out about that already? And gotten here so quickly?
“It was nothing we couldn’t handle,” I replied with a saccharine smile. “And we did handle it, saving the world once again.”
“The reigning heroes of the Legion.” He looked irritated.
Some angels kept tally of how many times each of their fellow angels had saved the world. It was a silly pastime. Our energy was better spent protecting our world, not keeping count of which angel was ‘ahead’.
Colonel Holyfire was one of those heroic deed counters. Unfortunately for his ego, his numbers didn’t compare well to Damiel’s and mine. I wasn’t keeping score, but the look on his face said it all.
“What are you going to do about Starfire?” Colonel Holyfire asked me.
“We’re working on it.”
“You let him slip through your fingers, a traitor to the Legion. A traitor to the gods. They will not be pleased when they hear of this.”
“Then why don’t you look to the heavens and raise your voice to tell them all about it? I’m sure they are hanging on your every word, Colonel.”
One of the pulsing veins on Colonel Holyfire’s face looked like it might explode. Thankfully, he managed to bottle up his temper. Instead of exploding, he set off on a lengthy soliloquy about his many accomplishments at the Legion. He didn’t even take a breath for air. Being an angel, he technically didn’t actually need to breathe.
While I waited for Colonel Holyfire to run out of hot air, I glanced over at his son. The boy was nearly a perfect copy of his father, right down to the way he walked and the lofty way he held his head.
His name was Xerxes, and he was about Nero’s age. The two boys went to the same angel preparatory academy that all the Legion brats attended.
Nero and Xerxes glared at each other with obvious disdain. I wasn’t surprised. The Legion brats’ social circle was rife with strife. Like angels, they felt a need to determine a hierarchy of dominance, to suss out who was stronger, more powerful.
“Silver Spoon,” Xerxes said to Nero with a sharp, arrogant nod.
That must have been a nickname, likely a reference to Nero supposedly being born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Of all the Legion brats, he was the only one who had two angel parents rather than just one. That was bound to spark some jealousy from a bunch of children who’d been brought up to stroke their own ego like it was a pet cat.
Nero nodded back crispy. “Swifty.”
Xerxes looked confused by the nickname. But his confusion hardened to confidence. “I am swift.”
“Swift at running away when the going gets tough,” said Nero. “Like yesterday at school, in the middle of hand-to-hand training.”
Xerxes’s face turned bright, shiny red. He pointedly did not look at his father, who was still waxing eloquent about his angelic achievements.
Well, Colonel Holyfire might have been self-absorbed, but he could multitask. He’d most certainly heard Nero’s words about his son’s training failure. And knowing him, he was waiting for Xerxes to strike back and mend his broken honor.
“I was regrouping,” Xerxes said.
The twitch of Colonel Holyfire’s blond eyebrows showed that his son’s response did not impress him.
Xerxes must have seen it too. He quickly hissed at Nero, “And you did not fight with dignity. Just like your father, the Black Angel.”
The Black Angel was another of Damiel’s many nicknames.
Nero had humiliated Xerxes in front of his father. So now Xerxes was trying to humiliate Nero about who his father was.
But Nero didn’t flinch. He’d already heard it all.
“I am like my father.” Pride resonated in Nero’s voice. “Like him, I fight to win. You cannot win because when you fight, you’re too busy staring at yourself in the mirror to look at your opponent.”
They were like two little angels, duking it out for dominance. I hoped they taught the children more than silky insults in that fancy academy they attended. And speaking of school…
“Nero, if you don’t leave now, you’re going to be late for school,” I said, cutting right through Colonel Holyfire’s lengthy monologue. Gods, the man could prattle on about himself forever. “Tardiness is not tolerated at the Legion of Angels.” I waved over a passing soldier. “Where are you headed, Sergeant?”
“To the canteen—”
I was shaking my head.
“Wherever you need me to be, Colonel,” he said sharply.
“I need you to escort my son to school. I trust you know where it is.”
“The Angel Preparatory Academy. Just across the Promenade.”
The Promenade was a street