Chapter Ten

Soft jazz filled the air as night fell, and as the forest grew dark, fireflies illuminated the sky with their intoxicating glow. Several of the diplomats were toasting alongside their compatriots with wine. In those short few hours, deals were made, people were sold off, and legislation was passed. Dr. Leeson was busy talking to a small Drake ambassador—who had a gigantic maw of sharp teeth—about foreign policy and soul traffic. "How do you manage all of them?" the diplomat said as he looked over the railing at the veritable swarms of damned souls. There must have been billions.

Dr. Leeson just shrugged and pointed to a small mountain in the distance. "Honestly, we Demons have to do very little. When it comes to processing and identifying, Charon does most of the work." As the two laughed over a round of beer, Aeron slinked to the back of the room. He slithered through the crowd quite effortlessly before finally arriving at his destination.

As he slid back into the unimaginably soft leather chair, he sighed. "It's kind of cold, but it will do." It was time for him to indulge a bad habit; chalk it up to his occupation, but he adored watching people. Nothing got past him. He saw every flinch, every twitch, every document signed, and every letter sealed. In his presence, secrecy was an impossibility. "Are you ready?" he asked out loud as he activated his earpiece.

"Are Angels uptight pricks?" the sarcastic voice nearly made him gag. He knew Jeremy would be the one to answer his call, but still, that didn't change the fact that the man was a walking annoyance. Thankfully, he knew when to be serious. "Let's cut the jokes and get right to the chase; I've got the Minister breathing down my neck for this report. So, hurry up and give it to me." Aeron nodded and quickly got to work.

It didn't take him long to find something worth noting. "Do the Giants have any treaties with the Drakes?" he asked as he saw two prominent diplomats shake hands. As Jeremy searched through the Bureau's archive for the information, he continued watching. The two ambassadors were both surprisingly young—even by mortal standards.

"The Giant's name is Mr. Griswold Mapp. He's from one of Jupiter's moons. According to our files, he's one of the oafs' more progressive figures." Aeron nodded as he watched the bearded man swig down another glass of wine—this was his fourth. "The Drake is new; he's the mayor of his species' capital in Purgatory. The Demons probably just invited him to discuss trade legislation. There's no way they'd let a greenhorn like him into the summit." So now he knew their names, that just left one question. "As for your previous inquiry, the answer is no." He could almost hear the man smile through his earpiece. "That means what they are saying could be valuable." Aeron agreed. After taking in a deep breath of air, he closed his eyes and listened.

The Giant had a surprisingly high-pitched voice. "You know, if you can promise me your support in the next election, I might send Heaven a request to have our borders reopened." Aeron could hear the Drake tremble when Griswold mentioned borders. Purgatory, for the most part, was inaccessible to the outside world. Barring special occasions like these, the only people who could enter the realm freely were judges, Drakes, and, of course, the dead. The only being with the authority to open these borders was its creator, God himself. However, the Almighty didn't care about the plights of the half-demons. So, they remained isolated. An alliance with the Giants, some of God's first creations, would give the Drakes' argument for leniency more brevity. As Aeron listened, Jeremy wrote down the diplomats' words.

"Well, Mr. Templar, what do you think? Should I assign an agent to watch them?" As Jeremy scrawled down their conversation, Aeron shook his head. Something like that shouldn't be necessary. Especially not when the Giants were involved.

"Those big oafs don't dare to do anything rash, and the Drakes aren't in a position to make a move on Heaven. Not if they want their borders opened." Right now, all the two ambassadors were doing was exchanging pleasantries. "Just keep an eye out when the Giants' next election comes around." Political agreements like these were quite common, especially amongst the non-blessed races.

As Jeremy finished his report, he sighed. "The Minister is making us work, I don't know why, but I think something big happened yesterday." Aeron winced as he heard some of the councilmen argue in the background. Even the Minister was yelling.

"Do you have any idea what set them off?" Aeron asked as he scratched his chin. "When I went to the Minister's office the other day, they were all screaming like banshees." Sadly, Jeremy didn't have an answer.

"I have no clue. At that time, I was too busy working on gavel prototypes to notice. However, in my opinion, they were probably angry about that summit you'll be attending. After all," Jeremy continued as Aeron heard him gulp down some water, "it's common knowledge that God's Cherubs aren't huge fans of Demons. They are probably still sour about this whole thing." That would make sense. His brethren were about as simple-minded as people come, specifically when dealing with complicated issues like foreign policy.

It was this sort of childish behavior that, at times, made him ashamed of his race. Was he the only one who had a mind of his own? "Keep me updated, Jeremy. I'll contact you again soon." Right now, he had other matters to worry about, such as the swarms of politicians that were coming his way.

"Roger!" Jeremy responded as his voice started to fade. "Try not to die! Once they repair the place, I want to go to the Flying Wing once all of this is over! This time don't burn the fellow patrons! Gambling's no fun when there's nobody to swindle." A wave of pure bliss washed over him when the line finally went quiet. Jeremy needed to learn to keep their personal lives out of their work, especially when speaking over an official Bureau line.

"That man needs a lesson on restraint," Aeron groaned as he turned the transmitter off. Why was he always paired with the most infuriating operators? "Eh, it doesn't matter…" he mumbled as he turned his attention to the other guests. The Giant and Drake had already moved on from their previous conversation. Now, they were conversing with some of the mortal emissaries. Many of the mortals were representatives of Heaven's lower levels. Aeron did not doubt that they were here to convince the devils to allow more damnations. Unlike in the upper echelons, the lower sectors mostly had to rely on themselves to maintain law and order. There were only so many judges to go around, after all.

One of the lower sectors' diplomats, who appeared to be a young woman in her upper twenties—though Aeron was positive that she was truthfully much older—turned and stared at him. Her dazzling red hair and looks made quite a few men turn to get a glimpse of her beauty. However, he knew it was all a facade. It was how she walked, talked, and carried herself that gave the diplomat away. Behind that mask was a woman with a vision, and Aeron wasn't sure if he liked that. When it came to Heaven and Hell, a powerful ambition could signify a blessing for the realms or a punishment for the guilty, and he wasn't a fan of either outcome. After all, helping the realms was a bore, and punishing the sinful was his job!

Six hundred and twenty-four years ago...

If there is one aspect that I hate the most about being a judge, it has to be the fact that I get to see all sides of Heaven. As much as I detest my brethren, I can at least admit that, at times, I envy their idiotic bliss. None of them have seen what the Promised Land is truthfully like; none of them get to realize that God's paradise is as rotten to the core as any other shithole. When I was giving some of the recruits a tour of the streets, I saw some mortals' true nature.

Two men were beating the life out of each other in one of the alleyways. It was dark, and nobody could see them, except for me, of course. One of the men had slept with the others' wife back when they were still living, and now these two happy souls had crossed paths again in the afterlife. When people ask me how an adulterer managed to get into God's Garden of Eden, I usually point to the recruits. These men and women have no idea how to judge another's soul; they are all too apologetic or far too strict to be fair. So, that leaves me to be the unbiased mediator of their characters. Sadly, I am far from being an honest man. I am an Angel. So, naturally, when I see sinners, I want nothing more than to cast them down to Hell. I and my kin are some sadistic sons of bitches, aren't we? If only my neighbors could realize this simple fact, I wouldn't have to deal with all their hypocrisy. Considering all that I've done—and all the people I've killed—we Angels have the potential to be worse than Demons. No, check that—we already are. It's just that my fellow Cherubs don't want to admit it.