“Neither do I.” Raziel tossed the tweezers into the air, not even giving them a second look as they vanished in a cloud of gold dust. “The armor being ruined means that it’s out of commission, Mason. There’s a very good chance that you won’t be able to retrieve something quite so effective for a while.”
I stared at him with huge eyes. “You’re joking. But that was just one busted-up suit of armor. Surely they’ve got more of them upstairs.”
“I don’t think you completely understand. You’ve not only caused the armor itself
to break, you’ve also ruptured the specific connection you need to summon it.” He shrugged, then spaced his fingers out, like he was measuring something. “No more large conjurations from the Vestments, at least not for a while. Only small to medium ones, if that makes sense.”
“Great.” I threw my hands up in disbelief, then twitched, immediately regretting the strain it put on my wound. “Just great. And what happens when I go up against the entities guarding the other two weapons I need to find? The first one was just a staff, but that blast felt like a cannonball to my sternum.”
“Then improvise,” Raziel said, beaming. “You cannonball them right back. I told you already, Mason. Creatio ex nihilo. Make something out of nothing. You have the gift of creation. You don’t have to resort to, pardon the analogy, borrowing books out of heaven’s libraries for the rest of your existence. Why not write your own?”
I gestured at his clothes. “The way you, uh, write your own clothes into existence?”
Raziel stiffened, his eyes flitting away from my gaze. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
I grinned at him. “So I’ve figured you out, haven’t I? You don’t understand how human money works, obviously, and you’ve shown that even currency you ‘create’ with your miracles dissolves as soon as it leaves your hands. Which leaves only one possibility.”
Florian looked between the two of us like he was following a tennis match, but understanding dawned on him soon enough. “Oh, snap.”
“Exactly,” I said, raising my chin triumphantly. “Our good friend Raziel just manifests his clothes. He makes them himself.”
Raziel scoffed, stammered, then straightened his back, tugging on his lapels. “Well, if you must put it so crudely, then yes. Yes. These are indeed created through divine means.”
“So they’re knockoffs?”
Raziel gasped, then answered stiltedly. “They are simply perfect imitations,” he stammered, sweat beading on his forehead.
“So you’re saying they’re good knockoffs.”
“I said no such thing!”
Artemis walked by just then, one hand deep in the same bag of Snacky Yum-Yums, just polishing off the crumbs. She stood there, giving Raziel the once-over. “And who’s this? How’d you get in here?”
“Fair goddess of the hunt,” Raziel said, making a low bow. “Mistress of the moon. I am Raziel, angel of mysteries.”
Artemis munched once, twice, then looked over at me, nudging her head in Raziel’s direction. “Friend of yours? Because otherwise I’m shooting him full of arrows. Angels make for good target practice.”
“N-now, Artemis, there’s really no cause for violence of the – ”
“I’m joking,” Artemis said. “Totally kidding.” She draped one arm across Raziel’s shoulder, her cheese-dusted fingers coming dangerously close to his not-designer threads. I smirked at the sight of the two of them like that. Artemis knew exactly what she was doing. “Any friend of Mace’s is a friend of mine.”
“Right,” Raziel said, relieved, but still staring warily at her fingers. “Of course. Thank you.”
“But maybe knock first next time, huh? You angels are all about etiquette and being polite, aren’t you? Hell, if humans can pull off a proper communion, surely you fly-boys can give me a simple ‘Hi’ and ‘Hello’ before you come crashing the party.”
“Duly noted,” Raziel said, shuddering as he weighed the pros and cons of inching away from Artemis’s grasp and accidentally getting his clothes stained.
“We really should go,” Florian said. “We’ve got to deal with Beatrice and all that.”
“I know,” I sighed. “Just let me enjoy this for a minute longer.”
All was forgiven, I suppose. I didn’t feel like shaving Raziel’s head anymore, and to be honest, he was right. I was being a brat. But seeing Mr. Put-Together suffer, even just the teensiest bit, was the exact pick-me-up I needed. It was super mean, but I just wanted to see him squirm.
Still, all good things must come to an end. “Right,” I told Florian. “Just let me get dressed and we can go.”
19
I never knew that human beings could turn such fascinating shades of red until the day we went to tell Beatrice Rex what happened to her prized handbag. Her fingernails dug into the wood counter of her shop. I heard cracking, and there might have been some splintering in the grain.