Prologue
I'd agreed to a real-life fight with the bastard I'd gone to war with on the gallery. It hadn't started as anything much.
All I'd done was stumble across it while cracking a beer after work.
I should have stopped there. But the asshole had insulted chicken, so I passed along—with a distinct lack of courtesy—my opinion that his parents had failed at the job of raising him.
By the time the comments had piled up to about a hundred, a DM came in.
And now.
"You?"
A blonde woman was standing on the roof of the convenience store. Bare feet showed beneath the hem of her pure-white clothes, and behind her a pair of enormous wings was slowly folding in.
The cigarette slipped from between my fingers.
Shit.
Why was an angel here?
"I said, is it you? The one who asked if I'd ever met my dad."
