[ WP ] MRPS ( Multi Realm Parcel Service ) has mixed up an order between heaven and hell .

Cassiel was having a really bad morning. The cherubs had flown off with one of his treasured flutes, his copy of the *Hitchhiker ’ s Guide to the Galaxy* he was planning to crack open that evening ( after he had *finally* obtained permission to own earthly books, too ), and that vase Gabriel had miracled onto his window sill several centuries ago. 
 
 Well, they could keep the vase. It was, frankly, fairly hideous, but he ’ d never had the heart to move it somewhere else - Gabriel would take that as an insult, Michael would get all overprotective brother on him, and everything would end in a flurry of crooked feathers and temporary but still painful wounds. But he did want the rest of his things back. He could probably miracle up some replacements, but he ’ d gotten rather attached to actually *owning* things. He could track down the cherubs somehow; maybe he ’ d find a dash of angel dust and borrow the nearby wishing well... 
 
 The sound of a choir singing interrupted his decidedly unangelic mental tirade. Cassiel let out a sigh, ran his fingers through his hair, put on that ridiculous halo Heaven insisted he wear, and opened the door. “ Yes? ” 
 
 A vague white cloud shifted and rumbled in the doorway. 
 
 “ You ’ d have to speak louder than that. I know Yrlish, but not *that* well. ” 
 
 The cloud rumbled some more. Cassiel caught the words “ PACKAGE ” and “ MISTER ” and “ JUST TAKE THIS WILL YOU. ” The cloud made a hacking sound and a cardboard box marked with the letters MRPS tumbled to the ground. “ HAVE A TERRIBLE DAY, ” the cloud grumbled, and floated away. 
 
 “ I heard that, ” Cassiel muttered. Bloody MRPS workers didn ’ t know what good customer service was if it hit them in the center of their incorporeal bodies. He picked up the box, and it shook. Huh. He was pretty sure that the sentient, man-eating plant wasn ’ t due for another week or so. Not that he had a vase to put it in, anyway. 
 
 He lugged the box onto his coffee table and opened it up. “ Huh. ” 
 
 Sitting inside was not the sentient man-eating plant he ’ d ordered a few years ago, but a thick black book. On the cover was something written in… Cassiel squinted. Was that… 
 
 “ Oh s- ” Cassiel yelped and backed away so quickly he nearly sent one of Gabriel ’ s statues toppling onto the ground. He quickly righted it before it could smash into tiny bits and invoke the wrath of Michael, and then resumed panicking. 
 
 There was a *Book of Hell* in his house. 
 
 He ’ d heard of those infernal books, packed full of how-to torture guides and black spells and generally Not Good things. Somehow it had gotten sent to *him*, instead of some demon in Hell, and if he didn ’ t get rid of it fast, he ’ d be smited, or *worse*. 
 
 Cassiel wracked his head for a plan, and his eyes alighted on Gabriel ’ s statue. It was some sort of jackal-headed man, sitting on a throne of bones. “ Found it on Earth a couple of millennia ago, ” he ’ d said, chattering in that awfully chipper tone of his. “ Doesn ’ t it look *delightful*? Here, you can have it. ” He went on to say something about it being hollow, but that he hadn ’ t figured out how to open it... By that time, Cassiel had stopped paying attention. 
 
 He rapped his hand on the statue, and found that the inside was indeed hollow. He tried twisting the head. It didn ’ t budge. He tilted it over and checked the bottom. Nothing. He puzzled over it for a minute, and then noticed the man was gripping a conspicuously detailed sword. He pushed down on that, and the back of the throne flipped open, revealing a hidden storage space. It was the perfect size for the book. 
 
 Cassiel turned back to the Book of Hell, miracled a pair of tongs, and gingerly picked it up by the spine. “ Please don ’ t burst into flames or something, ” he muttered under his breath, and tossed it into the statue. Closing it with a *click*, he dragged the statue into his front lawn and waited. 
 
 It wasn ’ t long before Michael popped into existence next to him. 
 
 “ What, ” Michael asked, “ do you think you ’ re doing? ” 
 
 Cassiel gave him a winning smile, barely managing to conceal his nervousness. “ Y ’ see, Mike, I know Gabriel will get upset at me for this, but for the past few nights the statue ’ s been whispering things - you know, Not Very Good things - and I really didn ’ t want it in my house anymore. ” 
 
 Michael frowned, and approached the statue. His eyes widened. “ A demonic aura? In *Heaven*? ” He growled and his form flickered briefly into something blinding and shapeless, forcing Cassiel to turn away. He heard a resounding *boom*, and when the light faded, there was nothing left of the statue but ashes. Michael sheathed his sword, an imprint of his wings still visible in the space behind him. “ I will have words with Gabriel, ” he said, and vanished. 
 
 Cassiel let out a breath he hadn ’ t noticed he was holding, and plopped tiredly on his front steps. He wasn ’ t using MRPS ever again.
