddenly from Michael’s back.

“Satisfied?” asked Gabriel.

Zac blinked. He felt he should’ve had some sort of snappy and sarcastic comeback, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of one. He just nodded instead, and Michael’s wings tucked back in out of sight.

“As I was saying,” continued Gabriel. “Your decision to ignore the Third Suggestion means you are – alas – doomed to an eternity of pain and suffering in the fires of Hell.”

“Unfortunate,” said Michael.

“Most unfortunate,” Gabriel agreed. “However, we may be able to, let us say, pull some strings.”

“And why would you do that?” Zac asked.

“Because we have need of your unique talents, Zac Corgan, and I believe we may be of mutual benefit to one another. If you were to scratch our backs, then we would gladly scratch yours.” Gabriel folded his arms and rocked on his heels, his smirk wider than ever. “So, shall I arrange for someone from down below to come up and collect you? Or would you care to hear what we have to say?”





E WAS TAKEN by car – a long white limousine that made no sound as it rolled through the streets of Heaven. There was no other traffic on the road, but the pavements heaved with pedestrians, all decked out in white. They chatted and laughed as they strolled along in the sunshine, their worries long since forgotten.

Zac sat on the back seat of the car, looking out through the tinted windows. The two angels were sitting across from him. Michael looked a little more relaxed. His angry scowl had become merely an irritated sneer. Gabriel’s smile, on the other hand, looked to be just hitting its stride.

There was a darkened screen between the back of the car and the front, meaning Zac couldn’t see the driver. Then again, with everything that had happened in the past hour, he couldn’t even be sure there was one.

Zac tried to take in the sights of the city around them. Every building was like a palace, each having more marble columns than the one before. The striped lawns in every garden were a vibrant, almost neon, green. The flowers too were more vivid than any Zac had seen. It was as if they had been coloured using crayons from a child’s art set, where reds were red and blues were blue, and pastel shades didn’t get a look in.

“The streets,” said Zac, as they passed another palace. “They’re proper streets. They’re not wispy like at the gate.”

“Ah, yes, the cloud effects. That’s just for the tourists,” Gabriel said. “Costs us a fortune in dry ice, but then where would we be if we didn’t keep up appearances?” He gave Zac’s black clothing a very deliberate glance. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

There was a soft knock on the other side of the dividing screen, and the vehicle began to slow. Michael peered out through one of the side windows for a moment, before announcing, “We’re here.”

The car whispered to a stop and the doors opened automatically. “We’re where?” Zac asked.

“See for yourself,” suggested Gabriel.

Zac stepped out of the car and found himself outside an enormous, sprawling citadel. He’d thought the other buildings they’d passed had been palaces, but compared to this place they were little more than shacks.

A thousand white pillars stood by the smooth walls, each one carved to resemble a giant kneeling angel with wings fully unfurled. They all had their hands raised, supporting the overhang of a domed roof that was made up of intertwining bands of gold and platinum.

Light seemed to emanate from within the dome, bright enough to make a dull ache throb at the back of Zac’s eyeballs.

There was sound too. It wasn’t quite music; it was something more, or something less. Like the music that existed before music. A prototype version of music that bypassed the ears and launched a full-scale assault on the emotional centre of the brain instead.

Zac didn’t notice Gabriel step out of the car behind him. He didn’t even pull away when the angel’s hand patted him on the shoulder.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

“Not really my cup of tea,” Zac said, pulling himself together. “What is it?”

“This? This is the house that God built,” said Gabriel. He stepped past the boy and gestured towards the building’s ornate front door. “Shall we step inside?”

Zac sat at one end of a long narrow table in a long narrow room. The table was made of dark wood, polished to a mirror-like shine. There were twelve leather office-style chairs positioned round it, evenly spaced. Filing cabinets and bookshelves lined one of the room’s shorter walls. Over in the corner stood a water cooler. Every few minutes, it gave a loud glug and bubbles rose lazily inside the bottle.

Compared to the outside of the building, this room was relatively dull. There were windows, but Gabriel had closed the blinds as soon as they’d entered. A pot plant stood by the largest window, five completely different types of flower blooming from its stalks. Zac didn’t recognise any of them.

At the far end of the table, directly opposite Zac, Gabriel lowered himself into one of the leather chairs. He leaned forward, his elbows on the tabletop, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth, his blue eyes sparkling.

Michael had been right behind Zac as they’d entered the room, but he hadn’t followed the others in. There were only the two of them there now – the boy and the angel.

“Well?” said Zac. “You wanted to talk. I’m listening.”

Gabriel waited a few moments before speaking. “We’ve misplaced something,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “We would like you to help get it back.”

“Why me?”

“Because we believe your unique talents and your... past exploits make you the perfect choice for the job. We need someone fast. Someone who can think on their feet and who is not afraid to fight dirty, should the need arise.”

“Then why not send the Monk? He beat me.”

“Alas, the Monk is well known to those who have taken the item. He would not, I fear, last two minutes.”

“Why?” Zac asked. “Where is it?”

“Hell,” Gabriel said. His chair creaked as he leaned back, not taking his eyes off Zac. He was watching for some kind of reaction, Zac knew. A look of shock, or fear, or something. But Zac wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.

“Right. And what was taken?”

One of Gabriel’s eyebrows rose a few millimetres in surprise. “Did you hear what I said?”

“It’s in Hell, yeah. I heard. What was taken?”

“A book.”

“What book?”

“It is a book with many names,” the angel said. “Down there they call it the Book of Doom. Up here we prefer the Book of Everything.”

“Sounds like a children’s encyclopedia,” Zac said.

“Oh, I assure you, it isn’t. The Book of Everything tells us... well, it tells us everything. Every shift of every grain of sand. Every movement of every cloud. Every thought inside the minds of every living creature, from the very beginning of time until the very end.” Gabriel paused a moment, to let his words sink in. “It is omniscience. In paperback form.”

“I can see why you’d want that back.”

“Indeed. With the book in the hands of our enemies, there is nothing they could not do. No one they could not corrupt. Nowhere they could not conquer. Knowledge is power, and the Book of Everything contains all the knowledge in existence. In the wrong hands, it is the deadliest weapon in all of creation.”

Zac whistled through his teeth. “So, that’s why they call it the Book of Doom.”

“Correct,” said Gabriel. “In their hands it could indeed doom us all.”

“If the book tells them everything, won’t they know I’m coming?”

“Almost certainly,” Gabriel admitted. “I never said it was going to be easy. There’s every chance you will not make it back.”

“You’re not really selling the idea,” Zac said.

“I am nothing if not honest,” Gabriel said, although Zac seriously doubted that. “And you are dead, remember? Either way you are going to Hell. At least our way there’s a chance, however slim, that you will be able to return.”

Zac found himself thinking about his grandfather, all alone in that big house with only a hyperactive goldfish and the voices in his head for company.

“Right. So, what does it look like, this book?” he asked, forcing himself back to the matter at hand.

“We don’t know.”

Zac frowned. “Well, when was it taken?”

“We don’t know that, either,” Gabriel said, giving a shrug of his slender shoulders. “It’s all rather complicated, I’m afraid.”

“Apparently I’ve got plenty of time on my hands. Uncomplicate it.”

Gabriel gave a single nod. “Of course.” He stood up and rolled his chair into position beneath the table, then rested his hands on the chair’s leather back.

“The Book of Everything can take many forms,” he began. “I, for example, may see it as a small, compact paperback. You may see it as a leather-bound tome. Some may look upon the book and see a carving on a stone tablet, or scribbles in a spiral-bound notebook, or – Lord help us – one of those awful electronic reading devices. Or even something else entirely. The branch of a tree, perhaps. Or a small flan. Nobody knows how they’ll see it until they see it.”

“Then how am I supposed to find it?” Zac asked.

“Because you will know it, when you see it. We shall grant you that ability. There will be no glimmer of doubt in your mind.”

“Fair enough. You said you didn’t know when it was stolen,” Zac prompted.

“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I,” said Gabriel. He walked over to the pot plant and cupped one of its leaves in his hands. Another flower burst into bloom further along the stalk. The angel bent, sniffed the flower’s yellow and pink petals, then nodded his approval.

“OK, well, let’s narrow it down,” said Zac, when he realised no more information was forthcoming. “When did you last see it?”

“Yesterday.”

Zac felt himself frown again. It was becoming a habit. “So... obviously someone took it in the last twenty-four hours.”

“Not necessarily,” Gabriel explained, turning back to face him. “The Book of Everything exists outside of time. In many ways, I suppose, you could say that it is time. I saw it yesterday, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t taken a thousand years ago. Or tomorrow.”

“I 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.”