"Yes," Azrael replied. "The angel of death, if you want to take it down to brass tacks." He accepted the beer with a small smile, thumbing off the cap and raising the bottle in a silent toast. He took a long drink from it, grateful to get the dry feeling out of his mouth and throat. "And I'm just glad I arrived before anything worse happened to her."
"Of course," he said, leaning against the counter.
Cordelia took the ice and pressed it to her face. She let out a hiss as the cold touched her skin, but kept it pressed to her eye. It would help keep the swelling down. She nodded at Hermes' words. "OK." She felt more at ease now. Hermes had said it would be OK. So it would be.