“Don't. Talk. About. Her.”

“How long did you resist?” asks Uriel. “Did you push her away? Did you tell her she meant no more to you than any other animal? Oh, Raffe, did she die thinking you didn't care about her? How tragic. That must just tear you to pieces.” Raffe looks up with murder in his eyes. “Don't. Talk. About. Her.”

“Obi sits on the cot and ties my ankles together. I'm tempted to make a quip about requiring dinner and a movie before getting so kinky, but I don't.”

“Are you really an archangel?” I whisper.He gives me a cocky grin. “Impressed?”“No,” I lie. “But I have some complaints I’d like to file about your personnel.”“Talk to middle management.”I follow him out the door, giving him mydeath-by-glare expression.”

“So long as you don't bleed in the shape of wing joints, you should pass for human. Oh, and don't let anyone pick you up. They'll know you're not right as soon as they feel how light you are.""I'll be sure not to let anyone but you carry me in her arms.”

“The next time you have a quarrel with me, I'd appreciate it if you could just talk to me first before resorting to pelting me with rocks.”

“I'll be sure not to let anyone but you carry me in her arms." He turns and leaves the kitchen before I can figure out what to make of his comment. A sense of humor is one more thing I don't think angels should have. The fact that his sense of humor is corny makes it even more wrong.”