"Good." Saturday dents another one of the fax machines, folding it almost in two. "We'll need people who know how to figure things out. There's a plan in the works to take a run at the executive levels," she says, quite as casually as if she were discussing an office birthday party. "With any luck, we'll get a few keys to the castle, and that means incoming data. If you like, I can keep you in mind for making sense of it."

Saturday isn't sure what to say about the angel thing. There are stories from the Awakening about spirits summoned by accident or somewhat on purpose - people whose prayers and rituals suddenly started working - and being mistaken for other things. Or not mistaken, depending on which school of magic you talk to. Appearing like an angel is probably within the realms of things a spirit can do, but it seems rude to argue.

"I guess maybe spirit, angel, or god is mostly in how you relate to it," she prevaricates instead. It's not an issue she's thought a lot about, despite having met at least three beings that would probably qualify for god or angel or demonhood if someone drew up a criteria. One lived, briefly, in her left foot.