Page 24 of Metatron
Metatron had traveled more than many and while he’d never seen a place quite like Earth, he’d been to some nice planets. Even a few space stations. Heaven and Hell, even the planets with flocks, weren’t the only livable places in the universe. Honesty would even force him to admit that had someone told him he’d be forced to settle on Heaven permanently, he might have refused. The supposed perfection grated on him when he spent too much time.
In that respect, Earth, with its constant surprises, did make him feel alive. He could also see its potential. Not to mention, the thought of killing everyone, of destroying billions of people and all they’d accomplished, didn’t sit right.
Metatron wasn’t the only one to feel that way.
Rather than obey God’s cruel command, the choir chose to act as their conscience dictated. Rather than participate in humanity’s demise, they would help them and, in doing so, help themselves. A free Earth would make a sanctuary for angels who couldn’t return to Heaven.
A home. But only if they could save it, and for that, Metatron needed the people of Earth to be on his side, meaning it was time for him to be more involved. To put himself on display and convince the powerful leaders of this world to join him in fighting.
The decision led to him asking the cantorii, “Where is Francesca? I need to speak with her.”
Rather than answer, the ship moved him, and he found himself in a room aboard the vessel, with a very naked woman about to pull on a robe.
She whirled and blinked. “What are you doing here?”
“The cantorii brought me,” he stammered as she hid her curves with a loose flowing garment. Too late. The beauty of her remained seared in his mind.
“Not cool, Zilla,” she muttered under her breath, tying the sash. “Did you need something?” she huffed, flipping back her hair.
“How did the evacuation of the base go?”
She shrugged. “As well as expected. Zilla helped me spread out the people amongst other sects.”
“Do we know how Astaroth’s minions found it?”
“Does it matter? He hit at the heart of our rebellion, knowing it would demoralize people.”
His lips pursed. “Making our task harder.” Because convincing people to fight required hope.
“I’ll figure something out to rally them.” Her shoulders slumped. “Was that all you wanted?”
“Actually”—he cleared his throat—“I need to speak to your president.”
Her head lifted sharply. “Since when? I thought you refused to do public appearances.”
“Recent events with Astaroth have made it so I have to be more proactive if we’re to stay ahead of his attempts to sabotage.”
“About time you realized that. But here’s the problem. I can’t arrange a meeting with the president. We’ll have to aim lower. Say like a cabinet minister or someone high up in the military.”
“You mean the people who haven’t yet managed to convince anyone to listen?” his sarcastic retort. “We tried your way. It failed. Time to go to the president directly.”
“The president doesn’t take appointments with just anyone.”
“We are more than just anyone.”
She sighed. “You want to just show up, don’t you?”
He grinned. “It would make, as you call it, an impression.”
“It would. Can it be tomorrow, though? I’m kind of tired.”
She looked it, the circles under her eyes deep and purple. Exhaustion had her pale as well. If Jesus hadn’t been a traitor who’d gotten killed for his actions by Noah’s ark, Metatron would have used him to give her a boost.
But he didn’t have the scion, only himself—and a power he’d been hiding for a long time because Elyon would have killed him if he knew Metatron had figured out how to use suul.
“I can help,” he offered.
“Is this one of those kinky sex things where you think your dick can cure me?”