“Erata,” I spoke, deflated, and held my palm outward, “this is Uriel, Angel of War.”

“You’ve brought a sprite to the glade?” Uriel arched his eyebrow and the slightest hint of a smirk shaped around his lips.

“I’m a dryad, actually.” Erata said with equal cynicism. She turned to me, “Let me guess, Azrael, another old coworker?”

“My apologies,” said Uriel, “you fey all tend to look the same.”

“And he’s a real charmer, too!” Erata took a belabored step toward the mounted Archangel and balled her hands into fists. I stepped between the two and put my hand on my partner’s shoulder.

Uriel had somehow grown even larger since the old days. His musc...

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