Blake took out a pad and pen, flipping open his phone to get Angela’s number. The kid had done really good today, Blake thought. And Angela owes me big time for saving her brother from lupinism… she’ll play the part of my little sis’ jus’ fine.

Blake started writing the ten-digit number down, when the phone audibly sprang into life. Blake and Simon were both startled by the unexpected sound, but Blake hit the SEND button and placed the receiver to his ear. “Hello,” he blurted.

“Robert Anthony Blake,” a resonating voice called forth. There was a second voice, an intercepted transmission, whispered under the first: Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord of Hosts, the whole earth is full of His Glory.

“Um,” Blake faltered, wondering what the new problem was. “Yes.”

“The Host extends apologies to you and yours regarding the recent trials and tribulations. Your world will be corrected by morning.” And the line went dead.

Blake blinked. Simon, frantic, asked, “What is it? Who was it?”

“Metatron,” Blake replied.