He put a hand to his forehead – God, he looked so punchable in that moment – and sighed laboriously. “Again with this obsession with money, with earthly matters.”
I swallowed my mouthful of burrito, grimacing as I choked down a mouthful of coffee that was only slightly more drinkable than what we had back at the apartment. “If I don’t concern myself with earthly matters, I die, Raziel. Nephilim or no, I need to eat. Plain and simple.”
He shut his eyes, raised his head to the sun, then nodded sagely. “Then I acquiesce. You are so right.” One of his eyes opened, rolling around slowly to stare at me with its creepy, inhuman perfection. “I’m only saying, you don’t want to be too embroiled in all this sort of thing. The acquisition of excess wealth, a lust for the material. You know who acts like that?”
I nipped at the end of my burrito, wishing I could have been eating the damn thing in peace. It wasn’t bad, as breakfast burritos went, but I could sense that Raziel was about to launch into one of his lectures, and those always left a bad – okay, more of a boring taste in my mouth.
My words came through a mashed mouthful of breakfast foods and melted cheese. “The demon princes,” I grumbled.
“Exactly,” Raziel said, his eyes fluttering open as he raised a triumphant finger, wagging it warningly in my face. He wrinkled his nose. “The demon princes. Nasty pieces of work. How many of them have you met, now?”
I had to chew over that for a moment. “Personally, of the Seven? I’ve met three of them. Huh. Would you look at that. I should either be dead or imprisoned in one of the prime hells by now. What are the chances?”
Raziel nodded. “You’re very fortunate that they’ve taken a liking to you. Well, that they tolerate you. Actually, no, that isn’t quite right either.”
I set down my food, counting the princes off on my fingers. “I met Beelzebub before coming to Valero, right around the time I met you. I think he was trying to corrupt me into turning to their side.”
Raziel scoffed. “Please. The Lord of the Flies? The Prince of Gluttony? It was far more likely that he saw you as a kind of rare delicacy. He probably wanted a taste of some nephilim nibbles.” He shuddered.
“Dude,” I said, grimacing, despite knowing that he was right. “Gross. And Mammon, well, Mammon’s just plain strange. Prince of Greed my ass. More like – like – Prince of, uh, Weirdness. Am I right?”
“Have you considered a career in standup comedy?” Raziel said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “No. Mammon has bizarre proclivities, not least among them its penchant for collecting living specimens for its infernal menagerie.”
“Don’t remind me,” I muttered. “I was supposed to go in that zoo myself.”
It was from back when I awakened, when the sigils of heaven’s punishment first branded themselves into my skin. Mammon was a cruel and willful creature, beautiful and beastly, the severity of its majesty almost terrifying to behold. And just as the portfolio demanded, Greed was, above all the other princes, deeply obsessed with the idea of collecting rare and exotic artifacts. It didn’t matter if they were powerful grimoires, living supernaturals, or useless pieces of enchanted cutlery. Mammon wanted it all. And for quite an inconvenient length of time, Mammon wanted me, too, as an addition to its aforementioned infernal menagerie.
“And Belphegor makes three,” Raziel said.
“And Belphegor makes three.”
“Pray that he is the last of your dalliances with the Seven. I cannot imagine how much more horrible it would be to have the other four breathing down your neck.”
I almost choked and had to force down another swig of coffee. “That’s not funny, dude,” I said. “Even as a hypothetical.” Because I knew that one of them was the fallenest angel of all. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to go up against Lucifer.
“What’re we talking about?” Florian’s shadow blocked most of the sun from our table. He had his shirt back on, his fingers twiddling in the general direction of his burrito. “Is that for me?”
“Go nuts,” I said, swallowing the last of mine. “So did you find anything?”
He shook his head, chewing noisily. “I tapped into the root network all across the city, as wide a net as I could cast. And nothing.” He wiped at the corner of his mouth with the heel of his palm. “Surprising amount of dead bodies under Valero, though.”
I scratched my head. “I don’t get it. The demon husks, they travel through the soil when they disintegrate, don’t they? Isn’t there some way you can track them back to whichever hell they call home?”
“That’s the thing. There are no traces of them whatsoever. I’d remember the stink of demons, too.” He wrinkled his nose, staring dispassionately at his half eaten breakfast. “All too well. I feel like I can’t get it out of my nose.”
Raziel coughed softly, waiting for us to give him our attention. “You two have to remember. The Seven are the most powerful of demonkind. The other princes and nobles of the courts of hell may govern their own little domains and territories, but if one of the Seven wants to hide their machinations from you, it wouldn’t be very difficult to accomplish.”
I banged my fist on the table. “That shit’s just not fair.”
Florian shrugged. “You’re talking about demons. What about them is fair?”
“So they can see us?” I said, thinking of Belphegor. “Any time they want, they can track us, but we can’t see them back?”
Raziel shook his head gravely. “I know. It’s terrible. All the more reason for you to find some way to disguise yourself, to hide the aura of your soul from those who mean you harm.”
“Then that settles it,” I said, getting up and collecting my trash. “Come on. I have an idea.”
Florian finished off his food with one enormous bite. “Where are we going?”