Pack the gift of tongues and some minor miracles. "When do I leave? I was almost finished here." "What do you think?" Stephan held out the scroll so Raziel could see the Burning Bush seal. "Really?" Raziel checked his watch, then tapped the crystal. The archangel Stephan was standing over him, brandishing a scroll like a rolled-up magazine over a piddling puppy. "Raziel, what in heaven's name are you doing?" Each time he turned the cloth a muted chorus rang from the closet, as if he'd clamped the lid down on a pickle jar full of Hallelujah Chorus. A wineskin of glory had leaked in the corner and the angel blotted it with a wad of fabric. Halos and moonbeams were sorted into piles according to brightness, satchels of wrath and scabbards of lightning hung on hooks waiting to be dusted. The angel was cleaning out his closets when the call came.
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