by Sarah Mussi
I’ll find Marcus. One last try.
I march through the doors. I’m in the club: the black leather sofas, the upholstered walls, the reeking smell. Where is he? The music’s too loud. It’s too distracting. How will he hear me? What if I shout? There’s no point – nobody can hear anything. Everybody’s drinking. Nobody minds me. Their elbows poke, their shoulders jostle. And there’re girls everywhere. Girls in witchy costumes, girls as cherubs, girls as skeletons – just too many girls, they cloud my purpose. Which one of them will catch a stray bullet? How can I save them? I catch myself. There’s nothing like that, is there? If their names are on the Manifest nobody can save them.
There are guys too: guys as demons, guys as ghouls, and guys in zombie outfits. I can’t save anyone. Not even myself.
And there’s Marcus.
I see him as soon as I get there. The Grim Reaper, looking like he’s in Hell already.
And there’s the Crow. I know it’s him. Nobody could mistake that bulk, that massive frame, that hook-nose, those jetty brows – and on his head is a black crow’s crown, ravens’ feathers, skeletal wings.
I stand by the dance floor. Just a moment. All the things that might have been and never were flood back to me. Someone turns the music up. For a brief second I remember what it was to be an angel. The music pounds. I start to sweat.
I watch Marcus. I watch him drag Candy into his arms. He’s trying to wind up the Crow. Start the show. I watch as she moulds herself against his chest. Something inside hurts. I see the muscles in his arms straining against her. My throat goes dry. I try to swallow. I catch my breath.
Marcus smiles, but he’s not smiling at me.
It’s nearly midnight. What shall I do? At any minute his death will arrive. I must try and speak. I look around. Demons are dancing with angels.
Someone puts on a record. Marcus crushes Candy to him. Crow steps forward. He’s unsure. Everybody else steps back. Someone whistles. The Crow has figured out who the Grim Reaper is.
. . . Go, go, go, go, go, go . . .
The Crow’s eyes are wild.
Marcus reaches into his cloak.
‘God help me!’ I scream. ‘Tell me how to stop it!’
But it’s not God who answers my prayer.
A figure detaches itself from the crowd. A tall, graceful figure. He slides smoothly forward and seems to push through the crowds effortlessly towards me. A rush of drains. The dancers fall back at his touch. He’s dressed like the Devil. He is the Devil. I’d know Larry anywhere.
‘Well, hello, Kara,’ he says. ‘Fancy meeting you here!’
I look at him. There’s no point in saying anything.
‘Do let me help you out,’ he says.
Strange how I can hear him perfectly above the music. ‘Help?’ I say.
‘There is a way,’ he says.
‘A way?’ I repeat.
He laughs an enchanting, mischievous laugh. ‘Yes,’ he says, raising his eyebrows, ‘a way out even for you, even at this late hour.’ Larry smiles at me as if I’m being very slow. He cocks his head to one side. ‘You still like him, don’t you?’ he says.
I look at Marcus. I look at Larry.
‘And he hasn’t repented, either, has he?’ reminds Larry. The lights from the disco ball sparkle off his teeth.
‘No,’ I whisper.
‘I see you’ve dressed for the part,’ he says.
‘The part?’ I’m confused. I let it pass. Don’t get hooked in.
‘You can still be the Angel of Death, you know.’ A smile plays cheekily around the corners of his white teeth. ‘It’d be like old times.’
The music seems to have stopped altogether.
‘And give him lots more time. That would be fun too, wouldn’t it? It’s really very simple,’ smiles Larry.
I study him. The rubber horns on his head wobble. He flicks disappointedly at his limp tail. He pulls a ‘this-outfit-really-isn’t-me’ face. Yes, Larry can always make things very simple.
‘You can ask for an Extension,’ he says.
All around us the club waits. It’s held in a familiar time warp.
‘An Extension,’ he repeats in a charming drawl. ‘Think about it. All you have to do is ask.’
‘Ask you?’ I say. He must be mocking me. Hasn’t he won already?
‘Go on,’ he says. ‘Give it a whirl; live dangerously. What’ve you got to lose?’
‘More time is not enough any more,’ I say slowly. Perhaps he is serious. ‘I want his soul released from Hell.’
‘Ooo, you little Devil!’ cheers Larry. ‘But you’re learning. What fun this is going to be!’ He rubs his hands together in glee. ‘But – oh dear – oopsy-whoopsy – we have to keep the Rate of Exchange balanced!’ he smiles.
‘Take me,’ I say.
‘Excellent, I will,’ says Larry. ‘But – oh deary-weary – that doesn’t seem fair. I’ve already got you in the long run. I could take Spider as well, perhaps?’
‘No,’ I say. No other deaths for Marcus.
‘Oh,’ says Larry, disappointedly. ‘Just when it was getting exciting.’
‘There must be something else you want,’ I say, ‘as well as me, to release his soul from Hell?’ I’m sure of it. Larry has his plan. Why else would he be here? He’s just playing with me, trying to get me to suggest it. Soon he’ll reveal all.
Larry looks instantly pleased. He does a little twirl and capers on the spot. ‘I do want to take you, but I do want to make a profit too,’ he says. ‘Just squeeze out a little extra.’ He dances his fingers over his cheek. ‘Spider would have done, but if you’re adamant on the point?’
I look at him. I wait.
‘OK, I’ll settle for both you and Marcus dead by midnight . . .’ (Larry makes a squeezing motion over his heart – I don’t forget what I saw this afternoon – he can take Marcus at any minute) ‘. . . Marcus can go wherever you like – I hear they are letting people back into Limbo again – but your soul is mine forever. And I call it generous of me.’
So Marcus must die too. I try not to bite my lip. If only I could have saved his soul and his life.
‘OK,’ I say miserably.
‘But there is a slight hiccup,’ says Larry.
There’s always a hiccup when you’re dealing with the Devil.
‘You see, Subaru, there’re rules even about getting into Hell.’
I don’t know why, but I’m mildly surprised about that.
‘Sadly you’ve got to have sinned in a deadly sort of way. And you, my dear, haven’t done so yet. And I can’t take you until you do. But don’t panic – I’ve got an excellent plan!’
I start to panic.
‘If you feel inside the breast pocket of that delightful jacket you’re wearing, you’ll find a handgun.’
I feel inside the pocket.
‘Clever girl! Now all you have to do is point the muzzle and pull the trigger. Simple as a pimple.’
I don’t need to ask who at.
‘Think of it this way,’ says Larry. ‘You’ll save him from committing murder. I’ll strike him off my Manifest. (Heaven can do what the hell they like with their List.) You can shoot yourself as a punishment – fantastic, suicide too. We’ll all come to a deal – I’ll release him from Hell! And get you instead. There you are! Your condition is met! If Heaven wants him they can have him, but I really do recommend the new deal on Limbo – otherwise off he’ll jog to Purgatorium. That’s probably the best place for him anyway, don’t you think?’
I’ve figured it out. Larry wants me. And he’s making the rules up as he goes along. It’s obvious, isn’t it? If Marcus had repented he wouldn’t be on anyone’s Manifest. Would he? In fact since Joey took his place he’s not on any Manifest at all. So Larry doesn’t need anyone to balance the books. Oh he’s clever, all right, but I’ve understood. He wants me. And he wants to be one hundred per cent certain he gets me.
He smiles. His white teeth sparkle. ‘You get to have completed your Collection aft
er all – a little late in the day – oh dear – but there you go! Ooo, and you’ll have committed two of the most deadly of sins!’
That’s what he wants! Me to commit the most deadly of sins.
But why?
‘Then I can get you into Hell. A sinful little Seraph all of my own! What bliss! Together we’ll pootle on down to Styx – you and me – just the two of us. Oh, how delightful – all done and dusted and delivered.’
I stare at him in amazement. So clever.
But I don’t buy it.
I’m no longer a Seraph. There are loads of prettier girls everywhere. He hasn’t set all this up just to get me.
He nods as if he can read my mind. ‘Pretty straightforward, isn’t it?’ he says.
But it’s not straightforward at all.
But I can’t figure out why.
Zara 16
I can’t figure it out. There’s not enough time. But I can take Marcus’s place in Hell. And that’s enough.
I’ll do it.
Larry will take Marcus at midnight anyway. One twist will undo all the miracle-making I ever learnt at the Cloisters.
My hand curls around the gun. I draw it out from the pocket and slip it up the sleeve of the jacket. My heart is pounding. I look at Larry. I look at the dance floor. I don’t even bother to ask for a copy of the contract. This is what Larry wants. I know, I can see the delight in his eyes.
Let him win. I’ve thrown away Heaven – what is my state of sanctifying grace anyway compared to that? Or my short little human life? Yes, it’s better this way. Marcus may not go to Heaven but he will escape Hell. In Purgatorium he will find redemption. ‘Kamuel,’ I whisper, ‘if you are there in Purgatorium saving the souls of the sinners, take care of him for me.’
Larry holds out his hand. I take it. We shake.
‘Deal?’ he says.
‘Deal,’ I reply.
I grip the gun. I move away. I can get close to Marcus. He trusts me. He’ll be surprised. He’ll be angry. He told me to stay at the flat.
I’ll tell him I love him. I’ll implore him to repent. Ah, if only he would. We could both be saved yet. For my first contract with Larry still holds good till midnight. But he’ll refuse. I know he will. So I’ll tell him that when the Angel of Death comes for him he must say: Sorry. He must implore the angel to forgive him in God’s name – just as if it were a confession. I’ll tell him I’ve arranged it all. He will go to Purgatorium then. I completely dismiss the idea of Limbo, a horrible, forsaken train-station sort of place for those who cannot enter anywhere else.
I’ll point the gun at him. I’ll press it against his heart. From inside the sleeve of my jacket I’ll pull the trigger. He won’t know any pain. He won’t know what happened. He’ll understand when the angel catches him. I hope it’s Raquel. I pray it should be her. She’s beautiful and she’s kind.
Then I’ll shoot myself. It won’t be hard. Without Marcus, life is nothing. My mind suddenly flashes to Robyn. I say a soft sweet ‘sorry’; I tell her I understand now. I look at the crowd, at the girls, the men; I’m glad there’ll be no stray bullets. I don’t know what Joey’s brothers will do. I pray they’ll be confused and run away. Without Marcus they can’t act. I’ve seen this already.
The music is back. Time starts up.
I push my way round the dancers. My feathers drag after me. I squeeze out on to the dance floor. Marcus has Candy in his arms. The Crow is there.
The music is pounding. Nobody notices me, this tiny Angel of Death in her gangsta jacket and black feathers. I let the music guide me. I sway between the dancers. I’m almost there.
Suddenly Marcus raises his scythe.
It’s the sign.
The Crow steps forward.
Candy screams. I slide in between. I raise my arm.
Marcus lifts his beautiful face up and looks at me.
‘Zara?’ he says, confused.
Candy screams again. She yells at the huge guy. ‘Stop it, Crow. Can’t I dance with anyone I goddamn want?’
I prepare myself. This is it. I open my mouth and scream. ‘I love you Marcus – please repent,’ I pause. The Crow steps in. I scream again, louder than any music. ‘When the angel asks you, Marcus – when she says, “Turn. And. Look. Upon. Your. Death,” when she asks you to repent . . .’
Marcus turns and looks at me. He looks straight at me. His lips move. His eyes. Oh, his eyes. I can’t hear him.
Candy throws herself at the Crow. Marcus hesitates. She’s in his line of fire. I scream again, ‘I’M SORRY. I LOVE YOU.’ I raise the gun.
‘You love me?’ he mouths back. Like being loved was all he ever wanted. His gun is drawn now. He’s jerking Candy aside.
But all the music in the world can’t drown out my words.
‘YES,’ I scream. I point the muzzle. ‘I’M. NOT. THE. SAME. AS. ALL. THE. REST.’
And then he smiles and his face lights up.
‘I. REALLY. LOVE. YOU.’
It’s like no one has ever told him how beloved he is. Not like that. There’s something suddenly radiant about him. I’m ready to pull the trigger . . .
And I can’t do it.
I just can’t shoot him. For some reason I can’t bring myself to pinch out his life. I try. I jab at the gun, try to squeeze the trigger, but it’s no use. I can’t do it. All of this and my one last chance and I can’t. It’s not because I fear Hell, although I do. It’s not because I distrust Larry – not about this. I don’t.
I just can’t.
The moment passes. My hand falls back. The Crow pushes forward. Marcus swings Candy aside. He faces the Crow. The dancers draw back. I see Joey’s brothers take position.
Someone screams and screams.
‘This is for Joey,’ says Marcus.
Dazed, I move in. Thou shalt not kill. I mustn’t let him shoot the Crow. There may still be a way. Larry may be ready to make another deal. If he kills it’ll be too late. Even Purgatorium won’t have him. I step forward. The timing’s all wrong. I see the look on Marcus’s face. It’s shining, like he’s the Avenging Angel himself. Radiance. And then, like a miracle, I remember.
101 Curious Facts About Angels
77. Angels appear in their true glory at their own demise.
A sudden hope spirals through me. I remember Vincent. I remember the second the whip hit – how for one moment he’d appeared in his true glory – beautiful beyond compare. I think of Kamuel. Did he show me Vincent’s end on purpose? Has he known all along?
And it’s Candy who gives me the idea. She is in his line of fire.
‘I’ll show you your angel,’ I scream at Marcus. ‘You promised me if I showed you your angel . . .’ I’m screaming in his ear. ‘You promised. I trust you.’
He tries to push me away. I’m here. I won’t be pushed away. I will show him. He raises his gun. I drop mine.
I throw myself in front of him.
Marcus’s gun goes off.
Suddenly Larry is there. Bagabi laca . . . He’s trying to freeze time. Bachabe . . . He’s trying to stop me. Lamc cahi achababe . . . He won’t win. Karrelyos . . . He’s too late. Lamac lamec . . . He shouts in fury. Bachalyas . . .
Slowly, I pitch forward. Marcus shouts. Drops the gun. The dancers whirl. The room spins. His arms open.
He catches me.
He holds me. How breathtakingly beautiful he is. My eyes trace his sculpted features: the hard jaw, the soft fullness of his lip. He smoothes back my hair. My wings are coated in blood. How I love him. My fire and brilliance light up the dance floor. I am a winged celestial creature more beautiful than a thousand stars.
How sorry he looks. He presses me to his chest. I breathe when he breathes. My blood coats his costume. I touch his hand. My skin on his skin.
He holds me as each throb of my heart beats and bleeds and ebbs.
All around us is pushing and shoving. The music is blasting. Joey’s brothers have drawn their weapons. The Crow’s crew are taking up position.
&nb
sp; . . . Hobgoblin nor foul fiend . . .
Vampires and werewolves are screaming and screaming.
. . . Shall daunt my spirit . . .
Ghouls and goblins draw tight around us.
. . . We know we at the end . . .
They press in.
. . . Shall life inherit . . .
‘Don’t move her!’ a girl screams. ‘Don’t move her!’
I look up. I wasn’t too late. Thank God. I lift up my face. With a blaze of my eyes I freeze time . . .
For an instant all sound ceases. In the silence that follows, I say, ‘Please repent, Marcus.’
There, I’ve asked him. He looks at me. His eyes are wide like bright jewels. Now I can go. I need to go. I feel a tugging inside. I’ve begged him to repent while he still can. I know he will. We had a deal. His eyes are shining.
I let time start up again.
The music coughs back louder than ever.
Someone screams.
Someone yells.
Everything goes very quiet, except the music. It winds on, stuck on a phrase.
Go . . . go . . . go . . . go . . . go . . .
Zara 17
I’m still in the club. I see Kamuel. He’s standing there right beside me; he’s smiling at me. He looks so sad. He strokes my cheek. ‘Little one,’ he murmurs. ‘Will you repent,’ he says, ‘and ask forgiveness for all the hurt you’ve caused others?’
‘Oh yes,’ I say. I try to look past him, to see Marcus.
‘I promised you I would not desert you,’ he says.
‘Why are you here?’ I ask. ‘I thought you were going to Purgatorium?’
He strokes my brow so tenderly. ‘Can’t you guess?’ he smiles.
I look around the club. It appears as if through some mist. Strangely quiet. Joey’s bothers and the Crow’s crew have been frozen in time. Everyone’s been frozen in time. Except Marcus.
