Blood and Feathers

by Lou Morgan

  “Alice...”

  “No, it’s true. I do. I just...”

  “Alice?”

  “This is all too big; it’s too much. I can’t...”

  “Alice!”

  “What?”

  “It’s snowing.” And, sure enough, the sky was filled with swirling white specks. They spun and drifted down to the ground, settling softly around them as they stared upwards. Just like the rain, it left the two of them untouched, collecting around their feet, but never once landing on them – dancing past them in languid spirals. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  “It’s not,” said Mallory, shaking his head.

  She frowned at him. “How can you say that? Look at it!” She held out her hand, trying to catch one of the flakes, but still, they darted away from her.

  Mallory stared at her. “What month is it, Alice?”

  “What month? It’s...” She paused. “It’s October.”

  “It’s snowing. In October. Here.” He folded his arms, and Alice understood.

  “Hell’s cold, isn’t it?”

  “Colder than anything you’ve ever imagined. It’ll freeze your soul.” He gestured to the snow that thickened the sky overhead. “This? This is just the beginning.”

  “IT’S SNOWING,” SAID Gwyn when they walked into Mallory’s room. He was sitting, reading a newspaper. The front page headline seemed to be about a celebrity scandal: Alice could only assume that he was catching up.

  “Snowing? No shit,” Mallory slammed the door behind them. If anything, it was actually colder inside than it was outside.

  Gwyn barely even looked up. “You should know by now that I am absolutely immune to sarcasm.”

  “It makes me feel better.”

  “This is not necessarily a good thing.” Gwyn dropped the paper on the floor. “I took the liberty of having the place cleaned a little. Not completely, of course. I can’t work miracles, can I?”

  “You’ve... moved things,” Mallory said, poking at a pile of books on the floor.

  Gwyn frowned. “If by ‘moved’ you mean disposed of, and by ‘things’ you mean three years’ worth of rubbish, then yes, I have ‘moved things.’ No need to thank me, but I really would like to discuss that. Out there.” He pointed to the window.

  “It’s too soon, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. We thought we had more time.” Gwyn folded his arms. “Everything is in place. Is she ready?”

  “Umm...” Alice raised her hand and cleared her throat. “She’s right here, you know.”

  “Of course you are, Alice,” Gwyn said, fixing her with a blue-eyed stare, then turning straight back to Mallory. “Well? Is she?”

  “Nowhere near.”

  “And does she know?”

  “About my mother?” she cut in. “Yes, thanks. I know. Not before time, either...” She bit back her words as Mallory placed a firm hand on her arm.

  Gwyn looked at her oddly. “About Seket? I rather assumed you would have worked that out for yourself by now. You saw it, after all.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Alice saw Mallory’s free hand rub his forehead. His grip on her arm tightened. “Timing, Gwyn.”

  “Oh?”

  Alice’s head hurt. It suddenly felt too small, as though everything inside it would force her mind open and seep out through her ears. There was more. Of course there was more. How could she have expected that to be the end of it? Would there ever be an end to it?

  Gwyn shrugged. “She needs to be ready, Mallory.”

  Mallory glared at him, then started to speak, but Alice couldn’t understand any of it. It rolled and twisted and fell from his tongue, the language of the angels. He kept going, too: for what felt like hours, he kept on speaking – never once pausing for breath or for Gwyn to answer. And whatever it was he was saying, Gwyn didn’t like it one bit. His face grew darker and darker, his eyes stonier... until at last he snapped a hand up, pointing at Mallory. Sparks fizzed from the tip of his finger and Mallory fell silent.

  “Enough. If you are not able to prepare her, then I will. Perhaps it would be better if I assumed responsibility now, rather than at the last minute when you have failed?”

  “I will not fail, Gwyn. Not you, and not her.”

  “Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. I have to say there are some who think you a most unwise choice, given your... emotions.”

  “You listen to me, Descended. You may not like me, and you may not believe me, but I am the best choice for her. The only choice. You disagree? Then speak to Raphael. If you dare.”

  “Oh, Raphael has his hands full. They all do. Heaven itself is in a state of panic, Mallory. The Fallen have never drawn so far ahead, not since the beginning. Much further, and we may never be able to defeat them.”

  “I thought,” said Alice, quietly, “that was the point. That there was no winning, on either side. That there’s a balance, and it has to hold. So why would you need to worry about beating them?”

  “It’s a manner of speaking, Alice,” Gwyn snapped. “If we hold them in check, we win. If we don’t, we lose. We cannot afford to lose.”

  “That’s why I’m here. Just tell me what I need to do.”

  Mallory’s hand dropped from her arm. “It’s not that simple, Alice. There’s things... you can’t imagine. It’s hell.”

  “So, what? You spend all this time convincing me I need to go down there, and now you change your mind?”

  “Hardly. I just want you to be sure. To know what you’re getting into.”

  “You get me ready, and I’ll get it done, whatever it is I’m supposed to do. Like I said, that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? It’s what I’ve always been here for.”

  “No. Remember what I told you. Destiny... it doesn’t exist. There’s no prophecy, no seers steering your course. There’s only you. You are free to do as you choose. You always have been.”

  “Then I choose hell.”

  A sudden gust of wind rattled the window, and a pane of glass fell, shattering on the floor and making all of them jump. Snowflakes tumbled in after it. Gwyn eyed Alice, then nodded in approval.

  “Good. The choirs will be pleased. We have found a way in. It won’t be easy, but we can get you to the first hellmouth, and you will have a guide to take you through the upper levels.”

  “A guide? I thought I had to be alone.”

  “It won’t be one of us, Alice.” Mallory’s voice was solemn. “It will be one of the Fallen.”

  “Oh. How?”

  “It’s complicated, and we don’t have time to go into it now. There’s too much to do.” He frowned at Gwyn. “When?”

  “Three days.”

  “Three days? That’s not enough time.”

  “It’s the time you have.” Already the light in the room was growing brighter. Gwyn was leaving. “Whether she’s ready or not, she goes in in three days.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Cry Wolf

  BALBERITH COULD HEAR dripping, somewhere behind him. It was irritating. The others either hadn’t noticed, or didn’t care – neither would surprise him. Half of them were too bone-deaf to hear it, and the other half too stupid to care about noises in the dark.

  He cared.

  Years of planning, of preparation, of experiments and corrections and failures... the very thought of them made his ribs ache. Failure does not go unpunished in hell, and boy, had there been failures. Years of effort and care. A plan set in motion at precisely the right moment... and then, somehow, Heaven had scooped the half-born. You might even call it a miracle – if you believed in that sort of thing which, naturally, he didn’t. Balberith believed in order, in lists and – on occasion – in the Dewey Decimal System. He most certainly did not believe in the rubbish about fate that Forfax had taken to spouting, and he couldn’t decide what was more annoying: listening to it, or watching the others nod their heads sagely.

  The dripping continued.

  “Look, can we just stop?” he said. “Is no-one else bot
hered by that? Honestly? Because I can barely hear myself think.” He folded his arms as the other eyes in the room fixed on him. “I’m just saying. It’s distracting.”

  “Fine,” Purson heaved himself up from his chair and disappeared into the gloom of the warehouse. There was a heavy clanking sound, then a soft metallic whisper, and a sudden scream. The dripping stopped and Purson strode back to his chair, wiping his hands. “Happy?”

  “Ecstatic.” Balberith gave him a sour look and adjusted his glasses.

  “When the two of you have quite finished?” Xaphan stepped out of the shadows. “Things are not going to plan. Now, I wouldn’t have thought that I needed to remind you of this, but apparently I do: this is seen as a Problem. And Problems, as we all know, tend to have Solutions, where Lucifer is involved. And that I’m certain I don’t have to remind you of. So, to recap, where are we?”

  “They say the angels have found the half-breed a way in. She’ll be alone. And she still can’t control her gift.”

  “Ah. On that last point, I beg to differ.” The light caught the scar tissue on the side of his face, making it shine. “She has control. It may well not be enough, but she has control. And she has one other thing.” He paused for effect. “Mallory.”

  Mallory’s name launched a wave of grumbles around the room. Every one of the Twelve – every one of the Fallen – knew Mallory, and every last one of them hated him.

  Xaphan smiled, waved them to silence. “Of course, it may be that Mallory will be less of a problem than we’ve always assumed. There’s so much more to this girl than we’d ever hoped. So much potential. She may not be that hard to break after all, in which case, the Earthbound becomes little more than a fly to be swatted...”

  “How so?” That was Balberith.

  Xaphan rolled his eyes. He disliked Balberith – more, even, than he disliked the other Fallen – but he forced himself to smile. “I’m afraid that’s a little above your pay grade, old chap,” he said, flashing his teeth a little wider than was necessary. Balberith blinked, once, twice... then looked down at his lap.

  “I told you you could leave Mallory to me, you know.” Purson was, unsurprisingly, cleaning his nails with a large knife.

  “Hardly,” said Xaphan. “You didn’t exactly cover yourself in glory with the way you handled Vhnori, did you?”

  “Look, like I told the boss, he was dead when I left him...”

  “No, he was not! He was almost dead. Which, when you have one of Raphael’s little healers on hand, is no use whatsoever!”

  The shattered glass in the window jangled as the pieces shifted against one another and Xaphan cleared his throat.

  “The angels are sending the girl in underprepared. They know this. We know this. They’re desperate. And that’s precisely why they’re going to lose.” He spread his ruined wings, and began to laugh.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Surest Way Forward is to Stop Looking Back

  ALICE HAD BRUISES. Alice’s bruises had bruises. She ached every time she moved, and it didn’t seem to be getting any better. Nor, in a move she thought particularly unfair, would Mallory help. So not only had he put her through what she could only describe – ironically – as hell, he wouldn’t fix her either.

  “Look at it as a warm-up. This is how they’d kiss you hello in hell.”

  Three days.

  Three days of being thrown around in a graveyard; of learning to duck, to sidestep, to not fall over her own feet.

  Three days of shivering in the endless cold, of falling into snowdrifts, of being knocked down and picked up, just to do it all over again. She had been pushed and pulled and thrown like a ragdoll, and still Mallory came back at her with more.

  There had been a point, halfway through the first day, when she had landed face down in the snow, bleeding and broken and begging Mallory just to let her rest. And he stood over her and folded his arms. “No. Get up.”

  “No.”

  “Get up, Alice.”

  “You can’t make me.”

  “Watch me. I can do whatever I want, including breaking every bone in your body if that’s what it takes. And then I’ll just put you back together and start all over again.”

  “Why?” She spat out a mouthful of bloodstained snow.

  He shrugged. “Because the harder it is now, the easier it’ll be then.”

  He leaned forwards and gripped her shoulders, hauling her to her feet. She swayed a little, looking up at the sky. The snow kept on coming – it hadn’t once stopped.

  “What happens if I fail?”

  “You won’t.” He had his back to her, his wings folded around his shoulders as if to keep himself warm.

  “What happens?”

  “I don’t know.” He turned towards her and his face was serious. “We’ve never been this close before. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.”

  “That’s cheering.”

  “You want me to lie to you?”

  “Not... lie, exactly...”

  “Alice, I’ve told you before: the most important thing is that you get out alive.”

  “You mean I’m not supposed to sacrifice myself for the greater good?” she said, only half-seriously.

  Mallory raised an eyebrow. “Not if you can help it. That’s an angel’s job. You’re half-human.” He fluttered his wings, and the snow swirled around them. “You find whatever it is Xaphan has rigged down there to open the hellmouths, you destroy it and you get out as fast as you can.”

  “And everyone down there, the ones the Fallen are holding?”

  “You aren’t to concern yourself with them. You make sure you get out. That’s all.”

  It was at that moment that Alice understood what Mallory had not been saying. All this talk of risk, of choice, of the possibility she might not come back... of the future.

  “This doesn’t end it, does it?”

  “No.” He smiled sadly. “It’s a war we can never win. All we can do is keep the balance.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to lie to me, Mallory.”

  “Who’s lying?”

  “Can you try – just once – not to be so damn literal? And just tell me whatever it is you’re leaving out?”

  “I can’t.”

  “I see...”

  “You don’t understand. I can’t. I’m gagged. Forbidden.”

  “Gwyn?”

  “Gwyn.”

  “Is there any way to...”

  “Technically,” Mallory said with a sly smile, “you belong to a higher choir. So if you were to ask me, I may not be able to tell you directly, but I might be able to give you a yes or no.”

  “Fine.” She sighed. “Is it important I get out of hell alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “To whom?”

  Mallory gave her a withering look. Alice rolled her eyes and tried again. “The Descendeds want me to come back out?”

  “Yes.”

  “The Archangels?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re never going to let me go, are they?”

  “No.” Mallory’s chin dropped. “I’m sorry, Alice.”

  “And that’s it? I’m now the angels’ pet? I go where I’m told, do as I’m told?”

  “You’re valuable.”

  “What if I don’t come back out?”

  “Then you’ll be dead. Or worse.” He wrapped his jacket more tightly about him. Even in the snow, he was still wearing the same beaten-up clothes. Alice had never seen him in anything else. “And they’ll just start looking for the next half-born.”

  “It never ends.”

  “It never ends.”

  They were silent for a moment, the snow eddying around them. It struck Alice that there were no other sounds, anywhere. No cars. No kids playing in the snow. Not even the birds. The world was hiding – it just didn’t know what it was hiding from. She did. And it was enough to make her take a deep breath and square up to the angel in front of her. Again.

  “I SUPPOSE I shoul
d be grateful you’ve fixed the shower?”

  “It might be nice. I suggest you sit under it.” Mallory’s voice was muffled by the bathroom door, but she could still hear the amusement in it. “But I’m warning you now that I’m not coming in there to get you out if you seize up.”

  “You’re a real prince among men, aren’t you?”

  “Actually, yes. Don’t bother with the cold tap. It still doesn’t work.”

  The idea of a shower had come as a surprise. Somehow, she had assumed that just like the rain and the snow, the water would simply go round her, but when she mentioned this to Mallory, he gave her one of his looks. The ones that made you feel like you were five years old and had just been caught stealing a biscuit. Apparently, only “the weather” did that. Obviously.

  Her fingers were so cold she could barely unbutton her shirt. The chill had crept so far inside her bones that she was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t fear. Because, she thought as the pipes groaned, that nagging fear that had followed her around since this began was now so thick that she could taste it, could feel it settling on her shoulders like a cloak. She could smell it: a sour, cloudy echo that followed her wherever she went. She clambered stiffly into the shower and felt the water run over her, over the bruises and the grazes and the cuts and the soon-to-be-scars, and she gave in. She let the fear wash over her with the water. It clambered inside and stretched itself out into her hands and her fingers; it choked its way into her lungs and suddenly her palms were burning. Burning. With actual fire. In the shower.

  “Uh.. Mallory?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Why am I on fire?”

  “Are you?”

  “No. Because I joke about this sort of thing all the time. Of course I bloody am!”

  “Huh. That’s interesting.”

  “No, it’s incredibly inconvenient!” She held out her arm and watched as the water turned to steam when it touched her skin, evaporating into the flame. “Whatever you’re doing, can you stop it?”

  “Not me. You figure it out.” He sounded remarkably calm. “We talked about this, remember.”