"Why would He create it all and then leave us hanging for two centuries?" Gabriel asked sardonically. "The only person I know Dad's talked to lately is Joshua, so of course Mikey's running the show right into the ground. Or maybe Dad's stacking the deck. Maybe He decided even us angels deserved the chance for multiple possibilities so maybe one version of each of us, somewhere, would get it right. And maybe this is some kind of angelic afterlife; if so, I probably didn't score well."

He shrugged, spreading his hands. "He might've talked to me an awful lot, but I just delivered His messages. Whatever His plan is, He's either abandoned it or He wants to watch us stumble around in the dark first."

The trace of bitterness was unmistakable. He could've stopped everything for happening, but He hadn't. The fighting, the bitterness, brothers killing brothers--none of it needed to happen. But that wasn't Dad's way, was it? Instead He left everything up to a couple of chowderheads and a fallen angel. Gabriel couldn't even be there to stand up with them anymore.

The smile spread over his face did so slowly at first, but then became something much more like a smirk. "Bro, if you've got to ask, you haven't had enough of it."