Grace and Glory (The Harbinger #3) - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,158

visible through his head. “You know what people get so wrong about God? That He is an absentee father. That He doesn’t care for His children, watch over them meticulously, day in and day out. That He doesn’t interfere in small ways—ways often and easily overlooked. That random choice to turn left instead of right on the way to work? The unexpected decision to stay home or stay out late? The unplanned trip or phone call, purchase or gift? None of that is random or unknown. That is God, doing what a good parent does. Stepping in when they can and knowing when there is nothing they can do. I never really understood how God could do all of that—be willing to do anything and everything to be near His children and yet be able to walk away.” His shoulders seemed to lift in a sigh. “There are always so many rules, Trinity, so many expectations, even for God, and most assuredly for a chief prince.”

A shiver skated over my skin. No. There was no way—

Peanut looked over at me, and yep, his face was definitely more solid. “You were right, you know? When you said there had to be signs that something had gone terribly wrong with Gabriel. That there had to be signs.”

I stepped back, bumping into the wall.

“And there were. You were also right when you said you were a loophole. A weapon that could be snuck past the oath to harm none. At least in the beginning that was all that you were, but then I learned just how and why God could and would do anything for His children.” A smile formed. “That sometimes even God bent the rules.”

I was completely flattened against the wall, my heart pounding so fast there was no question I was very much alive.

“An archangel cannot remain on Earth and among souls for any real amount of time. There are too many responsibilities and too many consequences. The presence of one would draw too much attention from all manner of things,” he said, and the barest white glow started to appear in the center of his chest. “But just like God, I could not walk away from my own creation. My flesh and blood.”

The glow from the center of his chest washed across the rest of his body. Heavenly light pulsed an intense white—the kind of light I knew souls saw before they passed on. It was warm and bearable to look upon, to witness.

Peanut changed.

His body lengthened and his shoulders broadened. The mop of brown hair lightened, turning to the color of the sun. His features hardened, shedding the fullness of youth I was familiar with. The old Whitesnake T-shirt turned to a white sleeveless tunic, and the ragged jeans became linen, pearl-hued pants. And his skin...it continuously shifted through the shades of human skin before settling somewhere in between.

“So,” he said in that voice that didn’t belong to Peanut. “I did what I could to watch over you.”

My father, the archangel Michael, stood before me.

“Holy shit,” I whispered.

He laughed—he actually laughed, and it was a strange sound, one familiar and yet unknown. It reminded me of Peanut’s laugh if that laugh had grown up.

“I am not surprised by that response.”

My eyes felt like they were about to pop out of my head. “You... There is...” I shook my head. “Is this real?”

He nodded.

“But where is Peanut?”

Those all-white eyes warmed. I didn’t know how that was possible, but it was, because they did. “I am Peanut.”

“That’s impossible. Peanut was a teenager. He is a teenager, and he died in the ’80s—”

“At a Whitesnake concert, after climbing to the top of a speaker tower and then falling to his death?” he finished for me. “Have you ever heard of anything more ridiculous?”

Well, no.

“Let me tell you, humans have found incredibly bizarre ways to die, and there was one who died that way. Except he was older, and the story of his death amused me. It stuck with me for many years.”

“The...story of his death...amused you?”

“It did, so I borrowed his death.” His head tilted—oh dear God, it tilted in the way it often did when Peanut looked at me. “You should sit down.”

I couldn’t move. “Peanut wasn’t real?”

“Peanut is real,” he corrected. “He is, well, a figment of me. A manifestation or projection of me, when I was a...younger, vastly more annoying angel prone to all manner of things.”

“Like creeping into the bathroom when Zayne showered?” I screeched like a