Wings, like peacock feathers, shown an iridescent blue-green, and in each "eye" a human face was visible. With each gust of air that swelled at the tiniest flutter, I could hear the moans of a thousand souls.

The discordant voices groaned in unison and swelled. I made out the words: "I am also Muslim."

"Oh ... okay." I stumbled backwards over the rails until my shoulders pressed against the wall. I screwed my eyes shut and reminded myself of the necessity of breathing. I drew slow, ragged breaths, one at a time, and tried to banish the terrible vision from my mind.

"Deidre." The screeching souls were gone from his voice. I heard only the gentle bass I'd grown to expect from Michael's lips.

A hand on my shoulder made me jump, but I kept my eyes shut. "Was that your true face, Michael?"

"No. Wings, like messiahs, are a human invention."

Slowly, I opened my eyes. The Christmas lights had returned to their normal, dim flashing. Michael, too, had assumed a form I felt more familiar with. I brushed my knuckles along the strong planes of his cheekbones, feeling the rough warmth of his olive skin.

"Did you pick these features because you knew I'd be attracted to them ... feel safe with them?"

"You're looking for guile where there is none." The gray eyes that earlier, and in my dreams, haunted a monster's face implored me to trust them. "I hadn't met you before, Deidre. How would I know what you'd like?"

I nodded, letting my hand drop. "I ... I'm having a hard time with this, Michael. I'm finding that at the core of my being I do have a shred of faith, and that faith tells me that if God is going to take the time to send an angel, He doesn't do that without a plan ... despite what you've assured me."

"Very well." Michael nodded. "I am a defender of faith, not its destroyer."

"You sure about that, big guy?" I was tempted to remind him he wasn't doing much for my faith – a moment ago he implied that Jesus wasn't the messiah, one of the core tenets of my belief system. However, I didn't especially want to dwell on that revelation myself. I pulled a smile out of somewhere, and said, "Come on. We're wasting time."

I hobbled along on the tracks until the frustrating pace forced me up onto the rails again. Balancing on the narrow steel beam, we moved more quickly through the tunnel.

"What are you going to tell Mouse?" Michael asked. His voice steady, he anchored me in the present. "Are you sure you're not walking into a trap ... that you don't need me?"

I smiled at him even though I doubted he could see me. "Of course I need you. Who couldn't use an angel at their side? But Mouse is expecting me to be alone."

"I don't like it. I'm worried about you."

"I know. But we need proof that he is involved with the LINK-angels."

Michael grunted his assent. Discarded food containers, pop cans, and the increased profusion of Christmas lights revealed that we were moving deeper into the city. We traveled like this until we reached the Lower East Side. There we parted ways, with Michael promising to watch over me.

As I approached the office building, Mouse waved from the stoop. I'd turned off the holographic defense a block away when I was certain he was alone. I could hear the whiz of cars in the tunnels above, but here on the Lower East Side we were the only people on the streets.

Mouse pulled himself to his feet and began walking toward me. It was strange to see him in the flesh again. His skin was darker than I remembered, and his hair more unkempt. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes. Several layers of mismatched clothes hung off his short but lanky frame, and though I could see the shadow of stubble on his chin, he looked like a perpetual teenager.

"Hey, you." Mouse smiled, pulling the sunglasses down to give me a rakish once-over. "Looking different, definitely more wicked, but I like; it suits you."

I came here for a confrontation, but I found myself smiling in return. "Did you ever find your page?"

"Nah. Must've gone rogue on me." He shrugged, thumbing the glasses back in place. "He'll stumble back when he wants to come home."

"Huh. I suppose he will," I said, thinking of Michael's similar situation. I wondered if, right now, God was shrugging off Raphael's questions with similar unconcern.

"Yeah. ... Say, could we go inside? I thought I saw a cop car a while back, and well, honestly, I've got to pee like nobody's business."

I laughed. When he talked like that, I had a hard time perceiving Mouse as much of a threat. "Sure," I said, leading the way. "The toilet is down the hall from my office, but it works."

I stood staring at the heavy oak door and the brass lock. The keyhole dripped with an oily sheen, and I smelled the light tang of lubricant. On the other side of the door, someone coughed. I'd started to put my eye to the keyhole to confirm my suspicions, when Mouse put a hand on my shoulder.

"What's up?" Mouse said, "I thought you'd be in by now, starting some coffee. I'm dying for a cup."

"No wonder you've always got to pee," I smiled, but the warmth had gone from my voice. Returning my attention to the lock, I shook my head. I couldn't take a chance if Mouse was intending ambush. "No keys. I left my keys at Eion's church. I wanted a change of clothes, but ... Well, now that you've gone to the bathroom I guess we can talk anywhere."

Mouse nodded. His eyebrows twitched, and he chewed his lip.

I started to back down the hallway.

"Nah, it's okay," Mouse said. Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he knelt near the lock. As his hand removed the thin oddly shaped metal bars from his pocket, his shirt stretched to reveal the butt of a gun. "I've got tools."

"Mmm-hm." I agreed through thinly pressed lips. Slamming the helmet on, I touched the button to engage my holographic armor. "If you've got the tools, Mouse," I asked, even though I knew the answer, "why didn't you let yourself in earlier?"

"Who's to say I didn't?" Lockpicks in his right hand, he grabbed the pistol with his left. He spun around.

I inched along the wall, heading for the door.

"Stop right there. Don't think I can't see you, girl," Mouse said. The gun was pointed right at me; his finger rested on the trigger.

"The sunglasses." I said. "Shit. Of course. Infrared?"

"Give the woman a medal." Keeping the gun flawlessly trained on me; Mouse tucked the lockpicks into the front pocket of his shirt.

"Ambidextrous, as well," I said, pulling off the helmet and disabling the armor. I was careful to leave the LINK filament in place against my temple. "Seems I forgot a lot about you."

"I have many gifts." He inclined his head slightly, and splayed the fingers of his right hand, a gesture of modesty.

I nodded, with a defeated sigh. I pressed my back against the wall, letting the helmet rest against the curve of my elbow. "Are you planning to gun me down here? It doesn't really seem your style, Mouse."

"It's not really, and, honestly, Dee, I don't want to kill you. I'd much rather you were safely tucked away somewhere until everything is settled." He eyed me through the combat sights. "Speaking of people I thought safely tucked away, where's Daniel?"

"Daniel? Why does everybody want Daniel?"

Mouse perked up and gave me a wide-eyed look over the gun. "Who else wanted Daniel?"

"A transvestite named Ariel."

Mouse laughed. "You're kidding."

I shook my head, while carefully testing the weight of the helmet in my arm. If I aimed just right, I could knock the gun out of Mouse's hand. Problem was, I only had one chance. If I missed, I was dead. I needed another distraction.

"What's so hot about Daniel?" I asked.

Mouse cocked his head in lieu of a shrug. "Just tell me where he is."