The bodies of the men and women that decorated the buildings and streets didn't spook Azrael's horse any more than they spooked him. Nothing had spooked it since he'd raised it from the dead. The horses of the men with him, on the other hand, were as skittish as if they smelled hellspawn on the wind. Maybe they did. But Azrael reckoned it was more likely the opposite of hellspawn that had done this.

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Read “The Angel Azrael Delivers Small Mercies” by Peter Darbyshire, in Issue #102

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Peter Darbyshire is the author of the novels The Warhol Gang and Please, which won Canada's national ReLit award for best novel. He has published short stories in numerous journals and anthologies, including previously in Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and his last weird western received On Spec's Best Story of the Year award. He currently lives in Vancouver, Canada, where he is working on a collection of stories about the end of the world. Visit him at

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