Angela asks. We’re in the Sistine Chapel with Phen. There is so much here, so many different frescoes and murals and tapestries, that I don’t know where to look. It’s giving me a headache, to be honest. “That’s Moses,” answers Phen. “It’s called The Discussion Over the Body of Moses.” “Looks like a pretty heated discussion,” Angela says. “Who’s the angel with the spear?” “Michael.” I can’t help myself. I turn and look, and yep, there’s my dear old dad, wearing golden armor and some kind of feathered helmet, threatening to poke the devil. He even sort of resembles my dad, something in his face that reminds me of Jeffrey. I swallow. I haven’t seen either of them, Dad or Jeffrey, since the week of Mom’s funeral. “So Michael’s kind of a badass,” Angela says, the side of her mouth hitching up in a half-suppressed smile. She meets my eyes, practically winks at me. Phen scoffs. “He thinks so. He’s called The Smiter, after all.” I quickly look away, struggling to keep my face neutral.
