“Snake eyes,” she said.

Heaven held her hand up before her, a pair of crystal dice between thumb and fingers, ruby snake-eyes looking outward. The dice dropped into her palm, her fingers closed over them. She shook the pair.

“Five,” she declared, her hand lithely danced, threw the dice. The pair came up two-three.

Her hand passed over the dice, disappearing them in a fluid motion.

“Seven,” she said, shook, threw. Seven ruby drops winked up.

And Heaven smiled.

“Cigarette, cigarette, cigarette…” – The train travelled through the night. It poured, roared, ran; steam billowing from its snout as it moved across a backdrop of irrelevant terrain. Tunnels through mountains, bridges over rivers, across jungle and desert, a steel web to bind the earth.

Heaven woke up. Israfel was warm beside her, warm and soft; she could sense the beat of the girl’s heart, tempting. She would not drink, however, from one font or another – Israfel was the reason they were riding the train at all, and it would not do to have her exhausted through the trip.

She sat up. The constant vibration was disruptive to her equilibrium. They should reach their destination before dawn, a day spent travelling – as the last day had been – is a day spent courting death. She looked about her, satisfied that their box was as secure as she had left it. She regulated her breathing in time with Israfel’s, similarly synchronised the beat of her heart.

“What’s the trick?” Israfel asked, her face charming in her confusion.

“Faith.”

“Faith?”

“The dice come up random because you believe they’ll come up random. If you believe they’ll come up five, they’ll come up five.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You try it.”

Israfel picked up the dice, shook them in her hand.

“Seven,” she said, threw. Twelve.

“You’ve got to really believe.”

She tried again, and yet again. Finally, she shook her head, a pout on her lips.

Heaven smiled, “I suppose it takes some practice.”

“Can you do it with anything else? Coins?”

“Sure,” Heaven nodded, “nothing is really random, you know.”

“It’s all a conspiracy, I suppose?”

“Uh-huh. It’s only random because you believe it to be. You make it random.”

“What about things like lightning strikes?”

“Or train wrecks?” Heaven smiled, shrugged, “Who knows, really?”

The waiter came with the food, Israfel smiling her thanks. Heaven didn’t bother with the pretence of eating, leaned back and surveyed her surroundings as Israfel ate. The dining car was crowded, filled with people she discounted as her eyes passed over them. Deciding that there wasn’t anything more interesting, she studied the man seated a distance away. He had been looking at her – staring when he thought her attention was elsewhere – ever since they had entered the carriage. He sat alone, a computer notebook open before him, his presence justified by the cup of coffee or tea to one side. He looked to be in his late-twenties, nerdy and skinny and soft; not exactly her type, but she wasn’t picky – people were always useful, to fill her stomach if nowhere else.

He quickly looked away, suddenly surprised with the awareness that she was looking back at him. She returned her attention to Israfel; who ate like a bird, cutting the meat – roasted lamb – into little pieces before daintily putting each morsel into her mouth. She seemed to be enjoying herself, and Heaven reconsidered her decision not to eat, briefly entertained the idea of something light, a Caesar salad, perhaps. The man had started to look at her again, now that she had turned away. Were it not for the tablecloth she could have given him something to see. She decided to approach him, since he would never pluck up the courage to speak to her.

“How would you like company in bed tonight?” she asked Israfel, picking up the dice as she stood up.

Without waiting for an answer, she left the table.

The devil in the deep blue dress was seated alone at the back of the carriage, near the door. She had hair as white as light, falling straight downwards, her skin was pale, and she wore a pair of sunglasses, hiding her eyes; her lips were the colour of fire, of naked flame. She sat looking out the window, though there was nothing to be seen but the moving dark, a hand idly stirring a cup. The deep blue dress was sapphire made into fabric, shining in the light, shimmering in the motion.

“Excuse me,” someone said.

Heaven realised she was staring; realised also that she was blocking the passage. She moved to a side, feeling strange, her erstwhile prey already forgotten. Something was quivering inside her, she felt her heart beating, its pace urgent, the blood rushing through her veins. She felt light-headed.

She found herself seated opposite the devil, who had turned to face her.

“Hello,” said the devil, her voice mellifluous and soft, though it carried clearly through the background noise.

Heaven smiled, felt her self return from wherever it had been, “Hello.”

The devil returned her smile, “Don’t bother with your Jedi mind-trick. It’s not going to work.”

Heaven faltered, “What’s not going to work?”

“Seducing me.”

“What? How did you kno–” she stopped herself.

In the silence that followed she realised that she felt like a schoolgirl – and not even the kind in ponytails with their white socks pulled up to their knees. She felt caught-in-the-act. She felt nervous. Out of control. She felt strange and wonderful and terrible.

“Heaven, relax,” the devil said, reaching up to her face. Her nails were like glass, a bracelet of black metal encircled her wrist. She pulled her shades down over a perfect nose, revealing eyes without pupils.

“Oh Christ,” Heaven said, relief flooding through her.

“Not quite,” the devil smiled.

The three of them returned to their room in silence when Israfel had finished her dinner. Heaven identified the feeling she had had when she first caught sight of their guest; that light-headed confusion – falling in love. It didn’t seem to affect anyone else, Israfel was impressed but hardly overawed.

Israfel came into the room last, closed the door behind her, locking it. Heaven, between the two, sat down upon the small bed, and made the introductions. “Sam, Israfel – it’s her birthday. Israfel, Sam – she’s an old friend.” Sam – I’m on a first-name-basis with Satan; that’s about 616 different shades of cool.

“Israfel, the Burning One,” the devil nodded in greeting, “Whose heart-strings are a lute. The angel of music.”

Israfel blushed, “You’re making me look ignorant, I’m afraid. I don’t know a thing about her.”

“Him,” Heaven corrected, her brows furrowing. Her voice taking on the timbre of one reading from a page of memory, she recited, “Israfel, Israfil. He’s one of the four Archangels of Islam, along with Djibril, Mikhail and Izra’il – Gabriel, Michael and Azrael. Israfil will awaken the dead on Judgement Day, by blowing his horn. He was supposed to have travelled with the Prophet in disguise for three years, before the Koran was revealed by Djibril.”

“Not bad,” the devil acknowledged.

“You never told me this before,” Israfel said.

“You never asked,” Heaven shrugged, turned to the devil, “Isn’t Gabriel supposed to blow the Horn of Judgement?”

The devil smiled, a perfect eyebrow arching, “Maybe they’ll toss a coin or something when the time comes. None of the books agree with each other anyway, and besides, you know there are five archangels.”

“‘The Burning One’,” Israfel said, reflectively.

Heaven responded with a smile, “Feeling hot, are we?”

The three of them sat upon the small bed, their legs hanging over the side, lying upon pillows propped against the wall, the devil sitting in the middle. The room was quiet, save for the rumble of the train; dark, to one of the trio at least, save for the ember glow of a cigarette they passed between them.

“I thought you said it wasn’t going to work, seducing you,” Heaven softly said, breaking the silence of afterglow.

“I said your mind-trick wasn’t going to work, Heaven.”

“What mind-trick?”

The devil smiled. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, in perfect imitation of Heaven’s tone.

“You’re not telling me something I should know…” Heaven felt confused – seduction is a skill, isn’t it? Not some mental thing. She wasn’t sure; Sam seemed to imply that it was magickal or psychic or something.

“Heaven, doll; if you should know something, you should find out for yourself.”

“I am finding out! I’m asking you!”

Israfel, curiosity apparent on her face, though she kept quiet, passed the cigarette to Lucifer, who received it between her long fingers. The devil turned to Heaven, gave a wink, turned back to Israfel, took a breath from the cigarette, causing the ember to flare, leaned forward and kissed the girl.

Israfel crumbled, unconscious.

“That’s not very nice,” Heaven said.

“Touchι. She’s alright though, you can talk freely in front of her.”

“You make me sound fugitive. That was for your protection, Heaven, not mine.”

“Good point. Sorry.”

“An apology…” Lucifer squinted her eyes at Heaven, eyebrow raised, “Have you been feeling alright?”

Heaven smiled, “You tell me, you’ve been feeling me all over.”

The devil smiled, like Venus rising.

“Well, Sam? What do you need me to do?”

“I want you –” Heaven nodded the change of verbs, “– to find someone.”

“For the dress?”

“Oh?” She looked surprised, “Do you want it? Instead of the normal terms?”

“Then why did you wear it?”

“Showing off, Heaven,” she moved toward her, “You can have it if you’d rather. It does have some rarity.”

Heaven’s eyes closed as Lucifer’s fingers moved across her body, “I’m tempted.”

“It’s a charming dress.”

“Normal terms,” she purred. A part of her, beneath the rushing blood following the devil’s touch, dismissed the fact that the cigarette had disappeared – there was nothing she needed to be prepared for, she was safe here.

“Good,” the devil whispered, “sealed the normal way.”

“With a kiss.”

She walked slowly through the streets; Israfel, wide-eyed and wondrous, holding her hand. She was thinking about preconceptions –

Sam – Sammael, Satan, the Adversary, Lucifer, the Morningstar, the Great Beast, honorific honorific title title – was terribly easy to deal with. She was scrupulously fair, harmful only if you tried to cheat her – which everyone tried. She was totally honest, harmful only if you couldn’t handle the truth – which everyone couldn’t. She was cruel and vicious, true; but she was magnanimous instead of petty – you had to get her attention before she would tear you apart, and that required a lot of determined effort. “And she’s amazing in bed,” she proclaimed, her train of thought passing through her lips.

“Oh God, yes! I never–” Israfel stopped herself, blushed.

“You never what?” Heaven said, eye wide.

Israfel looked around them. The street, like any street in the heart of a big city, was full of people, too busy thinking of where they’re going – physically, career-wise, emotionally, though rarely ever metaphysically – to take notice of a pair of girls looking at the displays in the shops. A fair amount of notice, because a pair of pretty girls are due that much, but Israfel was used to that and ignored it. “I meant to say–” she quickly whispered, “that I never came so hard in my life.”

“She has a serpent for a tongue,” Heaven said, smiling happily.

“That’s a strange image, but okay. She’s almost as good as you are.”

“You’re a liar, but a sweet one. She’s had a lot more practice, since the beginning of time.” And sleeping with Lust probably helps, too.

“I don’t think it’s practice, it’s like she knows exactly what to do… Can we not talk about this? At least not here,” she paused, watching as Heaven brought up her hands, critically studying her nails, then using the thumb-nail of one hand to clean beneath the fingernails of the other. “What are you doing?” Israfel asked.

“Stuff,” Heaven replied, holding her nail up, showing the yellowish accumulation, “Well, you, actually.”

Israfel blushed, unable to speak.

“Okay, okay,” Heaven said, making a resolution to try for magnanimous instead of petty, “Let’s go buy shoes.”

As she lay soaking in the warm bath, she decided that she had delayed long enough, it was time to get to work. She barely knew this city, hadn’t been here in a long time, and cities change so fast, without any consideration for the sentiments of its immortal visitors. Last night’s shopping trip had given her a feel of the city, the measure of its pulse. She knew some people – she always did, or people who knew people – whom she might need to visit later. She wouldn’t need to feed for a long time, a few weeks at least, as she had drank deep from the cup of evil incarnate, the blood second only to that of God Himself.

Normal terms – as they had agreed – was one day. One day. She didn’t know how many she had saved up; she didn’t use them for holidays, kept them in the event her shelter was ever breached; saving them up for a sunny day, as it were. She didn’t know when was the last time she had seen the sun, and she didn’t really care, besides, it’s on TV all the time, and it looked unbearably hot. Lucifer would save her anyway, she knew, as Psyche had when she was lost at sea, but it wasn’t right to impose. They had rules for payment, anyway, they had no choice but to have them. When goddesses, or angels, started giving out miracles for free, the queue would stretch around the world.

Which brought her here – hunting for the Angel Grace.

Israfel was silent, reading on the bed when she came out of the bathroom. The girl was lying on her stomach, her chin upon a pair of pillows, the blanket pulled over the lower half of her body. She took a moment to admire the smooth flow of Israfel’s nakedness, decided that the girl needed a rest, and she herself needed to think straight. She wondered for a moment where the girl kept getting her books from – they seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“I’m going to work,” she declared.

Israfel acknowledged her with a murmur.

She left the room – they occupied a suite – went to her notebook. Her fingers danced along its contours as it booted up. She remembered being told that all civilisation was was better communications, everything else was incidental to that. And this smooth little black box, she thought, is the apex of communication in our time, this is the height of civilisation. Our time – the Age of Pisces; the aeon of the Christ-child – it’s ending soon, isn’t it? Two thousand, one hundred and sixty-years to an aeon – 2160. The building of the Sphinx marked the Age of Leo, beginning the circle, then Cancer, Gemini, Taurus, Aries – she tried to recall the signifiers for each age, failed – now Pisces, and Aquarius to come soon, half-way around the great circle. The Sphinx, sitting pretty in the desert sands, facing Leo rising in the sky twelve thousand years ago. The Uffington chalk “horse” matching Taurus, the white bull.

What kind of an entity could have even the vaguest idea of two thousand years, much less the span of an entire cycle? She herself moved on a different time-scale compared with Israfel, what kind of a scale did Sam use? The World War would be no more to her than a kid’s quarrel in a playground, quickly over and just as insignificant. But she wouldn’t think much of any mortal war, would she, considering the War that she started with her Father? And how different is that mortal war from a kid’s playground spat? It only took two generations and they’re all friendly – Axis and Allies in their G7 club. Maybe things would be different if the Axis had won, she wondered if Sam had had a hand in that – not the Bomb; her touch was too subtle for that, but maybe she had had a hand in the using of the Unforgettable Fire. She wondered if Hitler and Mussolini were in Hell – best not to ask. The afterlife is a mess, that’s why she made such an effort to stay away from it.

The computer – she caressed the box again – was born in the War, too. Maybe Sam had been behind that – how many times has she played Prometheus, after that first gift of Knowledge? And that’s another question, isn’t it? Didn’t Prometheus make man out of clay, the same way Sam’s Father did? Didn’t Prometheus gift Knowledge to the created, the way Sam herself did? Are they two stories that followed a pattern or is it the same story, twisted by culture and time? She knew people from both stories, maybe she should ask.

Fuck, she thought, I’m thinking too much. It’s Sam’s damned blood, it makes me look for reasons, the way Psyche’s blood makes me want to change for the better. She remembered being told that blood contained the life-fire of its owner; that mortal blood was thin, since their owners rarely had the force of personality that could permeate every cell of their being – a mortal wears his body like a shell – but an immortal didn’t have body or blood the same way that –

She halted the train of thought. Thinking is a fucking distraction. Time’s a-ticking. Little lightning points across the brain, flashing fire –

Aghh. Concentrate, dammit.

Someone had organised her directory into fields of expertise – a simple two-dimensional tree-format. He had wanted to do a multi-dimensional array, but she had stopped him because that would mean she would have to learn how to navigate it – it was only her personal contacts, after all, a glorified phonebook, not an encyclopaedia. He probably had an AI programmed to do that now, she would have to check back with him on that.

Crime, law, finance, science, meta-science, information, media… She settled on religion, meta-religion and esoteria. Meta- is a good prefix, it described a lot of what she dealt with, it also has enough meanings that she can use it however she saw fit.

Click click click. Tap tap tap. A few phone calls. Nothing at all that she didn’t already know.

The best way to find an angel – or any other meta-spiritual entity – was to summon her; in other words, get her to find you. Summonings are easily ignored, unless you’re really determined about it, and then you get a really pissed off entity on your hands, particularly if you interrupted, say, their favourite TV show. Which made summoning a last resort.

She didn’t know anybody who knew her prey personally. She was more-or-less sure that an angel would have wards against scrying.

But Sam’s too smart to give her a job she couldn’t do.

If I were an angel, fallen – no, outcast – out of the Cities, Silver and Black, somewhere on Earth, somewhere in this city, where would I go?

Love’s place? That’s where every outcast passes through, sooner or later. No, she wouldn’t have anything to do with another angel.

She couldn’t call for divine help – they try not to interfere with another pantheon’s business. Family affairs and all that.

“Ah,” she said, at last, “But Grace isn’t just outcast, she’s a fugitive, they are hunting for her – and I’m the best hunter of all. That’s why Sam wanted me.”

And I already wasted a night shopping.

She stood before a large mirror, posed, wished for bigger breasts, pulled her hair back behind her ears. Satisfied with herself, she gripped the gilded frame and removed the mirror from the wall, placing it flat upon a table, lit the red candle that stood next to it, sat down upon the chair.

Her legs parted as she leaned backward, closed her eyes, gave out a soft moan as a finger entered her, a louder one with the second.

She smiled happily when she was done, wiggled her fingers, pulled them out. They were half-way to her open mouth when she checked herself, sat up straight, leaned over the mirror and, using her wet fingers, drew a large stylised heart upon the surface.

She considered a moment, then stood up and retrieved a glass from another table, placing it beside the mirror, on the opposite side of the candle. Sitting on the edge of the chair, she brought her left wrist up to her lips, a quick slash across her fangs, wincing from the sharpness of pain. Her blood pooled as she brought her wrist, the wound facing upward, over the glass, then turned it over. While watching the blood collect, she absentmindedly brought her free hand between her legs, inserted her fingers, licked them.

The blood stopped dripping. She brought her wrist to her lips, licked away the excess. She brought her free hand up, dipped fingers into the glass, then drew a circle upon the mirror, framing the heart.

She had soaked through the cushion of the chair, there were droplets of blood upon table and carpet. She brought the candle up, between her lips and the mirror, took a deep breath, and blew.

The flame caught her exhalation. Instead of winking out, it stretched forward, hit the mirror, and lit the wetness – forming a heart of fire.

“Hi, dear,” the voice said.

“Hey, Love. Before you complain,” Heaven replied, “I want to say I did a proper invocation.”

“It’s an evocation, dear. And a proper one requires the cross as well as the rose.”

“I didn’t have a man at hand. I did a blood circle, though, that has to count for something.”

“I see you’ve caught up with Sam. I’m jealous.”

“I need your help, Lil. I’m looking for an angel.”

“Physically? Can’t be that hard, we’re usually in several places at once, you know that.”

“I’m looking for an angel that doesn’t want to be found.”

“Who?”

“I can’t say.”

“Okay. Look, you know I’m not supposed to meddle, but I’m going to assume you’re doing my sister’s dirty work…”

If Heaven confirmed it, and it wasn’t true, Love would be wrong to believe a liar. If she denied it, Love would not help. As per protocol, she kept silent.

“It is impossible for an angel to deny her nature.”

Heaven gave it a moment’s thought, didn’t understand – it could be said that it was impossible for anything to deny its nature – decided against pressing the point, and said her thanks.

“You’re welcome. Take care, dear.”

“You too.”

“Oh, it’s Envy’s turn to host the All Hallow’s Ball the one after the coming, give me a call if you want to come.”

“I’ll be delighted to.”

“Great, I’ll remind you, then. Wrath is hosting the next, his idea of a good party is lots of video games.”

“Boys will be boys.”

“Yeah, well, I wish I could skip, trust. I’ll see you soon, then.”

“Bye,” she said, as the flames flickered out, leaving the mirror clean.

She went to the minibar and took out two bottles at random, emptied them into the glass of blood, using her fingers to stir. She emptied the glass with a straight gulp, felt the heat run down her throat. Then she walked around the room, trying to come up with a plan.

Boys will be boys. And girls will be girls.

Shopping. Every girl’s gotta shop, right? That’s what girls are. And Grace is a girl. She wasn’t sure why angels even had gender, as far as she knew they could switch between them as they pleased – but they were always of a certain sex, inside. It’s like teachers are women and politicians are men. And cooks are male, dancers female. Sure, sometimes the wrong gender will do the job, but the great ones, always, are of the right gender. She thought about it for a moment. Almost always, some jobs are without gender. But it applied in this case – Grace is a girl, and a girl’s gotta shop.

She stood up, ready to go, when she realised that that wasn’t enough to go on. An angel wouldn’t leave a money trail, even if she had a list of names to trace.

She was about to sit back down when she realised something else – an angel cannot deny her nature. She was looking at it backward, Grace is the girl, but, more important, the girl is Grace. Outcast she may be, but she will, sooner or later, go to a church – if she was hunted and alone, she would need rest, a place of comfort, and where else would the Grace of God find that?

Heaven stood up, walked to the balcony – she will live in a church, or near one, some place where she could look out the window and see it – Heaven stepped out into the wind-swept night, and looked down upon the city’s most magnificent cathedral.

She had been waiting since sundown, how many nights now? Israfel was getting a touch annoyed at being neglected, though she made every effort to hide it. She couldn’t parcel the job out because it would be ridiculously difficult to describe what to look out for, though she knew she would recognise her prey when the time came. Sitting upon a public bench, she cradled a paper cup of tea in her hands, because she enjoyed the warmth and the scent. She was dressed in leather, her hunting clothes; leather didn’t get caught by barbed wire and blood washes clean off, it left her the mobility she needed to fight, and it made her feel sexy – the prime consideration. The only defect was that it didn’t fully absorb light, but nothing’s perfect.

The Church would be open till after midnight mass, then she would, for the umpteen time, scour the area. Christ, but this is dull.

On cue, it started to rain.

Her patience was fraying. She imagined it between her fingers, a string of patience and her fingers unravelling it into separate strands of virtue. She had a lot of patience, but waiting, not doing anything, for night after night, not even certain she was staking out – she smiled at the pun – the right place. The silliness of the pun lightened her spirits somewhat, and she spun through it again – a vampire staking out!

She looked up, casting her gaze around again, feeling slightly better, though the rain was still terribly irritable.

And there she was!

It looked like Grace, who else could move that fluidly? She practically glides. And she’s carrying shopping bags. But there’s only one way to be sure.

Heaven concentrated, lifted up a hand, fingers poised to snap, her eyes fell shut.

Snap

She saw the flash behind her closed lids as a bolt of lightning streaked out of the drizzling sky. She opened her eyes, covered her ears with her hands.

There was no body. The thunder came, a tearing wave of sound. The Angel of Grace was running away.

She decided that it must have been quite something to see her dodge that lightning bolt. She wondered if she herself could do that, see lightning coming and jump out of the way. Watching Grace – once lost, now found – running away from her, she found herself becoming steadily aroused. Over and above the thrill of the hunt – always sensual – there was something magical about the way she moved, some essence of elegance Heaven wanted to explore in time and quiet.

They were running fast, and the people around them were thinning. Grace was going somewhere deserted to spread her wings – if she flew, or teleported, or something, it would be over. Heaven wasn’t sure she could catch up.

“Grace!” she shouted, desperately.

The angel looked over her shoulder, noted Heaven, ran into an alley. She followed.

Heaven stopped at the entrance. The angel stood about ten feet in, her wings spread out wide behind her. “What do you want?” the angel said.

Standing still, the angel appeared almost plain, a certain beauty, true, but nothing unnatural, certainly nothing to compared to Sam. She looked worn-out, her wings, though white as down, gave the impression of tinted-grey, as if they were dirty. Her eyes, most of all, were haunted.

“Listen,” Heaven said, holding her hands up and apart, “I just need to ask you something.”

“Answer me first. What are you?”

An automatic lie almost left her lips, she stopped it in time; an angel would recognise a lie. “I’m a vampire,” she said, feeling irrationally exposed.

The sound came, low in volume, as if from far behind Grace, an ephemeral tune of heart-wrenching sweetness. A light seemed to appear in those lost eyes, they focussed on her for the first time. Heaven felt something flare up deep inside her, and Grace seemed to become clearer, more distinct.

“What’s your question, vampire?”

“Is God’s grace the only grace there is? Can there be grace without God?”

The angel gave a kind smile, “I’ve seen that nothing is without God.”

The angel’s wings moved swiftly downward, and then she was gone.

“She said ‘nothing is without God,’ and I’m not sure what that means.”

“Doesn’t mean a thing – the very definition of ‘nothing’ means that it is without anything, including God. If it were with God, it wouldn’t be nothing anymore, it’d be something.”

“I don’t think she meant semantics.”

“What she meant was that God’s Grace is the only grace there is.”

Heaven paused for a moment. “But she will change her mind, won’t she? That’s why you had me ask her the question; to put it into her head.”

The devil smiled, “Do you presume to guess my motives?”

Heaven pouted, “I’m just curious.”

“Which is good, but once I start explaining myself, neither of us will see the end of it.”

“Why’s that?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you my reasons, but I’m not going to explain them.”

Heaven nodded.

“Now that her mind is ready to accept it, the question you ask will dance around in her head and sooner or later she’ll tilt. In the meantime, she’ll seek out the Mandari, who will keep her safe and keep both of them occupied. She’ll stay out of the First and Second Cities, and it helps to pass the time.”

“That’s it? Nothing to do with the great battle between good and evil?”

“There is no battle between good and evil,” the devil smiled, “And no more questions answered either.”

“Thank you,” Israfel said.

“Whatever for?”

“This trip, everything. We didn’t have to take another train ride, you know. You should have said it made you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t matter. Oh! Sam had a message for you, said it was a birthday present.”

“Did she?”

“She said to tell you that ‘if you are always near a bright fire, you will never know how brightly you yourself can shine’.”

“What does that mean?”

Heaven smiled, reached across the table and patted Israfel on the hand, “I think if I told you, it’d defeat the purpose of the gift.”

Israfel tilted her head to one side, a look of suspicion upon her face.

“How would you like company in bed tonight?” Heaven asked, catching sight of an interesting young man sitting across the aisle.

“Again?”

She flicked her head, indicating her potential prey. Israfel turned to look, turned back, she was blushing. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go,” Heaven stated, holding up a hand to show the crystal dice between her thumb and fingers, “bet him a night of hot passionate sex that I could roll higher than he could. And then I’ll bet him double or nothing.”

“Shouldn’t I be consulted before you sell me off?”

Heaven look puzzled, “Should you?”

She rolled her eyes, “What if he loses?”

The dice dropped into Heaven’s palm, her fingers closing over them. She shook the dice, “He won’t.”