"Michael is afraid of power. Power corrupts, don't you know? If he was willing to use a miracle or two now and again, he could have known you were in trouble." Morningstar cocked his head at me, curiously. "So, you see me doing God's work, do you?"

I shrugged, picking up the helmet from where it had rolled during the scuffle. "Aren't you?"

He nodded, but kept his mysterious smile. "Sometimes pain is a good teacher." Jerking his chin in the direction Mouse had fled, he asked, "Should I have killed him, you think?"

"I don't know," I said, honestly. Shaking the plaster dust out of my hair, I added, "He doesn't seem like much of a threat, does he? But he might just be counting on that, you know? That no one takes him seriously."

"Well, I take ambush seriously." Morningstar waved the gun in the direction of the office. "You said there were others?" I nodded. His chestnut brown eyes flashed with mischievousness. "Then, we should take care of them, shouldn't we?"

Edging along the wall toward the door, Morningstar held the gun pointed toward the ceiling with his finger, I was glad to notice, off the trigger. When he stood in front of the door, he raised his foot.

"Wait. It's open!" I shouted, as the force of Morningstar's blow sent the door swinging back against the wall with a bang. I shook my head. Between the bullet hole in the hall and the smashed door, there was no way I'd be getting my security deposit back for this place.

Morningstar leapt dramatically into the room, swinging the gun this way and that. I peeked around the edge of the doorway in time to see the last of Mouse's heavies, who looked preteen, scurry out the open window onto the fire escape.

"Damn." Morningstar sighed, dropping his arms. "I was so looking forward to a fight."

"You could always run after him," I said dismissively, half-hoping he would. I walked over to my desk, laid my helmet down, and shrugged out of the backpack. Everything seemed to be where I left it. I straightened the picture of Eion and smoothed out a few of the hard-copy sheets that poked out from under the blotter. I looked up from the inspection of my desk to see Morningstar eyeing me curiously.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" I asked.

"God's work, as you said." Morningstar tucked the gun in his waistband. "We can't have angel-baby splattered all over the wall, now can we?"

I froze. My heart ticked against my eardrums. I looked up from my desk to see Morningstar grinning broadly at me. "You know about the baby?"

Morningstar leaned against the window frame. "God and I are still very tight. Unlike some."

"Liar", I said through clenched teeth.

Despite my accusation, he seemed unflustered. "So many people call me that. I suppose it's because it's easier to think of the painful truth as a lie." Morningstar arched a thin, red eyebrow. "But, I'm curious. Which part do you imagine incorrect: the fact that I'm still allowed in heaven, or that Michael is not as close to God as he once was?"

I took a deep breath and shook my head. "Everyone has assured me that God isn't involved with this baby."

"I see." Morningstar sighed patiently. "I suppose, instead, those angel boys have been going on about freewill. Did anyone use the archer metaphor? I love that one."

My forehead felt hot. Hoping the chair was behind me, I sat down without looking. I lucked out, and my butt connected with the hard wood with a smack.

"Ah, I see they have," Morningstar said. "You do know, don't you, that Jibril was the father to your favorite prophet? Did you think the parallel was mere coincidence?"

My throat was dry, and I tried to swallow. "Everyone," I managed to say, "everyone told me that it wasn't important. That there were others who weren't messiahs."

"Yes. That bothersome reference to the 'Sons of God' in Genesis 6:2-4 taking mortal wives." Morningstar nodded reflectively. The greenish glow from the street made a sickly nimbus around his head and shoulders. "As in the later reference in Enoch, I'm afraid that's just my boys up to no good. We're still sons of God, even if we aren't his current favorites, you know. But, perhaps you can see why a certain bias was placed against the idea of their children becoming prophets."

I shook my head; I had no idea what he was talking about. My mind focused on one thing. "Why would Raphael lie to me?"

"It's not really a lie not to tell all the gory details."

"The sin of omission. Michael said he found it easier."

Morningstar nodded his head, and his eyes glowed warmly, compelling me to believe what he was saying.

I raked my fingers through my hair. I was beginning to feel like Morningstar was the only angel who didn't try to keep the truth from me. I rubbed the bridge of my nose with my finger. My instincts rebelled at the idea of trusting Satan. After all, hundreds of stories warned about allowing yourself to be seduced, and here I was falling for his act. I had to try to think this through. I shook my head.

"But, I don't get it," I said finally. "Why would they let me think that my baby was an accident? Wouldn't the archangels want me to know the pregnancy was part of God's plan?"

"Aren't you feeling betrayed? Used? Suckered?"

My lips thinned. With all of Michael's talk of freewill, I'd forgotten how angry I'd been when I first thought I'd be the new Holy Mother. All those feelings boiled to the surface at Morningstar's prompting. I took a deep breath trying to push down the bitterness, but a little bit slipped past my defenses. "No one asked me."

Morningstar pounced on my weakness. He stood up slowly, unfurling like a wing.

"Of course they didn't. It's passe. The whole 'appointed by God' shtick went out in the Middle Ages. Anyway, I suppose my dearest brother figured you'd be more pliant if you didn't know – less likely to do something rash, like throw yourself in front of a loaded gun."

"Ha." I didn't even pretend to find his quip funny, because my heart was sinking fast. "Why are you telling me all this? If it is all part of God's plan, there's clearly not much I can do about it."

"No, there isn't. I'm telling you because I want you to suffer the knowledge that God used you."

Used by God. I let the words penetrate me, fill me. Air left my lungs in a long, emptying sigh. From the moment I forced myself to realize that Michael was an angel, I'd feared this revelation. Pressing my forehead against the knuckles of my hand, I leaned heavily into the desk. Everything was out of my control; my whole life was reduced to being a pawn in some cosmic game.

Yet there was something strangely comforting about that concept. I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. Lifting my head out of my hands, I looked at Morningstar.

"Of course," I said slowly. "If I believed that, I have to believe God really does have some grand plan in mind. That would be more faith than I've had my whole life."

"Would it?" Morningstar asked, with a curiously serious expression on his face. Holding his body very still, he said, "Tell me, Deidre, do you? Do you believe? Are you a reverse Job? Are you willing to believe the worst and not the best? But, believe nonetheless?"

"You know what? I think so. Yes."

Morningstar stared into my eyes, saying nothing. His face still held an unnerving seriousness. The muted green light of the outside grew brighter, as though a storm were brewing. Cool wind kissed my cheek gently, and, from somewhere, I heard a rhythmical flapping. A white flash of paper flew past my face. Startled, I jumped.

The wind increased. The pile of tickets stacked neatly in the tray beside the wall fluttered and spilled everywhere. Made of heavy paper, the tickets crawled along the floor to swirl beneath Morningstar's feet.

"What's going on?" I shouted over the now howling wind.

My work here is done, A voice in my head said.