Blood and Feathers

by Lou Morgan

  “I thought you’d be taller. I’m a little disappointed.” The voice was right in her ear. “And I thought they’d keep better track of you. This won’t do Mallory any favours, will it? To lose you so soon, before you’ve even had the chance to prove yourself; it’s really too bad. Oh, well.”

  Alice flinched as she felt breath on her cheek.

  She opened her eyes.

  He was almost nose to nose with her. The first thing she saw were his eyes – they were so close that they filled her world. They were blue, so very blue that she found herself thinking of Gwyn, and then she remembered that, yes, the Fallen were angels once. She was toe to toe with a Fallen, and she was alone, and she was afraid. He smiled at her and his smile split his face. It was wider than it should rightly be, and he had slightly too many teeth.

  “Poor little lamb, straying from the herd,” he said, turning away from her. One side of his face was scarred, old burns running from the tip of his ear to his jaw. “There’s no-one here to help you now. Of course, how could you not come? Not when you’re an empath. Not when we’ve got something that calls to you.”

  He clicked his fingers, and the door of a car swung open. A heap of stained clothing tumbled out, and it took Alice a moment to understand what she was seeing. It was a body. There was a scuffling sound and a small head of sandy-coloured hair appeared. A child, gagged and bound. A little boy. He was crying, choking on the cloth over his mouth.

  Alice swallowed a whimper. She was supposed to be afraid, she knew that. It was what the Fallen wanted. He smiled at her.

  “You can feel that, can’t you, Alice? Feels good, doesn’t it?”

  He waved, and from somewhere in the shadows another of the Fallen appeared, stopping to haul the child from the car. He dragged the boy, none too gently, across the oily concrete to the edge of the puddle. The little boy’s eyes were fixed on her, fear radiating from them, blotting out everything else. The other Fallen swatted the yellow tape away and walked to the edge of the water, hoisting the child over his shoulder as though he weighed nothing. He stepped forward and into the puddle, which swallowed both of them, closing over their heads as though they had never been.

  And that was when Alice screamed.

  The sound rang off the steel pipes, filling the empty space, and the blue-eyed Fallen with his too-wide smile watched her, rubbing his ears as the echoes died away.

  “That wasn’t entirely necessary, now, was it? Loud, but not necessary?” He reached a hand towards her, and Alice suddenly found she could move. She ran.

  She made for the doors, the sound of her feet swirling around her, or maybe it was the sound of his feet, following. She barely managed to stop before she hit the stairwell door. It was locked. Glancing behind her, she went for the next one, which was also locked. No wonder he wasn’t following. She slumped against the door, her knees giving way as his laugh sang out.

  “You came here for the child. Out of every pestilential little human out there, his fear called out the loudest. You sought it out, and it held you here because we held him. And now we hold him forever. He’s ours. And he’ll never feel anything but fear again, and you couldn’t save him.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Oh, you do speak, do you? Better watch that. Speaking out... well, let’s just say the outspoken are always the first to Fall.”

  “I asked who you are.”

  “And I didn’t answer. You could say I’m a friend of your mother’s, but then, the last angels you met who said that stood by and watched as your father died, didn’t they?”

  “You’re not an angel, though, are you?”

  “On the contrary,” his voice hissed in her ear, and she jumped. He wasn’t anywhere in sight, so how... It felt as though he were leaning on her shoulder, too close, oppressive. “I’m the only kind of angel you can trust. You think you can trust the Descended? Why? He’ll discard you as soon as you’ve served your purpose. It’s what they do. You’re nothing to him. And the Earthbounds? They’re all half a step from damnation. Why should they help you? But me... I have nothing to lose.”

  “And a man with nothing to lose has nothing to hope for.”

  It was a new voice. A full, warm voice. A rush of cold air grazed Alice’s cheek and the feeling of the Fallen leaning on her shoulder vanished. She was aware of a quiet buzzing, somewhere at the edges of her mind. The lights overhead dimmed, then flickered, and died one by one, the darkness creeping closer and closer until the only light left was the one above her. It grew brighter... then wenr out, stranding her in the gloom.

  A warm breeze stirred her hair. It smelled of oil and petrol, and something else. Smoke. Woodsmoke, soft and welcoming. Safe. Alice stared into the blackness, looking for something – an emergency light, another door... anything... and then she saw it.

  A tiny spark, hanging in the air. It shimmered and glittered, and she heard a cry and the scuff of feet on concrete. All the while, the light grew stronger and brighter until it filled the car park, brighter than the bulbs had been, chasing the shadows across the walls. It was so bright, so white, that it hurt her eyes and she blinked back tears, throwing her hand across her face, but even with her eyes closed she could still see it.

  Slowly it began to dim, and she dropped her hand, opening her eyes carefully. There was a man in the midst of the light. And he was burning.

  Fire spilled down his back, spun from his fingers. It ran across his chest and pooled at his feet. Beneath it all, she saw the glint of metal. He was wearing armour, just as Gwyn had been in the graveyard, and within the fire it shone white-hot. He strode forwards, and his steps made no sound. Without a word, he reached behind a parked car and hauled out the Fallen, who had scuttled behind it as soon as he realised what was coming. The Descended lifted him easily and held him up, his feet dangling several inches above the floor.

  “Xaphan. Well, well, well. I should have known.” He flicked his wrist and Xaphan sailed through the air, crashing into a pipe and hitting the floor. “And what, might I ask, are you doing here?”

  “Me? Oh, nothing. A little mindless consumerism.” The Fallen picked himself up and dusted his clothes down. He eyed the angel. “Just killing time. Minding my own business.”

  “Is that so? Always in the wrong place at the wrong time, aren’t you, Xaph? The wrong place being anywhere outside hell.”

  A ball of flame formed above the Descended’s hand and he tossed it at Xaphan – who smiled, and reached up and grabbed it out of the air. He held it for a moment, then let it fall, crushing it beneath his heel.

  “Oops.” He brushed his hands together. “You’ve forgotten where you are, you silly little angel. You’re underground, and that’s our turf – not yours. Too bad. Too bad for you, anyway.” He snarled, his face contorting, and his spiny black wings sprang out from his back, the burned feathers rattling against one another. The Descended looked him up and down, and opened his own wings.

  His wings were, like Gwyn’s, white, but unlike Gwyn’s they flamed. Fire shimmered across them, curling into the air at the tips. He beat his wings once... and then stopped.

  Xaphan grinned again. “I told you. Under. Ground.” He pointed up. “And car parks have so little headroom, don’t you think?”

  He charged the Descended, head lowered, ramming into his ribs with a ferocious speed. They both hurtled back, a spinning mess of feathers and spines and fire; the Fallen scratching at the Descended, ripping at him with claw-like nails. Alice didn’t understand why he didn’t just throw Xaphan off. Surely he could, simply by shaking his wings. And then she understood. The ceiling. It was too low for him to use them. The Fallen knew that. Just like he had known that she would be drawn to the helpless boy’s fear, and that she would come alone. He knew too much, and he was toying with them.

  The Descended let out a sudden howl, and a sharp pain speared through Alice’s back. Xaphan pulled away from him, his hands full of feathers and his mouth smeared with blood.

  “You can burn me al
l you like, but sooner or later, you’re going to run out of wings.” His hair was smouldering, his face scorched, but still he attacked. The other angel swatted him away, but the fire around them was fading: he was wounded.

  And if he was wounded...

  Alice slipped behind a column of pipes and peered round. The two angels were still tangled together: Xaphan tearing with teeth and hands; the Descended batting him away – he was stronger, but he was slipping, and the Fallen clung on to him with no regard for the flame that seared his flesh.

  Alice told herself that she was not going to consider this a problem. She was just going to... well, to do something very stupid indeed. The pain in her back grew more intense as it rose, shooting from shoulder to shoulder. And as it did, she lifted her hand.

  Xaphan jerked away from the Descended. She must have made a noise; he looked straight at her and straight into the wall of fire that raced towards him.

  He screamed as it swallowed him. He staggered this way and that, the sound he made filling Alice’s ears... and then she heard the Descended calling to her. Dragging her eyes away from the flaming Fallen, she saw the angel pointing at the middle of the car park.

  “The water! Don’t let him reach it!”

  But it was too late. Xaphan had made it to the tape, and for a second the screaming sounded like it was laughter. He toppled face-first into the water... and was gone. Only the faintest smell of burning hair remained.

  The Descended was already on his feet, peering into the dirty pool. A thin slick of oil floated on the surface. Carefully, he stretched out a finger and poked it into the water. It was barely deep enough to cover his fingernail.

  “Tricky old Xaph,” he muttered under his breath, then stood up and wiped his hands together, and it dawned on Alice that he had changed. The fire was gone, the wings and armour with it. Instead, she was looking at a man with a narrow face and scruffy hair, stubble across his cheeks and chin. In place of the armour was a pair of jeans and an old red t-shirt. He was barefoot. The lights were back on and she looked him up and down.

  “Aren’t you cold?”

  “Hardly.” He held out his hand, and Alice saw the smallest of flames circling his palm. “You are Alice. I am A’albiel. Michael sent me.” He turned his hand over, palm-down, and Alice saw the same angular mark that had made the twins get so excited – it shone gold as though it was lit by something beneath his skin. He beamed at her. “You may call me Al.”

  “Umm, thanks?”

  “You’re welcome. We should leave.” He prodded at the edge of the water with his toe. “This has been most... illuminating.”

  “The puddle trick?”

  “Yes. The ‘puddle trick,’ as you call it. Xaphan is well regarded by the Fallen. He has an inventive mind. This reeks of him.”

  “It reeks of something. Can we, you know, go now?”

  “Yes. We must find the twins. And your mentor.”

  “Mallory? He’s not here.”

  “Oh?”

  “He said he had somewhere to be. With Gwyn.”

  “I see.” He looked thoughtful. “And you were here alone?”

  “It was a trap. I couldn’t help myself, I just sort of came here. They had a boy. They, well...” She pointed at the puddle. “They took him. In there.”

  “It isn’t the first time. They’ve been taking people, like this: puddles and holes, as though the ground simply opened up and swallowed them.”

  “Is that... supposed to happen?”

  “What do you think?”

  Alice shrugged. “Hey, define what’s supposed to be normal. You’ve got wings and I just torched a guy. Again.”

  “You. I like you.” He led her towards the door. “You will be safe for now. Find the twins. I will speak with their mentor – they should know better than to leave you unattended.” He paused. “Would you know...?”

  “Vhnori. It’s Vhnori.”

  “Ah.” He frowned.

  “Al...? Can I ask something?”

  “You can ask. It’s not certain I will answer.”

  “What’s happening to me?”

  “You are becoming all that you are.” He opened the door and ushered her through it.

  “All that I am? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” She asked, turning round... but he had gone, and the only thing behind her was a tiny spark in the air and the faint scent of woodsmoke.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Revelations

  VIN WAS SITTING at the table with his arms folded and a face like thunder. He kicked two chairs back with his feet and glared at the twins. “You two? Sit down. I’m going to rip you a pair of new arseholes.”

  Alice backed out of the kitchen so quickly, she nearly tripped over her own feet.

  News travelled fast. By the time she had found Jester and Florence (who were looking for her, pale-faced) and they’d made it back to their flat, both Earthbounds and Gwyn had been waiting. Gwyn had moved to strike Jester, who had the misfortune of being first through the door, but as his hand had come down, it had been caught by Mallory.

  “No. This is Vhnori’s business.” He’d turned to Florence. “He’s waiting for you in there.”

  He’d pointed to the kitchen, and they’d sloped inside. Seeing Vin’s face, Alice thought it was time to leave, and she shut the door behind her. She was left to face Mallory.

  “It’s not that I blame you,” he said, unscrewing his hip flask. “You wouldn’t have been able to help it, and the Fallen knew that.” He took a swig. “But you could have been killed. Or worse.” The flask disappeared back into his pocket. “And that’s my fault. I forgot that Florence was about as responsible as my left shoe.”

  “Mallory, I need to talk to you.”

  “I know. You fancy some air?” He gestured to the window, then laughed as her eyes widened. “I’m talking about a walk, Alice. Nothing else.”

  “Oh, good. I thought I was going to die when Vin brought me here.”

  “He wouldn’t have dropped you.” He paused, thought about it, then shrugged. “Not from very high up, anyway.”

  They took the lift, much to Alice’s relief. She had definitely had enough of empty stairwells for the time being. Possibly forever.

  The weather was turning colder – unseasonably so for autumn – and there was a bite in the air that made Alice shiver. Even Mallory pulled his jacket tightly around himself and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

  “Let’s take a walk, then.”

  They stepped through the security gate and turned down the road. Alice waited for him to speak. There was clearly something on his mind, but she knew better than to try and prise it out of him. If she did, he would either clam up or, worse, disappear again. They had gone at least half a mile before he spoke, and turned to look at her.

  “How’re you holding up?”

  “I miss my dad. It’s like I’m fine, and everything’s normal, and then someone comes and punches me in the stomach, over and over again, and there’s just this... space where he ought to be.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t blame you, you know.”

  “You blame Gwyn.”

  “Of course I blame Gwyn! I was... he...”

  “Don’t.” Mallory cleared his throat. “Other than that?”

  “Other than that? Well, I miss my life. My job. Home.”

  “Missing home? I can understand that,” he said with a wry smile. “It’s hard. I know.”

  “I’m trying not to think about it. Not unless someone pokes at me with a load of questions.”

  “Class-A denial. Fair enough. If it’s working for you.”

  “What else am I supposed to do?”

  “Embrace it.”

  “I don’t even know what it is! Quite apart from you dropping into my living room, nothing’s exactly clear, is it? It’s all half-whispers: rumours, hints and veiled comments dropped to me by fallen bloody angels. And cryptic messages from other angels who catch fire and then bugger off again.
So maybe – just maybe – if you want me to embrace anything, someone’s going to have to tell me what the hell’s going on!” She stopped, seeing Mallory looking at her with a mixture of amusement and bafflement. “What?” she asked. He shook his head.

  “You’re so like her. You really are.”

  “My mother.”

  “Your mother.”

  “You said, when I met you – when you came to the house – that you knew her. You knew her better than you’ve let me think, didn’t you?”

  “We were friends. Same choir. It’s inevitable.”

  “You weren’t just friends, though, were you?”

  Mallory didn’t answer the question. Instead, he stared at the pavement and started walking again. When he spoke, his voice was artificially cheery. “I’m a little jealous, you know. Michael sent A’albiel for you. That’s a big deal.”

  “You know him?”

  “Know him? No – I told you before, I’ve never even met one of Michael’s choir. There aren’t many of them, and they’re the big guns. They stick together, but you knew that already, what with the sign and all.”

  “Mallory?”

  “Yep?”

  “Who, exactly, are you jealous of. Me, or him?”

  “Ain’t that the question. I’ll let you know when I work that one out myself.” He suddenly changed course, and walked through a narrow gap in a row of metal railings.

  “When was the last time you sat on a swing?” he called back to her.

  She shrugged. “When I was a kid. You know, before I grew out of it!”

  But he either didn’t hear her or pretended not to. He was jogging now, heading towards a small playground full of rusty equipment. By the time she caught up with him, he was already sitting on a swing, his feet stretched out in front of him. The chain creaked a little too loudly as he rocked backwards and forwards on his heels.