Page 35 of Metatron

“Because that will take time.”

“At least wait until night. You’re less likely to be shot out of the sky,” I insisted.

“That’s in two hours,” he stated without even looking at a watch. “I should do some surveillance.”

“In the daytime? You’ll be seen. I should go and map us a route inside.”

“We both know flying is the best option, and for that, I’ll want my hands free.”

“You can’t go alone.”

My lips pursed even as I thought to Zilla, “I’ll need a weapon so I can provide backup.” Only then did I reply. “I’m coming, and that’s final.”

“You have a devious look about you,” he replied.

“It’s called my game face, Tron. The one I put on when we go do something stupid but heroic to save the world.”

Chapter 11

They beamed to the roof of an apartment building high enough in the bright sunlit day that no one could see them arrive. At times Metatron wondered why transport had to be such a bright beacon that made it hard to be stealthy.

The roofing, smoothed by years of rain, gave little grip, and Francesca slid when he set her on her feet.

She steadied herself and looked around at the city spread out before them. “I’ll bet those in the penthouse pay a pretty penny for that view.”

“If they’re alive.” He pointed to some scat. One of many piles. “Imp fecal matter and it’s recent.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t want to know how you can tell. It’s foul enough already. Guess they took a breather here on the roof. They must have a nest in the area.”

“Given it’s daytime, more likely they’re inside.” Metatron pointed to the door with the scratch in it.

“Wait, you think they’re squatting in apartments? What about the residents?”

His lips flattened. “Most likely dead.”

“We should go take care of them.” She didn’t even hesitate. Her courage rivaled his own. It didn’t help with his fear: what if she got hurt?

He had to wonder though. “Why are the imps here in this city? It’s much too populated for them to live here easily.” Most preferred secluded areas where they were less likely to be hunted.

“Maybe they came to see the holy city and pee on its walls.” She made an interesting point. Imps could be rather bestial in many respects.

“Or they’re here at Astaroth’s behest to make our task impossible. You said killing the pope would make him a martyr. But what if it were done publicly by imps?”

Her expression turned thoughtful. “By God not intervening in some divine way, it would allow Astaroth to claim he doesn’t exist. Take away the hope of Heaven and salvation, add in Hell ponderously approaching, and the result will be utter anarchy, which, in turn, will hinder our efforts to repel the asteroid.”

“Exactly.”

“Assuming you’re right. Could be they’re just dumb imps who got lost and found the closest spot to nest. Doesn’t matter. We’ll handle them so they don’t hurt anyone else. I assume they’ll exit at sunset. I’ll take up a sniper position in line with the door. As they emerge, I’ll pop them. Those that get missed will be yours to handle.”

“Or we could let them out and see where they go.”

“You want to see if they’re after the pope,” she accused.

“I want to see if they have a motive for being here. As should you.”

“You think Astaroth is behind their presence.”

“It seems more likely than them randomly ending up in sight of the palace.”