by Lou Morgan
“Where were you?”
“Somewhere else.”
“I needed you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“You are jealous.”
“I had somewhere I needed to be, Alice. Let it go.”
“Where?”
“You really want to know? Really? Fine. I was at Council, justifying the fact that I’m still here. Defending every last thing I’ve said and done since the last time I had to do it. Which, if you ask me, is far too often. Hoping that Gwyn wouldn’t shaft me and that Gabriel doesn’t pick today to decide he’s had enough of me and take my wings once and for all.” He glared at his feet. “That good enough for you?”
“Like a parole hearing?”
“But worse. Much worse.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“You said I could trust you.”
“You can.”
“Prove it. You owe me answers.”
“I don’t owe you a thing.”
“You know what, Mallory? You’re right. Maybe you don’t. But you know something else? I’m willing to bet that if I shout loudly enough, there’ll be someone out there who will give me answers. I can’t seem to throw a rock in the air without it coming down on one of the Fallen, and they’re all telling me more than you are, so...”
“No.” There was a clatter of metal, and Mallory was on his feet, the swing now lying several feet away from its frame. “You think you’ll get answers from them? All you’ll get is a messy death, stretched over forever. They’ll smile with their faces while they slit your throat with their nails. And don’t forget: they’re everywhere. Even the Twelve are watching – and don’t make the mistake of thinking that just because you’ve not seen much of them, they aren’t a threat. So you promise me here and now that whatever happens, you will not go to the Fallen. Promise me, Alice.”
“Then start talking.”
She was shocked by the force of his reaction. Surely he knew she wasn’t serious? To be fair, she had forgotten about the Twelve. After so much talk, they didn’t seem to be causing the trouble she had expected. In fact, she was rather beginning to hope they might simply have gone away. Clearly not.
“Three years ago, a woman named Iris Roberts woke up one morning and found a hellmouth in her garden. She and her family were taken. They were the first. Since then, thousands have been stolen away. All by the Fallen.”
“Excuse me, but what? A hellmouth?”
“You saw one in that garage: the water that opened for the Fallen to escape? And in the graveyard too. Hellmouths are any way into hell, except a few of these have been a bit more literal. The one that swallowed Iris and her family had teeth.”
“Eww.”
“It’s a little more than ‘Eww.’ The balance is starting to tip.”
“Wait.” She held up a hand. “I’ve heard that, somewhere.” She frowned, trying to remember. It had been almost the exact same phrase... a chill ran down her spine. “Lucifer.”
“What?” Mallory’s eyes opened wide.
“The night you left: when we were attacked in the churchyard, and the Fallen did some weird possessed trance thing, and Lucifer said, ‘the balance is tipping.’ He asked Gwyn if I was supposed to be the one to save you... Him... Oh, you know.”
“Then there’s little point in trying to hide it any longer, is there?” Mallory sighed. “What’s the first word you think of when I say ‘angel’?”
“I don’t know. Guns.” She shrugged, and Mallory laughed and shook his head.
“That’s my girl. Alright, what’s the first word most people would think of when I say ‘angel’?”
“Guardian. Salvation. Heaven. God. Pick one...”
“Right. And wrong. Remember what I told you before: angels are soldiers. That’s all we do. Why would we care about human salvation?”
“Because... because... well, you’re angels. That’s what you do.”
“I told you what I do. Think, Alice.”
She screwed her eyes shut, picturing the room when he had told her. “You said the Fallen want to get out, and it’s your job to keep them down. By any means necessary.”
“That’s right. Angels aren’t here to save you, any of you. You have to do that all by yourselves. What we’re here for is to make sure you get a fair chance at that. The Fallen don’t play fair. All we do is level the playing field. They pop their heads out of the pit, we kick them right back down.”
“You kill them.”
“After everything you’ve seen, and everything we’ve told you, do you really think you can kill the Fallen? In theory, of course, it shouldn’t be that way, but theory rarely works in practice and they’ve found a loophole. Hell keeps them alive, whatever we do. So, in practical terms, they’re just as tough as we are. All we do is send them back to where they belong, and take the wind out of their sails.”
“But they can just come back... how’s that fair?”
“Bingo. It’s a fight we can’t win, and a war we’ve been fighting forever. We have to be lucky all the time – they only have to be lucky once.”
“Then how come they haven’t won? If the odds are that bad?”
“Because we’re good at it. Even the Earthbounds. Might not look like it, but we fight just as hard as the Descendeds. Harder, maybe, because there’s not a single one of us who doesn’t want to earn his wings back. Take Vin: you look at him and you see some guy with a quick mouth. But that’s not all he is. Whatever he says, whatever he does, he’s an angel before he’s anything else. He might be stuck down here and his wings might be clipped, but he’s one of us. We keep the balance, whatever the cost.”
“Then what’s all this about the balance tipping?”
“That’s the problem. Somehow the Fallen have found a way to weight things in their favour. I don’t know how, but I’ll wager anything Xaphan’s behind it, he usually is.” Mallory stared at his boots. “The thing is, these hellmouths – in the simplest of terms, they’re using them to kidnap people.”
“What’s the point of that?”
“Again, simply put? They’re taking them because faith is the same as hope – and there is no hope in hell.”
“Ouch. You should have warned me before you got all metaphysical.”
“Hey, you asked. The bottom line is that they’re suddenly edging ahead, and every living soul down there only makes it easier. The balance is tipping in their favour, and we need to tip it back. Which is where you come in.”
“See, this is the bit I don’t like.”
“Alice. You are a weapon. A perfect, perfect weapon. On the one hand, somehow – and no-one quite knows how – you’ve ended up with a gift that knocks all of ours into the shade. That fire? Once you get control of it...” He blew out a long breath. “And on the other, you’re an empath. Your power comes from pain. There’s plenty of that in hell. Who else could we send?”
VIN WAS STILL shouting at the twins when the hallway exploded.
The force of the blast threw all three of them to the floor of the kitchen, knocking Jester’s head against the tiles with a crack. Coughing, Vin pulled himself up, wiping plaster from his eyes and hair. The room was full of smoke and dust: fine, white, settling like snow. Florence was shaking her head to clear it, the sound of the explosion ringing in her ears as much as it was his. He waved for her to stay down.
Other than the high-pitched whine inside his head, there was no sound in the flat. Nothing. And that was... suspicious. He edged around the scattered furniture towards the door – what was left of it. A few splinters of wood clung to the hinges. The hallway was wrecked: the front door replaced by a gaping hole into the landing, the walls blackened, the doors leading off it reduced to matchsticks. There was no sign of Gwyn, nor Mallory and Alice. Was it too much to hope they were out? Sliding around the doorframe and into the hall, keeping his back pressed against the wall, he crept towards the door to the living room, and walked straight int
o a fist. The room slipped away and faded to nothing.
WHEN HE WOKE up, he was sitting on a chair in the living room. Actually, he discovered when he tried to move, he was tied to a chair. It was not a promising start. Nor was the black case lying open on the table in front of him, prominently displaying a wide selection of sharp objects in a dazzling array of shapes and sizes. There was no-one else in the room, but that case belonged to someone, and Vin was pretty sure it wasn’t him.
“Look, guys, I get that you’re trying to be all dramatic and everything, but seriously? That’s a bit bling, isn’t it? You pussies.”
“Meeow,” said the Fallen, sliding into the room.
Vin smiled coldly at him. “I’d shake your hand, but you know...” He spread his hands as well as he could under the ropes, but for once even Vin’s bravado was failing him. It wasn’t just any Fallen who had walked into the room: it was Purson.
“If you’re wondering where your precious little half-breeds are, you might as well stop. You won’t be seeing them again any time soon, so forget about them. I don’t want you distracted.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll be getting my full attention when I take you to pieces. Let’s see if you’re smiling then.” It was an empty threat, and he knew it. Worse, so did Purson. Of all the Fallen – of all the Twelve, even – why did it have to be him? Vin cursed silently, and wished that Barakiel’s luck was a little more literal sometimes. This was not good. Not good at all.
Purson sidled up to him and tugged on the ropes binding his hands. They didn’t give, and he nodded in satisfaction. “Don’t want you wriggling out and giving me one of your little party tricks now, do we? Jeqon and Goap send their regards, by the way.”
“They’re talking again? Already? I must be losing my touch.” And as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he’d made a mistake. After the incident with Lilith, he wondered whether he actually was... He tried to shove the thought to the back of his mind, but it was too late.
A smile spread thickly over Purson’s face “Maybe you are. After all, Lilith got away from you, didn’t she?”
“Did she? Really? Huh. I must have missed that. I guess it was all the dust blowing in my eyes – you know, from when Mallory blew her away.”
“You should show some respect. Remember who you’re talking about.” Purson’s fingers were walking across the knives. Vin tried not to look.
“We are talking about the same Lilith, right? Not all that bright, bit of a sulker... and, let’s face it, she’s not exactly statuesque, is she? Oh, whoops. Poor choice of words there. My bad.”
“You just can’t help yourself, can you? All this talk. It spills from your lips like lava. I wonder what will happen when I take your tongue?”
“Mate, I’m sorry. I got totally the wrong end of the stick. I had no idea: you and her... wow. Now I get it. You guys – completely made for each other.” Vin paused and took a deep breath, tensing every muscle. “You’re both as stupid as each other, and frankly, the only person who could love a face like Lilith’s is the poor bastard with a worse one.”
Even though he was expecting it, the knife hurt. Purson drove it between his ribs and twisted it – first one way, then another. The blade was hot and cold and felt like forever. The Fallen didn’t bother to remove it, instead holding up his hands and pointing to the case.
“You can keep that one. I’ve got plenty.”
The next knife grazed his collarbone, and Vin felt the bone snap as the metal forced its way through. The third almost cost him an eye. The room began to mist, but Purson slapped him awake.
“No, you don’t. I’ve got lots of treats in store for you – don’t want you to miss a thing.”
It was going to be a very, very long evening.
“YOU WANT ME to go down there? Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“You know what? At this point, that doesn’t even surprise me,” Alice said.
Mallory shrugged. “Of course it doesn’t. You’ve known all along that’s what you would have to do.”
“Some of my old tutors would agree with you. Mr Thomas always told me I was headed straight for hell. Express train, no waiting.”
“And what did Mr Thomas teach?”
“Religious studies. According to which, you should be sitting on a cloud strumming a harp and playing frisbee with your halo.”
“In which case I don’t think we need to take his word as gospel, do we?”
“I see what you did there. Clever.”
“I can be, on occasion. But I meant it, Alice. You’re necessary.”
“You’re not going to tell me it’s my destiny or something, are you? Because, honestly, I don’t think I can take that. I might have to go and throw up.”
She looked so serious that Mallory couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He shook his head. “There’s no such thing as destiny, Alice. The Fallen will tell you otherwise, because they want you to feel helpless; same for everyone. It’s where their power comes from. But there’s no stone tablet engraved with your future, no sand-timer to tell you when your number’s up. There’s only the choices you make.”
“So I have to choose to walk into hell?”
“Yes.”
“And why would I be insane enough to do that?”
“In time you’ll understand, Alice. In time.”
Mallory lifted his flask to his lips and gulped down what must have been half its contents. Alice raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.
The light was fading. In the distance, the streetlights glowed deep orange; the cars’ headlights sparkled and bumped their way down the road. The wind smelled of leaves, of moss and bonfires – and Alice felt her heart skip. But it was only the wind. There were no angels there, and it frightened her when she realised that she was almost disappointed. Maybe she would be mad enough to do it; to walk into hell unbidden and unbound... after all, everything else around her seemed to be falling into madness. And she didn’t care. In fact, she wasn’t sure that she didn’t like it.
As they approached the twins’ building, she found her feet dragging, something slowing her pace. An itch somewhere behind her eyes, a crawling sensation beneath her skin. Something was wrong.
“Mallory?”
“What is it?” He stopped, just ahead of her, his gun in his hand. It shone like fire in the artificial light.
“I don’t... there’s just...” She couldn’t finish the words. Her skin had suddenly grown several sizes too small, catching her and crushing her...
The sound of shattering windows made them both look up, and Mallory swept her to the ground, leaning over her and covering her with his body as they were showered with glass and metal. It rained down on them for what could only have been moments – it felt like eternity – and as he helped her to her feet, he pointed up.
“Look.”
Smoke was pouring from the top-floor flat, oozing over the balconies and out of the broken windows – and someone was standing outside, just behind the balcony rail and looking down at them. Whoever it was, the figure hefted something heavy and large to shoulder height, and then tossed it over the edge. A handful of dirty-grey feathers fluttered over the rail after it.
It fell, and it landed with a sound Alice never wanted to hear again. And then her world exploded.
The pain was so vicious it knocked her to her knees, shook the breath from her body. Fire raged up and down her limbs, over her shoulders and back; flames lapped at her throat and chin in waves. Everything was red – inside, outside, the whole world. It bled and it burned and it hurt.
She could sense Mallory standing beside her and she threw out her arm, feeling along the pavement for him. There was a sudden smell of melting tar; a sound of cracking concrete. “Help him. Please.”
He left her side, and through the blur she saw him crouch beside Vin’s body. If she hadn’t been able to feel it, she would have thought he was dead. But there was no mistaking this. From very far away, she heard Mallory’s voic
e and saw him shifting around Vin, who slowly lifted his head. It was working, but the pain didn’t recede. The fire showed no sign of burning itself out, and it was only as Mallory slumped to the ground himself that she remembered. Mallory would feel that same pain that Vin had... and so would she, all over again.
Every inch of her blazed: with pain, with fire and smoke and heat. It swallowed her whole, buried itself in her mind and took control. There was nothing beyond it, not the pavement, not the building, not the angel who stood over her, driven back by the flames. She opened her mouth to cry out, but only sparks came, drifting away on the darkening air. And then there were two of them beside her, both the Earthbounds, their hands on her shoulders, lifting her... and the fire was gone. As quickly as it had overrun her, the pain was gone. In its place, there was a hollowness and a faint ringing in her ears. The streetlight arced above her and cool hands pulled her down into darkness.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Bullseye
SHE COULD TELL where she was from the smell alone. Opening one eye, she saw the damp-stained ceiling, and opening the other, she saw Mallory sitting on a chair not far away, rifling through the pile of papers on his lap and smiling at her wanly.
“Wotcher,” he said, touching his hand to his temple in mock-salute. He sat back and crossed one leg over the other, dropping the pages on the floor beside him. “This is getting to be a habit, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” she said, sitting up. The sofa was back-achingly familiar. “There was the time I woke up in a bed. With sheets and a pillow and everything.” Her arms felt sore; the skin tender and bruised. “What happened?”
“What do you remember?”
“Not much. We were outside the gate and I just felt... odd. Then the windows blew out, I think, and there was... something. Falling.”
“That would be Vin.”
“Vin?”
