“YOUR HUSBAND’S NOT HERE, QUICHO?” said Lucifer. The angels of Atlantis were eleven-fold, descendants of purebloods who’d renounced all special gifts long ago. Being named Lucifer was like being named Jésus among Mexicans, and Lucifer was always quick to point out his name actually meant light-bearing.
Ambriel, the communicator. Arariel, curer of stupidity. Eloa, the compassionate. Nakir, the arbiter. Ra’asiel X, the baddest angel in the whole damn town. Sereda, the ambassador. Shetel, the servant. Samandiriel, the lucid. And the twins, Vulva and Coupdiviel.
“Where’s Fiona?” The only spiritual difference between angels and humans was a human’s gaze could be ignored; an angel’s couldn’t. An angel could stare the clothes off a dead person. Also, they came in a rainbow of colors.
“They’re looking for Lolita,” said Desiree.
“Well, did they at least leave pictures of themselves?” said Lucifer.
“We’ve got a whole ocean for everyone to jizz into,” said Desiree, “till we reach land.” At which point, anybody not thoroughly focused would make Captain Desiree Quicho very disagreeable.
Vulva, all six feet two pale blue inches of her, reached for Quicho. The captain was yanked tightly into solid bosoms. The Battle Ready Bastards knew what had happened the last trip against Buford. Defeats like that left marks in the soul. She held the small human the usual extra seconds then rubbed her back comfortingly.
She released Desiree, keeping an arm around her shoulder.
“You Bastards make me proud,” Quicho said. “Listen, this trip is all or nothing. We do it or we don’t.” Desiree glanced at Milo, then back to the crew. “There is very likely going to be mayhem and death. We travel light but packed to the teeth. I would advise wearing clothing,” she said to Sereda, who was already stepping out of her shorts. The statuesque angel stopped mid motion. Angels tended toward as much nudity as possible or practical once a social situation had been assessed.
Sereda was green. Not a bright green, but one could take her unusual pallor as troubling and consider calling a paramedic.
“It’s hard for me to focus when you don’t,” Desiree told her. Sereda was still considering. “That thong does not count, Sereda.”
“We’re not wearing clothes for our preparatory ceremony,” said Arariel, his voice as sensual as ever.
“Wouldn’t think of it. Be right beside you,” said Desiree.
“Brothers?” Arariel directed his gaze to the revered crossbreeds.
“Goes without saying,” Milo said.
“Sexing starts at three,” said Desiree. “Crew dismissed.”
~~~