We went to the stables in Samael's courtyard, where Michael, red hair upbraided, dressed like a Roman gladiator, white wings shining, was tending to his white steed with flaxen hair. He handed "Prince Philip" an apple. The stately warhorse deigned to eat out of his master's hand as Michael settled on the stirrups.
"You three want a ride to Belle Isle?" he said kindly. "Can I treat you to a brewery after in Scott's Edition or The Fan?"
His green gold eyes looked at me with hidden, burbling longing. He cleared his throat, blushed, looked away, and began to polish his flaming sword.
"It's not too much to ask? We want to practice our skills on Kokabiel," Divya said gently. "We hope the Lion of Judah hasn't been acting up…"
"Of course, it's okay if it has, San Miguel Arcangelo!" Rosanna word vomited, then crossed herself. "Sorry, I'm so sorry-"
"No." He smiled. "Miguel is my favorite name."
I chewed on a strand of hair.
