Extra, Extra, Read All About It!

God ignores the sandy-haired angel as he breezes through Her office door with barely a knock to announce his jaunty presence. Instead of paying him any mind, She turns the page of the newspaper in Her hands and continues reading.

"You're ignoring me," Michael says as he sits in the visitor chair across the desk from Her.

"Well," She says, keeping Her eyes glued to the page, "you didn't knock. I see no reason to pay attention to you if you can't even be bothered to knock."

He sighs. "Joan said to go right in..."

"Joan isn't the one sitting at this desk, enjoying Her morning bit of quiet and the newspaper." She looks over the rim of Her unnecessary-but-quite-attractive reading glasses at the archangel. To Her chagrin, he appears nonplussed. "Goddammit, what?"

"I need an answer to a hypothetical question."

She removes the reading glasses so She can actually look at him without feeling lightheaded.(1) "Okay, I'll play along for the moment. What's the question?"

He leans forward so his strong...shapely...handsome forearms rest on the desktop. She forces Herself not to stare at them for more than a second, which is already too long. "What if," he starts, "hypothetically, of course, someone ran against You in the election this term?"

She snorts in a very unGodlike way. "Impossible."

"It's hypothetical, Ellie. Suspend belief for half a second, okay?"

She frowns, rolls Her gorgeous eyes. "Well, it would result in a full campaign on My part, which I've never done since I've always run unopposed."

"But if You had to do it, could You?" he asks, a little too serious for Her liking.

"Run a campaign?" He nods. "I suppose..."

"Good." He pulls a newsletter with the HH&P corporate logo on it from his tunic pocket and hands it to Her.

DEVIL CONSIDERING CANDIDACY IN MID-TERM ELECTIONS

She looks up at Michael, suddenly sick to Her stomach.(2) "But he can't..." She mutters. "The ban I placed on him..."

"Ran out two days ago. I sent you three messages - just yesterday, mind You - to remind You to re-up."

She stares at the headline. "He won't win...he can't."

"We have to make sure, Ellie. Everyone up here already has belief problems brewing downstairs. With the Devil in charge..."

"...Earth would literally go to Hell..."(3)

"Hades and Purgatory, LLC."

She frowns, on the verge of tears. "Fuck."

"Zeus and Jupiter have their hats in Your ring. The Summerlanders and Otherworlders, too."

"What about the 4-H?"

He looks down at the desk. "He's promised them raises and more days on Earth."

She stands, knocking Her chair over with a loud bang that resounds through the office. "He promised them a fucking apocalypse?!" She hollers.

"Three a year."

"Three?!" She slams Her fists down on the desktop, splintering the wood in different directions. "That rat fucking bastard."

"Don't you mean 'that fucking rat bastard'?" he asks.

"Nope."

"Oh." He scrunches his face up in disgust. "Oh."

-----

1. Michael wishes She'd leave them on...then mentally slaps himself for thinking such things about his Boss...THE Boss.

2. She didn't realize immortal beings could get sick to their stomachs...which makes Her hate Lucy even more than She already does.

3. The benefits of partnership: Whatever Lucifer collects, Hades gets part of and vice versa. Dante, however, gets nothing - Purgatory is a silent partner, after all.

Owl Slap Some Sense into You...

Jack Hardcourt, record owner extraordinaire, can count the number of sane women he's dated on one hand; even if he lost a finger or two, he could still do it. Perhaps that penchant for crazy is what keeps him from throwing Claire Rogers out of his office.

Or...it could be the smooth legs, round hips, and devilish way the sundress she's wearing clings in all the right places. He is, after all, a dude.

"Run that by me again," he says.

"Rigged election. Devil may win. Apocalypse coming. Need your help."

He nods. "Right, that's what I thought you said." He takes her hand, places it against his forehead. "Am I feverish?" he asks.

She frowns at him - that librarian frown she uses when he's being particularly dense and her patience is wearing thin - but she doesn't move her hand. "In this one instance, Jack, God isn't a hallucination." She slides her hand down the side of his face, rests it against his cheek and runs her thumb along the ridge just below his eye. He feels like he's maybe - just maybe - hit the lottery. "Sorry," she says.

"For what?" he asks, bordering on happy for the first time in at least ten years.

She slaps him. Full on slaps him, hard enough his fillings rattle, and he nearly falls over from shock. When he looks at her, he sees colors and wonders if she knocked something lose in his already pretty frazzled brain; all around her, the air shimmers with colors.

"What the fuck..."

She smiles. "Do you see the colors?" she asks and he nods, transfixed. "Good. That means it worked!"

This focuses him. "What worked?" He moves his jaw, massages the spot where she hit him. It tingles, like pins and needles. "What did you hit me with?"

She shows him her hand; wrapped around her middle finger is a large, silver and dark wood ring he's never seen before. Carved into the dark wood is an owl; it raises an eyebrow as he stares at it and he leans back, immediately freaked.

She grins. "I literally just slapped some sense into you." She looks down at the owl, which has gone back to being still. "Artemis gave it to me for occasions just like this."

He's saved from comment as the bay doors blow open behind them and Claire's Uncle Mike arrives...wearing white linen pants, a white linen tunic, and huge fucking wings. Jack falls over the edge of the desk.

"Jesus Christ, what's with the wings!?"

Michael chuckles, shakes his head. "Don't let the sandals fool you, Jack," he says. "JC isn't nearly this white - or good looking."

Jack's poor mortal brain gives up on him; he passes out, his head hitting the concrete with a thud. Mike grins at Claire, who's glaring at the archangel.

"That sounded hollow to me," he says, laughing.

Claire slaps his wings. "Shut up, buzzard, and help me get him to the couch."

Throwing Stones in Glass Houses...Er...Libraries

The Library is empty, as usual, which makes it an excellent place to regroup. Claire tugs on Michael's sleeve and they slip through the open door, closing it quietly once they're inside.

She takes a deep breath, leans against the nearest shelf, and closes her eyes. It's been, to put it mildly, a hell of a day. She's cataloging her grievances with her Boss when a book bounces off the top of her head and lands on the floor by her feet.

"Books have a thing for you," Michael says, bending down to pick up the medium-sized tome. Claire rubs the spot on her head where it landed. "They like to meddle," he says and hands her the book with a cryptic smile.

She takes it, frowns as she reads the title. "Oh for the love of..." It's a first edition printing of a Jane Austen novel. She turns to glare at the bookshelf and it seems to shrug, as if to say, Who? Me? She turns back to glare at Michael. "Jack and I are friends, Mike. Have been for awhile now." She looks down at the book, flips to the title page. "That's all it is."

"Oh boy," Michael says. "You've got a thing for him, too." Claire looks up sharply from the book; the archangel's grin is far too smug for her liking.

"For Jack?!" she asks, her voice shrill.

"Yup."

Her cheeks color. "I do not have a thing for Jack."

Michael's grin widens. "You've got a thing for the record store owner!"

She scowls, throws the book at him. It smacks him in the chest with a loud thud and lands on the floor once again.(1)

"We're in the middle of stopping an apocalypse; there are angels and demons running amok down the hall from God Herself, and you want to hide in a library and discuss my love life?"

He shrugs. "Sure."

Her shoulders slump. "I've got a thing for a Jack." She picks up the book, points at him. "But keep your mouth shut or I'll tell Ellie you've got a thing for Her."

"Hey now," he says, holding up his hands, "we're talking about you."

"Nooo," Claire says, drawing out the word, "you were talking about me. I'm talking about you. And Ellie. Having a thing." She wiggles her fingers for emphasis.

He turns, looks at the door. "We should definitely get going. We've got an apocalypse to stop." He frowns, ruffles his feathers. His face becomes stern. "No sense wasting time in a library."

"I waste time in a library everyday."

He sighs and the stern expression drops. "I'm not going to win this one, am I?"

"Nope."

"Shouldn't have even started it, should I?"

"Nope." She tucks the book away on the shelf behind her, carefully finding the right spot within her own numbering system. (2) "We need to find our wayward companions," she says. "Otherwise, the world goes boom, I lose my job, and Ellie rips your wings off."

Michael pauses at the door. "You realize that even if we stop the apocalypse, all of that could still happen?"

"Not the boom, though."

"Right. So just the unemployment and loss of wings."

"One issue at a time, Mike." She pats him on the cheek. "One issue at a time."



(1) Jane Austen would be appalled at Claire's treatment of her novel. Which is why Claire makes a mental note to mention it the next time she sees her at book club.

(2) Dewey ain't got nothin' on Claire Rogers.