“It’s started already,” says Billie Youngblood. Pierrot believes her. His nose is considerably longer, but hers is as sharp as frost.
He kicks Azazello awake. The old thing hisses at him, but Pierrot kicks again. “Air’s turning, scapegoat,” says Pierrot. “Go quickly and we might save you some bones.”
Azazello tries to look bored, but his long pupils dilate all the same. “Wanna rabbit bones,” he sniffs.
“You might get dust.”
Azazello snarls and scuttles up the hill, launching at the crest. Billie and Pierrot watch, as always, at the way he turns dawn’s light oily: an angel with pigeon wings.