A week before the prom, I showed up at the Guard house after school and slid out of my car, yanking the garment bag from the passenger seat. I stood at the top of the stairs to the basement and listened. Judging from the clang and sizzle of a blacksmith’s forge coming from below, Michael was already waiting for me. I went to the bathroom and changed. I put my hair up as best I could, in a semblance of the style that Tegan had selected for me. I strapped on the shoes with two-inch heels. Shimmering, floating, I descended the stairs.

“Bhebha, Lela, I’ve been waiting!” his gravelly voice called from below, followed by three sharp clangs.

“Coming!” I shouted. “Trying not to fall down the stairs.”

“If that’s what we’re dealing with, I’m not sure I can help you, my darling iqaqa.”

I reached the bottom step and wobbled onto the mat. Waves of heat coursed over my face. In front of me, half the basement appeared to be connected to another realm. Specifically, to the vast workshop inhabited by the only person I figured could equip me properly without getting too personal about it. Unless calling me an iqaqa was personal. “Look, Michael. I know Malachi tolerated the name calling, but I’m a totally different—whoa. Are you all right?”

Though I was sure he was an angel, Michael didn’t look any more like one than Raphael did, and certainly never acted in any way angelic. He was staring at me with his mouth hanging open, a red-hot column of metal in one hand and a hammer in the other. He looked like he was having a stroke. I’d already made it halfway across the mat before he snapped out of it, dropping the half-forged scimitar into a barrel of water and wiping his hand across his mouth. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Er. Captain.” His gaze moved to my chest. “Amabele,” he mumbled, tossing the hammer over his shoulder.

“I see we’ve moved on from the British slang.”

His gaze lifted a bit, almost making it to my face before being dragged back down. “Zulu. I needed a change.”

“Are you going to be able to keep your eyes off my boobs long enough to help me?”

His eyes snapped up to mine. “I’m an excellent multitasker.”

I shook my head. “I guess I look all right, then. Like a normal girl.”

The chortle rolled out of him like an ocean wave, causing his enormous belly to undulate, shaking the floor. “Uyahlanya, Lela, if you think you could ever look like a normal girl.” He squeezed his eyes shut and a lone tear leaked out as he tried to control his laughter.

I scowled, and then silently counted to ten. Malachi and Ana tolerated this for decades. I could tolerate it for one afternoon. “I hope that’s a compliment.”