Eden’s tone became shriller. “Tick tock, goes the clock. In one minute, you shall each offer your choice and reason for it. If you refuse, then you both die.” I stroked my thumb over the back of Anarchy’s quivering hand. “I’ll be playing your judge tonight, and Stephanie will be your executioner.”
The scorching heat from the ax seared my neck. Tendrils of smoke curled from Anarchy’s skin. What had J told me about choice?
I wet my dry lips. “I don’t need a minute. You want to know who to kill? Ask.”
Anarchy’s eyes widened. His eyelashes were matted wet, whilst he braced himself. I gritted my teeth. The executioner’s blistering ax pressed closer.
Eden was nothing but a puppet master playing with his toys.
I wasn’t anyone’s puppet.
When Eden waved his hand, the oppressive heat lifted from my neck. “Then I shall ask: who dies, monster or Fallen?”
Anarchy squeezed my hand, giving a resigned smile.
“Monster.” Anarchy goggled at my response. I smirked back. “My reason? Do I look like a bitch who could be purified?”
Now it was my turn to squeeze Anarchy’s hand. He swallowed.
“Rebellious Fallen?” Eden’s smooth voice trembled with rage.
Anarchy’s mouth quirked upwards, copying my own smile. “Fallen.” He poked his tongue out at me, and I stifled a laugh. “Reasons? Do I look like a bitch who could be purified?”
A bellow. Followed by a crash. Then tap, tap, tap…
You’re playing with fire and to save a Fang who’s young enough to be Jade’s kid brother. He’s cute, but you’d be a cradle snatcher if you rode that ass—
Not everything’s about…not anymore.
You can’t trust him. You don’t know him.
Save it. I’m not knifing Anarchy in the back to save my own arse. I won’t play this wingless sadist’s game.
Sometimes you’re caught in a game, whether you want to be or not.
Eden hauled me up by the hair, hurling me across the stage. I gasped, as my arms twisted, trapped beneath me by the handcuffs. Anarchy tried to stand, but Eden shoved him with a crack back to his knees.
“I judge between the pure and impure.” Eden stretched out Anarchy’s ash-gray left wing, caressing the tip, until Anarchy shuddered. “Only the perfect may come to tea.” He mock bowed towards me, as if we were courtiers in a dance. “Monster and Fallen choose death at a ball, my oh my, what shall become of them all?”
“We shank ourselves because of your bad poetry?”
Eden’s eyes blazed. “Monsters with no heads can’t hear poetry.”
I’d known it from the moment that I’d woken up in the white-and-blue heaven swirled ballroom. In fact, from when I’d been carried into the blackness by the waves of the Pure in Hackney Cemetery.
I’d been a dead woman walking. My true choice had been how I died.
20
Choice is a crown only worn by the free and the powerful.
Trapped on the Utopia Estate, a shank had earned respect but not choice. Imprisoned in Jerusalem Children’s Home, rules had guided my every breath, until breaking them hadn’t been a choice but survival.
Eden loved to offer choice because the trick was for the poor bastard to condemn themselves.
“Please…kill me, not my princess.” Anarchy struggled up, and again Eden pushed him back over the wooden block.
I twisted on the cold floor of the stage; the citrus polish caught in my nostrils reminding me of sitting cross-legged at the back of the stage in school assemblies. But I hadn’t been handcuffed then.
Or about to die.
“The death of a monster should be a grand affair. I shall hold a special party here for the Pure.” Eden clapped his hands, giddy as a kid before his birthday. “But first, we have a disobedient Fallen to save. And then we all have dinner reservations.”
Eden wrenched Anarchy’s wing, stretching it out and twisting Anarchy’s back, until his shoulder blade pressed against the block.
I thumped my forehead on the stage, growling in my throat.
I warned you, Violet-kitty: the game still plays, even if you storm away from the board. You have to be playing to win.
When Stephanie tested her flaming ax to the base of Anarchy’s wing, he whimpered.
“You’re breaking your own rules.” I squirmed onto my knees, panting. The Victorian ballroom lay before us, dressed for a wedding, whilst Eden threatened death. It swept in a grand slice of blue-and-white heaven; and we were trapped in hell. “You said monster or Fallen. Not both.”
Eden’s grin was wide. “Your choice was between who was saved and who died. You shall die, and the Fallen here will be saved through purification. When we carve his wings from his back, he will be clean. How sad you believed yourself the hero. Rejoice, rejoice, for today Anarchy will be pure!”
I wrenched my arms against the handcuffs, until my wrists bruised. “I’ll burn your sky-blue world to violet, if you touch his wings—”
The violin struck up a soaring joyful ode.
Black flames blazed, the ax fell, and Anarchy screamed.
Anarchy quivered, kneeling on the angel mosaic floor at Stephanie’s feet. His wings were cauterized stumps. When he glanced up, he caught me looking and flushed.
Eden lounged at the head of the mahogany table, with Stephanie and me at either side of him. Plush blue drapes swung at the windows of the restaurant, and a wing shaped mirror hung above a fireplace.
Eden had chosen the table furthest from the spitting roar of the open fire; I wondered if Anarchy was right about fire being Eden’s weakness.
What type of bloke took his own fear and spent his life shanking others with it?
The restaurant inside Perfection Hotel — Eden’s Lounge — was crammed with the Pure. They could’ve passed for human, except for the blackness of their eyes, when they scrutinized me.
And that tingle between my shoulder blades.
I shifted on my leather seat, sinking further into it. The meaty aromas of roasts — gravy, potatoes, and lamb — made my stomach growl. All I’d had for Christmas dinner had been cold baked beans out of a can.
Where was the condemned woman’s last meal?
Anarchy whined, wrapping his arms around himself, as his body spasmed with pain. Stephanie, however, gripped Anarchy’s curls and jerked him back into position on his knees.
“Feed our newest soldier.” Eden speared a large slice of beef wellington into his own mouth. “It’s hard on them in the first days. Transformation into purity. He’s a lucky boy, he has Stephanie here to teach him his lessons.”
“Are you hungry, darling?” Stephanie tore a thin shred of lettuce from her Caesar salad and held it out on her palm like Anarchy was her pet rabbit.
I’d have sneered…something…but Eden had rammed a leather gag in my mouth, before he’d led me into his joint.
I guess the bloke was touchy about his poetry.
I bit the leather, hating the way it tasted; I sucked down my saliva.
How screwed was my Boxing Day, when I was sitting gagged and handcuffed in the fanciest restaurant that I’d ever been in, surrounded by psycho vampire fanatics?
Anarchy nibbled at the lettuce, wincing when Stephanie tapped his head.
Stephanie’s gaze was flat and hard as she simpered, “Good job, sweetie.”
“I imagine you’ve been told lies about us,” Eden touched his chest with his long pale hand, as if it hurt, “that’s why you’ve murdered so many of my friends.” I flinched. Eden brushed his cheeks, wiping away imaginary tears. “No more to play with me, dead are they, can’t come to tea.”
“She’s a hunter,” Stephanie scoffed, “their hearts are stone.”
I shrank back.
Hell, they were right: I’d reveled in the kills because what was one dead vampire?
One dead Fallen Angel. One dead the Pure. One dead friend.
“Lies like we’re the vampires who kill?” When I straightened in
my chair, Eden nodded smugly, banging his fork clinking against his plate for emphasis now that he had my full attention. “Angels kill. The Fallen too. There’s only righteousness and perfection, not good or evil in this dance. Besides, now I’ve learned a new trick to feed without killing. A delicious Utopia dessert of my own.”
Utopia? Eden was talking about feeding on my Utopia Estate?
Anarchy moaned, shuddering as a new wave of pain swept through him. Stephanie pushed his jet curls, which had fallen in front of his eyes, behind his ears. Then her hand slipped lower, between his shoulder blades, and then to the base of his back. She played her fingers around the waistband of his jeans.
Anarchy tensed, suddenly motionless. His breathing became raspy and uneven. His feverish gaze darted to mine.
“With wings we fall, without wings we rise.” Eden forked a broccoli tree, crunching hard. “I wonder though, my monster, whether an abomination such as you could ever be pure?”
I bristled. If I got free, Eden was going down Hackney style.
Eden carefully crossed his cutlery on his plate, before leaning closer. “Do you even know who you are? What you are?”
I choked on my own spittle.
You have to be playing to win?
I tilted my head, as if interested.
Eden wiped at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “Eyes are the windows to your soul, you know…”
He reached forward to pull down my sunglasses.
I jerked backwards, tumbling out of my chair and cracking the back of my head against the floor. I was breathing so hard through my nose that white stars danced.
Then Anarchy was cradling me, and through the haze, I heard his calm voice, “The trick is to breathe slowly in these wankering gags. I’ve got you.”
Slowly, the globe lamps of the restaurant fuzzed back above my head, along with Anarchy’s anxious face. Despite his agony, he held me close, until Stephanie booted him in the stump of his right wing, and he howled.
“You’re the Pure now, darling, so don’t go dirtying yourself by touching monsters, or I’ll have to cleanse you, well, more than I will anyway.” Stephanie ground her kitten heel into Anarchy’s shoulder blade. “Little soldiers need training.”
I arose, vibrating with a fury at the abuse to the Fallen who’d cared for me. I kicked, sweeping Stephanie’s legs out from under her. She flailed, before stumbling onto her arse. Her business suit ripped along its expensive hem, as she let out a startled squawk.
The other diners suddenly hushed, before sniggering and snorting behind their hands.
I might be handcuffed and gagged, but I could still fight dirty.
Stephanie twisted to me, her ponytail spilling onto her shoulders and her shirt half hanging out of her trousers. She raised her fist.
Anarchy dove in front of her. “Cleanse me, bitch.”
Eden chuckled, so close to my ear that I jumped. “Two rebels in Perfection Hotel, what shall I do?”
“Let us go…?” Anarchy said with a hopeful smile.
Eden kissed my hair, wrapping his fingers around the ash blonde strands. I tried to pull away, but he held me still. “Here comes a candle to light you to bed, and here comes a chopper to chop off your head.”
I blanched, forcing myself not to cringe from his touch, as Eden spun me in a wild dance, before yanking me close against his velvet coat. Trapped in his lily scent, I battled to breathe through my nose, against the rising panic.
…Here comes a chopper to chop off your head…
It was easier to tip back my head and lose myself in the sparking stars in the night sky, than to stare ahead at the ranks of the Pure on Perfection Hotel’s roof terrace, and see the stars fallen to earth in their glowing eyes.
As I knelt in the ice-freeze, cheeks whipped raw by the snow breeze, it was dying like a war criminal — a monster — that caught the sob at the back of my throat.
Dying alone.
You’re not alone, never forget that.
I’m sorry, J, I let you down.
Hold on, the diva awards are mine. How’s your choice going?
Too busy dying to talk now. Unless you violet me up…?
Righteousness isn’t a trick to pull out of your slutty hat, or do you want to transform into the wingless wonder in blue? A tyrant, mad on his own power?
I glanced at Eden, who was sauntering in front of his followers, sweeping his coat back and forth like he was posing for photographs.
I rolled my shoulders, rubbing at my wrists. Stephanie had taken off my handcuffs and gag once the army had assembled.
A squeal. Guffaws. And the blast of Stephanie’s ax.
I pushed myself up onto shaky legs.
Decorative wrought iron tables and chairs dotted the terrace beneath the melting snow and Eden’s army, slouching or gossiping between them, looked so…ordinary. Suits and wool coats, mixed with dresses and scarfs. If it hadn’t been for their eyes, they’d have passed for human. But then their fangs and claws were hidden and they’d hacked off their wings.
Anarchy was trapped between a jeering circle. Every time he stumbled to escape, he was shoved back into the center with Stephanie: his tormentor.
His trainer.
Rebel had been my Custodian. Yet when we’d trained in the glade, it’d been a thrilling dance: blade and fire, Sex Pistols and kisses, control and…love.
I glanced away, as Stephanie blistered a searing line along Anarchy’s gut with her ax before he could twist to the side. Anarchy howled. When he spun, stumbling to the edge of the circle, Stephanie yanked him by his curls, painting his back crimson.
I knew deep inside that Anarchy belonged to me, as surely as I knew that Rebel and Ash did. I might be about to die, but at least I could help him one last time.
“Roll up, roll up, death of a monster, lifetime special,” I hollered over Anarchy’s weeping, spreading my arms like wings.
The army of the Pure fell silent.
Eden turned to me, whilst his full lips curled up. “My, you are eager to sacrifice yourself. Yet would you be, if you knew the truth?” His gaze clouded. “Lazarus rises, and we shall say, all our goodbyes.”
“Hold the crazy line. Lazarus, what…?”
Eden only whirled to his disciples, pointing at the heavens. “Exult, my soldiers, for tonight we purify the destroyer.”
Destroyer?
I stumbled backwards to the edge of the terrace. Eight floors below? The pavement, in front of the grand porch entrance. I clasped onto the crumbling ledge, before clambering up.
I’m sorry Jade…that I didn’t find you…save you…
Eden held out his hand with a click of his fingers.
Stephanie glanced down at her ax but then hesitated. “I could slay the dragon, Eden darling, if the fire—”
With a growl, Eden snatched the weapon from her, although his shoulders stiffened and his fingers trembled.
“Don’t worry, Eden,” I said, my voice as soft as silk, even though my mouth twisted, “nobody’s perfect. Not even a fanatic.”
Anarchy’s gaze met mine, intense and steadying; tears streamed down his cheeks, but he still forced a smile.
Not every bastard Pure on that terrace hated me.
I wasn’t alone.
Eden lunged, flames fizzing from the ax.
I took a deep breath. Then I closed my eyes and waited for Eden to execute a monster.
21
Feathers cocooned me in the soft scent of safety and home.
Slam.
Coppery sweetness spun me to heaven. I quivered, caught in the scent of angel blood.
Rebel’s blood.
Hell, if this was dying, it kicked living’s arse.
My eyes snapped open.
Rebel was holding me on the stone ledge of the roof terrace, before the furious glares of an army of the Pure. His mottled wings, which he’d wrapped around me, were as hard as steel, but his smile was fragile.
“Hold on.” Rebel yanked my arms around his waist,
as his wings stretched out.
Then he dove upwards into the cold night sky.
“Guests may not leave the party early!” Eden shrieked, bouncing on his toes.
I sniggered but then caught Rebel’s flinch.
“You’re… This is… You’re saving me?” I blinked, gripping so hard to Rebel’s hips that I must’ve been leaving bruises.
He nodded. “I’m not the one who abandons people.”
Hollers, the whoosh of flames beneath my boots, and bang of gunshots.
Rebel swooped, dodging. I gasped at the glorious buzz of soaring through the dark in the arms of an angel.
My heart thundered: I’d stood at the cliff edge of death — jumped — and flown.
“Lazarus rises, bitches,” I yelled down at Eden and his soldiers. Their eyes gleamed like hyenas’ in the night. “I bet you wish you weren’t wingless now?”
Whizz — a bullet grazed my ear.
Best not to taunt the fanatic jackasses until you’ve actually escaped. After all, your ride could break down. The punk’s wing is wrecked.
But he still risked saving me.
Why? Oh, that’s right, girl, because you bound yourself by blood. Say hello to your baby vampire.
I shifted in Rebel’s wings. The speckled violet feathers pulsed amongst a sea of gray. Rebel clutched me closer.
The moon caught on the spear tips of the Thames, which curled far beneath us, criss-crossed with bridges. Cars and black cabs sped between blocks of skyscrapers and curving terraces. Cathedral spires and cupolas rose like illuminated specters.
A human world, spread like a kid’s playset. Violet and black seethed at the thought: to mold the world and make it mine.
When I shuddered, Rebel stroked my arm. Then suddenly, his bent wing spasmed. I screamed, as we tumbled, spinning through the black.
Rebel beat his wings frantically, plunging us further towards Hackney.
We were about to get up and personal with London Fields.
I braced myself, as Rebel and I crashed into the frozen green. We cracked over a bench, before barreling into a goal post. My ankle twisted.
Rebel Angels: The Complete Series Page 19
